Szayel nudged his glasses up his nose. Fornicaras chakra was still swirling through his own, and he didn't shut it down and force the mask away yet.

"I may be an ice subtype," right now at least, "but I'm not a mage." And he certainly wasn't one with Even's reputation for a supernatural degree of control over the element.

He especially didn't have that sort of control over the ice. The ice came from Fornicaras, who wasn't a natural collaborator at the best of times.

He huffed at Ignis, too. "Since when do you give orders?"