Darkness fell swiftly over the stands of Termáre Dagor. It was approaching night, and many city servants scurried about, setting alight the torches that stood in a strategic alignment all about the Battlestand. The entire massive amphitheater was slowly but steadily being lit with the flicker of fire, as the stars shone and the full moon hung overhead. Unlike the previous battles, these would be fought in the relative darkness, testing the fighter’s ability to compete with the distraction of a crowd and the impairment of limited vision.

A small breeze kicked up dust as it blew slowly across the circular field of The Battlestand. The ground here was torn and bloodied, and no green thing grew save for specks of grass and weeds around the very edges of the battlefield. Otherwise, the ground was constantly trampled by the millings of heavy feet, either training or fighting for their lives. This setting was much more glamorous than the previous stage for the battles in the tournament. The Drow Nafalen had come to Xoco some time ago requesting some assistance with the tournament, mostly keeping the competitors in line. But now it seemed that Xoco would be the one to begin the matches.

There were two entrances to the Battlestand, each one guarded by a heavy oaken door with sturdy steel rivets. Three guards armed with steel halberds kept watch over each door. Observers milled into the seats around the Battlestand, anxiously awaiting the battle to come. The slight hum of the crowd’s chatter filled the air, a soft rambling of a thousand different voices. It seemed rather out of place for Xoco to simply be standing here, amongst all of these people, none of them knowing who he really was. At best, he looked like a nobleman, and at worst a merchant who tried too hard. His blue and silver clothing and basic human features held no mystery for the spectators.

Two armored, heavy-built men brought out the equipment that each competitor had requested. The battles would follow one another, and first up was the match between Sartana and Annihilate. One was a demon hunter, the other a shade. It promised an interesting match. Xoco knew not exactly what laid within the piles of metal and various instruments of war, only that within each pile was a pointy reckoning that would shudder each opponent.

Finally, the stands had begun to fill up, and the noise of the crowd became very loud. It would be interesting to see if the competitors could cope with the deafening hum of the crowd. The firelight cast an eerie shadow across the Battlestand, for it had been commanded that the torches nearest to the battlefield not be lit as to provide some darkness in which for the competitors to fight. Everything was set. The very first battle was about to begin. With a nod to each of the guards, the massive doors were pulled open.

“Congratulations to both of you on making it this far,” said Xoco, “You have both proven yourselves once already in battle. But now you must fight a mightier opponent, and on a larger stage. Once you are ready, you may pick up your equipment, and begin!”

Beneath the pit, underneath the sand, the Shade sat quietly. He was garbed in solid black clothing, and his hair obscured his vision. In the darkness he appeared to be a bit of pale moon light flashed against the night sky. Slowly, he rose, and lifted himself from the gloom and dismal muck that was his consciousness. Within it, he had heard the call of battle, and had strove to ready himself for the thrill. Annihilate waded silently in his own dark brood, and finally, hearing the crowd through the vaulted stone ceiling, he went to join in the bloodshed.

The path was lit with torches, and a glow appeared as he came to the end of the tunnel. Within the arena a set of pillars were the only decoration, and various items were pilled together. At each end a wrought iron gate stood erect and tall as a means to shield the world of the horrid warriors who called the Arena their home, yet at the west end one of the four creaked to life, and from the black depths beneath the stadium seats the Beast of Annihilation stepped from the darkness. He swept across the barren landscape of the pit floor with his arms raised, hearing the energetic screams, cheers and boos of the crowd. Thunderous applause littered the night sky as the number of people grew larger and larger – some cast roses and gifts to the warriors of the night, yet many threw curses and rotten food though none reach the Shade.

But despite the depraved cheers and the abhorrent mocking he beckoned them on – goading them with screams of his own, cheers, and by waving of his arms higher and higher. Never before had be been the center of such morbid approval. There, amidst the dust, Annihilate knew what it was like to be a God. There, in the pit, he or anyone else could become more powerful than the Lords – Kings – Or even gods. There, by killing a man, you were a greater than any man who had ever walked the earth.

Annihilate had found his home amongst the mob.

With an energetic gait Annihilate crossed the pit floor, and found his things undisturbed from the last battle. His Longsword of Bloodshed stood erect, its tip buried deep into the ground, and a golden ring with a black diamond mounted within it sat atop shining plate. Anni slid the ring onto his finger and drew his sword from the ground, but chose not to dawn his armor – there was no honor in parading around in steel skin. No. One’s own skin was the best raiment, so Annihilate reached up and removed his shirt. It seemed to melt away as he cast it to the ground revealing his scarred and beaten body. Pale white skin glimmered with a ghostly aura as if he had descended from the moon or the stars themselves, and suddenly a chilling wind caressed the pit sending a whirlwind of dust all around.

For a moment he stood there looking around with a contemptuous grin upon his lips. He felt so invigorated by the throng of people that he had nearly forgotten about the fight. Anni was so deeply engulfed that, when he remembered what he had come to do, he quickly wheeled around and began to scan for his nefarious adversary…

The moon- so bright and full in its gaunt splendor- appeared from behind one of the stadium's dark walls, peering over its edge to get a glimpse of the battle about to ensue. Hundreds of shadowy faces turned and shouted, stretched in glee and anticipation. They grinned, bit their food and nudged their companions, just as eager to see the fight. Their bloodlust was something to behold. It flared like the great torches that brought light to the arena grounds. Many in the crowd were merely commoners; laborers and farmers out to have a good time. Nobles leaned on their fat, jeweled fingers atop special balconies, away from the rabble below, a pair of binoculars close, or a handy crystal ball at their side, tuned in to the arena floor. In moments, the battle would begin. But not until the contestants emerged.

