The sudden eruption swept him up and off his feet, though a lifetime of combat gave him the ability to twist while in the air and avoid the worst of the heat. His momentum had transferred itself to a crashing impact with the ground which spewed ash into the air and over his body. Still, with a natural agility like his own it was simple to come rolling up onto his feet and once again face his wily foe, though not without gaining a small measure of respect for him.

The only noticeable change from his encounter with his opponent’s strange power was a smudge of ash, stark against the whiteness of his mask, and a scattering of small burn holes in his jacket. He shrugged off whatever minor impact displeasure he felt as his stance shifted and he drew the pistol from his jacket with his left hand.

Unsurprisingly, of course, The Weeper was not satisfied with the results of his frontal charge, and had decided to test his opponent’s ability to so nimbly escape bullets. The satisfaction of his blade would have to wait, tiding itself over with the suffering the bullets would rend from Mikael, for he levelled the firearm at his opponent’s chest and fired three rounds in quick succession, presuming to trail them at centre of mass in whatever direction his foe chose to try and dodge. From their distance apart (perhaps fifteen feet) there was little chance in his mind that the attack should fail. Though he couldn’t help noting the hastily drawn knife and the energy ball seemingly beginning to materialise.

It would be a bitter sweet and all too soon conclusion to another pointless skirmish.