The trees made a wall, an oasis. They blocked out the rest of the world. A large, but shallow lake stood in the center, providing a cool and refreshing drink to all those that happened to find their way into the ring of trees. The tall grass swayed in the gentle breeze that managed to make it through the natural barrier, hiding all the birds and wildlife that lived below its top. The field was set, contestants ready, judge prepared, the winner would move on. The one that was defeated would be eliminated.

The stillness, the serenity, the peacefulness, was all disturbed as the wildlife sprung to life. Birds of all types, pheasants, falcons, and more, all flew away to a safer place. They could all sense the approaching presence. The watter rippled as a dark form stepped into it. He looked down at his distorted, rippling reflection and smiled. The time had come for his tournament to commence.

The Drow Weapon's Master reached back into the long grass. He pulled out a large bulging sack and placed it by the water's edge. Quickly pulling it open he knelt down beside the sack. Reaching in, Nafalen began systematically pulling out various weapons, pieces of armor, rings, and more. He made two piles.

The first pile held a Bloodshed Armor set, a Cloak of Neutrality, a Ring of Jumping, a Ring of Feather Falling, an Amber Ring of Replenish, Trousers of Equity, a Dragon Soul Adornment, a Hero's Heart,
The Widowmaker, Abyssmal Sunder, and Bloodletter.

The second pile held Plate Armor, a Reaving Ring, Ranger’s Cloak, Blade of Vengeance, Spiked Chain of Bloodshed, and Threnody’s Spite.

Gathering up his sack, Nafalen left the piles at the water's edge and left the oasis. He climbed a nearby tree to watch the battle that he knew was about to ensue.

Alone he walked – the only shadow against the background of the setting sun. Rose-dusk’s orange light shifted his form to a mere silhouette, which moved purposefully northward across the grasslands. Annihilate moved on silently, purposefully, until he came to the training area that had somehow been twisted into a soulless arena. There were no stands, there were now shouting fans – it was no place to have a fitting tournament, but there he found himself being pulled to, called to, as if some unseen force was guiding him to war. He did not know his adversary – it was not an enemy who had crossed his path before, but inside he felt that it would be one of the most challenging battles of his career. He even considered the chance that he was probably outmatched, and may very well have been defeated if not killed.

He found his belongings neatly placed in a pile, and nearby he found others. For a moment he considered his opponent, probably of similar build and speed, and then he considered his own defense. Anni wore simple clothes, and standing there decided that he would not dawn his armor. He picked up his sword and strapped it to his hip, and then slid the Reaving Ring upon his right ring finger before placing his dagger down into the sheath in his boot. His armor and his chain were set aside, but he was glad not to be encumbered by their still unfamiliar weight.

It was the deep breath before the plunge.

Anni found himself on the edge of patience. He was apprehensive about the battle, for he did not know what to expect, and he found himself continually glancing over at his opponents’ things. His knuckles cracked as he stood there resisting the urge to inspect them further, and finally he was forced to kneel. On the edge of the ring he sat down upon both knees, and not only bowed his head and closed his eyes, but also began to pray. As the sun fell to the horizon below Annihilate mumbled several short entreaties, but the language he spoke was far different from anything spoken on Ea. Eventually he found himself calling out to Ita the Reckless, asking for strength, but when he spoke outwards to her all his words became was incoherent babble.

There he remained, however, deeply consumed by the thoughts of battle and the prayers to whatever gods would listen. If anything divinity would be an excellent partner to have at his side for the approaching confrontation.

With the onslaught of dusk, he came with the very darkness that brought a cease to the glare of day. There, where trees swayed in an disorderly manner, the shadows danced upon his features in an unholy parade of black and gray. From such a distance, he watched the man, puzzled if his presence had already been noticed but not nearly minding if the situation were so. The man had after all employed the respect of not inspecting what was not his. Had Annihilate's morality been corrupted to meddle the possessions of another, the Nocturne would have been greatly displeased.

Faintly, azure orbs flickered beneath the cloak of the night; the fluid of his eyes renewed by a simple blink. From his place he noted the resting grounds of his own belongings, neatly arranged in a pile not far from where he stood. It was clear by now that Obsidian was not the eager fighter that most were; a more disciplined past had provided him a temperament for observance whenever chance paved a path. It was a skill attained in his youth when thieves left survival to the dexterity of the hand and the sharpness of the eye. One must after all discover the intricately woven purse before stealth took its toll.

Melandro was very keen when it came to detail and it interested him to find the man of such similar built choose speed over brunt. And so let it be a battle of agility… He uttered in his mind, acknowledging the fact that the confrontation ahead may be more of challenge than it seemed. Few had ever acknowledged the advantages of a nimble foe. They were far more threatening than any sword that could penetrate armour.

