"I'll see you soon," Tycondrius whispered.
He stood up.
His mind was clear and sober.
His muscles ached but remained functional.
...He was starving-- but that couldn't be helped.
"Your timing could have been better," he said quietly.
A certain red-haired Hero landed in front of him, his fist and knee to the deck.
Rixen stood up slowly, his gaze meeting Tycon's.
His left eye was swollen, the flesh discolored. Thick nails of light were stabbed into his left shoulder. His right forearm was burnt-- cauterized to stop the bleeding.
He waved his hand. A harsh pillar of white light disintegrating the last of the godbeast that killed the boy.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I came as soon as I could."
Tycon grit his teeth.
He wanted to yell-- to argue or criticize.
...but Rixen was not to blame.
"I know," Tycon nodded.
Rixen crossed his arms, "Can you still fight?"
