[Part of Tyki's attention divides itself at the unfolding drama, naturally intrigued. There's some relationship here, although its history he can't guess; whatever it is colors the exchange nonetheless. At Kaeya's question, his smile becomes thin and close-lipped.]

Don't be impatient. This is delicate work, you know. [Another sickening crunch. Then, those last few inches, Tyki phases his hand through with the ability of choose — wrapping dark fingers around the shape of the Hourglass and ripping it loose. Another frozen statue of an Atirat falls backward, smashed to chunks.] There. Done.

[Juggling the gilded Hourglass to his left hand, now Tyki assesses the battle behind him. Ice and blood, an enraged man, a wickedly sharp lance... He chuckles, a low noise almost lost to the room, eyes lingering too long on Kaeya.]

You're being rather soft, aren't you? We shouldn't waste this opportunity — he's got Sand on him too. [He takes a few steps closer.] Allow me to help.

[In the same hand, still slicked with Dark Matter, a long black spear materializes in a liquid shimmer, hardening like obsidian stone. Romantic poetry, he thinks, for the weapon this man himself wields. Tyki pulls back his arm... and throws with preternatural strength, aiming for Dimitri's chest.

A vital spot indeed.]