The steady, successive roar of the crowd above Sartana grew louder as the start of the battle approached. The demonhunter sat inside his room beneath the battlestand, leaning back against one of the many high-quality, cushy pieces of furniture in the room, biting an apple offhandedly, and humming some tune to himself. These people were paying decent money to see the battle about to take place, and their funds prompted the tournament leaders to make the fighters as comfortable as possible. That way, they were bound to put up a good fight. Sartana couldn't have been more prepared for this fight- not to say he really 'prepared' for it. He ate well and had plenty of sleep, finished his stretching techniques moments earlier and now ran the information provided to him about his opponent through his mind.

'Annihilate'. Hmph. That's quite the nickname to have acquired. But, as Ita's chosen, maybe the brash shade deserves it? Sartana wasn't jealous that his opponent was favored by the Goddess of Chaos- one of the demonhunter's own gods, and one that he had received training from only months earlier. He figured sticking out too much in a God's presence was just asking for trouble. The man's a fighter, and he wields a blade of destruction like myself. Gotta watch those blade effects. But, either way, this should be fun. He thought, leaning forward and tossing his apple into the trash bin at the other side of the room. He sat for a moment, looking at his hand. This was his most powerful weapon. His magical abilities flowed through his left hand, and with it he had the power to literally disintegrate demons and undead creatures. Touching one of the creatures with it would spontaneously combust the beasty into a cloud of smoke and particles. Stronger creatures able to resist his hand's effects would still receive terrible wounds. The demonhunter stood up, cracking his back, and walked out of his room with a smile hidden under his scarf.

Annihilate was a shade.

He entered the arena, and the crowd went wild. Once again he thanked himself for his wide-brimmed hat; at least a dozen roses and other flowers bounced off of his head, and cloaked side, landing on the ground beside him. He looked down. Such a waste of flowers- such foolishness. I'd much rather they threw food. At least that way I'd be able to make sure it didn't go to waste. As if someone had heard him, something moderately heavy hit his head, and he turned with a frown on his face. It was a leg of mutton. Ignoring his better judgment to ignore the crowd, he spun around to face the direction that the meaty projectile had been launched from. A blotch of red fur in the crowd, halfway into it, caught his eye, and he grinned, turning around and continuing his walk.

You think he saw us?”A beefy red lupine asked, turning from his view of the demonhunter and looking at the woman beside him. She was clothed in blue, and quite a sight, given her exquisite violet eyes and bright blonde hair. She smiled, without looking at the lupine. “I'm sure he did.”

Sartana donned his armor and placed his weapons where they usually sat, or hung, on his person, all the time listening intently to the crowd. Suddenly, there was a vast change in the people's tone. They were booing, and screaming. Looking up, Sartana saw his adversary.

The shade, Annihilate, was a little shorter than the demonhunter, but looked to be around the same weight, wearing mostly black clothing, like Sartana. He had the walk of a fighter; long, effortless strides with no wasted motion. This was going to be interesting.

The demonhuner stood at full height in the center of the arena, his Dao of Destruction held in his right hand, resting on his shoulder, and his left hand limp at his side, ready to extend the dagger hidden in his wrist, enact one of his many magical abilities, or retrieve a gadget from one of the folds in his clothing. He couldn't have been more prepared for a battle, and he couldn't have asked for another opponent. He would be fighting a warrior. And an evil one at that. Sartana would not be holding back.

Taking a step forward, he tipped his black, wide-brimmed hat a bit, to expose his multicolored eyes. They sparkled in the torchlight. The lower half of his face was hidden by the crimson scarf around his neck and chin, draped over his shoulders. He was a wonder to look at- so exotic, yet dark, his appearance. He lifted his left hand, and turned his head slowly around the crowd. In a matter of seconds, the roar of the crowd died down to a hushed silence. Sartana lowered his hand, and turned to his adversary. There was hatred in his eyes.

“Know that I'll show you no mercy, creature.” He said to Annihilate, his voice deep and raspy. “I doubt you will show me any, either. This is good. If one of us dies, or is sent back to that fetid cesspool of shadows that we were spawned in, so be it. It's all good fun.” He cracked his neck and lifted his dao to his side, prepared to take one of his unique stances. The demonhunter was ready.

Despite his feelings towards the arena itself, it was a disgusting place. The upper and middle classes mingled with the lower classes in one giant mass. It was similar to an execution where the crowd cheered and chanted just before the death of the condemned. These were the types of events that people made a day of – going on picnics and carriage rides just before they came to the bloodshed. Some said it made them stronger, but all knew why they were truly here. None present were above the base emotions of animals and the lower sub-races – they knew it despite the pampering and the finery they wore. They were merely concealed beasts.

