No amount of patience was getting his eyes to adjust to the glow piercing past gaps in his arms; he could feel it through his eyelids. It was awful. Why was everything just so awful now? He just...All he wanted was just...

Martin swayed, making a frustrated sound. All that pent-up energy was demanding action; he shot a fast and painful glare at the light ahead, barely making out the silhouetted shape below it before swinging his arm forward and launching the over-sized lance high over head. Poorly aimed, it but scraped the metal close to the light before evaporating into a rain of dust, while the force of its escape sent Martin reeling back. Unsuccessful, he gave another cry, angry.

Again, another lance, lower.