[Yuan has always enjoyed the flare, the acrobatics, trusting in the length and balance of his weapon to keep his foes away. Kratos's style has always been blunter, pragmatic -- short and quick thrusts, trusting his shield and build to take blows Yuan expects others to pull away from. Push Yuan's guard, that's the way to go. With Lloyd's speed on top of that, and Colette's occasional chakram throw, they press Yuan more easily than Kratos had thought they could.

[But Yuan still hasn't pulled his wings.

[And he's right. Kratos is older, and worse -- fully human, not even with the exsphere Lloyd is using. His muscles are burning with exertion, and the sand in the air grates his lungs; his clothes cling to him from sweat. His hands are starting to tremble. Even if he'd been willing, he doesn't have time to pull the cruxis crystal from his belt-pouch between strikes, counterstrikes, blocks.

[The cool rush of one of Raine's buffs runs through him, in nearly the same second as Yuan blasts him with lightning -- too little, too late, as Kratos' shield is raised a split second too slow. The blast sends him tumbling and gasping, his vision blinded with tears of pain, and he hears Lloyd's scream; but Raine's magic is still working, and faster than he rightly ought to have managed Kratos rolls and is on his knees, shield already upraised to block the strike he knows must be coming.]