The scene opens with an acute sense of claustrophobia. The back of the mobile personnel bunker bore quite small dimensions for its make(Patia AMV), and virtually no light was casted from within its pitch confines. The metal transport shook and teetered like a bomb shelter under fire as it veered across a non-descript sandy hemisphere. Yet, if one listened closely, the faint sound of steady breathing could be heard over the clangor.

"Thirty seconds to Drop Point. Get ready, chief."

The inner blackness was flushed away in short flashes of red light that reflected against an amber visor as the radio voice rung from behind the mask. In the short bursts of emergency light, a single man could be made out from within, forearms resting on his knees, back reclined to wall. He didn't respond. He didn't need to. He was lost in a world of silent concentration.

The man was a sitting fortress, and one could tell even with the lack of reliable light. It wasn't the array of strange items and materials holstered on his utility belt. It wasn't the large shield propped at an angle between seat and wall next to him. It wasn't the strange rifle whom's obtuse butt rested on the rattling floor at his feet. It wasn't even the thoroughly out of place black scabbard and protruding azure-sashed hilt that lay on the opposite side the shield.

It was his armor.

If the denizens of the Emerald City of Oz prided themselves on the color of the jewel, they would be green with envy at the deep, thick verdure plating that covered Corban's frame. It was thickest at the chest, knees, forearms, back, and forelegs. The joints, ribs, calves, and the spaces between interlocking finger plates were coated in a hyper-flexible and durable aphotic fibrous material.

A low pinging scratched at the back of his mind. Before his helm, Ishtalle appeared in hologram form, adorned in a skintight suit of royal purples and shining platinums. Her cyan locks flowed around her like smoke, and she levitated toward his visor, tapping it once with thoughtful reservation.

There was a short pause.

"Cortana, is that you?"

<Who?>

"Nothing. It must have just been a dream."

Her expression spelled worry. A deep mix of instinct and Corban's demeanor telling her something was off. She shrugged it aside.

<I think we've arrived. It's time.>

"Are you ready?"

<Im always ready, if I'm with you.>

She cupped his face with her hands lovingly, lavender eyes meeting naught but his maple-colored visor as she vanished into digital pixals that were siphoned into the blades jeweled pommel.

The bunker door collapsed like a drawbridge, flooding in light and air. From the small tunnel, one could point out several attributes of the landscape. Urban, abandoned, war-stricken. The buildings told a story of battle. Buildings were in disarray, marred with bullet holes, bleeding broken glass, and missing sections. Cars were left all about the streets and pavements, some charred carcasses while others still burned in the fading light of evening like a snapshot of rush-hour.

Equipping his various armaments, Corban stepped down from his door-made-walkway and onto tattered pavement, visor scanning everything from atmospheric to chemical information. The drawbridge was drawn up from behind him, and with a single thumbs up positioned to be caught in the drivers rear-view mirror, the transport vehicle zoomed off, becoming a black twinkle in the distance.

Corban drew a deep breath, head craned toward a sky that showed two giant moons over the horizon and glaring sun at once. He flexed and curled his digits(one of which were coiled around his rifle).

"So. How much longer?"

<Not long at all.>

Corban likely didn't see it on his first scan around, but on his second, he would notice a figure a few yards away. He said nothing at first, simply staring up at the sky with his hands stuffed in the pocket of his leather jacket, "It's a beautiful day outside..." His words were soft, menacing. His face was shadowed, his expression unidentifiable. He was silent for a few moments, his body completely still.

Then, he turned to face Corban. The goofy grin on his face was illuminated, his hazel eyes glistening against the light that shone down on the both of them. The menacing facade had quickly fallen, especially when one realized that Jett was 5'5 with a leather jacket--he looked like a short guy with an attitude.

Jett chuckled, "Hey, nice entrance," He pointed toward the transportation that had now left him in the barren wasteland, "Heh, how many dress rehearsals did that take?" He stared at the man clad in state-of-the-art armor for a few moments before walking forward a few steps, snickering at his own joke.

"Ah come on, don't give me the silent treatment," He seemed to take no notice of the terrible conditions around him. The burnt buildings, the roads that had been torn asunder. He even stepped over a charred body--he hadn't committed the terrible deed, but Jett decided not to worry about trivial things such as a human life when he had a bigger prize to claim, "I'm just trying to make conversation is all."

