Puppetmaster

Tycondrius narrowed his eyes to thin slits just as a flash of light burst from angel Khalkyd's right hand. 

With it came an intense, but fleeting rush of dry heat. 

It was slightly uncomfortable... but Tycon was pleased that it wicked away the sweat and moisture in his clothing. 

Khalkyd was staring him down, his flaming greatsword poised to strike... putting all of his effort into looking intimidating. 

"Put. it. away. Tyrael," He warned.

"Tss?" Tycon scoffed, raising his eyebrows mockingly, "Or you'll do *what?* Kill a mortal? How many of your *rules* would that break, Khalkyd?"

Khalkyd took a deep breath, setting his expression into a steely grimace, "Why are *you* even *here?*"

The angel turned his head and raised his voice, "Overseer!!"

Overseer? Tycon followed the angel's line of vision.