Annihilate believed that many should’ve been down in the arena facing the hellhounds and the lions, but he supposed that was what he and his adversary were for. Drawing his Longsword of bloodshed up and spinning it around in his grasp Anni looked to the North and South gates – seemingly ignoring the demonhunter. At one end, within the darkness of the under-pit, three sets of glowing red eyes could be seen, and Annihilate grinned. He would’ve been glad to have invited his canine companion out to join them, but he knew the rules of their contest, and would not call the Trinity to his side. He’d save that for another day.

With a quick turn Anni came to confront Sartana. He had heard what the man said, though he seemed not to pay a bit of attention to him at the time. However, now he looked into the demonhunter’s eyes – his own burning with unholy volcanic fury. It was not hatred that festered within his gaze, but mere anger and bloodlust. Anni’s lips cracked a wide smile, which revealed his ivory colored teeth, which had been filed to sadistic points. “Well then, let us begin,” he said lowly – his voice rumbling with the force of a storm mounting in the horizon. Annihilate, however, twisted his blade around into an underhanded position, which caused the blade to press against the back of his shoulder, and he bowed to his adversary. He had not done this before, but in the arena – before so many people, it was at least part of the show.

Suddenly, without warning, Annihilate charged and as he did his blade ignited in blue flames. Sartana, however, might have expected such an full-on attack, though Annihilate traditionally avoided them. Either way, there was variably twenty feet in between them, and he moved with the speed of an attacking tiger. His muscles bulged powerfully under his bare-white skin, and his leg muscles strained under the pressure of his run. With a subtle scoop, however, Annihilate’s left hand shot down and grabbed up a handful of sand, and threw it right towards the face of his adversary. The crowd would’ve booed at the sight of such a ploy, yet whether it was affective or not Anni would’ve attacked. He would’ve slashed vertically downwards with his longsword in his left hand. The weapon itself appeared like a blur, adding to his chances to hit his adversary. Not to mention if it was blocked by Sartana's weapon it would've shaken him violently giving Annihilate the chance for a follow-up attack. Now it was up to fate.

“You think that there's anyone selling snacks nearby?” The red lupine asked, turning his head over the noisy crowd of people. “I'm so... hungry...” He said with a pitiful sigh, not seeing any vendors walking nearby, and seemingly oblivious to the fact that he had eaten a wagon full of steak only hours earlier. He sat down heavily and plopped his furry snout in his hands. The blonde-haired woman beside him nudged the lupine with her elbow. “Maybe you should have thought first before you threw your leg of meat at Sartana? Come on, Geoffrey, the match is about to start. Don't you want to see your master in action?” She asked, hiding a grin. Geoffrey's head shot up, and he threw his hands over his furry red ears in dismay. “Master? MASTER?” He shouted gripping his head with both hands. “Just 'cause Ita- bless her crimson hide- asked me to accompany the darned human on his quest, doesn't mean he's my master! It doesn't mean nothin'! I'm a cleric- it's my duty to do Ita's bidding! It's my job!” He shouted, voice booming through the crowd, who thoroughly ignored him, though those closest were sure to scoot a few inches away, just in case. The blonde woman giggled at her companions outburst, and watched as he slumped back down into his seat, crossing his arms over his burly red chest. Sartana was a Godsend for Goeffrey, even if the lupine didn't admit it. She had heard of the Goddess of Chaos, and the mass murdering of her devout. Ita killed them herself. The demonhunter had escaped her wrath, and so had Geoffrey, who had been assigned to protect Sartana before the Goddess of Chaos lost it. But there was no sense in thinking of such grim events at the moment- there were more important things at hand. The girl, Saria Coldbrook, jumped to her feet as the crowd rose to cheer the competitors on. “Let's go Sartana!” She cheered.

The demonhunter, dark and intimidating in his appearance, easily mistaken as a vestige of the dancing shadows that enveloped the stadium grounds, spun his dao of destruction offhandedly at his side, waiting for his opponent's response, and taking everything in around him. He heard his friend's voices through the clamor of the rabble in the crowd; first Geoffrey's irritated shouts, undoubtedly caused by Saria, and then the girl herself, cheering the demonhunter on. He smiled underneath his scarf, in spite of the seriousness of the situation. Arda, arda, arda... So different from Tarsonis. So full of life, and yet, thriving on the death of others, entangled in a war between good and evil- an easy contrast in comparison to the forces that fight in my world- and here I am, so easily attracted to the violence that my people wish only to separate themselves from. The very same people who look up to me. He shook his head, and looked up at the stars that dusted the blackness above him. Any one of those stars could be his own world- and yet, instead of searching for portals to take him there, or consulting sages and archmages in the matter, he was here, in a stadium devoted to the struggle between life and death, surrounded by hundreds of screaming, bloodthirsty fans. There's irony in all of this, I'm sure of it. That, and a bit of frivolity. Oh, how fate nudges and prods me where it wishes. Sartana mused to himself. His multicolored eyes sparkled with life, and thought, sliding through the crowd, and then landing on his opponent, the evil shade, Annihilate. Where had fate taken him?

His opponent bowed, and he did the same, glad to see that the evil creature at least had a shred of honor in its twisted being. Before Sartana looked up, he heard heavy foot slaps on the dirt ahead of him. The battle had started.

