[He can't quite dodge in time at such close proximity; the lightning strikes him in the arm, halting his attack and forcing him to stagger backward. He grimaces painfully. His face and upper body become flecked with the droplets of Yuan's blood. Mithos lifts the hand of his uninjured arm to wipe his face, but as he returns it to grip his sword he sees the red smeared across the backside.
And he freezes. Blood. Martel. It isn't his hand, it's Martel's. And there's blood. It's his hand too, though. Stained red like when he'd lost her, when he'd clung to her still body long after she had slipped away, wishing desperately that maybe if he held on tightly enough the blood would flow in reverse.
These thoughts all flood his brain in the span of about ten seconds. Then his eyes fall back on Yuan, and they are like wildfire. In the next instant, Mithos is hurtling toward him again.]
way to go, Yuan
And he freezes. Blood. Martel. It isn't his hand, it's Martel's. And there's blood. It's his hand too, though. Stained red like when he'd lost her, when he'd clung to her still body long after she had slipped away, wishing desperately that maybe if he held on tightly enough the blood would flow in reverse.
These thoughts all flood his brain in the span of about ten seconds. Then his eyes fall back on Yuan, and they are like wildfire. In the next instant, Mithos is hurtling toward him again.]