Syrlya purses his lips, jerking his attention back away from Strange. He's not sure if the tightness in his chest is more frustration or the herbicide now.

"Fine. You can do no wrong, you know and do better than everyone else, you don't care about anything that doesn't suit your own self-inflated importance," he hisses the end of it, looking around. They haven't run into trouble so far... just where has the Hunt gone?

He tightens his grip on his blade. "I'm worried about you, Strange, and I doubt I'm the only one! But it seems like you care about nothing but your own ego, and maybe your wife."