The tall angel glided down into the arena ready for a fight. Drawing his enormous sword he looked around for some sign of his prey. The terrain was rough and filled with huge boulders. In the center was a hill hiding the other side of the arena from the angel’s sight.

He did not like this. He would rather fight in a simple boxing arena where there was no room for hiding, a place where you simply met at the center and went all out. He did not have time to play hide and seek with these mortals.

He picked up his pace and ran for the top of the hill. There he would hopefully be able to see the whole field. It was a bold move because it meant everyone would be able to see him, but being one who believed in only time he knew they would have to meet sooner or later, so why not soone.

Derian’s charcoal eyes flashed a blinding white as he shifted to his human form. His transformation disturbed the air around him, causing the wind to circle around him, tossing his pony tail in circles. Grunting as his body settled, Derian squinted at the terrain, desperately coughing as the dust flew around him. The land was barren and smelled of sorcery. Magic had altered the landscape; the energies of the earth magic radiated off the sparse vegetation and boulders. If they wanted an artificial arena, so be it.

Muttering incoherent phrases, Derian smoothed his vest and pants, brushing off the dust. He eyed the hill in the middle of the arena and began trudging around the boulders dispersed on the way up the hill. He grunted as a small boulder clipped his right thigh on its way down. Then he saw it, the wings, the white frame. He could sense the angel; the energies it gave off were vibrant. The large sword it wielded was fearsome, flashing in the sunlight. Its large wings were no decoration either, both were the height of Derian plus two.

Quickening his pace, Derian ran up the hill dodging the stationary boulders as he flew past them. The angel would be in for a surprise when Derian’s master showed himself. Speaking of the reaper, the rune on Derian’s forehead pulsated pale green, hinting the Horseman was close…close to wiping this angel off the face of the planet.

Vrobleski jumped from one rock to the next. He laughed coldly as he sent the rocks rolling downhill with each push. He loved destruction; it didn’t matter what he was destroying. It was all the same for him.

He looked down the steep little hill to watch the boulders crash into the ground only to see who he assumed was one of his two opponents. “Good,” he thought to himself turning his body around for the charging fool.

He raised his sword above his head. His eye became wild and unfocused as rage grew it the pit of his stomach. It was a rage for his opponent, a strange emotion he always felt before he killed. He bellowed from his lungs before lunging forward. He would once have thought this reckless and stupid; now he merely wanted to see the fear in his opponent's eyes before he died.

A dark figure made his way slowly up the hill, hiding in places where others would have been in plain view. The shadows were his allies, and there were plenty in this hill covered with rocks. His eyes burned with passion and yet were strangely empty, a contradiction that nevertheless was the best description for them. A few loose rocks rolled by him, loose because the being at the top of the hill was causing them to fall, attempting to harm anyone walking up the hill. To anyone that didn't know what to look for, he was simply another shadow, appearing to move because of a trick of the light, a cloud passed overhead and made it appear that something moved. But appearances were deceiving, and he was a master of darkness, untouched by the light of day. No weapon was held in his hand, yet anyone meeting him would soon regret it, and he felt the life beat of everything around him. For even the earth itself, although magically created, had life. And all must die eventually. He was a hunter, and he was in the best position possible, the prey did not know he was there, yet.

For no apparent reason, Death altered his course, no longer go up the hill, simply going around. Flitting from rock to rock, Death made his way swiftly towards another figure, one that he knew well. Derian, his right hand, the first being he trusted after the other riders. Without a sound, Death came to Derian's side, a soft whisper escaping him. "Let the game begin, and let the victor be announced." Holding out his right hand, darkness spread to it, slowing forming the shape that was his scythe, the instrument of death that he wielded with absolute skill. Death's eyes focused on Derian, watching his Right Hand to see what he would do. Between the two of them, this battle was over and done.

(OOC: sorry for the late reply, I didn't check it was starting already, hope I got in the right battle though)

As the angel jumped from rock to rock, a small shadow could be seen in the distance. His small arms and shady outfit reflected his condition, and his posture was one who held little confidence. The small boy carried himself weakly, taking quiet steps towards the top of the hill.

