Wash was on all fours, trying to catch his breath, because maybe when that happened the world would start making sense again. He'd even settle for Freesia's level of make sense at this point. No matter which way his frenzied thoughts turned it over, everything came back to one conclusion: that was him. He'd created that wave of air. He'd done it. He finally had his magic.
Whatever relief he could've felt at that was cut short when an injured Nox looking to vent its anger slammed into his shoulder. He overbalanced, yelping in surprise, and still managed to bring an arm up, shoving his elbow into the Nox's throat. Evidently the fuckers didn't learn. He didn't have his balance, and he didn't have strength enough to provide any measure of force, so he let gravity do the work, rolling on top of the Nox and putting all his weight on his elbow. The Nox hit the pavement and, after a moment of resistance, went up in smoke. He had a moment of surprise - evidently that Nox had been more heavily damaged than he'd thought - closely followed by pain, as his elbow hit the pavement, quickly followed by his shoulder and the side of his head.
He rolled onto his back with a low moan, trying to blink away the stars popping in front of his eyes. He wasn't getting up from this; the throbbing in his head and the exhaustion settling in his bones attested to that. He hadn't wiped out this thoroughly in the middle of combat since his fight with the Meta, and he'd begun that battle on the wrong end of a literal minefield.
But there were still Nox around - injured and slowed, yes, but still a threat - and a rift not too far away. He could see from his vantage point (flat on his back in the middle of the street, great) that it was damaged, but it still had the potential to let more shadow creatures in. He couldn't stop yet.
"Bones! Casey!" he managed, loud as he could but still very short of a yell. "The rift!"
That imparted, he focused on the task at hand: staying conscious. It was proving to be a lot more difficult that he'd have liked.
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Whatever relief he could've felt at that was cut short when an injured Nox looking to vent its anger slammed into his shoulder. He overbalanced, yelping in surprise, and still managed to bring an arm up, shoving his elbow into the Nox's throat. Evidently the fuckers didn't learn. He didn't have his balance, and he didn't have strength enough to provide any measure of force, so he let gravity do the work, rolling on top of the Nox and putting all his weight on his elbow. The Nox hit the pavement and, after a moment of resistance, went up in smoke. He had a moment of surprise - evidently that Nox had been more heavily damaged than he'd thought - closely followed by pain, as his elbow hit the pavement, quickly followed by his shoulder and the side of his head.
He rolled onto his back with a low moan, trying to blink away the stars popping in front of his eyes. He wasn't getting up from this; the throbbing in his head and the exhaustion settling in his bones attested to that. He hadn't wiped out this thoroughly in the middle of combat since his fight with the Meta, and he'd begun that battle on the wrong end of a literal minefield.
But there were still Nox around - injured and slowed, yes, but still a threat - and a rift not too far away. He could see from his vantage point (flat on his back in the middle of the street, great) that it was damaged, but it still had the potential to let more shadow creatures in. He couldn't stop yet.
"Bones! Casey!" he managed, loud as he could but still very short of a yell. "The rift!"
That imparted, he focused on the task at hand: staying conscious. It was proving to be a lot more difficult that he'd have liked.