That light required dodging. Abel stepped to the side, fraying robes being the only thing caught in the blast. It was discarded shortly after, a meaningless motion before Abel swapped out for something much lower tech: it was a sling. However less of a threat it might have seemed, his appearance underneath the robe was definitely threatening enough: what was once a well-tailored suit was in rags, holes and tears at every angle; underneath the clothes were the mangled limbs and torso of a man who had apparently been eaten alive, torn apart by some wild animals. One arm was almost entirely picked clean, cloth barely hanging on to the bone. Even his face had changed to reflect his previously-hidden atrocity, although it did nothing to lessen the focus from the bloodied socket of his eye used to be. The momentum of his sling appropriately built, the let loose and let the projectile fly. Once it got close to Raine, it almost slowed in the air before it let loose a concussive blast.
Cain had retrieved the buckler, already changing its shape once again. He drew his arm back and aimed as arrows crackling with fire on their tips formed in the arch of his bow, pulling it back far as he could manage after being so long out of practice, and shot straight for Virginia. He wouldn't let her get used to whatever tactics he chose, wouldn't allow her a moment of rest in between the assault until she simply stopped getting back up again.
His attention was stolen by the sound of Abel's attack and he stole a glance. Whatever he had expected to see, it was clear by the pained sound he made that this was probably one of the worst possible options. "No," he said, word caught in his throat and impossibly loud to his own ears. No, that wasn't how Abel looked. No, that wasn't how Abel thought of himself. No, that was something Cain had never wished to see again. It was everything—absolutely everything—at the center of what Cain's life had become. It was the worst, most painful failure of his life set out in brilliant technicolor and horrifying definition.
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Cain had retrieved the buckler, already changing its shape once again. He drew his arm back and aimed as arrows crackling with fire on their tips formed in the arch of his bow, pulling it back far as he could manage after being so long out of practice, and shot straight for Virginia. He wouldn't let her get used to whatever tactics he chose, wouldn't allow her a moment of rest in between the assault until she simply stopped getting back up again.
His attention was stolen by the sound of Abel's attack and he stole a glance. Whatever he had expected to see, it was clear by the pained sound he made that this was probably one of the worst possible options. "No," he said, word caught in his throat and impossibly loud to his own ears. No, that wasn't how Abel looked. No, that wasn't how Abel thought of himself. No, that was something Cain had never wished to see again. It was everything—absolutely everything—at the center of what Cain's life had become. It was the worst, most painful failure of his life set out in brilliant technicolor and horrifying definition.