As he loomed over the field, he could see two ominous figures before him. A human stood bravely before the angel. His strong frame and stance struck fear in the boy, causing his frail knees to tremble. The boy could not see any special features, but he had no time to be playful, like his partner. He slowly raised his arm, and bit it strongly, blood driplets flowing from the marks. He then sucked up a small amount, then spit it at the sigil on his arm. His transformation would take place.

As the final phases of his demonic birth completed, he sensed another being in the area. Malefor stood a few feet away from the angel, still wary of their unlikely pairing. Their conflict of natures might prove their fall, and he isn't one to take chances. Death was his business, not his pastime. After his final transformation, he slowly adjusted to his true form. He relaxed his claws and tail, cautiously observing his opponents. Their battle was about to begin.

Derian grew outraged; the petty attempts to knock him off the hill grew tiresome quickly. The rocks were in of themselves not a threat or a problem, but this asinine and somewhat depraved angel was a growing pain. All Derian wanted was to have a fight where he didn’t have to shift to his alternate form, but damnenable (quite literally most of the time) fools like this one forced his hand.

Sighing, Derian teleported behind a large boulder effectively shielding him from the now lunging angel. As he knelt against the rock and pushed his hair to the side, Derian sensed the reaper approaching rapidly and quickly muttered memorized incantations as he waited on the master. He closed his eyes as the shadow finally made itself known.

"Let the game begin, and let the victor be announced." Somehow those raspy and cold words were comforting to Derian’s tense soul. To show his reverence and loyalty, Derian locked gazes with the master as a scythe was drawn. Sometimes words are wasted in quiet moments, and Derian didn’t need to verbally convey his thoughts. Death’s cold gaze gave him the courage and comfort he needed. Nodding as much to himself as to Death, Derian broke the eye contact and stood up. Looking to one side, he could feel the presence of another demon spawn. As he sensed a spike in power, Derian cried out in carnal pleasure at the thought of feasting on the flesh of a demon spawn. If the fools wanted to fight with their ‘A’ games, Derian would provide his own for the fight.

Gripping the executioner axes, Derian focused himself and drew the spectral essence from the ground beneath his feat. As ghostly essence came up and began swirling around him, Derian opened his mind and let the darkness harbored in his mind flow free. The black energy in his skull seeped through his body as the pale energy picked Derian up and started to be absorbed by half-demon’s body. With a flash of white light, the transformation began with Derian’s skeletal structure stretching close to double his original size. The combined darkness and spectral essence chaffed and burned Derian’s skin off as it crackled and hissed forming the scarred black hide of the Minotaur. No matter how many times he did this, Derian could not hold back the screams of utter torment as horns jutted out of his skull breaking through scorched skin, causing blood to flow down his face. Then as quickly as it started, Derian was let down to the ground. Tilting his tauren head to the side, Derian locked gaze with his master one last time before leaping into action. Calling on the earth energies still radiated throughout the arena, Derian began screaming an incoherent phrase, “Grentin crackoria!” Punctuating the scream, Derian slammed his axes into the boulder shielding Death causing the large stone to shatter down the middle and fall apart. Calling out once more, Derian activated his formerly static spells and began weaving his magic. Grinning wickedly as his body began glowing a pale red, evidence of his amped aura; Derian stared straight into the eyes of the angel, forcing thoughts of fear and weakness into the winged one’s mind. Gripping his axes for comfort, Derian lunged to meet the angel head on. Derian fully expected a good brawl despite their large physical difference. Hopefully his master would deal with their wayward cousin transforming in the distance.

The smell of blood and the screams of pain, these were the things Vrobleski longed for. They were the things that drove him to kill. The joy of terrorizing one’s prey, there is no greater feeling, and now Vrobleski had someone to torture right in front of him. He could not resist the urge to pounce on the mortal, but before his sword met with the blood he so strongly desired, the opponent disappeared into thin air.

“Show yourself,” Vrobleski cried out in rage, “why hide? Death will meet all men in time. You should meet it proudly in combat rather than hide behind some rock like a little dog. I said, ‘Show your self!’”

Vrobleski’s words could not have been more ironic, for it was death itself that he fought. He hungered to please Death with many souls slain by his sword, but it was his soul Death sought to steal.

Scanning the arena Vrobleski caught sight of the fleeting little human, but before he could act the man became consumed by a shroud of shadows. When the shadows vanished it was not a human standing before Vrobleski but a gigantic beast from the demonic realm.

