[color=goldenrod][i][h2][center]Gerard Segremors[/center][/h2][/i][/color]

[@VitaVitaAR][@FlappyTheSpybot]

Each time he swung, he was met with that stiff resistance. A flash of arcane force in thin air, suggesting the form of a barrier that never seemed present after the moment his sword had been stopped by it. He could force her back and keep her off balance as planned, but that seemed to be the extent of things— even as her eyes left him for what should have been a crucial moment, that pinprick of crimson light, harbringer of thunder, had already coalesced at her raised fingertips in the opposite hand.

She was not aiming for him, else she'd be looking his way and pointing that hand for his unprotected torso. Not at Maritza either, whom he assumed would have been her primary target. Her newly-acquired runic axe could punch straight through the barriers that he'd been flailing around trying to swat past in a single hew.

No. She was aiming past the two.

Even in this flustered state, she looked to get a shot off at the group behind?

No.

[i]No.[/i]

He stepped in deep, wild desperation in his eyes beneath the glower of fury and iron of duty. Sword raised high into Vom Tag, it glowed crimson once more as it caught the light of the thundercrack that erupted in spite of his best efforts. His split-second read had been confirmed by the fact that neither he nor the Naga had fried, which meant that this needed to end now. He swung—

The crashing of shattered glass erupted from behind, accompanied by a death rattle and unceremonious thud of skull meeting stone.

The mage, Elva Fraus, simply lowered her arms as her grip on the arcane firmament of the world released, hair falling in suit.

"I surrender."

[i]Remember, Segremors.[/i]

Tyaethe's words seemed to flash through his mind, cutting through the trance of combat.

[i]This is a rescue mission.[/i]

Gerard tensed every muscle in his body, locking himself in place as the downward momentum of his cut ground to a halt just above their new prisoner's head. A credit to her composure that she so freely gave up while he was en route to beating the hell out of her, but a turncoat provoked little in the way of trust even if they came to one's own side.

He held it steady, not continuing the motion, but relaxing into a guard that kept edge and point more than close enough to discourage any sudden moves. His breathing deepened, slowed, and he pinned the magic user with a glare less outright bestial, and more wary.

[color=goldenrod]"I take it your loyalties lie somewhere beyond the cause."[/color]

After all, no zealot would pull that stunt.