So fast were the demonhunter's movements that he was up, sword extended to his right, and feet safely in their defensive positions before the shade had made it halfway to him. His opponent's weapon was engulfed in blue flames that writhed around the sharp blade's form and lit up the shade's face, coloring its sharp, filed teeth, and the bloodthirsty look in its eyes. Honestly, Sartana had not expected him to attack head-on; instead, like his last battle, he figured the shade would attack with long-range weaponry or magic, then wade in swinging his sword. This, obviously, was not the case. Annihilate's form bent forward as he ran, and he scooped up a handful of dirt as he swiftly closed in, expelling the contents of his hand at the demonhunter's face. A wave of shouts and booing arose from the crowd, though in honestly, they liked to see such dirty fighting. It pleased them deep down inside, even if they didn't show it. Though, it really didn't matter; Sartana wasn't about to be hit with such an obvious maneuver.

Twirling as Annihilate approached, and the dirt and debris falling on him, Sartana's form spun and his black cape flared around him. The dirt harmlessly hit the back of his hat and the bulk of his cape as he twisted, turning to see the shade again and his flaming sword slicing vertically down on him. Somewhat off-balance, but only slightly, Sartana lifted his dao of destruction with his right hand to parry the cleave from Annihilate's blade, and jabbed forward with his left hand at the same time, clicking the mechanism in his wrist as he did. In a split second, a foot long, razor-sharp blade shot from atop the demonhunter's wrist, appearing from underneath the black cloth that hid it, and striking towards the shade's side. If it hit him, his wounds would ignite in fiery, holy flames, as per the magic of the dagger. As this happened, the demonhunter's blade connected with the shade's own sword, and knocked it aside- though not without repercussions.

Sartana's arm jolted back, and his body began to shake uncontrollably and in an erratic fashion. He strained to keep his body in check, but could only keep himself still by focusing all of his energy on his limbs. He was completely exposed, and he knew it. Goddamn... magic sword. The demonhunter growled to himself in his mind, straining to keep control of his body's movements.

Ever since Annihilates birth – no, since the birth of the man and beast that had joined together to forge the engine of destruction – theirs lives had been filled with strife, pain and death. As a child Vaelen grew up virtually alone after the death of the man Roberc who had reared him from birth. He had been a mercenary, assassin, a knight and finally a father, but the path he had chosen stripped it all away. From the fires of hell that joined his soul to the purgatorial demon to the coldest reaches of the artic Annihilate had seen war, and it had become a part of him. He lived by his own code of chivalry and of honor, which had been tainted by the dark presence within, and because of that his path was one drenched in primal tears with maggot ridden corpses strewn about him, for he had carved it out with steel, anger and hate. Now, he did so once more in the glorious arena. His only regret was that his other battlefields could not have been so glorious.

For a short time the scene was frozen, and the moment played over and over in Annihilate’s mind. At times he questioned the sanity inherent in his method of attack, but when Sartana defended against the slash, which would’ve cleaved flesh from bone, clarity bloomed within his mind. He had his plan of action, which caused him to fall into that furious state that he drew his power from.

With a loud clash the two warrior’s blades met, and Anni’s was turned away with a swift turn of the demonhunter’s sword. He had not expected the small, hidden blade that Sartana kept up his sleeve, though he should have, but luck was on his side. Just before their weapons met a warning flashed in his mind. He glimpsed the subtle movements beneath his adversary’s cloak, and with a dirt-covered hand attempted to spare himself of the searing dagger. By using the same rotation that Sartana had driven Anni’s weapon away with Annihilate’s free hand would’ve rotated upwards in a crescent-shaped block. Wax on, wax off. The base of his palm would’ve met with Sartana’s wrist, and he would’ve brushed the attack away just as Sartana brushed his sword away. However, as Anni moved his hand twisted around, and a sharp-nailed grip attempted to take hold of the Sartana’s wrist. His sword-hand twisted causing the flat of his long-sword to press against the sharp edge of Sartana’s dao. It was a subtle twist that not many would’ve noticed, and suddenly that very long-sword would’ve swept up between them in one fluid arc, sliding away from the clash of steel that sent sparks and flames cascading around them, and would’ve been aimed to sever his arm just below the elbow.

He would’ve slashed regardless of whether he could’ve gotten hold of Sartana’s wrist, for if he made contact the weapon would’ve drew blood and would’ve partially cauterized the wound. The distance between them was optimum for such a move. His momentum would’ve carried him to his adversary’s right as the slash was completed giving Sartana a quick glimpse of his back as he swept back around to face him. Anni would’ve taken up a defensive posture with his sword leveled before him in almost a vertical line, and should the gods have will it Annihilate would’ve been standing there with his adversary’s severed left arm in his free hand…

There was a sparkle in the eye of each person come to watch the fight. Their mouths hung agape in anticipation, and their hands clenched unwittingly at there sides, watching as the two combatants were interlocked, attempting to injure each other. What would happen next?

Taking control of the spastic movements of Sartana's body would take all of the demonhunter's concentration, and if that wasn't bad enough, his dagger attack had been pushed away by a deft hand movement on the shade's part. Annihilate's sharp, clawed hand gripped the demonhunter's wrist, and held it as he brought his longsword down in an attempt to sever the limb. There was no worry in the demonhunter's mind. Of course, in such a dire situation, there was no time for worry- only time for action, and planning. Time slowed. His quick-thinking mind went to work.