Vrobleski cursed at the monster’s trickery. Was he going to come out and fight Vrobleski or just run around using trickery all day? Outraged Vrobleski kicked another boulder at the great being. “Fool! Do not try to beat me with your pathetic tricks. Come out and fight me like the animal you are.” Vrobleski shouted, the hatred growing within him.

The beast merely ran his axes into the boulder as it came bounding down at him. Even Vrobleski was shocked to see the creature split the boulder in two. The strength it would take to accomplish such a feat, did Vrobleski have it too; or was he doomed to fail in his mission?

Vrobleski looked into the eyes of his challenger with strange emotions growing inside him. Was this fear and doubt he felt? It could not be; such emotions were beneath him. Yet here they were crying out in his mind. “This creature will crush you,” they said, “You best flee you can not win.”

“Enough!” he retorted to himself, “I will strip this thing down to size. Just watch!” Focusing Vrobleski pushed his worries aside and drew his blade. He would not let his mortal emotion get the best of him.

Death watched the transformation take place, eyes never changing as his Right Hand became the more deadly of his forms. In the form of a minotaur, Derian towered over him, and just about everyone else, and the being on the hill would be hard pressed to stop the momentum that Derian would build up. A ghost of a smile flitted across Death's face as he watched Derian throw some theatrics around. If he had wanted to impress some people, he could have picked up the boulder and thrown it back up the hill at the angel on top, yet he chose to cut it in half. Hopefully it won't have damaged his axes too much, but they weren't meant for cutting stone, they were meant for cutting necks. Still, catching a glimpse of the face of the person on top of the hill, the message had been clear. The thing about Derian, was he left you wondering just how much strength did it take to break a boulder in half? Doubts burrowed in your mind, and you might as well have already been defeated. Your mind was unsure, and you went into a fight knowing that you were badly outclassed. Which was simply another reason why few people ever met Death twice. Everyone had heard stories about him, and they grew with each retelling until no one knew exactly how strong he was. People believed that he could say a word and they would drop dead, so they lost the fight before a weapon was ever brought into play.

If he had been the whistling type, he would have as he turned towards the second foe that they faced this day. Another demon had arrived and would be the only help that the angel might get, and then only if Death allowed the two of them to get together. Standing straight as a pole, Death began a swift walk towards the demon. This time, he didn't bother to try and hide from view, the time for secrecy was over. Besides, anyone would know that something was happening with the racket that Derian was apt to make. Within moments, the other demon came into view, yet Death walked on, unslowed by the sight that greeted him. The demon was covered with bone that formed a natural armor, although how the word natural could ever be used to describe a demon was beyond him. Holding the scythe easily in his right hand, Death's eyes fastened on the demon, never blinking, never swaying. "Well, shall we begin, or do you just want to give up and save me the time it would take me to defeat you?" Death voice was a whisper tinged with contempt for the lesser being in front of him. The fact that he was even facing this creature was pointless. The result was foreseen, and the outcome obvious, there was no point to even bringing these two before Death and Derian.

Malefor observed the spectacle unfold before him. In one swift motion, the demonic giant had split the rolling boulder in half, the remains crumbling before him. The attack was perfect: his swing was flawless, and even his position as his blade of his weapon struck the rock, right at the center. The cut the demon created was clean, as if pure energy willed it apart. "He skill with his axe is a force to be reckoned with" he uttered softly, not letting his partner sense the fear in him. He turned to see his companion, a clear face of fear reflecting in his eyes. His opponent seems to be intimidating him, filling his mind with thoughts of fear and uncertainty. The battle already began in their minds, but their physical shells remained unscathed.

Unknown to him, the ghostly visage approached Malefor, his eyes always focused on him. His opponent is more formidable: he very prescence can inspire fear in his opponents. With the scythe held easy on his right hand, the shadow stared at Malefor. "Well, shall we begin, or do you just want to give up, and save me the time it would take to defeat you?". His tone showed little respect for Malefor, and it was this pride he loved to break away. His conscience struggled from the little boy begging him to concede, to the demon within urging him to rend every part of his opponent. Seeing as how the battle was taking place, he decided to fight by their rules.

