Taran looked at Mack take in the sights and nodded quietly to himself. As soon as he got the smaller demon back to his home world, he would be free to do what he wanted. Which was, probably, more training. He raised his arm to gesticulate while saying something, but it was immediately ripped down by the force of the spiked club coming into contact with his shoulder. He made a choking noise, and stumbled. The club followed through and grazed the scapular of his right wing, the force causing it to bend uncomfortably into the other. His shoulder seared with pain, and his hand shook at the sudden impact.<br/><br/>As he turned, he first eyed up Mack. His lips curled into an angry snarl, but he faltered when he realized that the smaller demon still remained at his side. He continued his round, feet shifting in the same direction as the swing of the club. He didn't have to look very far behind of himself to see his opponent, which enabled him with more time to prepare an attack. A new sparring partner was something that Taran thought to himself unhappily. Now was not the time, especially for some peasant to pick fights with him. His eyes narrowed angrily. He almost reached for his sword, but remembered the poor state of his shoulder.<br/><br/>Instead, in his lower right hand, he conjured a ball of flame and attempted to rake his hand across his attacker's face. He hoped his arm could reach that far as he took in how tall the newcomer was. In the back of his mind, he remembered how close he was to a leyline, but the biting pain in his upper arm reminded him how little he cared, and how much this commoner needed to suffer. He performed a follow up kick to Paciano's stomach in hopes of distancing himself from the hulking demon, but in the sheer state of panic Taran was in he wasn't entirely sure how accurate he was. His wings spread behind him, one of them only extending about three fourths of the way out. If Mack wasn't careful, he would probably be buffeted by one of them.