By the blackness beneath the shade of an ancient oak, Von Mortem waited until the man bowed his head and shut his lids. Men had always been more vulnerable with one less ability at their disposal after all. A thought of surprise crept into mind, but a lack of honor was far from the taste of one who was more capable than any other who would result to guerilla warfare.

Muffled by skill and the rustle of leaves, every stride he led was deafeningly silent and every accompanying breath he gave, made all the more soundless. Clad in ebony vestments that began to bellow in the wind, he wanted to test the sensitivity of Annihilate’s hearing upon his entrance. Was it sharp? Or was the man simply attentive? Callus digits locked themselves around the grip of the Bloodletter in a practiced manner, retrieving the weapon with his left from the carpet of green that cushioned it. A second sweep followed with his right. Only this time, the speed of his grasp came at a blur. Years of practice have after all, paved the way for the Nocturne to cast spells with mere thought though his mastery of magic was limited. There he claimed the second of his three blades with parallel skill to the first; a talent of ambidexterity uncommon to most. Such as well had found its edge within its rightful scabbard.

It wasn’t long before three rings adorned his fingers, each with their own purpose while his body was dressed in a garb of equity as a representation of his chosen goddess. As a final act however, Obsidian donned a draconic helm that which upon placement began to subtly change his appearance. What was once mere human flesh took on yet another identity for there beneath his tunic, scales began to form like a second skin; crawling like an otherworldly disease but was in fact a natural layer of armour. Sharp talons began their growth from his fingertips while on the other hand, the color of his pupils began to retract into two cat-like slits, unmoving to the sight of its opponent at a distance.

To the subtle light of the heavens, he left the remnants of his belongings and the third of his weaponry, The Widowmaker, by the watery edge of the pool between them. Annihilate refused to adorn himself with his plate for a reason and it was one that Melandro had chose to practice as well or so it seemed.

There, the sound of metal though brief, echoed throughout the vastness of the makeshift arena, signaling in turn, the Nocturne’s patient wait. At a rhythmic pace, his heart beat a composed song while his firmly anchored stride spoke of an unshaken stance. The tip of the Bloodletter as seemingly simple as it might appear was pointed downwards towards the partly damp earth, twirling like a mischievous screw only it would not sink further than he would allow. It remained merely at the surface, casting infrequent silvery beams with every rotation; its pommel resting within Melandro's gloved palms like a staff; his fingers toying with its handle in invitation.

Thus it would be, by the dormant stillness of the water’s reflection he awaited his adversary at the opposing side with naught a single prayer. Though he served the goddess of order, he cared little for priestly devotion for then he was armed with something more powerful, something far more useful than any sacrifice to a single deity. He was armed with a plot in mind that awaited merely the most unwary of victims and a single stroke of hand.

(Since I’m breaking down my chain and selling off my Blade of Vengeance I’m going to go ahead and say Anni is using his Longsword of Bloodshed. That way we can avoid confusion later on.)

Annihilate had fallen into a state of calm – his trepidation had melted away. His breathing had become calm for the most part, and mimicked the slow beating of his heart. He had not noticed anyone else other than himself, but his mind raced regardless and was fully aware of his surroundings. He did not hear his adversary approach, but the rustling of steel and leather as the day finally faded made his mind race. Anni did not jump to action, though; instead he remained silent and stationary like a pale-marble statue. His eyes didn’t even open to inspect the situation. His fingers did twitch with apprehension, but he had heard tales of the Obsidian Nocturne, and knew that premature action might give away some secret that the man would exploit. Still it was hard to restrain himself, and finally his eagerness got the better of him though he stood with a placid expression.

His stance was not altogether threatening, but nor did it seem laid back. It was the stance of a predator – ready to act, but calm enough to go unnoticed in a crowd. He watched Obsidian impassively, though his mind was screaming out to attack. Anni wanted to observe the very way the man moved, breathed, walked, before he made his move. That very thing did not stop him from drawing his blade, however. For a moment it appeared as if Anni was going to move in to attack, but that was not the case. With one foot over the other Annihilate began to strafe around the edge of the arena, making his way to the other side of the pool to confront his adversary. Every footstep was muffled against the grassy turf, but neither of them meant to fight with their eyes closed so it truly didn’t matter.

If he had noticed the man’s subtle use of magic Anni didn’t show it. He eyed the man observantly, but kept his distance. His eyes flickered wildly, completely contradicting his calm façade. As he finished adorning himself with various trinkets and weapons Anni huffed, and began his descent into his anger.