The shade's sword does not have the sharpness to penetrate my chainmail. Bless Aina'karythar's smith, this armor cannot be sliced by such an attack. Though, without the structural support that platemail and the like have, there's a chance that he'd break my wrist from the impact. I cannot have that. Not only would a broken wrist render the demonhunter's arm unable to wield a weapon effectively, it would also restrict his use of magical abilities. Likely, it would make the use of them impossible. These were invaluable to have, and he would not lose them. Not now. Still concentrating on keeping his body from shaking, he relaxed his left arm; the one held by Annihilate. Immediately, as the shade's weapon descended, the demonhunter's wrist broke into quick, spastic motions- so much so, that as the longsword of bloodshed fell, Sartana's hand broke free from the shade's grip, and it was pulled back, just as the descending sword passing by the spot it had been held at moments before. Twirling his own sword to the right, and lifting it over his head to let its tip face Annihilate, the effects of his opponent's weapon- which had caused him to shake to viciously- wore off, and stopped completely, allowing him to take his offensive stance.

Jumping backwards as his left hand clicked its dagger back into his wrist, the demonhunter pulled a potion from his belt, red and viscous inside its flask, and threw it against the ground where he had just been standing. A blast of fire lit up the arena, and the crowd cheered, glad to have a show of fireworks to go along with the fight. The flames separated the two opponent's for a moment, and made Sartana's form impossible to see. The demonhunter took advantage of this. Holding his left hand in front of him, crossed, he rested his dao of destruction on it, aiming the tip at Annihilate's general position. With a moment's concentration on Sartana's part, the tip of his sword lit up a fiery red, and a laser-like, successive blast of energy shot past the flames towards Annihilate's position. The demonhunter tipped his sword in several zig-zaggy aiming positions, so that dodging would be terribly hard, if not completely impossible. The crowd, who could not get enough of this flashy display of power, rose form their seats, and the cheering was nearly deafening. Goeffrey and Saria were on their feet as well, wide-eyed.

“I didn't know his sword could do that!” Geoffrey gasped with a blank, slightly awe-struck expression on his face. The crowd's roar made it impossible for Saria to hear the lupine's remark, but she was thinking the same thing, among other, more important things... When will you use that hand of yours, Sarty? She thought, hoping against all odds- and the demonhunter's own bloodlust- that he would end this quickly.

The next few moments seemed to be little more than a blur to Annihilate. He remembered whirling around to face Sartana after the attempt to take off his arm, and he stood with his sword erect. Then, without warning, there was an explosion that nearly shook Annihilate from his stance and caused him to stumble back. That was when he seemed to loose focus. Just as he stumbled back he saw a flash of red across the fiery threshold, raised his hands before him, and then felt excruciating pain surge through his body. He’d dropped his weapon as he felt the concussion of the blast, and then he was sent careening backwards across the pit floor. Both of his hands were scalded from the energy, which still caused bolts of red lightning to crackle and shrink across his form, and his back hit the ground heavily. Annihilate slid across the sandy floor several feet, leaving a trail behind him that was sporadically painted red.

Visions swirled in Anni’s mind. Some real – snippets of the past coming back to haunt him, while others were merely figments of his imagination – things that had not yet happened, but which his unconscious mind lusted after. However, none of the things he saw bared a precise representation of the events that had truly occurred in his life. He saw pools of blood at times when not a sword had been raised, and he heard the cries of children that had already perished. At one point he saw a picture of his little girl – of Vaelen’s daughter – and he nearly roared in anger. She had perished with her mother she could even be born, and none knew what she would have looked like, but there she stood – a vision that any father could be proud of, and in his mind somewhere a part of Annihilate wanted to weep.

Slowly, Annihilate regained his hold of reality. Little time had passed from the moment he slid across the ground to the time he had found his footing again. He rolled onto his chest, slowly, revealing his lacerated back. Chunks of skin peeled away, and though the wounds were not deep they were many and seeped blood. Clamoring to his feet the shade turned towards Sartana, and took a deep breath. One of his eyes seemed barely opened, and his right hand was charred black. He had sustained more damage in those few moments than he had ever taken, and he didn’t know how he could still stand after so brutal an assault, but his indomitable will was far greater than the baleful whisper of death.

“Next time,” he said slowly, inching towards his fallen sword, “I will not underestimate that armor – nor the sword.” His blackened hand wrapped around the sword with little effect, and as he raised it he tossed it into his other. The fingers upon his left hand wrapped about the weapon’s hilt, and let out a pained sigh. Blue fire once again consumed the weapon, and it was obvious that he wouldn’t be using his right hand. And although it was not as obvious Anni was far less injured than he appeared. His back was merely scrapped, and though his hand was burnt he had no broken bones from the concussion. It merely knocked him senseless for just a moment. Perhaps it would aide him as a bit of a ploy, but doubtfully. Sartana had undergone the same training Annihilate had, and he would know full well the limits ones endurance was pushed to under tutelage of the Goddess of Chaos.

