After a moment, Tycondrius sheathed his blade and turned back to address his fool of a Captain.
The glowing-eyed human was writhing in pain, splashing about on the wet tiles,"ELLL-TEEeeeeeeEEE!!!!!"
It looked like he'd dislocated both of his arms and possibly sprained a few more joints.
The blood and fluids draining from his eyes, ears, and nose did look worrisome... but it was well-deserved.
"Ah, Brother-Captain," Tycon sneered, "Are you regretting your recent suicidal actions?"
"F*ck!" Krysaos screamed, "LT! It hurts!! It HUU-huu-huuuuuRRRTSSSS!!!"
"Of course it f*cking hurts," Tycon groaned... "The mana coursing through your circuits are *several* times the amount a Third-Circle SPELLCASTER can handle, much less an Iron-Rank Martial Class."
"F*CK, man!" Krysaos sobbed, "Hhh... HELP ME!!"
...The arse wasn't even listening.
"Bah," Tycon cradled his head in annoyance. "I will-- just... grant me a moment."