Suddenly, the Tempest clicked. He twisted his body around and came in strait-forward like a madman. His stance was simple but strong, but his initial slash was unconventional. Anni led with his left hand, and slashed diagonally upwards. In doing so he exposed his left side, but his right hand was there, palm faced outwards, in a mock defense incase he was attacked. Very few people led with a reversed slash due to overexposure, but Anni found it a suitable opening for it would tell him quite a few things – details that would be vital for his survival should he delve to deep in his own fury.

(no worries... I personally think though that it would have been trickier to evade a chain than a sword ;) )

Melandro’s keen watch trailed over his opponent’s frame as he began acquainting himself with Annihilate’s unspoken confidence in such feat of fighting. Few had ever dared close their eyes to a foe even at a distance. He himself does so in scarcity if not merely in necessity knowing full well the risk in a tiniest flaw in hearing. All of this is due to his awareness of the latter generations who had so skillfully learned the art of quiet warfare where every foot fall was devoid of sound and who had as well attained the knowledge of making false sounds. For simple effects, he found shutting lids it as a window for possible death… after all, four senses were always weaker than five regardless of how one may look upon it.

As Annihilate took the route deemed longer by circling around the pool, Obsidian could do nothing but unleash a weak smile. Did the man read his mind or did his intuition bid him with a wiser advice? He would never know the answer to such question. It merely left him with a second plan that would likely reveal the nature of the first in a mild hint through an outright confrontation and a clash of swords. Not for a moment was he dismayed with such a choice. It was simply a natural course of battle that he knew all too well. Bland but to how creativity could be imposed, he would see.

The Bloodletter remained in gleaming rotation still between his right hand’s gloved tips as he adjusted his body to turn to the direction of the man as he circled. Never would Melandro let him out of his sight just as a hawk locks its vision upon its prey. There, his senses became ever more alive. His hearing was far more sensitive. His vision was seemingly sharper. His reflexes were toned to the inward rush of adrenaline. He was prepared and like Annihilate, was a predator only he was the kind who lay waiting to be stirred.

And then, the rush of footsteps began as Obsidian’s stare grew stern to his adversary’s very charge. The twirl of his fingertips then finally came into a halt; the leathery feel of his gloved touch causing an abrupt friction to the grip of his blade. He was waiting. What for? He was timing, calculating, ever watching for that one moment; that single window for an opening. It was then that Annihilate began to twist his body, his blade and arms uncommonly coming from below but the path itself out of sheer observation became clear.

A flick of wrist and the Bloodletter would be transferred to his left. Few had ever come to know that the Nocturne was ambidextrous, much more that he was equally capable of fighting with what was most commonly known as the weaker hand. Twisting his hold so that his palm faced outward, he locked his grip upon his blade’s handle. There, he sent his weapon in a back-handed swing towards Annihilate’s blurred sword—its inconsistent and seemingly shifting mass, its hilt and the man’s fist being his basis for its path.

It wasn’t long before the whipping sound of wind was replaced by the clash of metal and the brief crackle of electricity. Obsidian’s draconic power engulfed him then as he used his sheer strength to bar his opponent’s blade from proceeding further. Instead, it would remain parried if not forced lower by the shifting of Melandro’s weight while the power of lightning blazed in its transfer to fellow metal... electrocuting if left unresolved. The counter however, did not end there. The Nocturne provided his adversary with a brief glance of his back, the momentum of his body thus forcing him to twist as the force of his left boot surged forward for an abdominal kick. The speed of such would be great, natural to one who has earned through his years, the abilities of a true fighter. Should it strike, it would deal its fair share of shock if not send his foe shuffling forcefully to the ground. Nonetheless however, succeed or fail, Obsidian would not leave his leg out long enough to be caught. It would be withdrawn and anchored to the earth to be used should the future deem it necessary once again.

The parry – the surge of energy – all played out within the confines of his mind without fail only seconds before they truly happened. Annihilate had fallen to the thrill of battle, and his mind raced with the possibilities and the outcomes of every movement that could be made. Traditional methods of combat would not be affective in the scene that played out before them, but any technique he used would have to be one that he knew well, which he was so accustomed to using it that it had become second nature. There was also the power of the weapon itself to contend with, to which Anni had little defense. Suddenly, everything seemed to have slowed down for just a moment, allowing him a brief glance at the moment, until that moment was stripped away and his body merely acted upon instinct.

As their weapons clashed Anni bore a white-knuckle grip upon his sword, for the sheer force that Nocturne applied behind his weapon was nearly enough to make him drop his blade. At the same time crisp bolts of electricity rolled down his blade and across his flesh sending yet another sharp pain up his arm. So as quickly as he could Anni broke the clash and their weapons fell apart. He took one step back and turned his weapon downwards in doing so. The trajectory would’ve put the flat of his weapon in the path of Nocturne’s foot and his boot would’ve hit hard and quickly. Had it not been for his free hand supporting the blade itself it would surely turned back upon him as it collided with the heel of his adversary’s boot. In response Anni was forced to take a second step back, which put practically three paces between the two combatants.

