Shinsou’s vision was blurred from the searing pain in his right arm. The fragments of shattered bone ground so hard against the nerve endings in his wrist that his whole right hand side felt numb and it burned just to breathe. He tasted blood in his throat and there was a slow trail of sweat on his upper forehead that snaked down his skin.
How could his magic have been so strong?
The Telgradian wasn’t used to being so damaged. He had once seen himself as the uncontested master of all he saw. He had never considered himself a normal person. He never would do, either. His power alone was the measuring stick by which all other forces were measured in Telgradia. But here, on Althanas, circumstances were different. Shinsou had learned very painfully that there were far greater powers than his own. Some of them he understood, such as those of the great fire dragon Sunwing who had haunted the Twilight Mountains, and the lightning mage Storm Veritas who had helped defeat it. Others, like the undead colossus Elite Optic, he simply couldn’t wrap his head around.
The Seraph’s power fell into the former category, but what a power it was. Shinsou watched through sore eyes as Enpera Kurohitsugi’s first volley obliterated the shimmering form of his opponent, the black, pulsating shafts of the spear-like projectiles rending it from existence with a sickening crackle. A few moments afterwards, as the glistening gold and silver dust remnants of the figure drifted down to the balcony like powder snow on a winters day, Shinsou realised he could still feel that power he felt before; the throbbing, glowing source of light that attracted him to the Citadel in the first place.
The pulsating strength was like a beacon above him. It was then the Telgradian realised the form he had just defeated had only been an illusion. As he frowned, shaking his head, Shinsou deduced that the mechanics of the illusion he had experienced wouldn’t have been too different to his own Enpera Suigetsu: just standard spatial distortion magic with some illusory spellcasting. But even as the disappointment of not spotting the fake set in, the spell-blade was consoled by the knowledge that his body was in too much pain for him to be able to concentrate enough on what was and wasn’t real anyway.
“I’ve got to keep moving, I’ve got to reach him…” Shinsou decided out loud, and almost immediately regretted it. As he swung round and aimed himself towards the heart of that golden power above him, Shinsou’s right arm seized up. Pain sparked off from the centre of his wrist to his fingertips as the flesh went into spasm. Shinsou staggered and just about muffled a scream as he made it a few more steps.
You are Shinsou Vaan Osiris. Overcome it!
Shinsou’s posture went limp for a minute, before he forced himself to stand up straight again. In the haze of agony that followed, it finally registered that he was on the edge of the tower, looking up. Shinsou tucked his broken hand into its white coat sleeve. It didn't stop the shaking, but at least no-one could see it. He started walking again towards the ramp that led up a floor. The elven girl had already begun her climb towards the Seraph.
The Seraph, on the other hand, looked like he was about to come down.
I'll make him regret it if he does.