Greyson grit his teeth against the pain in his leg, using his glaive to keep him upright—an action he loathed to do. His weapon was not a crutch and the Prince would be damned if he used it as such. With some effort, evening his breath, Greyson remained on his feet, straightening, lifting the hilt of his glaive from the ground and holding it steady.
He ignored the jabs and taunts, no interest in giving the demon the satisfaction of a response. But the flare of speed, embers and ash, was something Greyson couldn't defend against in his current state. His injury kept him slow, slower than usual on land, and so try as he might to deflect the incoming blow—he was unable.
Greyson rose his glaive, but Naj caught the shaft, his foot driving into the Prince's injured thigh making him grunt at the burst of pain. Blood oozed into the sand beneath his feet as he held firm—using his remaining strength not to be forced to his knees even with his weight pushed onto his wounded leg, the pain screaming through his body.
Inch by inch the Prince's leg gave way a little more, his balance teetering further, jaw set with the explosion of pain. But he held—he pushed back. Until hellfire blazed in his face, the heat harsh against Greyson's skin even more so than any other species. Fire—while his natural element of water was strong against such a thing, he was also prone to burning far more easily than others.
It wasn't until that blaze of fire flared across the hilt of his glaive, swallowing up over the Commander's arm, licking and burning from his fingers higher and higher until it cut across one shoulder, his neck, catching the left side of his face.
Greyson gave a shout of agony as the flame's burned him, his fingers locked on his weapon for as long as he could before he was forced to release, crumpling to the sand. He clutched at his blackened arm, glaring up at the demon with rage before using what little of his remaining strength he had left.
He rose his unburnt hand, commanding the waters of the Forgotten laced within his weapon, salt and sea and home—the glaive's hilt shattering in Naj's hand, saltwater exploding out, drenching the demon as the Commander gave a smirk. If it was all he'd be able to do, at least he'd see the demon burn in return.