The shade cursed loudly as he was repelled, and fixed himself properly. His weapon readied itself as he fell back into position, and without relenting Annihilate would’ve come back onwards. It appeared that he had not learned his lesson before, or if he had it had not stuck for very long. Seldom did he act with such disdain for his own life, yet this seemed to be a different fight for Annihilate. It was as if he had something to prove – it was visible in his smoldering red eyes.

Annihilate too switched hands, this time reversing his blade to his right. He openly spun the weapon as he stepped back inwards and attacked again. It appeared he too was ambidextrous, but one would come to find out that it was his right that he favored though each was equally as powerful.

This time as Anni charged there seemed to be a trick up his sleeve. It was in the very manner in which he held himself. He stepped three times; at the first his blade tip pointed downwards, and stabbed towards Obsidian’s knees, but as he took his second step the blade was twisted upwards – a low feint. A pattern nearly appeared in the air as the weapon turned around and obscured the air. However, as it slashed upwards towards Obsidian’s upper torso Anni took his third step, and yet again the blade twisted – it was a double low-high feint. The entire move was based upon the fact that most swordsmen could see a low feint coming, and therefore moved to block high as the actual blow came. However, when a second feint was involved it typically left the enemy confused. The actual strike went back down low, around the groin and lower abdomen.

Strike true or evade such is the kind of phrase that those who have encountered him in the past have come to memorize often times too late.

The bolt of electricity flickered in the clear reflection of his lizard-like gaze as his body felt a certain sense of rejuvenation by the meager pain his foe had suffered. It was not at all a part of sadism. It was instead a part of the very nature of his weaponry specifically for the two he prized so greatly; the ability to heal whenever damage is dealt regardless of form, even if caused by the lightning itself sent by their very tips.

Surely the flat of his boot had once again recovered upon the ground. An unspoken trace of irritation marked his glare for the shade was quicker than he had once assessed. Then again, few could ever tell how skilled an adversary could be with but a glance. It is only when the dance of knives has begun that true talent emerges and true speed is revealed but what was indeed unraveled before him was instead a certain realization. With such a move, Melandro could merely count with but a hand the number of warriors who could come up with a block at such a short span of time with such limited resources. Annihilate, he thought, was quite creative. It was an element he found rather intimidating but it was something he wanted to test further. All abilities have a certain limit after all. Once again, he stood in wait as the Bloodletter returned to its place upon his left side, angled slightly before him whilst pointing to the earth.

He watched as the man switched his hold upon his blade. A fellow swordsman he concluded in acknowledgement for many had claimed to know how to fight with a tool of war in their reach but had never truly learned the value of not having a “dominant hand.” By this time, it was almost as if he was watching himself before the mirror only in truth he was not facing a barrier of glass but a man who had begun his second attempt at an attack.

The first step was taken but Obsidian would not have it any further. He rushed to his defenses almost immediately before the entire process could complete. With the use of his sword, he parried by twirling his blade in a nearly three hundred sixty degree clockwise arc in a back-handed and downward flourish that would deflect Annihilate’s attempt to stab; placing a halt to whatever trickery from the very beginning of the stroke. The edge of the Bloodshed weapon would then be sent away from Melandro’s body in a manner not as forceful as before but nonetheless imposing. It would simply be enough to set another course yet insufficient to cause a bounce. Instead, it would graze upon the sharpened edge of the Bloodletter, proceeding past Obsidian’s side as the man’s initial momentum to feint an impaling ensued. Its intent is sheer deflection and nothing more though electricity through contact would once again surge to take its toll.

It was then that while maintaining sufficient distance, a counterattack would be revealed almost instantaneously to his previous act as a surprise. Not only would there be a testament of Obsidian’s ambidexterity but also a proof that he was capable of wielding two weapons on either of his gloved palms with equal and deadly talent. For then the curtain of his cloak parted; the Abysmal Sunder already in his right hand’s grasp. There it mimicked though not quite, the first of Annihilate’s attacks. From its scabbard, it would perform a diagonally upward slice whose edge aimed to carve its mark upon its adversary’s torso in a deep gash. It did not end there however, for half-way through the sweep, he would make the situation far more difficult for his opponent. With haste, he took a lunge; his body drawing closer for two reasons: that with the hindrance of the Bloodletter, it would take a far longer time for the shade to recover his sword to perform a frontal block and that, should he consider taking a step back, he would still be within Obsidian’s reach. The delay with such a lunge was also timed. Too soon and he would have given the man a chance prevent his blade from being drawn. Too late and there would be a greater chance for Melandro to slice through thin air. To the Nocturne, every fraction of a second mattered for that perfect timing. As to whether he would succeed, it was all left to fate.

