Xavier stumbled forward as Prospero flew over his head and landed with feminine grace, but managed to regain his footing well enough before he fell. Whas this guy crazy? He'd never seen anyone willingly get into a close-proximity fight with him before, poison or not. Luckily changing places with Prospero put him back within reach of his thrown sword again, giving him some options. The man came at him like a wild man, arms wheeling around for repeated strikes as he came closer. Xavier noted a slight inconsistency in the form of his now-torn arm, and snatched at it with his free right hand, gripping the closed fist in a crushing grip from Xavier's own massive paw.
Blood drained from the palm of his hand, and he quickly snatched his hand back after pushing Prospero backward a few steps. The bastard had blades buried into his skin or some shit. What the hell kind of masochist does that? It wasn't as if he was already losing the ability to perform his more dextrous sword tricks, now he wouldn't be able to windmill his double-ended scimitars with his right hand. That was a pain in the ass, as it was one of Xavier's more practiced forms of attack and defense.
Prospero was closer to the roof's edge now, where Xavier had started. If he timed it carefully, if he could part those swings with his swords, he could make one last ditch effort, and plant a boot into the assassin's chest, hopefully sending him off the building and straight to hell. He fell back into a defensive stance, and awaited another inevitable charge. At the very least, the assassin was the aggressor here, he could count on him not to try and escape or wait for Xavier's own attack.