[ Gen smacks into the wall with a graceless noise. And even more than that physical impact, the inability to process what just happened throws him for a loop; for one very visible, very obvious moment, he's frozen in shock as he struggles to process the abrupt and highly illogical turn of events.
Then the mace smashes into the leg.
Brilliant pain lights up all the way through his leg and up his spine, and Gen crumples to the ground with a barely-contained scream, the noise caught at the back of his throat and muffled by the hard clench of his jaw. It hurts -- hurts a hell of a lot more than anything he'd been prepared for -- and the prospect of getting back to his feet feeling impossible. He can barely think at all past how much it hurts.
It's a good thing, then, that that pain is so severe it helps block out any other pains -- like the jagged prickle of when he scrabbles to snatch up a shard of that broken jar, gripping it tight regardless of the way it cuts into his palm so he can point it towards Tyki. His gaze is bright with a rabid, vicious hatred, now, and there's a surprising focus to his vision even as his voice comes breathless and taut. ]
-- I'd rather die. Than just sit back and let you do what you want.
[ He means it, too. Even when he's barely able to stay sitting up, hunched over as he fights the powerful desire to simply curl up in pain, his focus is entirely on keeping that glass shard pointed at Tyki. He'll swing the moment Tyki draws close, regardless of if it works or not. ]
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Then the mace smashes into the leg.
Brilliant pain lights up all the way through his leg and up his spine, and Gen crumples to the ground with a barely-contained scream, the noise caught at the back of his throat and muffled by the hard clench of his jaw. It hurts -- hurts a hell of a lot more than anything he'd been prepared for -- and the prospect of getting back to his feet feeling impossible. He can barely think at all past how much it hurts.
It's a good thing, then, that that pain is so severe it helps block out any other pains -- like the jagged prickle of when he scrabbles to snatch up a shard of that broken jar, gripping it tight regardless of the way it cuts into his palm so he can point it towards Tyki. His gaze is bright with a rabid, vicious hatred, now, and there's a surprising focus to his vision even as his voice comes breathless and taut. ]
-- I'd rather die. Than just sit back and let you do what you want.
[ He means it, too. Even when he's barely able to stay sitting up, hunched over as he fights the powerful desire to simply curl up in pain, his focus is entirely on keeping that glass shard pointed at Tyki. He'll swing the moment Tyki draws close, regardless of if it works or not. ]