He snapped a finger, pointing at Corban now, "Say--what's your name, anyway?"

"Quite a few, actually." He replied curtly to the newcomers question about his new fangled digs. "It's as uncomfortable as it looks. Really pinches the crotch, y'know?"

It probably took an hour to get the whole thing on, but it was well worth it. The backup artificial atmosphere allowed him to resist the toughest weather conditions, and the innate, but hidden arcane circuit-board lead into a central power conduit placed behind the thick back-plates. The circuitry transmitted free energy to the core, providing him with more than enough power to last a single excursion. It was the payoff for being such an eccentric tinkerer and inventor. The help of of a few theoretical physicists also didn't hurt, of course. But Jett didn't need to know that.

"You can call me Corban. Though Chibi Overlord is what friends know me as." It might have been then that Jett would notice a plush chibi Corban doll of himself. Closer inspection would reveal one of Faustus, one Julius, and perhaps all of those he'd come to know in his travels had pouches on his utility belt. He tugged at one before continuing. "I could make one for you, y'know? There's always space on the belt."

Rumble rumble. His sword rattled in its sheathe, which hung off his left side without sash or belt, and Corban began having an argument with some unseen force before he redirected his attention to the man.

"It would only be fair that you meet, Ishtalle. It would be rude of me to not introduce a lady, right?" He said with an almost sarcastic tone.

Just as the last syllable left his lips, in a digitized harmony of physiology and technology, a woman appeared beside Corban from a marquee of floating data and techno-jargain. She curtsied like a princess proper before rising again. She stood just slightly shorter than the 5'10 man.

<I am Ishtalle, and it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. So, what do we call you?>

Jett looked down at the plush doll versions of himself and a few other people. It took him a few moments to process it, but afterward he burst into laughter. He placed the back of his hand over his mouth as he suppressed the hysterical laughter only slightly, "That is glorious," he replied, wiping a fake tear from his eye, "Chibi overlord...I so want one. You just have to be sure to get my devilish good looks."

Jett then stopped his laughter slowly, looking on as Corban had an internal argument with himself. As that occurred, Jett had begun to prepare himself for battle. His mana was gathering around him, ready for quick use if it was required. However, he was also lost in his thoughts, Corban...Corebong? That name sounds kinda familiar.

He only left his own train of thought upon the appearance of a new face--a digitized woman, standing next to Corban as she bowed like a royal would. He blinked at her name as well, "Ishtalle?" He began to snicker again, trying to hold his laughter between his words, "Well, it doesn't seem like..." His words came out again strained and high, "You ish talle."

He then straightened himself, clearing his throat, "Man, I crack myself up--sorry, my name is Jett," He spread out his arms and moved around slightly, "Like the type of plane, but with an extra T."

He flexed his fists a bit, looking down at them, "It's nice to meet you, Ishtalle and Corban," He nodded once fervently--unlike most of the competitors, Jett was very exuberant, and had an aura of excitement and child-like behavior around him, "Hey, Corban, aren't you like...an element on the Periodic Table?"

"Don't fret. Your chibi-plushy will be a masterpiece. I only need to see something once to perfectly recreate it." Corban said, flourishing his hand over the plushy's on his belt as though he had laid a hand of cards.

Then, the strangest thing happened as the new arrival replied to Ishatlle's greeting. She laughed. Well, as much as a living sword could emulate the action. Jett wouldn't be able to see it past the reflective amber visor, but Corban's jaw dropped. In all the time he'd been with her, he had seen the esteemed Guardian Edge emulate all kinds of emotions and gestures, but genuine laughter was not one of them. It would have been cute, had he not seen her make grown men cry -and crap themselves- like babies.

<Oh my, Jett truly suits you, young master.> she spoke between giggles muffled with her hand. < It isn't often that one catches my interest, and its a shame we all couldnt have met under more peaceful conditions. Though I'm sorry to say I have to jet, now.>

With another low bow, she reintegrated with the sword's hilt in a flash of purple digistruct panels, leaving only man and much shorter man to their own devices, followed shortly by Jett's followup question.

"Why yes, I am that Corban!" he pulled a 250 carat diamond from his utility belt, pinched between two fingers to show it. "See?"

