As he was forced back he was awed by the ruby thread still connected to the tips of his make-shift weapon. He barely paid her any attention as he stared up the two edges. The miniscule amount of Lyra's life whet the twin metals. Eventually he did grant her audience. The Geslack prince was nothing if not arrogant. His irises hummed, illuminated from his skull, with the magic that wanted to boast its potency for the adversary. She dealt in ice, maybe, but Engel was the one flawlessly cold. He studied her, like he was deciding where to touch her next for more of the crimson treasure.<br/><br/>He did frown at her insult, and then shrugged one shoulder, readying the scissors again. "I think you shouldn't speak like that, Bremmington runt. There'll be a very particular Geslack snake in your future." he was of course nurturing and raising the Veil in her as she thought he was being leisurely. He was so concentrated on his task, riding the infected blood in her to find the center of her magic, that he noticed the roiling water behind him too late. If he hadn't been working on weakening her, he would have been a collection of cold wounds. It only turned into a slightly chilled puddle for his boots, however.<br/><br/>He was even more engaged then before, watching the effects of his craft steal her strength. Oh, he'd underestimated her beauty. Would she like that? To be thought of as pretty for her lack in strength when she'd come here to slay him for his supposed slights against her family? The veil continued to take over her body, its roots falling just beneath her skin, toward her breasts - lewd because its master was. He took a deep breath into his chest when he saw her fall, and his jaw shook when she coughed his blood. He loved the theatre that was the Veil onset.<br/><br/>But the magic he'd put inside her was still looking for the nest of her power. Where was it? Meanwhile, he was simply taking her physical strength from her. That was enough for most opponents. He had not forgotten about the little ocean she'd planted him in, and noticed when it grew spears. By extending his feet down, lifting his body, the toes of his boot avoided the tips meant for his soles. With a quick maneuver - they were dancing, after all - he pivoted around the axis of his hips, and landed where the water was not.<br/><br/>He trained on her moving body, and ducked low as he ran to meet her. She was formidable, but the Veil had already wrapped around her nerves, and broadcasted her intentions to him while searching for her magic to encapsulate it. He ducked from the lancing to get under the blade. With his free hand rising to grab her fencing wrist, he pushed and held her handle to the sky, while in the same motion introducing the sheers between her ribs, purposefully avoiding her heart and lung. If he failed with any of this, he'd step and roll to the side, far from the fountain and her ammunition, and if he succeeded, he would twist the scissors to make the wound better, and steal her sword from her as he tossed her to lay back on the ground.<br/><br/>In case he was able to have her like that, he would use her own sword to slice down her neck, opening up her leather to expose her. He meant to bow down on his knees and lock his lips around the wounds. His tongue was known in some medical circles, and if he could stab it into the wounds, they could start healing. It was sordid endeavor, of course, tonguing her sensitive, hurting gashes, and would be accompanied by very suggestive tingles.