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Nicomede was furious, if he'd had the time to really feel it.

All that power, and all he seemed to do was run away. He had Jarde now and a long detached, dormant instinct came to life anew. Like an ember fanned, a dislocated limb popping into place, or a crossbow bolt locked in. A realignment of body and mind in an instant. There was a young man in danger, a comrade, and he could do something about it. Hatred of evil was a powerful motivator, a reason to fight all its own, but the protection of a peer? That was the goal of a Mayonite, surely. That was the goal that had lead him to his disgrace, and he would make the choice again, and again, and again because the consequences were worth the lives he saved.  

Sir Jarde deserved no less.

He abandoned the disruption; not because it could not work, it had clearly slowed down his regeneration, but because the monster simply had so much more strength to burn. Without the chance to exploit the disruption he was simply throwing energy into an abyss. But that meant he was free to do as Sir Fleuri asked; when the jar grew close enough he muttered the word again and it shattered, spraying the water at Jarde. And with any luck it would ruin the vampire's day, too. 

Nicomede himself charged, seeking to bring the monster into range and keep him there. His [i]spada[/i] and his off dagger were both kept in close, ready to strike or defend as the opportunity arose.