Annihilate put his left foot forward and placed his right hand against the hilt for added support. The blade was tilted at a slight angle, and his eyes had narrowed into slits. He sat in this position, looking towards Sartana with calm eyes. Then, loudly, he said, “Now it is your turn…” Apparently, he wanted the demonhunter to attack. Though he had retaliated with explosions and spells Anni wanted him to come in with a blade. He was not be so bold as to run in with his weapons blazing again, for he didn’t plan on taking many more hits like that. Plus, he was beginning to see a pattern in the demonhunter’s style. Although it was only a single round of attack and defense it seemed that Sartana relied on his weaponry and their affects. Anni suspected he had a few spells hidden up his sleeve, and he was saving them. That was it – he was saving them. He had shown Anni his swords abilities, his armors strength, and the hidden blade – not to mention that he probably carried a variety of those potions. He was probably, no, almost certainly, incredibly well equipped.

The Shade looked on bitterly, and scowled lowly beneath the tendrils of long black hair. He had only his ring and his sword, and a few spells. What he needed, though, was a plan…

As the flames caused by Sartana's exploding potion died down, so did the cries of excitement from the ring of seats that were filled with eager watchers. The flames vanished, and there was only quiet; the night's breeze running through the arena, scooping up blackened dirt in whispers of soot, the crackling of the forty or so braziers that lit up the arena, a gasp or two as the crowd watched on- and, below all these sounds, the scraping of limbs on dirt as Annihilate rose to his feet, having been knocked aside by the powerful blast emitted from Sartana's Dao of Destruction. While the shade was quick to return to his feet, despite the injuries he sustained, the thought of attacking him as he was down did not cross the demonhunter's mind. This was not life and death. This was hardly a 'real' battle. The instincts that told him to take every possible advantage he could, the ones that had kept him alive for so many years, had been quieted. A group of hired priests were standing by in case one of the combatants was brought to the brink of death, or even killed. With magic, the dying could be saved, and the dead would live once more. Sartana lowered his arms, and brought his left hand beneath his cape, where he removed a fistful of throwing daggers, in case Annihilate rushed him again.

The shade didn't attack, though; he called out to the demonhunter, loud enough for most of the crowd to hear, saying that it was his turn now. There was a moment of silence. Sartana wasn't sure if, by what he said, he meant to attack, or was inviting an attack upon himself. After ten seconds or so, it became apparent that it was obviously the latter- he was calling out to Sartana, wanting him to attack. The demonhunter was more than glad to oblige.

He didn't answer the shade. Not with words, anyways. Annihilate was at the other side of the arena, brandishing his longsword. Sartana pondered whether he should use a ranged attack, first, or skip to the melee combat. It's been some time since another could match me in one-on-one combat. I can't pass up this opportunity. Approaching the shade, he slowly removed his falchion from the sheath at his side with his left hand. He now carried a weapon in each hand, each about the same size, and deadly in their own right. Sartana's falchion was the only weapon that had survived the blast of magical energy that had sent him to the plane of existence about half a year ago. The trauma the weapon received as it was transported to Arda drained it of all its former abilities. It had held quite a few, and needless to say, the demonhunter was furious to find it had reverted to a normal blade. Still, he kept it at his side, and without another weapon to duel wield with, besides his dagger, it was gladly employed.

Sartana stopped a few meters from his opponent. He took note of the wounds he had received. They weren't terrible, but several small injuries could add up very quickly. The demonhunter knew this from experience. Something tugged at him. It told him that attacking from the front was foolish, that not distracting with ranged attacks first, or protection spells, would be brash. Yet, here was a challenge to use only the skills of the two combatants; their weapon prowess. Sartana, a sword master in every aspect, just couldn't turn down a fight like this. Walking forward with the same speed he had been earlier, the demonhunter attacked.

There was no real plan in Sartana's mind; only to rely on his skill, move slowly forward, corner Annihilate to the wall and finish him off. That was all. Upon reaching a distance to the shade where he could effectively slash, he sent his Dao of Destruction in a wide sweep forward, following through with his body curved forward, hanging back with his feet and falchion, only to cross over the top of the swipe, which had been arced downward slightly, with his offhand falchion, stabbing towards Annihilate's chest, and pulling his dao back, to parry if need be, though he would likely be dodging, as it was more effective. With this maneuver finished, Sartana broke into a series of slashes with his dao of destruction, while holding back with his falchion, for a bit of defense in such an offensive attack.

The music that formed their battle slow rose louder and louder while an inner rhythm found its way into Annihilates heart – a beat that he had been pushed back upon few times. He called upon the song – felt it pull upon his soul, and laid onto it all the terrible force that his miserable life could account for. Instantly, the charming melody became a dreadful torrent, which raged within him like a great maelstrom born upon the horizon. The coming storm wailed, but he did not stop. The song would play out – echoing his every move in its macabre notes, and from in Anni would draw from it the power he needed to fuel his attack. His fury was sung out loud in the infamous chorus, whose silence had passed moments before. In his mind he saw them – the vengeful and the avenger – their battle played out like an endless dance moments before their weapons found one another.

Annihilate suddenly roared like a fiend from hell – his war cry splitting the “oh’s” and “ah’s” that the spectators so frequently issued amidst the turmoil of their battle. The devilish instincts took over, and he knew like never before that he would not be beaten back like a house slave. Almost as if his brooding mind had forgotten all about his injuries his blade was thrown into the opposite hand – the wire-wrapped pummel lacerated the already burnt flesh, and blood trickled down as his white knuckle grip took hold of the bloody weapon. He raised his sword above his head, the guard of the hawk, and when Sartana attacked it came down from high with such a force that when Blade of Destruction and Longsword of Bloodshed met sparks flew – not from the fiery enchantment upon Anni’s blade or the natural ability that was built into Sartana’s, but from the pure force of metal smashing against metal. Sartana would find that Anni had cast no spells – the blow would not jolt his arm, but one could feel the strength that the shade applied to his defense without question. The Blade of Destruction would be stopped in its tracks before it could complete the first slash, and then Anni would retaliate.