For a moment Annihilate was caught by surprised, which nearly caused him to curse out loud. By merely ignoring the warning signals in his mind he was nearly cut down. It hadn’t truly dawned on him how skilled an adversary Obsidian truly was – he had heard stories, and had knew the rumors, but it hadn’t been so clear to him as right then.

His first reaction was to jerk back and to attempt to get away from the man, but he knew this was impossible with such a short window of time. A signal flashed in his mind at the very thought, and as it did he glimpsed Obsidian’s right hand for just a moment – it was not free. Annihilate automatically knew what was coming. Like before he turned his hand over causing the flat of his blade to press against the parrying edge of the Bloodletter. Then, in a sort’ve strange way, he began to shrink back. His right foot slid backwards over the grass in sync with the swords cruel slash, and he knees bent as it continued to rise. Anni’s head ducked down and his body stretched and bent while Obsidian’s Abysmal Sunder continued overhead. Anni twisted beneath the weapon and bent at the waist, and in doing so ducked beneath the slash.

With his anger rising as the fight grew increasingly difficult and his mind being overtaken by rage his pain threshold would’ve also risen. However, his weapon would’ve made contact with the Bloodletter longer than he wished, and because of a longer exposure to the enchanted steel a greater amount of electricity would’ve been born across his skin and would’ve sprawled across his flesh. He cringed painfully, but while Obsidian’s blade was the source of his rejuvenated body Annihilate’s ring provided a similar atonement. The black gem upon the band was glowing white hot with every bit of damage given to him – already it had went through several souls to heal him. There were few left.

His weapon would’ve slid away from the parry at the exact same time, and he would’ve been at Obsidian’s left when the first slash was complete. Anni did not attempt to dodge the follow-up slash, however. He simply did not have the ability to get out of range of the two whirling blades without some sort of diversion. So, he grunted lowly and drew up his sword, and as the second attack came he applied as much for as possible, using both hands, in a downwards slash. Their blades would clash together, jarring Anni’s wrists but locking them at the hilts. Anni then attempted a technique similar to Obsidian’s own. With their blades together Anni twisted at the waist and his left leg snapped out attempting to make contact with the back of Obsidian’s knee. Like his adversary Annihilate wouldn’t have left his leg out long enough for it to be injured.

If there was any phrase that best described such a moment, it would be this: Annihilate was indeed a difficult one to annihilate. Any warrior who wished for such a name to be chiseled off the face of Arda would find themselves in a rather complex situation of swordplay; for the man knew how to fight and he did not merely act as the cards were laid. In any feat of combat, skill stood merely at par with ingenuity. Eliminate either of the two and one would be no better than any street’s dabbler of knives. His opponent was an intelligent one, making use of anything within his faculties to perform; he relied on himself and not his equipment or ungodly powers that lay resident within in order to survive. That was what Melandro Von Mortem had always molded in his mind to be the best of fighters.

The Nocturne subconsciously watched as his sharpened revelation had once again been escaped. To this, his body correspondingly oriented itself to face his foe in the process and in accordance to Annihilate’s plan, both the Sunder and the Bloodshed sword would meet in a fearsome clash. Upon impact, Melandro felt at once the burden of his opponent’s exertion. What was once a firm and unwavering arm was jarred with difficulty and without the aid of a special kind of bracers, Obsidian himself suffered a tremendous amount of strain. In pain his wrist may have been, he was relentless. His right after all, was his sole defending arm at this point; the most crucial should he ever succeed in pushing through with a counter attack that would be the most difficult for his foe to evade.

For some reason, he found such a situation quite familiar but he would fail to realize this until in his peripherals, he caught the man’s attempt to force a kick. There was little room for error and it would have been impossible for time to allow the Bloodletter to perform any act in prevention. The Sunder was locked in place and to move would yield an opening. The only option left was to receive his opponent’s blow however he would not do so in a manner that would make Annihilate’s attempts to wear him down any easier.

With urgency, Melandro angled his right leg in such a way that he would meet the kick head on only his knee would be bent enough to fortify his defenses. In a way, it would come as a block only he did not use anything more than his very own limb. The tremor of pain of course was unavoidable, causing him to wince upon impact… but pain itself became his nourishment. It fueled his will to exert himself even further in an inward transformation into a more dangerous adversary.

As soon as the attack had ended, Obsidian made his move.

Being the opportunist that he was, he would use the very nature of his opponent’s attack as grounds for a counter-maneuver. With weapons locked snuggly from guard to guard, the Abysmal Sunder would be useless as a tool of offense. It instead served more as an assurance that Annihilate’s Bloodshed sword would find it more difficult if not nearly impossible to block an attack from the second of Melandro’s blades… especially if the counter came from below and from the very side that the Sunder, with the greater half of his strength, had defended.

