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It had, all things considered, been a while since Nicomede stood in battle with people to watch his flanks.

It was a good feeling, if unfamiliar. The thought was remote, almost like it came from someone else, tucked away behind the cold rage and focus that drove him forward. The Boar that Gerard engaged, only moments after stopping a blow meant for him, prickled at his memory. Something angry, something distasteful. It had been a lifetime ago— for both of them, he suspected. But it was nothing compared to the rage he felt from Gerard, heard in his voice.

[color=aa0505]"Coming up! [i]Congelare![/i]"[/color] Despite the mobility offered even in full plate, it's all for naught when thick ice forms around every joint in mere breaths. He wouldn't be going much of anywhere, Gerard's foe; but he didn't mind making it a little more official. [color=aa0505]"[i]Lancia.[/i]"[/color]

The ice at the Boar's left knee, closest to Nicomede's right hand, sent spikes through the back of the joint to— ideally— sever that critical tendon. But he wasn't paying attention to the man anymore. Gerard would handle him, and Nico himself would have something else to handle soon. The hulking creatures, curses writhing just beneath the surface, would make their presence felt soon enough. He'd need his next canteen of water for them, and soon.

[color=aa0505]"The fun jobs, [i]i miei amici, sì?[/i]"[/color]

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