The Weeper continued his assault without pause, reeling back for a lethally placed thrust. In his lowered state, Mikael pushed away from the left, forcing his upper body opposite. Timed alongside his foe's movements, his dagger swung across to parry the blade; however, by vast underestimation, it was not enough.

The sword pierced cleanly through leather, flesh and bone alike. Exiting through his back, the vile equivalent of Mikael's blood was reluctant to separate from its tip. 

As fate would have it, his strength was nothing to The Weeper's expertise, and even less in his injured state. His actions had served only to redirect the blade to his left side, running through his respective lung in favour of his heart. His face was flushed with agony beyond description, and every repeated attempt to scream was cut short by impulsed ventilation. There was no doubt that what stood before The Weeper was a dead man... and yet, he was standing.

His footing held firm upon the jagged floor, even as his resistance caused him to impale himself further on the blade. In sheer instinctual awareness, his knife swept outwards and across, aiming to slash the wrist which caused his impalement. Due to the nature of Mikael's vitals, The Weeper may have unexpected difficulty retrieving his sword in a single motion.

Reddish purple sparks surged violently along his form, glowing within his veins, blazing through his fleeting life fluids. Paused at a two-foot diameter, his Plasma Sphere barely clung beneath his fingertips.