( To Mithrun, Tylor just disappears. There's the laughter, there's the telltale sign of coming movement, and then - nothing. It's his mind that has to analyze what it just saw and interpret Tylor's movements, and understand he must have gotten to the right - but, by the time he's figured it out, that blast's already landed a critical right in his side - knocking down his HP, already steadily whittled down, under that 10% mark.
Mithrun staggers, soundlessly pained, the injury and exhaustion dictated by his lowered HP weighing on him, feeling like the Pokemon critical health sound - but he isn't paying attention to his health bar, and he isn't paying attention to his health. He grips his broadsword once again, like he's coming around for another blow once he's got his footing fixed—
But, well, he's not so far gone that he wouldn't stop if Tylor lets him know the match is over, )
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Mithrun staggers, soundlessly pained, the injury and exhaustion dictated by his lowered HP weighing on him, feeling like the Pokemon critical health sound - but he isn't paying attention to his health bar, and he isn't paying attention to his health. He grips his broadsword once again, like he's coming around for another blow once he's got his footing fixed—
But, well, he's not so far gone that he wouldn't stop if Tylor lets him know the match is over, )