The Weeper tried to wrench his blade free soon after it plunged satisfyingly into his foe’s vitals. Unfortunately, it stuck, which was not so unusual that the Weeper was completely surprised. Still, his options were limited, and with an action of pure cruelty he twisted his hand, drawing the blade further through flesh and bone. Most opponent’s he had faced would have succumbed instantly to the blazing pain, but with some alarm the masked swordsman noted Mikael had instead committed to a desperate counter attack. 

The Weeper couldn’t see himself pulling his blade free in time to avoid the knife, and with an instinct born of unnatural reflex and experience he released the grip and pulled his hand clear in time to avoid having his wrist badly mauled by the quick slash. Still, the blade did shear through his sleeve and bite into his flesh, causing him to yelp in sudden pain before stepping back and away. His opponent was no doubt dying to his eyes, it was only a matter of time, and with the Weeper’s own blade in his chest he was sure to be impeded. 

Still, even during all this, he was not unaware of his opponent’s magical explosive, though it was only as he gained a small measure of space that he noted how much larger and more dangerous it had grown in a startlingly short period of time. Weapon-less, his sword trapped in his foe and his pistol lost somewhere behind him, the Weeper had to somehow survive long enough for his opponent to bleed out.

“Let go of the suffering.” He said, even as he backpedalled as far as he could before the blast that was sure to come was unleashed. Even then he played with his opponent’s mind, though if Mikael had any intentions of giving up he wasn’t showing them yet.