"So now that we're properly acquainted and somewhat alone," Corban began, hefting his rifle upon the back of his waist, crystal nexus core charging its payload. "perhaps we can get down to business. After all, we are here to spill blood, are we not?"

The diamond shifted and molded in a way that would make one question whether the material was an incredibly dense solid, and not water or a gel. His right hand now wielded a eutactically smooth, diamond and graphene blade whom's edge came alive with a crackling abjurative disjunction. It was three feet long, featuring a forked design like a swordbreaker, but bore a distinctive ovular shape.

The two were slightly less than a rock's throw apart, and Corban slid his right foot forward, and his left back slightly for a wide stance, and held his blade vertically afront the mid section of his chest.

"Well? I'm ready."

Jett was happy to see Ishtalle laugh at his jokes. Most competitors were simply annoyed by him and never took the time to stop and chat, let alone get his pristine humor. He grinned gleefully--and then something happened that he had never experienced before, either.

Ishtalle made a pun too.

Jett chuckled, and for once, it wasn't at his own joke. He smiled, looking at her with admiration, "Aw, man, that's hilarious--you guys are great, I too wish we could have met under better circumstances," He watched Ishtalle dematerialize, and then both men were alone again. He glanced down at the 250 karat diamond that was held between the man's fingers, tilting his head in awe.

Then, as the wind blew through the both of them, the landscape started to grow colder. Jett knew that things were getting serious, yet his smile refused to waver. As he watched the diamond transform into a sword of varying forms of carbon, Jett's excitement for a good fight suddenly grew tenfold. With a bit of distance between them, he too got into a battle stance. At the same time, he examined the man's armor, trying to find any sort of weakened areas that would be a good area to attack.

"I guess it can't be helped," He lifted a hand up above his head, and in a sparkle of lights, a sword similar in size to Corban's formed in the man's grasp. The hilt was made with intricate designs, representing an artist's touch. The blade itself was a deep black, almost like an obsidian, however it held an ominous glow. Jett's eyes glimmered with a mischievous tone, "I have a tournament to win."

The wind blew again, except it came from the speed of Jett's body as it hit the jagged pavement, leather jacket kicking up around his frame as he moved. He cut the gap between them in less than a second, his glimmering sword slashing at Corban--Carbon? The element is Carbon!--within the chest area. He didn't intend to harm him yet, only to see just how durable the armor was. At the same time, he watched the hand that held the sword carefully.

And the horses were off! Just when it seemed Jett and the Guardian would sooner forfeit in favor of heading to a bar for a drink, no less. No matter, Corban would try his damnedest to not injure the man too severely. They still needed to get that drink, after all!

The Guardian held his ground and fortified his stance with a shallow inhale that would be held like a woman's hand as Jett closed the gap between them. He would not flinch. He would not flex. Not until the man was in striking distance anyway. Upon his chestward swing, Corban exhaled sharply and the short man's blade would be met with a vice grip of doom as it was caught between his overgrown sword-breaker with force enough to crack and buckle the asphalt beneath them. Within the disjunction, several things would occur with the impetus of a lightning strike, and with no less violence:

The abjurative edge would all but nullify any latent magical surprises hiding within the bladed ebon mass, and a slight twist of Corban's wrist would position either forked edge against the blade that could very well break the weapon in two. Should it be made of sterner stuff, there were still the laws of physics. Corban's twisting action would twist Jett's sword-arm to the outside, accompanied with a slight discomfort to his wrist that would disarm him. After all, he didn't want to break his -seemingly- dominant hand and make lifting his bottle awkward and painful.

With his stance and guard wide open, the earth mage dressed like a Spartan trooper would follow up with a left elbow to Jett's neck, and a simultaneous left knee to his right flank, aimed for his ribs. His own strength was nothing to scoff at, and the thick plating covering his joints would pack an extra layer of force behind his lightning strikes. If the man did not have the speed, strength, or foresight to block or dodge, he'd find himself skipping along the pavement like a rock on water, and then through the delapidated wall of an adjacent building.

Damage assessment?

◦ Two broken ribs, perhaps a third one that is only cracked.

◦ Cracked neck that would not paralyze, but certainly leave him unconcious for several hours.

◦ Possible concussion and superficial bruises from hitting the pavement like a ragdoll.

◦ Even lower property values.

