Death Wish

After a moment, Tycondrius sheathed his blade and turned back to address his fool of a Captain. 

The glowing-eyed human was writhing in pain, splashing about on the wet tiles,"ELLL-TEEeeeeeeEEE!!!!!"

It looked like he'd dislocated both of his arms and possibly sprained a few more joints. 

The blood and fluids draining from his eyes, ears, and nose did look worrisome... but it was well-deserved. 

"Ah, Brother-Captain," Tycon sneered, "Are you regretting your recent suicidal actions?"

"F*ck!" Krysaos screamed,  "LT! It hurts!! It HUU-huu-huuuuuRRRTSSSS!!!"

"Of course it f*cking hurts," Tycon groaned... "The mana coursing through your circuits are *several* times the amount a Third-Circle SPELLCASTER can handle, much less an Iron-Rank Martial Class."

"F*CK, man!" Krysaos sobbed, "Hhh... HELP ME!!"

...The arse wasn't even listening.

"Bah," Tycon cradled his head in annoyance. "I will-- just... grant me a moment."