With Sartana’s follow-up attack coming with his falchion, Anni ducked downwards. The two blades slid apart and Anni dropped to one knee. He pivoted then and there, ducking beneath the assault and giving the demonhunter a quick glance at his back. Then, as he came around, his sword would slash upwards - upwards at Sartana’s knees. The Shade did not know how well defended his adversary was in his elaborate scale mail, but he intended to find out. With renewed enthusiasm and vigor his blade came out like a slightly angled uppercut, which would’ve been harder to evade due to their proximity and the uncommon angle of attack the weapon followed. It was also a reversed slash, so instead of the back of Anni’s hand leading the front, or thumbside, led. It also gave him a means to defend himself once the attack was completed.

Many claimed to be masters of the blade – or masters of anything. People had their skills and their abilities, but it was not just about that. Annihilate was no master of the blade, and many a time had he been bested – once from running into a wall while he was drunk. But, he had a drive – a feral and predator-like instinct within him, and an unusual creativity in his plan of attack that few could see, for the lines of his thoughts, which house his reason, were blurred like the very blade of his weapon. He did not need to be the best, for he knew that he truly wasn’t, all he needed to be able to do was survive. So, perhaps Sartana was faster, stronger, and had better armaments - Anni did not show fear in the face of such odds. He would fight, and he would do what he could, because this was just a show, and either way they were both dead men.

The demonhunter's face was still and emotionless, placid not unlike a warm spring evening in a secluded meadow, deep in the forest, as he watched the shade move in defense. His colorful eyes gave no hint to fear or surprise as his blade's swipe was cut short by a powerful block on Annihilate's part, and he tilted his head slowly, looking down as his second attack with his offhand falchion was deftly avoided. Sartana was used to his attacks missing- at least, from his stay in Arda he had become used to it. Every so often he would meet an 'interesting' individual wandering this realm, someone who stuck out in blatant contrast to those around him or her. These adventurers, or wizards, or whatever they were, no matter their skill level, seemed to avoid the demonhunter's attacks and magics with such precision that it would make him wonder if, by some strange fate, he had been disfavored by a God of this realm, so that whether his attacks hit or not were actually directed by the individual he was fighting. It was disheartening. But, still, he was having a good time in this realm, despite the strange metaphysical laws of fighting, and his calm, calculating mind went to work as the shade counter-attacked.

The demonhunter's left arm was still extended with his falchion, and his right blade spun back to his side, where he'd be able to defend- if the shade had been attacking normally. Sartana's normally calm face showed a bit of anger- only a hint of it- as Annihilate's blade was forced up towards him. Despite his anger, there was a sparkle of enjoyment in his eyes. His opponent was using a rather strange method of attack, and following through with the backside of his hand, which would lessen the damage done, but give a decent chance for defending afterwards. Sartana loved creativity in fights; he was quite unorthodox in many of his maneuvers as well, having taught himself how to swing a blade effectively before receiving proper training. Annihilate's blade arced slightly as it slashed upwards, and he spun, leaving Sartana to make a rather brash decision: was it time to use his attack?

The demonhunter flung his falchion to the left and began moving his fingers in deft, intricate positions as he felt a bite in his left knee. Sartana immediately wished that he had bought leg armor, as his chainmail only covered his chest, arms, and some of his neck. The shade's sword sliced through a good portion of the muscle and upper bone section of his leg, but Sartana didn't flinch. The nerves had yet to deliver the pain messages to his brain, and besides that, he was too busy concentrating on the spell forming in his left hand. Annihilate's sword connected with the demonhunter's armored thigh as his sword spun up, impacting it but doing no real damage. Sartana's spell was finished.

With his hand basically over the shade's head, so close were they at the moment, the demonhunter unleashed the weakened version of his hand's most potent spell. His closed fist, glowing bright white with the energy that had been built up in it, opened. Immediately, white lightning, jumped between the demonhunter's fingertips, and launched from them- one for every finger. They jumped down towards Annihilate's kneeling body. The shade's defensive sword strike would allow him, at most, to get a quick attack on Sartana, but at such a close range, dodging the demonhunter's magical attack would be nearly impossible. The tendrils, looking like great, thin wings of some celestial bird, moved with such speed that they looked to be blurs of white light; lightning, to those who didn't know what they were. This version of Sartana's 'Exorcism' spell was somewhat less powerful than the variant where he stored the energy in his hand, and then touched his opponent, channeling the energy into them in one blast of power, but he just couldn't take the chance of attacking with such an easy to dodge magical strike. This would have to do.

The crowd roared as the flash of white light exploded in the arena. The spectacle was impressive, but amongst the tumultuous cries of joy a painful scream erupted. The shriek came from Annihilate as he writhed upon the ground. He’d dropped his blade again when he was struck by the spell, and he fell to the ground clutching his face and rolling around in agony. The air stank with the smell of cooking flesh, and his cries were so hideous that they could’ve caused little children nightmares. Truly it was a painful experience, despite the spell not being used at full strength.

