The quiet quickly becomes deafening when you’re on your own for long enough. The sounds of the wild, chirping insects and yapping mammalians, even the breath of the wind. It leaves its place in the natural order of things as harmless background noise and becomes something far more insidious. Something to be afraid of. The quiet scared him more than anything else in the barren land of Felenr that it did. Though perhaps he was just growing paranoid in his middle age, he certainly had good reason to be wracked with worry. That lone man, wandering into an all too familiar ruin. His name was Metz, he was an unassuming man with a wiry build and brownish red hair tied back in a tail. Like most survivors of the Departure, he wore a scrapped together vest (and further protection beneath his clothes) that served to protect him from the blades common bandits liked to employ. He also carried a knife of his own, a curved blade kept in a sheath over his chest, though he was no bandit. That being said, if anyone took the time to look at him closely they might see past his holey green jumper and his narrow, almost emaciated, features. Even past the knife and the gun at his hip, all the way over to the three neat vials on his belt. Two which glowed a faint blue and were filled with some kind of unusual liquid, one filled with a jet black liquid that seemed unhealthy even to the untrained eye.

It were these things which marked him out as a Mage, someone to be avoided at all costs on the wastes of Felenr. They were all mad killers, driven crazy by the soul tainting black mana they imbibed to wreak devestation like that which had struck the town of Arkulf, or what had been Arkulf before it was ruined by fire and war.

“Can’t say I didn’t do a fair bit of this damage, now that I think about it.” His voice was raw with disuse, seeing as how he only seldom spoke, and even then usually with himself. But there it was, filling that open air with the sparsely heard tone of human voice, or Torm, as it was in this case. He shrugged his shoulders, the backpack shifting as he did so to resettle some of the weight, and walked into the town.

I remember this place.

He had stopped in the centre, some unconscious desire drawing him back to the old square and its tired looking town hall. Naught but charred ruins now, tile ruptured by grass and root, the fountain dry and reclaimed by nature. The rooftop of the Hall had collapsed, allowing the elements in, but it otherwise stood structurally not so dissimilar to how it had looked that day. He had stood on the balcony overlooking the centre. Looked down on a field of battle unlike any he had seen since. The elements brought to bear with lethal intent, the many kinds of death one might find on a magic battlefield had sickened him, perhaps even unhinged him a little. It was easy to blame it all on the mana, but sometimes Metz wondered if he’d never been quite right after his last visit to Arkulf.

“I killed two of my own right there.” He muttered, looking across to a low wall around the square where the stone had been ruptured by some kind of force. If it had been a modern battlefield, one would have assumed it was done by explosive ordinance, a mortar or rocket. Metz knew that it had been something far more unusual that had caused that damage, water. Their cover was ruptured, showering them with rock and stone, and the bullets flew in, cutting them to shreds. Two mages had died there. Traitors, but mages, and Metz had been the one that had killed them as surely as if he had pulled the trigger. He stood in the square, before the broken fountain and the charred town hall, lost in memory.

The sounds of an ex-enemy approaching seemed oddly fitting to the place Metz found himself in. Not to say he didn’t immediately grow alarmed, his hand unclasping his weapon holster as he turned to face the street behind him. But that after taking this precautionary action he didn’t dive into conflict suggested that Metz himself saw something of an inevitability in the coming battle, and was in no hurry to engage in it. Whatever was to happen here would not be a speedy process, nor a pleasant one, so he would do well to delay it with whatever measure he could rather than embracing it straight away. Besides, where was the fun in that?

All that thinking culminated in Metz standing ready for Daniel as he closed to within earshot. The Mage’s hand strayed only a short distance from the handle of his gun and his eyes pierced the Icey creature with a steady glare. It had been just over a year since they had last met, but those events had not faded quickly from the mind of the mana-less mage. The Nexus of Worlds, where he sealed tight the prison of an entity that had doomed his world, Felenr. He had been tested by three, and bested them all in that Arena. One stood before him now.

“Daniel, wasn’t it?” Metz inquired politely, his mind racing. “It has been a year or so, I’d say.” He looked wistful, but inside there was hidden turmoil within the Mage. It was not every day an enemy he encountered through a portal to what he perceived was another dimension suddenly appeared on his home planet. He couldn’t let the obvious question go unasked.

“How did you… get here?”

"Eh, y'know, wandering. Was just hopping through the highways and byways of the multiverse, jumped out at the first interesting world I found. Lucky coincidence."

The wolf smiled and held his hands up. The last time the mage and he had met, it had been in the Nexus of Worlds. The tournament, hosted by his old friend Skallagrim, was some world-ending thing that they had to win to have a chance of stopping. Obviously he didn't win. Metz was his foil. They'd fought to a standstill, the winner decided only by a slim time margin. He'd thoroughly enjoyed the fight, and after the chaos of the after-tourney, he'd been wanting a rematch.

