Myron watched the scene unfold from beyond the shield of a mask he guarded himself with. His mind began to race, he cycled through tactics to use against such an up-front opponent. He was smart enough to respond under such quick notice, and his feel for the world aided his insight. Something was off, and he only had a smidgen's worth of understanding that he could implore, until things picked up.

Witness now, the fact that Myron too is a geomancer, just like Corban, however not as epic in skill; he could feel the earth's ambience call out to him. He could already assume the grandeur of his foe's carbokinesis, due to how quickly the opponent summoned forth earth, and how quickly it transmuted. In the back of his head, the scribe constantly worried himself over the threat of earth based magics, such as stalagmites popping up underneath him, or a fissure to draw him in.

Then came the strange explosion. Myron could feel it grasp at his silver blood, attempting to annex his control. His water would petrify briefly, however the bulk of the water and its magical force would delay the blast's radius enough to savour Myron from capture, and the Account of Symbols and Stories, though Myron had too little time to actually use his book right now, he'd toss it aside and react as quickly as he could to the immediate situation.

Tremors in the earth revealed Corban's path, but Myron needn't rely on these to know that something was coming from below. There was no other possible angle of attack! The crystal-wizard was nowhere to be seen. Timely dealings with earth magi convinced the scribe's next instinct action, which was to immediately jump back a bit, whilst relocating his mask so that it would slip underneath him. At its current angle, it could protect from any attack aimed from below. As the water that once coated Myron's feet began to funnel in to a hole in to the ground, an audible clash of metals could be heard, from the meeting of Ishtalle's sheath, and the adamant durability of Myron's mask. The combined weight of Myron and his nine foot tall shield of perpetually frozen water exceeded three hundred pounds, and thus, he would not fly skyward whence struck, neither the first or second time. The scribe knelt on top of his shield, with his quill readily pointed downwards.

The tricky part here would be Myron's reply to such an up-front attack. The esti already knew where the attacks would come from, however he had a rather specific trick on how to lock in on enemies without needing his eyes. Firstly, he'd angle the shield so specifically, upon feeling a strange presence beneath him. Secondly, he could literally scan the ground as well, as a geomancer readily focused on their whereabouts, and a blood mage who could feel for outside life. Corban's magical and genetic trace was strange, and inhuman, however it was not that uncommon, it resembled an iomancer's, or some kind of fairy. Split seconds passed, when Myron was sure his aim was true, he released the power of a second disintegration ray. At a point blank distance, dodging or blocking the attack both would prove incredibly difficult without preparations, and the beam traveled about as quickly as a gun could fire a bullet. The blast would pierce diamonds and dirt alike with ease, annihilation in a straight path aimed through Corban's chest and progressing nearly a hundred feet deeper where it would then explode fiercely, sucking up a well of dirt and mud with it. Myron made sure to activate his rune as quickly as possible, not even a second after the sheath struck, with mindful anticipation.

Regardless of success or failure, Myron wasn't about to rely on one spell to save the day, he always worried, and thus always created a means to fall back safely. The black ink that gathered around his person took the shape of large lanky hands in an instant, both slapping the ground below and spreading like wildfire. Runic circle would swiftly appear, and begin to fill in with precision, ignoring a lack of foundation due to Myron's skill at levitating the ink. It would appear as though the black hands were lifting Myron and his mask off the ground as well, however this too was simply control magic. Free were his own hands, so the scribe equipped another vial from his pouch and would quickly toss it around his mask and in to the hole formed by his beacon of nihil.