Close to Death

Cleric Occam had successfully disrupted the White Lady's song. He immediately celebrated by removing his dark coat, flexing his muscles, and screaming obscenities. 

At whom the half-naked fellow was yelling to, Tycondrius had no idea. 

A short distance away, the Dread Wraith had recovered from her fall. She had placed her ghostly hands together, condensing black and purple mana into what appeared to be a Third-Circle destruction spell. Mister Occam was about to be obliterated by a soul-rending sphere thrice his size. 

Of course, Tycon was far enough from the spell's path and its subsequent danger. Though he wasn't willing to kill the Cleric, he had no qualms in *not* saving him. 

"Eternal Flame!! ⌈Protect! The! FAITHFUL!!!!⌋" Gold-Rank Weaponmaster Bannok dashed in front of Occam, bracing his shield. A thick veil of silvery mana formed in front of the two.