Without hesitation, Sain flicked his wrist and threw forward a glob of dark red magic. It hit the foxkin's sword and all but dissipated into a cloudy blood-hued mess, and Sain cringed. Not exactly what he had been expecting. He swung his right arm up again, arcing it up to the left, and pushed out a solid, pulsating red wall in an attempt to stop the blade. Sain scoffed. "'Whatever god I pray to?'" I don't need the blessing of some grandly revered deity to guide my hand.