A brief internal conflict struck the Leviathan: did he stop? Should he stop? V-Onyx-Three had asked for a no-holds-barred spar--but how far would Vargas take that? He didn't want to truly harm him. But at the same time, it wasn't as though they were weak; it was that Vargas was made for brawling, for hunting and killing. Onyx-Three was not.

V-Onyx-Three was latched onto his arm, much like a vicious dog; it was weighing him down on that side, an imbalance, claws and teeth digging in. Vargas drew his other arm back and began slamming it for Onyx-Three, repeatedly. He kept his fist closed; he didn't want to rake open Onyx's flesh, at least. He wasn't aiming to bleed the archer out. But he aimed, while he was close and attached to a single position (namely: his other damn arm), to batter Onyx-Three with heavy punches. To the head, the torso, the shoulders, the sides--whatever he could reach that his own arm didn't block.

He didn't hold back on strength; but... he didn't use claws or teeth, himself.

Vargas did not want an opponent getting to his neck. Not that he had much of a neck. He was built different. Not... necessarily in a good way, in that regard; the weird, bulbous muscle between jaw and shoulder wasn't exactly nice to look at. But regardless of how he looked--neckless--it wasn't a good place for an enemy to get claws and teeth into.

Irritatingly, Onyx-Three was dodging. Irritating, because it meant Vargas was quite literally punching himself, if with glancing blows. And Vargas hit hard. Admittedly, he had to admire that: even in the midst of battle he took note. Onyx-Three was clambering, scrambling, possibly broken-limbed or at least sore and yet clinging and maneuvering with agility and intense determination. It would be something to mention, after the battle, though he was already realizing its fighting style didn't fit well with the bow. Brawling and ranged, fragile attacks did not mix well. And that was Vargas's fault, for not realizing this sooner. Perhaps Cain- he thought, but he had no real time to finish that sentence.

Because, yes, it was about to reach his shoulder, his neck, his face and he really didn't want to lose all his eyes.

Vargas flung himself sideways and down, aiming to throw his weight down on that shoulder, and then roll; to force Onyx-Three to throw itself clear, or to be steamrolled under his bulk.

His first instinct was to leap forward, to pin, to finish it. But that was an instinct of an Overseer, a hunter, a Valkhound.

His instinct as Master immediately stayed his hand, and he grimaced and stopped, his uninjured eyes falling to Onyx-Three's leg. "Stop," he commanded. And then, more wryly, "I think we both need to find someone who can heal our injuries." He hoped that Onyx-Three did stop; he was coming quickly to a realization--and a subsequent plan.

His previous thought of Cain blossomed into a full concept. Yes: Onyx-Three needed training with his chosen weapon, and the tactics that went with it. And Vargas did have some knowledge of it. He raised a hand to his eye, feeling at it. He... thought the eyeball was still there, but wounded. Scratched, pierced, but maybe fixable. The wound that curved across his face where he'd flinched away was jagged, would scar, and still dripped glowing chartreuse blood.

He grunted and dropped a bloodied, glowing hand, studying Onyx with five eyes, and one squinted shut and bloody. "I've made a mistake in your training. But you've done remarkably well despite that. Let us go to Pisces, and see if Tenzin is willing to help us with our wounds--you can sit on my back for that, if you like--and I will explain along the way. If you are able. Unless you know someone closer who can heal?"

Vargas gave a short laugh--one with little humor in it, though humor was there, nonetheless. He explained, as he reached down to help V-Onyx-Three onto his back, as requested. "The mistake is not how I struck you." Notably, he didn't apologize for that. "It is in your training. I have never seen an army at work, but I know enough of how they do. The archers are at the rear. When hunting large prey--a hunter, with his bow, is hidden, often in the trees. When you are engaged in close range, you are at a disadvantage--as you see."

He glanced back, but he couldn't really see over his own back. "Are you secured?" he asked. The spines and quills were dangerous, yes, but no doubt Onyx-Three could grab them without impaling himself, at least. "Let's be off."

His stride he kept carefully even and slow enough not to dislodge his passenger. And he was pretty sure this was the first time anyone had ridden him, before, but necessity was what it was. He really did not want to lose an eye. "Your strikes were good," he explained, as they walked. "There are few who've ever wounded me in a worthwhile manner. But if you were perched somewhere high, or hidden in the shadows-? You could have done that half a dozen times, perhaps more, if I could not get to you in turn."

Vargas let that sit for a moment as he moved on, his stride taking them past the exit of Draco and into the tunnel beyond.

"I think the best way to approach this..." Our archer Master is dead. That was a complication. Ugh. "...might be to go to Cain. While we do not have a dedicated archer in this era, Overseer Cain can at least teach you how to hide yourself. Explain this specific issue: tell it that an archer is a ranged attacker who must remain both hidden and beyond reach, and ask it to teach you how to do so. Come to me--either of you--with any questions. Or if the Overseer does not have time, ask it to speak to me."

He'd sort that problem if and when they came to it.