“Koschei, hold on!” he calls, reaching out with his last bit of air and sense. He’s kneeling in his own blood, sliding forward and backward and sideways, all at once.
“KOSCHEI!” his cry falls silent, however, as his knees finally give out and he falls backward, his feet slipping to the sides, jostling his leverage.
Koschei of Oakdown slips off the big shard like that last bit of ice cream, teetering at the top, his body a tiny shell of peanut stuck to the edge of the paper bag.
Any gust of wind could...
Any wind! The Time Winds! The residues should be leaking out of the Rose Ring by now! If he can hold to the tiny touch of those trapped in the Ring’s metal, the loops of time energy wrapping around the Master instead of the Master himself, maybe... the ring should still have enough juice for that. Yes.
He reaches out again, looking down over the blood-smeared glass floor, getting a feel for the location of the Ring in relation to the engine and the length of Koschei’s arm.
Then he closes his eyes, and lifts, keeping tightly to both his blood-wet anchoring shards, both of them cutting into the sinew and arteries above his elbow as he uses his hands to manipulate the energy of the Time Winds.
He pulls, baring his teeth against the friction of the shard against the Master’s flesh.