Before Jett's blade could even make it to the man's chest, he was met with the beautiful carbon-derived sword with the forked edge. With pristine accuracy, the blade was suddenly between the two edges as both men pushed against one another. The broken pavement beneath them cracked as wind burst around them. He stared into Corban's amber visor for a few moments. This was something of a challenge for the jokester, and he certainly liked challenges. He had no intent of hurting the man, only to rough him up a bit until he won.

He wasn't able to react until the man began to twist his sword around. Knowing the worst was potentially coming, he quickly took his grip off of the sword's hilt, effectively making it disappear at his discretion just as quickly as it had materialized. He looked down, noticing the elbow and the knee both simultaneously come forward in an effort to meet their targets. He jumped backwards with great speed, dodging both attacks respectively, "Hey, nice one!" He commented, "You're pretty fast, carbon guy! Heh."

As he went into the air, a chill would run through the both of them as an onyx colored substance began to emerge around Jett's body. As the darkness into his hand and transformed into an orb, his hazel eyes darkened significantly. Before hitting the ground a few feet away he threw the orb forward like a baseball. Once it grew close to him, the orb would become akin to a grenade as Jett willed the orb to combust, creating a moderate explosion just in front of Corban--enough to blow him back quite a few feet, "Let's see if you can take this!"

It seemed this one would dance away when met with the fortress-like armored man's brunt. That simply would not do! As joints met a spectacular amount of nothing where there should have been the satisfying snap of cracking bones, Corban smashed his foot down, depressing the earth further and regaining his stance instead of spinning under his momentum.

Where armored foot met carbon-rich asphalt and the several layers of raw material beneath, the section several feet afore it coiled and snaked forth in a tight, six foot high triangular wedge. Its edges sparkled with rainbow hues as the light of Jett's blast splashed against it as though they were made of diamond. Indeed they were diamond! The blast was split around the mass and Corban respectively, washing him with naught but a wave of heat and displaced wind.

"So, that's how it is? You think you're safe if you put some distance between us?"

The sheer volume of opponents whom circle strafed and tap danced around the man-fortress had forced him to become incredibly proficient at pinging enemies from a distance. He'd display that talent now.

"You're not!"

A tempered palm smashed into the base of the geometric shape, launching it like a diamond arrowhead from its crystalline bed with speed slightly under a bullets, and about the size of two minivans placed side-by-side. Though the size was only half of Jett's worries. When within the range of five feet, the wedge would violently discard its crystalline edges in a rainbow-refracting fragmentation molecular buckshot. Thousands of particulate shards of varying sizes exploded forth, each with the speed and energy enough to punch through steel.

Meanwhile, the guardian paced to his left and right, scoping his options and laying his schemes. The diamond blade was now replaced with his beam rifle, its long, carbon black barrel glowing with crackling spell circuitry. It was primed, and Corban was prepared to shoot anything out of the sky that would attempt to fly away from his crystal arrowhead.

Jett watched as the dark orb was thrust at Corban with speeds equating a slow-moving bullet, and yet he was able to respond quickly--just as he had. A large diamond sparkled in front of the man, meeting the darkness' blast with no change. Jett raised his arm up in front of his face, the blast of heat pushing against him as well as around Corban, "So I just got the joke of your name," Jett began to explain, putting his arm down.

He watched Corban for a moment, "Your name is Corban, and you use diamonds--a form of carbon! And Corban is just Carbon when you switch the A and O around!" He grinned, "Pretttttty clever!"

Corban's rhetorical question did not go unheard, and Jett placed his hands inside his pockets, shrugging, "I never said I thought I was safe, bud."

He watched the triangular crystal move toward him at intense speeds, noting just how close it was coming. He didn't move at all, however, awaiting the chance to make his defense. Just as the diamond exploded into thousands of tiny particles--most aimed at him--was Jett's hazel eyes gave a slight sparkle.

Suddenly, a burst of invisible power crashed against every particle, big or small. There was enough power in such a blast that all of the shimmering particles rocketed back from where they came, toward the figure of Corban. The particles that had just been threatening Jett's life were now moving toward Corban at the same exact speed, and yet Jett still hadn't moved--his hands were still in his pockets, "But you're in just as much danger as me."