"We will see, won't we?" he uttered, acting as calm as he could be. His opponents must be trying to take the easy way to win, provoking and intimidating him and the angel. "They can have their way" he thought, "Soon, when I'm done with them, they will beg for death." This battle bores him, as tests of wit and perseverance were for weaklings. He awaited his partner's move, awaiting his first attack.

Derian shook his head in amusement, the mangy fur whipping across his eyes. He was always curious about why insecure people had to steel themselves with petty rhetoric. Did the promise of a false hope actually make that big of a difference? Derian needed no empty words, his cold blood burned with a flame urging him to complete his given tasks. His axes were made for swinging and that’s what he’d do.

As he rushed towards Leon, a thought popped in Derian’s mind. If the angel was so angered by ‘trickery’, he’d love Derian’s next move. Sadistically Derian grinned at the fallen angel as they both lunged at each other; the angel was in for a treat.

“Ha, you fool that wasn’t trickery but this is! Contino ex Replicaves, Inferment Razarki!” Suddenly Derian stopped in his tracks, as if an invisible wall stood in his path. Smaller rocks crumbled as he fell to his knees. All the momentum was lost, but his eyes began to glow a pale grey. Screams of horror escaped the minotuar’s mouth. Ripping sounds echoed throughout the arena, the sound of Derian’s flesh separating. Unable to withstand the pain, Derian fell prone on the dusty ground convulsing violently. Two formless bodies tore themselves from the shaking minotaur. A fleshy goo covered their bodies like a cocoon, hiding their features. As Derian shook from the pain, the process repeated with the clones, three large demons yelling and screaming out pain and torment in unison. As the convulsions stopped, Derian and his clones stood up. The gooey flesh cocoon fell off his clones and mirror images stood around him. Acting as one, they all gave one last scream of painful ecstasy and disappeared as they all teleported forming a circle around the angel. Eyes glowing a pale gray, they chanted“Inferment Razarki!” aiming to incite the angel into a berserker state, devoid of any reason or thoughts.

Their minds echoed their thoughts, enhancing their gaze. Their master now battled with another, and this was their fight. If the angel could lose his will before the fight began, their master would be happy. Gripping their axes, they stared into the angels eyes’ casting again thoughts of fear and weakness to destroy his will.

Crap dang it I did it again, but this time I shall blame it on the drugs.

Out of the corner of his eye, Vrobleski noticed Malefor, his demonic partner, appear on the field. “Good he is here,” he thought to himself, “now we can teach this fool a lesson.” However, before he could call out for Malefor’s help, another demon appeared next to Malefor.

“Watch out,” Vrobleski wanted to scream, but when he caught the demon’s eyes he froze. “Is that Death? But how could that be?” he wondered, “Am I not Death’s servant. Is he not happy with me? I will defeat this fool who stands before me then my master will be pleased!”

He looked back into the eyes of his opponent. Anger boiled in him as thoughts of Death choosing the beast of him. Whatever emotions of he held before now where replace by extreme rage. Fear and doubt vanished from his mind. “I will teach you a lesson!” he screamed at the demon.”

Vrobleski raised his sword in front of him as the beast charged. “This fool, does he think, ‘I can’t handle myself with a sword’?” Vrobleski thought as the demon neared. “I will tear him limb from limb. I will cut his head off and present it to my master as a gift.”

When the demon was only a few yards from the angel, Vrobleski lunged forward ready to kill the beast, but the beast fell to the ground in rather random convulsions. Surprised by the sudden tumble that the demon took, Vrobleski halted his attack. The demon cursed in some ancient language Vrobleski did not understand as he whipped around on the ground.

Then two beings wrapped in some goop covered cocoon split apart from the beast. “What is this?” Vrobleski yelled as the clones spawned two more each, “more trickery? Have you no courage to face me in normal combat? Must you rely on witchcraft to defeat your opponent? Stand and fight me demon spawn!”

As though in response to Vrobleski’s shouts, all seven of the demons burst out in a painful cry as the goop fell from their bodies. They all turned their cold lifeless eyes on the angel as they cursed in their language.

Vrobleski did not get a chance to respond. In the next second his mind blacked out leaving his body as a walking zombie, ready to destroy everyone and everything in sight. It was now his rage that ran the show. His eyes turned bright red as the spell took its effect.

The demons teleported around the angel as the last of his will power vanished. The beast stared into the angel’s eyes trying to cast more thoughts of doubt and fear into his mind like before, but his berserker state thwarted off the emotions, as his rage swelled to fell the gaps in his empty skull.

