It is his own fault. Hisahide is an adult enough to admit his failings. He has grown used to his little crow protecting his back and it builds complacency.

His armor softens the blow but not by much. A hot fire burns as he tilts his head to acknowledge The pain the same way one would a foreign sound. Electricity crackles off his shoulder before it dies away to smoke in the air. He flexes his fingers as blood runs down the tips, flicking bits of red onto the mirrors.

"It seems as though I must once more be an adult and teach a rowdy child that he should not have such tantrums." Unsheathing one of the swords (surprisingly not the one he had been teasing with earlier), he clicks his tongue as he turns to stalk back toward the little tame dragon.