[OOC: To clarify, he used one of his large shockwave-like attacks as stated in his abilities, however instead of on a person he used it on the particles moving toward them]

Subversion was a technique often employed by the Guardian, and it was incredibly rare that one would think it wise to attempt it in on him. Corban was a knower of all, yet master of few, and of those masteries he made it a point to punish those who would challenge that mastery or try to subvert him in predictable ways. If one were going to defeat Corban, they'd need to think far outside the box... In hindsight, guarding was probably not the best option to take against a guardian.

~Projected walls of force, hm? It's either a spell, or some kind of telekinetic barrier. We've seen both before.~

<Then we can deal with it the same way.>

~Precisely. Why work on a case-by-case when you can have one technique good for many uses!?~

A percentage of the buckshot would be successfully deflected in sparkling arcs that would pockmark the ground with steaming, hyper expensive rhinestones as opposed to skewering Corban. A strange thing, indeed. The missing numbers in that equation would punch through his barrier like bullets through water. His crystals were insulated against magic and its subsidiaries from the outside, yet highly receptive from within. The larger fragments would not be deflected, but pass through to pierce and pepper the man within with crystalline bullets. Upon impact, the flechettes would rapidly decompose, creating more exacerbated, spread wounds. If he did not protect his face, he'd find that there was an incredibly large chance that hed come out of his little cocoon blinded by diamond shards, as well.

At the same time, Corban primed the barrel of his rifle, aimed for the man dealing with a crystal buckshot -and wherever he may relocate to-. The inner spell-circuitry lead like the roots of a tree to the crystal nexus that lay at the center, inscribed with complex arcane algorithms. The trigger was pulled and the spell-crystal was triggered, releasing a highly compressed stream of abjurative, sky-blue energy.

When met with physical or magical opposition, the Disruptor beam would implode into a blast arc. When met with thicker material such as earth or steel, the beam would produce an arc and then a thinner secondary beam. More focused piercing power would penetrate the thickest defenses. When met with something soft like aerogel, the beam would widen into a wide '>' shape that would wash over the material like a wave. If his barrier was still up, he'd find it turned against him two-fold. If not, he was still in clear sight, in the middle of the street, and thoroughly occupied with armor-piercing, rapidly decomposing crystal shrapnel.

"I don't think so. I still haven't even begun thinking two steps ahead, yet."

"Oh--OH, I'VE MADE A MISTAKE!"

That was the only thing that could come out of Jett's mouth as he saw at least half of the crystals phase through the telekinetic force field like a bullet through water; the magic did nothing signifcant to the crystals. There wasn't much he could do now considering the close proximity of the buckshot. With one arm he covered his face, placing the other across his body diagonally. At the same time he quickly jumped to the side in an attempt to dodge at least a portion of the widespread attack (Even if it wouldn't succeed).

He kept both arms in front of his face and body, allowing them to take the brunt of the crystal hits, the rest spreading across his legs and sides. The next thing he saw was a sky-blue blast of energy moving toward his body. His eyes widened and as soon as he hit the ground, he jumped upward as high as he could, letting the blast go on toward the horizon rather than attempt to deflect it. It was only at that point that his brain processed mild pain--almost like a nuisance. When he looked down, he noticed large cuts through his leather jacket, crimson seeping out of them as well as spots on his torso and legs. He sucked his teeth, "You got me good," he commented, landing back on the ground at his feet, this time even further away from Corban. He looked down at the ground, rolling his bleeding shoulders before glancing up.

That goofy grin was still on his face, "but I'm not gonna go down that easily."

The sword materialized once again in his hand and Jett rushed him, ignoring the significant amount of lacerations on his arms and body and still retaining his speed and strength. He went to slash at Corban, however stopped short a few inches away. From behind, dark magic came at him in an attempt to push him forcefully, and if successful he'd then stab Corban in his arm at one of the joint areas of his armor.

Corban watched scrutinously as the man ate his diamond-fullerene storm, not missing the fact he'd drawn blood. How peculiar that he could even still book at his current speed! Corban thought to himself. Each of the decomposed munitions unloaded a small squall of hyper-sharp edges that would flay flesh and tear apart muscle. His wounds may have been small, but in biology depth is more important than surface area. Every nick, cut, and scratch would be more like puncture wounds, and the larger ones would leave ghastly bleeding holes like someone had bitten chunks out of him. Compared to Corban, whom was in prime condition and hermetically sealed within his verdure cocoon, he was quite sluggish.