Very slowly the dreadful wailing subsided, and he rose. Annihilate’s back was turned to Sartana, but even as he turned towards his adversary his face was hidden from view – save for his mouth, which clearly bore an angry, sharp-toothed expression. His breathing had become laborious and without any rhythm, and when his burnt hand swept up to part the dark tendrils that veiled his face his dismal appearance was shown. His face was burned. A white-hot scar, an organic shape carrying a similar appearance to a bird with wings spread covered the upper right side of his face. The flesh was seemingly boiled, and a red outline of smoking flesh marked the shape. His eye was swollen shut, and inky black veins appeared under his skin staining his milky complexion. Still, after the power of that spell had been expended, and its effects taken their toll on the Shade, was he the same being mentally and metaphysically?

He was. Annihilate had endured much strife, and had stepped over many obstacles in his life. By classification he was a Shade – a mortal possessed by a spirit host. In his case the spirit was evil, however, unlike many he was not two souls inhabiting the same body. Vaelen and Serza had become one a long time ago, and their souls and minds had intertwined to become a single entity. There was no banishing the evil soul within because it was anchored by such a powerful foundation, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel the very core of his being literally being pulled on from every direction like a hundred clawing hands. Had the spell been much stronger he would’ve been much more drained than he was, and he may not have gotten back up.

Still, his body shook – it convulsed and twitched in several places at random intervals, and by the unsteady motion of his fingers it would be a wonder if he could wield a sword for some time. Without any kind of precision or grace, Annihilate bent down and took up his sword in his left hand one final time, and then looked at Sartana. He knew very well he should’ve expected that attack, but he hadn’t. In him such anger welled up so that he was incapable of screaming. He stood looking at his adversary with absolute loathing in his eyes, and he ground his teeth together. Then, slowly, putting one foot behind the other, Annihilate raised his sword above his head, and though it wavered slightly it did not fall. He peered onward with only one eye opened, and he growled lowly. Although he felt the call of the magical energies pent up inside of him he did not reach into them. He was a traditionalist, and would not resort to his powers unless it was either the first, or last attack he made. He didn’t even particularly like the weapon for that very reason. But regardless of the outcome of the battle he’d be taking a long break after this was all said and done.

There was a shriek of pain that pierced the roar of the crowd, and Sartana's two attending friends, sitting amidst the commoners, instinctively brought their hands to their mouths as Annihilate's scream hit their ears. The crowd's noise was immediately hushed; not a sound played through the tense stadium air, except for a string of chirps from a cricket somewhere in the grounds. The demonhunter leaped backwards as his attack hit, and his adversary fell upon the ground, writhing in agony. The thought of attacking while his opponent was down did not cross Sartana's mind. He knew how painful it was to be hit with his blessed hand's attack. Yet, he did not feel sorry for Annihilate. You're a strong opponent, shade; stronger than many I have faced in my stay on this world. He frowned under his crimson scarf. ..But you deserve to feel more pain than what I have shown you. In your wake, seeping from your very being comes a taint that I can nearly taste in my mouth. A disgustingly evil, heartless, selfish and immoral aura that suckles dry the very light around you. If I had my way, you would die right now. But I must resist. And to kill such a weakened opponent- no matter their initial strength- would be a weakness on my part. He thought grimly, his hand influencing his thoughts. It seemed that whenever he used his hand's power, his thoughts became twisted with anger. It was an odd side effect that he sometimes had trouble resisting.

The demonhunter watched as his opponent rose, but did not move himself. A pain crept up his leg, and finally hit him, causing his face to contort slightly, as he was taken off guard by the sudden intense feeling. He looked down at his left leg. It was bleeding- a lot. Sticking his Dao into the ground beside him, he gripped his left with both hands, examining it, while taking note of any movement on Annihilate's part that hinted to an attack. Lifting his left hand to his chest, he made ten quick, precise hand gestures, ending in a fist, which he brought to his mouth and kissed gently, from under his scarf. His hand lit up in a blue color, and he pressed it to his injury. “Lothlómendil, lend me your vitality, and powers of life.” Not a moment after whispering these words, the demonhunter's leg sealed itself, and he stood erect, grasping his sword in the process. He watched his opponent.

Annihilate stood with some difficulty. He had received the magic's effects directly in the face, and his eye was swollen shut, with an eerily beautiful design of a bird's wing burnt into the side of his cheek, and eye. Such was that shape of Sartana's exorcism spell. In all, he didn't look too good. Yet, there was fire burning in his eyes, one of utter conviction, and adamant resolve, that told the demonhunter his opponent would not be giving up, even after receiving such a blow. Sartana waited a moment, but his opponent did not attack. It vexed him.

Why don't you attack me, shade? He asked himself, taking a step forward, wrist dagger extended and Dao of Destruction held low to the side. He stopped suddenly and pulled down his scarf with his right hand, revealing a tanned, scruffy chin, with hard features and a grim look. He turned his head and spit on the ground to his side, turning to look at Annihilate afterwards, a frown on his face, matching the shade's own look of utter hatred. After a moment, he spoke.

“Annihilate.” He said in his deep voice, looking the creature in the eyes. “It's your turn to attack.”