"... All this for a feather?"

- observed from afar.

"... You have quite the skills- yet you use them like a blunt weapon. If you honed yourself, you could be as ... precise as a scalpel," he stated, kicking dust off of himself.

His chest was radiating with pain- but he'd manage. He sauntered forward slowly, coughing again.

Shadow's brows furrowed, turning his head to glance upon Jet.

Eyes widening. Completely ignoring the idle threats.

He grabbed Jet's wrist and inspected the visceral wound.

"... Your hand. You need to see a doctor."

It was just as their battle...