The familiar feeling of converging energies centered upon Corban, and then those suspicions made reality by the panels and vectors of information displayed from his visor.

-Metamagnetic disturbance detected.-
-Kinetic Dispersal Initiated-
-Phase Complete-

A burst of kinetic force radiated from Corban's shield, which was attached vertically to his back. Conservation of momentum applied here, and the two pushing forces would cancel one another out, or at least almost did. Corban himself was a fulcrum, oddly staying grounded the entire time. Calibrations and quantities of force could easily be ascertained from this distance, so Corban would deflect a majority of Jett's magical push, but allowed just enough through to kickstart a deadly experiment in physics. The free energy was cycled through haptic contact, and funneled into the head of Ishtalle's swiftly icing scabbard. As Corban spun on his heel from a low center, he gripped her hilt with his right hand, Ishtalle appearing as she did before in the imaginative space within his visor.

<Target Acquired.>
<Kinetic Drain Initiated.>
<Bose-Einstein condensate detected.>

Just as he would reach the crux of his spin, with the butt of Ishtalle's scabbard facing Jett it would swivel at an upward angle before being fired with all of the energy that could be gathered from the heat in the area, aimed for his chest. With him in mid-charge, inertia and momentum would work against him as the wooden bullet would crash into him like a ton of bricks. It would not pierce, but stop him dead in his tracks and launch him off his feet several dozen inches and do more than knock all of the wind out of him.... Only a few feet or so away from Corban. For all intents and purposes, it's never safe to be within fourteen feet of Corban at any given time.

Even in the case he deflected the sheathe-turned-weapon, the upward angle and force would knock him into the air regardless, due to those pesky laws of physics. Good thing Corban was good at juggling. Following the shot, he rose from out of his spin, Ishtalle's eutactically smooth mirror-face convected wind and ozone in a star-plasma arc that would tear apart the earth at his feet, and strike Jett from his bottom right to his top left.

Corban held the superior ground with Jett limited in the air, and Ishtalle's chigirized edge would cut any makeshift defense into ribbons, and grind any enchantment into dust. Of course, there was always still the beam-rifle, which was aimed and primed in the likelihood he'd try to pull a fast one.

Jett was surprised to see Corban prepared for nearly every attack he gave to him and his companion. The darkness was completeley deflected by a shield that had been on his back, breaking it apart into solid particles that returned to him. As he ran toward Corban with the intent to incapacitate, the man suddenly turned his sheathed sword onto him. Launching like a bottle rocket, the sheath suddenly had the kinetic force equivalent to an oncoming train--a train aimed at his chest.

The speed at which he ran toward Corban made it impossible for him to dodge--all he could do was raise his blade up in front of his chest, the strengthened blade taking the brunt of the force from the rocketing sheath. Even with the defense, however, law of physics dictated that he would go flying into the air, sword still in hand. He stared down at his opponent, just in time to see an arc-like blast coming at him from below. Using his telekinesis against himself, Jett was pushed away from the oncoming blast just in the nick of time (He could almost sense the sizzling of his eyebrows from how close he was to death).

Still in the air, he drew in a shaky breath, in and out, "I've been in the sky at least four times today," He landed once again, scoffing, "And yet you've barely moved."

He looked down at the ground that was now sullied by marks and craters in the earth. The iron smell of blood and burnt leather exuded from Jett's very being, and yet he still refused to stay down. For the first time in the whole battle, he frowned, "There's a reason I'm here, you know," He spoke through gritted teeth, the sky darkening slightly, "I don't care about the fame, the money--heh, not even the power."

He exhaled, ignoring the droplets of crimson that were now going into the pavement. He looked into Corban's amber visor for a few moments, then he shut his eyes softly, "I only want my brother back," It was a whisper--the type that was soft, but meant to be heard.

"Guess I just have to work harder, huh?" His eyes shot open, his grin returning once again. If Corban would look up, he would notice dozens upon dozens of dark black particles now hanging in the sky above him, "I can't let my brother down...even if I really like you, Carbon guy."

All of the particles began to rain down on his position at the speed of bullets--each one would make small explosions upon impact, cauterizing the bullet wounds but making them much deeper and wider. After all the bullets made their mark, Jett would thrust his sword blade first in the direction of wherever Corban was, "Let's see if you and your anti magic can take this!"

