[@supertinyking]
As Maka dropped to the ground Khaine immediately followed up, refusing to be distracted from his prey. With a flash of light, a burning hot trident appeared in his hand, fresh from the forge. Making full use of the opening in his opponent's defences, Khaine slammed the trident through her chest, pinning her to the ground below with the three hooked spikes even as the burning heat scorched her wounds. Of course he knew this would not kill her, but it would contain her, at least for a bit. It seemed that another opponent had made themselves known, and he would need to maintain his focus.

[color=ed1c24]"So you are Gram the Gentle Fist? You are the one who has been sent to defeat me?"[/color] Khaine looked over his opponent. While clearly not human, it was another mortal race, born from pitiful flesh. But even amongst the mortal races great warriors can arise, and this figure held himself as one who had seen many battles. Composed and graceful, every muscle ready to react. To fight does not make a warrior. To be a warrior was to live for battle, to breathe in death and breathe out blood. It was to be the paragon of war, the embodiment of wrath, to be the wall upon which your enemies break themselves and the hammer that strikes them down. And, for the first time since coming here, Khaine found himself faced with a Warrior. A man who lived to kill, and killed to live. No amount of determination, no amount of regret, could remove that look from his eyes, or that edge from his stance. [color=ed1c24]"..... very well. Let's do this. Perhaps you will prove to be a true challenge."[/color]

Reaching out, Khaine called forth the Rending Eye. A massive greatsword over two meters long erupted from the ground, the blackened blade seeming to glare with malevolent force. As if the lives it had taken stuck to it like residue, a foul aura that never left. The scent of a billion lives lost, of civilisations crushed and worlds turned to dust. It was the scent of war. And as Khaine drew up the massive blade, Gram knew that he would not be able to win this fight as a pacifist. The Sons of Baal were tireless, merciless, and without fear. Two had entered this orb, and one way or another, one of the two was going to die.