Mo Yinan can count at least ten times he almost died. He probably would have, if it wasn't for Cassander's power. The way he commands wind and ice as easily as his own breath is no short of an art form, an intrinsic dance of death.
But he can't just spend the time enraptured by his darling's appeal, there is a dangerous situation at hand, after all.
Mo Yinan is as useless as they come, clumsy, weak, and slow. But he has a sword in his hand and he makes use of it where he can.
If the beast swung its ugly maw then Mo Yiinan would not back down and rush in like a madman, aiming for that delicate fleshy eye.
If that long throat is ever exposed to him, Mo Yinan would leap across the shambled building and piles of debris just to get to that rubbery flesh.
He does not care about injury or pain. He can disregard his body's limits, constantly operating at more than capacity.
