Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-26288702-20180310221203/@comment-30014014-20180418050221

Prad watches still, noting that Praetor is on the process of an attack. He looks at his left arm, recovering but yet still unready. While the lightning has fully receded from his arm, pulling aid from it would significantly return the reeling backlash of it.

"So be it..." he speaks to himself as he forcefully pulls away at his left arm's only protection from the element "...if he's going to do something, better bring in suppressing fire".

His hand is free, altough somewhat ripe with tiny burn spots. He grits his teeth, focusing with great pain as he begins to fill the ambient air over his palm with static. Said static attracts the ambient lightning he was once working to suppress, bringing in the polluted shade of purple hovering on his hand.

With a mighty grunt, he hurls the resulting bundle of electricity higher in the sky, a miniature rapture tearing the sky directly over his head. It churns and writhes, but soon stands at the ready.

Prad now closes his right eye, his left one slowly turning charged. Targeted at the knight in black. His finger, twitching and crackling, aimed at the same man. All he need now is the ripe moment. Until then, Prad glides, petrified like a statue, a gleaming iris and finger, both gazing at the clad thing in black. His face, devoid of any expression...