Plain White Ts (Tyrial)

[Tiorak Tioravi]

As if having his hand cut because of people falling over him wasn't bad enough, the shell lover seemed even more invigorated than before. The cut wasn't too debilitating, as he retained some painless motion, but it still stung and throbbed, almost rhythmic in manner. He would surely visit a physician later, just to be one the safe side.
Between the pain and his own mental trappings, he barely even noticed the aggressive idiot getting up, but when he charged for him again, he was ready… or so he thought.

After the fact it was unclear to him what he had in mind, but it was bad regardless. Seeing the awkwardly pushed together fist aiming for his face, he tried to dodge once more. Again, his overconfidence on long expired abilities and lack of combat training judged his moves. Before he even finished the step backwards, he felt stepping on the shell fragments he had dropped somewhere in between the motions. The sound of crackling stopped him for just a moment, but it was enough for the blow to come too close. In that one tick, he had just about enough time to turn his head to the side a little. What would've been a clean blow to the nose was derailed some, and found home in his zygomatic. He was never an expert in these things, but he feared the bone could’ve been broken from the hit. The punch itself nailed him back to the ground from which he rose not too long ago. He wasn't even scared any longer. He was just angry. Even if it was all a misunderstanding, they were far past that. The idiot in front of him deserved no more chances.

The tiny droplets of djed turning res came out his body as a misty substance. The color was uncertain, but it looked somewhat like somewhere between brown and gray… the whole process looked dirty. It would be a long while before any of the particles were usable. His lack of real combat skill with the magic was only reinforced by his pain. Yet he was sure – if this kept going, the stranger would burn. They would both burn, if need be.