Using his left leg to advance in a forward lunge, the Bloodletter would be unleashed from its dormancy however due to such an aggressive maneuver, it would come from a closer proximity. Having been pointed previously towards the ground, its cutting edge would be turned towards his foe’s body in a matter of a single flick of wrist. And there, in one fluid stroke, it would pass underneath Annihilate’s extended and armed hand in a horizontal slash aimed slightly beneath the man’s rib cage. It would be no doubt merciless with the speed exerted upon its attempt to strike; twice than most could ever swing their blade.

When his kick had completed he’d be nearly shoulder to shoulder with Obsidian, and because of that the strain on their clash would’ve changed. It gave a bit more leverage to move the swords away if the angle of withdrawal were correct. However, under the circumstances he wasn’t sure he liked the position it put him in. In any other case it might’ve been different, but Obsidian was no fool, and Annihilate had already come close to being slashed or kicked already. Now, another attack was about to entire his repertoire of those he had avoided or blocked.

He was about to be skewered if he was not careful. He could not say that he was as great a fighter as Obsidian, but nor was he a mage. He put more faith in his blade than anything, and for the longest time that had been the only thing. He was beginning to branch out and in turn he not practicing his blade techniques as much. Still, it seemed that his creativity had not left him, which was good because against his current adversary he really had nothing else. The man was faster, stronger, but Anni had the gift of foresight, and if his luck held out maybe he would bring a new champion to the Marauders.

There was no blocking the thrust. Every instinct in Annihilate knew this well before the attack was made. He saw it in his mind, and had wished it were different. Any other technique could’ve been brushed away by merely twisting his wrists, but in the position he was in there was no blocking. His only hope was escape. There was no real defense for him, and he knew it. Annihilate had to turn this to his advantage somehow.

Again, it was as if the moment froze in his mind and he was drawn from his body to assess the situation. He could clearly see Obsidian’s blade moving to slide beneath his defense, and he could see the extremely small chance he had of escape. However, there was one thing he clearly glimpsed. There was one chance. Annihilate’s wrist twisted in that same subtle movement he had already used to many times. It released their hilts from the clash, and it caused the flat of his blade to press against the sharp edge of Abysmal Sunder. Then, positioned as he was in relation to Obsidian, he turned. Since the Bloodletter was aimed to go beneath his arm and weapon, then his blade slid apart it would do so. Fortunately Annihilate’s side would not be in the way.

He had sidestepped, and had also spun. He put his right leg behind the left as Obsidian had struck out, and he twisted around giving a glimpse of his back. By the time Obsidian had stabbed Annihilate would be right behind him, his long-sword slashing at a slightly downwards angle, and carrying the full momentum of the spin, which was aimed precisely at Obsidian’s lower back.

A knowing fighter would learn to never expect each blow to strike true however certainly this came to Melandro’s dismay. Few would ever be so talented to be capable of using such maneuvers at nearly the most impossible of situations. In his years of combat, he had yet to see a single foe evade in such short span of time against the quickest of swipes and one of the lightest swords ever to be held. The Bloodletter was crafted to be as swift as its very element with a weight a little over that of a pound. To Obsidian, he met evasion with complete and utter disbelief. There was certainly something more that worked within this man’s mind and he was determined to break it.

All too well, he had watched Annihilate as he trailed the man with a gaze through such a spin. And as soon as his mind came into an awareness that his attack would fail, it communed with his body to cause a halt to his actions, becoming the undeniably cruel twist of fate. The Bloodletter would merely reach half-way before it set for another course as if in a chase for the very blood it hungered. It was twisted once again, this time inwardly as it set for the man’s exposed back in time for the very split second when Annihilate would have completed his turn. The Sunder’s position on the other hand, yielded a more natural course of a parry. Aided with the twist of his very body though delayed but had surged to orient itself with its foe’s position, a clean swipe past his side would cause the sword’s edge to defend his lower back; once again in the much favored back-handed block that may somehow bring quite an assurance that the Bloodshed sword might indeed fail to impede the coming of yet another attack.

At the same time, Obsidian would have submitted himself into a spin of his own as the Bloodletter in turn targeted Annihilate’s lower back, reaching far in a swipe much quicker than it would have initially been expected. In fact, it would have come perhaps at half its expected pace. Subconscious to Melandro however, his mind began to work out of sheer instinctive measure. Years spent in the battlefield had caused it to function in ways that were focused on both preservation and opportunity regardless of whatever medium was to be used… regardless of how it was to be played.

