There is little love lost between the demon and the dragoon, but for the time being (and for once) he doesn’t allow himself to become distracted by a sudden squall of bitterness whipping up in his heart. Right now this confrontation isn’t about them. It’s about the shard that Estinien now holds in a clawed, iron grasp, one that Makoto very heavily doubts he’ll be able to wrest from him now that he’s lost the element of surprise. As he lurches backwards, his quick reflexes save him from the sharp spines jutting from that elbow claiming a second eye for the dragoon today, but he isn’t fast enough to escape the full range of the tail. It thumps across his chest, opening up a narrow gash across one shoulder through several layers of cloth and skin; the force of it causes him to nearly lose control of his place in the air. It’s in those precious few seconds that he’s overcompensating to recover from the blow that, had Gen not interfered, Makoto might have been completely unprepared for the fireball that was sent his way. The bright flash of light draws his gaze, and his eyes fly wide.
But then Gen does interfere, causing a slab of earth and stone to wrench free from the ground below and interject between the two, catching the explosive fireball on its broad side. The blast knocks the demon several more feet back, and then everything is dust, ash, smoke, grit, and embers. Makoto uses the make-shift smokescreen to land, coughing and clearing dirt from streaming eyes as he reassesses the situation. The other teenager had entered the storehouse and now stands a short distance away from him, opposing Estinien — the staccato sound of footsteps draws his attention in the other direction, where Eustace is sweeping Kaeya’s tattered body into his arms to carry away from further violence. Makoto’s jaw sets; it’s not exactly conforming to his order of priorities, but he feels he’s in no position to demand otherwise.
“We need to get that shard back from him or this rescue will be for nothing.” He glances sidelong to Gen, experiencing for the second time in a week the truly bizarre (and decidedly uncomfortable) feeling that he would have to once again rely on the other young man to at the very least pursue the same goal and to put aside all personal contrivances until it was over with.
“Can you create an opening?”
His usefulness is limited now — he has little options at range that don’t involve throwing a very limited number of blades he has on his person, and though he could teleport in for another close-range attack, it not only exhausted him to do repeatedly but also put him in lethal range of any number of natural weapons the dragoon had at his disposal. The pain radiating from the wound across his shoulder is beginning to feed strength into his limbs, but not enough to do anything dramatic; the best he can think to do now is be evasive and wait for the ideal moment.
no subject
But then Gen does interfere, causing a slab of earth and stone to wrench free from the ground below and interject between the two, catching the explosive fireball on its broad side. The blast knocks the demon several more feet back, and then everything is dust, ash, smoke, grit, and embers. Makoto uses the make-shift smokescreen to land, coughing and clearing dirt from streaming eyes as he reassesses the situation. The other teenager had entered the storehouse and now stands a short distance away from him, opposing Estinien — the staccato sound of footsteps draws his attention in the other direction, where Eustace is sweeping Kaeya’s tattered body into his arms to carry away from further violence. Makoto’s jaw sets; it’s not exactly conforming to his order of priorities, but he feels he’s in no position to demand otherwise.
“We need to get that shard back from him or this rescue will be for nothing.” He glances sidelong to Gen, experiencing for the second time in a week the truly bizarre (and decidedly uncomfortable) feeling that he would have to once again rely on the other young man to at the very least pursue the same goal and to put aside all personal contrivances until it was over with.
“Can you create an opening?”
His usefulness is limited now — he has little options at range that don’t involve throwing a very limited number of blades he has on his person, and though he could teleport in for another close-range attack, it not only exhausted him to do repeatedly but also put him in lethal range of any number of natural weapons the dragoon had at his disposal. The pain radiating from the wound across his shoulder is beginning to feed strength into his limbs, but not enough to do anything dramatic; the best he can think to do now is be evasive and wait for the ideal moment.