That was what it meant to be a Guardian. To maintain ones ground even in the most explosive of environs. When you are expected to hold a choke point on your own, you had to be a fortress: Immovable. Perhaps that explains Corban's penchant for charging into attacks instead of evading them. He was also borderline suicidal. Whether that effects his decisions or not is for the reader to interpret.

Corban was prepared for the explosive monsoon the moment his star-plasma missed its target. Again, it seemed Jett realized his mistake in charging a guardian head on, and would try for explosive force to compensate for his losses. Luckily, Corban could defend himself with less than Jett put out. Explosions were incredibly wasteful, especially when trying to carpet bomb a single enemy. Imagine all the wasted energy put into the exploding droplets that wouldn't land anywhere near Corban!

"And this is the second time you've failed to commit to close combat and opted to try and explode me, instead. I think I've got a pin on your style now. That will make ablating the armor that much easier."

Two fingers traced an arc across the sky as a shell of ice deeper than a starless night appeared over him. All of the light, motion, and energy of the few explosions unfortunate enough to diffuse around him were drawn into a nigh infinite sink, like a Newton's Cradle into oblivion. The explosions also kicked up a hell of a lot of debris and dust, which Corban would make work in his favor. As the exploding rain faded(unless it's a continuous effect), his iced shell of oxygen collapsed. The carboniferous mist thickened preternaturally, particles of dust morphing and ovulating to better obscure vision. Jett's backward push would also become the nail in his coffin.

If he'd recall earlier, when he deflected a greater portion of Corban's molecular buckshot, the diamonds were not destroyed, given the force applied was only enough to reapply force instead of powderize. The way they landed formed a rudimentary spell circle several feet across, and Jett would leap right into it. With a snap the rhinestones pockmarking the earth lit up with curtains of light not unlike the tails of an aurora. With Jett in the center, he'd feel his power being dampened. something was plugging his ability to build any form of external magical force. Like the magnetosphere, the powerful dispel circle acted as a magical deterrent.

His pseudo-magic plugged, therefore so too his versatility, he'd have no fancy tricks to escape his doom. Yet again in the middle of the street, this time blinded by his own destruction, he would never see the grass-hued beam come until it was too late and exploded through his sternum like a tank buster.

"My antimagic works fine."

The explosions would have worked out in his favor eventually, had Corban not used it in his own. Jett's darkness began particles that weaved into the ground upon the small explosions they gave off. As the mist began to emerge around him, he ignored it--he still knew where his enemy was, and Jett knew that he was standing at the same place he had been all this time before. With determination in his eyes, he was prepared for his final attack, the coup de grace. The darkness would begin seeping out of the ground and--

He stopped. "What."

Looking down, he noticed the faint glow of those damned rhinestone diamonds. As if his ears were plugged, he felt the same way with his magic. There was nothing more he could do, even if he tried. He had to get out of this circle of anti-magic. Looking forward, he exhaled, "So now we've resorted to dirty tricks?" He said, even though he was going to use a dirty trick of his own in about five seconds, "How sad of you."

He began to back away, attempting to evade the circle that kept his magic at a minimum, "I'm not done yet, Carbon guy, I never will be--"

The rest of the breath needed for his sentence was taken out of him as a green colored beam came through the mist like a gargantuan bullet, penetrating his sternum and coming out from the other side. His mouth was left wide open, his eyes staring out into the cloudy horizon before him. He stood there for a long time, as if time had stopped. Then, he fell to his knees.

He braced his arm against the large hole that was in his body, vermillian trickling from his lips as his widened eyes became slits. He looked at the ground, breathing softly and jaggedly. The only thing keeping him alive was his sheer will to live, and even that was draining fast. He looked up, hoping that he could catch another glimpse of Corban before he passed on. If their eyes happened to meet, there would be a sign of respect and admiration to the anti-magic man of Carbon.

His ears became keen to the sound of the wind blowing against his face, and the pavement that cracked underneath his weight. He even heard the sound of a stray bird, escaping from its pack. The surprise on his face turned into the faintest of smiles--genuine and forced at the same time, "Heh...Good one."

The rest of him fell to the ground with a soft thud, his body going limp as his boisterous soul went to see his family again.