Foresight would have played the trajectory of the Bloodletter’s path, yet would it be quick enough to play that split second where the blade would possibly be inches from impact? The core of the Nocturne’s mind cast what even surface thoughts would not have realized until the act itself was obvious. Within such meager form of measure, a naturally spoken spell would be cast almost instantaneously, but in silence. Not a word was required nor an action. It was composed out of a simple web of sheer thought and suddenly within that small window of time perhaps away from his adversary’s gaze, blur triggered itself; surging into the power of Obsidian’s left arm thus increasing the speed of the swipe into a seemingly ungodly blaze within a split second.

There was an undeniably great chance that such a maneuver would have struck and by its power, it may even cause a severing to the man’s spine; a death that Melandro himself did not will at any time nor even welcome in thought for but a single chance. It was a tournament, not an hour for war and the true spilling of blood. Only the most critical of injuries were permitted and even such were frowned upon with distaste.

A last-minute flick of wrist and the edge of his sword would be righted, leaving only the weapon’s flat to strike whatever it was that could possibly be struck but nonetheless with tremendous force. There were of course still some elements that could not be changed by even the most honorable of minds.

Should the fight end anytime soon, the questions in Obsidian’s mind would have then be answered. Annihilate would prove to be quite a valuable ally.

The thrill of battle had overtaken Annihilate, and he began to find it hard to resist the urge to kill. He knew, however, that despite his efforts he was sorely outmatched by Obsidian, and only his death would result if their battle went that far. That realization blossomed very suddenly within his mind.

As Anni twisted free of Obsidian’s weapon he hadn’t suspected that his adversary would be as skillful as to reverse his momentum so quickly and easily. It almost seemed as if Obsidian could read Annihilate’s every move. That was a feat reserved for a very select few. In any case as he span away he felt the electric sting, and the free running of his blood – he hadn’t even seen the blade. The Bloodletter had not cut into his back fully. It had nicked his exposed flank, but as it did it drew across cutting into the back of his left arm. Annihilate didn’t hear himself cry out in pain, but he knew he had. Electricity rolled off of the blade and through his body, and he stopped what he was doing very abruptly and recoiled. He didn’t he complete his slash from before. So, there was nothing for Sunder to parry away.

However, as he recoiled his initial response was to reach out and console his injured arm, but he found that again he’d exposed most of his flank to his adversary. So, with as much effort, and as quickly as he could his longsword twisted into an underhanded position, and raised up behind him. There was not enough time for him to create a solid, complete block, though. It merely caught the edge of the Bloodletter, saving his spine, but causing it to cut into the left side of his lower back. Again Anni roared in agony as the electricity rolled off of the sadistic blade, but neither time could he remember hearing himself. He was lost. Annihilate stumbled back without grace and without elegance. He put several quick paces in between he and Obsidian, and his weapon spun around several times before instinctively going back to a high guard, which he had little more power to hold it high with his left hand. With his blade poised above his head the Shade looked onto his opponent, but slowly it descended and hanged limply at his side.

Meanwhile, blood was trickling down several little nicks and cuts that he hadn’t even realized he had suffered, and both of the greater wounds were bleeding profusely. His left arm was literally covered in crimson tears, as was his back.

Anni was at his wits-end as to a plan of attack, and knew it was time to end it. His breathing was erratic, and his voice hoarse. “It seems,” he said in a voice the two could share easily, “That I am defeated, and that the rumors of your skill are true.” Although not hesitant about entering the battle he knew that, even from the start, there would be no winning. Obsidian was far more skilled, at least that had been what he had heard, but there was no doubting the whispers the moment he saw the man. In battle the two of them had drawn blades, and it was apparent from the start which of the two was greater. There need be no words amongst the clash of steel, for when warriors met in the arena every non-essential detail was stripped away, and they knew one another, for just a moment, completely. No words were necessary. He wished, in a way, it wasn’t so. Still, he held his anger back, for he respected his opponent far more than anyone else he’d fought in this God-fearing realm. Others claimed victory with their spells and their chants, but steel worked a bit differently.

The power of will funneled through his very arms as milliseconds ticked in time with a warrior’s deadly precision. It was as if the moment was void of sound and concentration flowed like music into one’s ears. The world moved as if slowed and cries were muffled as if by deaf ears. There was nothing more than the increasing volume of the blunt sound of steel against the forces of air, growing ever more to a fierce howl until it climaxed upon impact against a foe’s flesh in a not so lethal whack. It was certain to cause a bruise however death would have even been more evident had the blade not been angled in such a way so as not to decapitate spines. It was but a tournament after all and for Melandro, to relieve one’s soul from the imprisonment of a mortal body was reserved only for war; such an irony to the very curse he himself suffered as the culprit of his toils laughed inwardly to the weakness of his own spirit. Valec has always done well to mock him.

