[h2][color=bc8dbf]A tool is only as sharp as the one who wields it.[/color][/h2]

A chink in the armor. It wasn't what Elio hoped for, but it was a damn good start. He took a glance at the others, or the others that he could see this side of the beast anyway, progress was being made without a doubt, so he needed to pick up some slack. What's the point of making a weakness if it can't be exploited? He stepped forward, his hand outstretched again, and stones shifted beneath his feet as his momentum picked up. It was time to pick up a bit of slack. The contact of stone beneath Elio's feet and the familiar stick of rust in his hand, the rippling pain of the fragments digging in and feeling his stores as they were beneath his skin...

[i]One small drop, in a mouthful of blood.[/i]

A trickle of sanguine lifeblood dribbled down from his right arm, a new opportunity surfacing. He needed to get some of the excess [i]out[/i], lest he start losing mobility. He felt like an old man with arthritis when he thought of it, joint problems arising ever since his magic. So he used it. He rolled up his overcoat's sleeves, rust gnats still swarming around as if they were attracted merely by its presence, rusted metal peeking from his flesh like amethyst escaping its geode.

[i]Painful little bitch... I can hardly tell the difference between being stabbed with a needle or metal breaking through... What the hell am I talking about, they're the same feeling anyway.[/i]

A pull, a tug, like yanking a fishhook straight out of your arm, blood was no longer held back by the narrow seam between rust and flesh, his lifeblood ran free with the pained grunt that came forth from deep within Elio's throat. The chunk, no larger than two, maybe three, inches long, a few centimeters in thickness, and more than a few barbs that still clung to the flesh that it was birthed from, floated unsteadily beside him as he came closer to the stone-horn, eyes focused on his man-made weakness. His spear was thrust forward like the banner of some general leading troops into battle, the 'cheap shot' firing forward towards its mark and gaining quick momentum, its half-assed marksman soon to follow.

[i]Charging in like some barbarian... hmph. Sounds fun, there's a first time for everything after all.[/i]

The spear tugging him forward, upward, onward... pain begets emotion, the heat of passion and apathy. With a step dug deep he reaches for the sky, velocity and continuance of motion carrying his journey forward. His spear was trained behind his bullet prepared to strike.

[i]The Hammer and the Chisel.[/i]

[indent][color=bc8dbf]"Excelsior, bitch!"[/color][/indent]

The words bellowed from his chest as he struck the nail with whatever force he could muster mid-air, the clanging frequency of metal ringing against one another echoed in his ears...

[i]A true symphony.[/i]