Finally he raised his sword unable to scream any more curses for their trickery, yell any more threats, or even talk at all. He looked into the eyes of the first of the demonic creatures. If he had been able to speak he probably would have said, “You die first,” but since he could not, he swung his blade around holding it upside down. He then jumped into the air bringing it down at the first of the beasts.

A grim smile crossed his face when he saw that the demon across from him wasn't harboring any thoughts of surrender. That simply made it more interesting for him, it allowed him the opportunity to get some practice, and to harvest a few souls if he was lucky. With that decided, Death reached into his pool of magic to begin the fight. With a simple thought, the first spell was cast. If he had had muscles, they would have bulged; as it was, the spell gave him greater strength, and improved his physical prowess, making him faster and giving him more endurance. He doubted that the endurance would be a factor, but the speed and strength would let him finish this fight quicker and let this mockery be over with. Death's eyes practically shone out of the cowl of his cloak as his gaze bored into his opponent, daring him to try and cross weapons with him. There was no sound coming from Death, and the only other noise was the racket that Derian and the angel were creating. Quiet or loud, Death was relentless, he would never stop until his foe was defeated, and he had all the time in the world to get that accomplished.

Finally, he held the scythe out in front of him, the blade parallel to his body. With a quick flick, he began spinning it, rotating it with ease. The blade spun faster and faster, cutting the air and becoming a blur. A noise began eminating from the spin, a low screech that filled the air. The sound of Death to countless people, ever eager for another life, never satisfied with what has taken place, always looking for more. The scythe was a simple blur now, a shape that would only be stopped at the expense of someone's life. Through all of this, the only part of Death that moved was his hands as the blade continued to spin, the beginning of a deadly dance.

With a burst of movement, Death sprang forward, the scythe coming out wide to the right, angling towards the demon's left side. The blade was still a blur, just coming out of the spin that had added up to create a large momentum for the weapon. Death's right hand, wielded the blade effortlessly, his left hand held down by his waist should he need to draw a second weapon in his defense. If the scythe had been a weak weapon, it might have broken under the strain placed upon it. But his scythe was forged from darkness, incorporating the souls of the slain into it. It would take more than this to cause his weapon to break. At that instant, Death's eyes were bright, his face expressionless as he went for the blow that would mean the end of the foe before him.

Things made a turn for the worst for their team. The angel had barely escaped the grip of his opponent, when the beast fell to the ground in random convulsions. The demon's cries of pain filled the arena, unable to withstand the torture. As more convulsions wracked his body, two formless bodies crawled their way out of the demon's skin. A cocoon protected the still uncertain entities, hiding their features from everyone. Then more convulsions wracked the demon, and the cocoons began shaking as well. Two identical copies of the demon broke free from their vessel, shaking off the remains of their shell. As the three giants approached the angel, hope was beginning to fade.

It only took Malefor a short moment to realize that his opponent began his assault as well. His opponent began spinning widely, appearing as a blur to Malefor. Holding his scythe on his right hand, he stretched it, then continued spinning his weapon. His movements were almost a blur now, as he performed his attack.

Malefor was caught unaware, an unknown attack made at him. His body was made to withstand pain, but he knew none of his opponents and was rather cautious of them. In response to the visage's movement, he raised his tail, just a few inches from his torso. The attack can be aimed at any of his arms of legs, and the damage dealt could be critical for him.

As the ghostly visage spun faster, his attacks suddenly stopped. The blade of his scythe appeared inches from his left, the edge almost penetrating his skin. With only little time to react, Malefor swung his tail to the left, striking the handle of the scythe. A look of awe spread on Malefor's face, as the scythe didn't even have a scar or mark from his tail. His tail struck the handle of the blade, but not before it struck itself into the demon's elbow. Jolts of pain spread throughout his body as his demon essence flowed from the wound. He has endured pain before, but this was the first attack that actually penetrated his thick hide.

With the weapon still impaled on his elbow, Malefor then took a step back, then raised his right hand at his foe. His opponent had spilled the first blood for the battle, but this was not going to be his end. Malefor channeled all his rage unto his arm, as he brought it down on his opponent's left shoulder. One solid blow was what he needed, and this would surely even the odds of their side of the battle.