The demon snarled in Obsidian’s consciousness as if its ethereal hands crept to take hold of the Bloodletter. The dark one still wanted to play and it would have had Melandro mouth it himself had the swordsman not tightened his jaws in a firm, restrained close. It was there, as he stood in place, that to his foe’s eyes, a weakness would be revealed. His left hand shook just as a hidden turmoil had begun to brew. The bastard wanted to take control. He hungered for the blood that the mortal body would forbid. It was a struggle that caused sapphire eyes to fall upon an epileptic hand. His gloved grasp was firm but the sword was righting itself like a turn of a knob, angling to a dangerously offensive lock that pointed towards an injured adversary.

With a tremendous force of a righteous spirit rising in revolt, the Nocturne’s hand snapped open. The Bloodletter fell into the arms of gravity, descending towards the ground in a metallic clang of steel against carpeted earth. Consciousness would soon be regained from a body that almost seemed trapped in a state of trance. The greater amount of Annihilate’s words had apparently fallen upon deaf ears that caught merely the last of his message.

“Do forgive such ill mannerisms…” Melandro uttered almost with urgency to the sole man who had come to witness the greater flaw of his being. “In the recent days, I have not been myself.”

He clenched his fist that shook in withdrawal into the shadows of his cloak just as the Sunder found its sheathe upon the uneven soil. It was then that he stared into the soul of the man whose name he had still not known at least not through the formalities of an introduction. Without a word, he observed the nature of his previous adversary’s wounds. The man was bleeding as a result of their conflict while blade was still raised in a struggle to prove that all the will of a warrior still remained un-stripped of its title.

From the darkness his leather-coated hand returned into the moonlight’s unholy beam, flicking into the air, a vial that spiraled towards Annihilate in a swift toss. Unlike what the man may have encountered in the past, it was a potion that aimed to cure light wounds in meager application. It was the least that Melandro could offer in response to one of the few duels he had found to be one of the most challenging that barely involved any skill in magic as much as it was readily available. Obsidian respected mages but he bore a greater respect upon those who could truly wield a weapon and brandish it with far more impressive talent than any spell could possibly be cast.

“It was a pleasure, my friend. I don’t believe I have come to face another Bladesmaster until this eve. You are still young and in time you will be greater… but for now, I believe it would be best that you cure those cuts.” Melandro lifted his finger, casually pointing towards the crimson-drenched tear upon Annihilate’s left arm.

(sorry if it took me too long to reply... I've been on vacation :lol:)

In the few moments where time seemed to slow and Annihilate was allowed to look upon Obsidian, before either of them spoke, he saw something unusual that he had not felt before. He had seen it before, so many times in the past, but for a few moments he was dumbfounded. Then, as clarity blossomed within his mind, he felt as if he were looking into a mirror. Their lives were similar, running parallel to one another upon the same path, though Obsidians seemed to have begun some time before his own. War had sculpted both of their minds, but Annihilate’s carried a dread hate and had evolved over the years he and his demonic counterpart had been bound together. No longer did he perceive things as two separate entities peering through the same window, or suffer the pain of insanity and schizophrenia, but within him still resided the hellish forces that, at times, had taken control to wreak unimaginable havoc.

However, now Vaelen and Serza were gone, and only Annihilate remained.

After he heard himself speak he seemed to be aware of the situation as it surrounded him. He saw Obsidian drop his weapon, and his hand grew tight around his own as if he were afraid for his weapon to share the same fate. But it was not the thud of his weapon upon the soft ground that caught his attention, but the distance appearance of its wielder.

Annihilate was at a loss for words as he watch the internal struggle of the man and beast. It was yet another scene he had watched many times, and it replayed over and over again the times that he had fought himself for control. Every year grew more and more painful, and everyday therein felt like a lifetime. But one day, some time later his consciousness deemed it necessary to form a balanced union. That union took precedence in his mind, but when he came to terms with his own new immortality he saw that Obsidian had recovered.

He nodded and stood strong, seemingly unaffected by the wounds he had received, but regardless he accepted the small vial in his free hand. Without words he knew what lay within the crystal vial, but he did not seem interested in it, though he thanked Obsidian with a gracious nod and set the vial aside in his belt. “I have suffered worse,” he said being reminded of the ghastly injuries he had received in the past. Many of which he left great scars across his pale figure, which were outlined in a pale violet-black, “But you have my gratitude for your concern. I assume few other adversaries would receive such treatment,” he continued. His blade found the sheath he had tied to the left side of his belt, and afterwards he casually inspected his wounds. “So, my brother,” he said, “We know each other by steel and reputation, but I believe introductions are in order. I am Annihilate.”