"And what about you, Metz? I gather you're not here for to sightsee."

His expression grew pensive, yet still somehow alert in a predatory sort of fashion. The Mage absorbed the words of the Wolf-man, mulled them around and spat them back out with a single word riddled with incredulity.

“Right.”

He had fought the Wolf before and come out alive, if what he said was true and he could casually wander through the gaps between existence there was no way the Mage should have been able to beat him. But why was he lying? More importantly, what was his intent? If he was here for a fight, things had lined up rather conveniently for Daniel. But why hadn’t he attacked immediately then? Difficult to say, but there was a rather simple way to ascertain what the elemental was doing in Arkulf.

“Exactly that, actually.” He paused, his eyes growing shrewd. “This is the town of Arkulf, the scene of a famous battle that took place nigh over two decades ago.” He shrugged. “And may I inquire as to what you plan to do in this ruin? You don’t hold a grudge over our last encounter, do you?”

"Nope. Not in the slightest. Honest. But...I was looking for a rematch. After all that chaos happened I kinda lost you back there, in the Nexus. Our match did end by time limit, by the by, and I thought a time limit was too short for our little duel."

Daniel shrugged and took a drag from his cigarette.

"Look pal, honestly I don't give a shit whether you believe me or not. I did just stumble on this world while trying to find you for a rematch. So...yeah. Take that as you will. I'm just here to get my rematch, then I'll be out of your hair."

The wolf man stood firm. As much as he was being sincere, it was still a half truth. The mage's scent across the cosmos wasn't that hard to track and his presence here was no mere coincidence, but trying to navigate to a single world in a sea of billions was like trying to find a needle in the ocean floor. Very, very difficult.

Dry laughter escaped his lips as the evening wind gusted around him, delivering that world weary intonation to whatever served as the Wolf’s ears, the laughter of the slightly unhinged, but of one who is all too aware of that fact. It was not a bubbling cackle, not like that which spouted forth when he imbibed the dark stuff, oh no. The cause for such merriment? The oddity of the Wolf’s purpose, nothing less.

“So you wish to fight me now?” His hand almost shifted onto the handle of his pistol, gripping tight. If he did that, it would be a fight to the death if he was not mistaken. He resisted temptation and paused, tilting his head quizzically as he thought the words over.

“Of course, I gather from what you said that you’re not interested in my life, but an honest fight between two respected adversaries, a conflict between two old foes if you will?” He paused to think about it for a moment, every logical part of his body was screaming at him to turn, or to shoot, not to engage in a bout of magical fisticuffs with a creature he honestly believed to be his superior in power. His logical side was overruled, the Wolf had come a long way, give him his fight. Most damage could be repaired so long as he had mana anyway. First though, an opening gambit to adjust the scales in his favour.

“If you wish for a respectable fight, I would suggest we lay aside our weapons.” He grinned that nasty grin of his, feral almost, his overly long canines on display. With a shrug, he unclipped his pistol belt and unsheathed his knife, holding them to either side with peaceful intent. Of course, should Daniel refuse to disarm he could always re-equip the weapons, but he’d also go into battle with the moral high ground if that were the case. That used to mean something once.

"Y'know I'm all for respectable, but the last time we dueled we had our weapons. But I'll go with it just this once."

Daniel found it more than a little suspicious that lean, mean Metz was offering to lay down his arms for a fist fight. He knew the vials of mana on the mage's belt were his lifeline. And last time, he'd fared comparably well with them.

But the black one... He wasn't so sure. But he'd test his limits one way or another.

He held out his hands and summoned his weapons. The ebony black blade and the shiny chrome pistol materialised in his hands with a burst of ice. The wolf held out the weapons and gestured towards the fountain.

"You count down from three, and we'll both throw our weapons into the fountain. Okay? I'm going to trust you on this one."

Metz was very nearly taken aback when the Wolf agreed, but there you go, guess some people did bother with honour. Suited him just fine anyway, his shoddy pistol and knife were no match for the weapons Daniel could apparently summon out of thin air. He took a few steps back and leftward, slowly circling around the fountain that had been behind him, weapons outstretched.

"Sure, sure."

“Three, two, one.” He chucked his weapons nonchalantly into the fountain, listening to them clatter down on dry stonework. Good riddance, the things wouldn’t be doing him any favours against the elemental anyway. They had served him better than they would in battle by hopefully forcing Daniel to discard his own tools. Of course, he could always be tricking Metz. But he had come a long way for this fight. Was he going to cheapen his potential victory by defeating Metz while he was disadvantaged?

Had this been a fight to the death for real stakes Metz would have done just the same to Daniel in a fucking heartbeat. But that was neither here nor there. They were just two people trying to discern who was the best, or something like that. Honestly, Metz was pretty sure he was just clinging to any excuse to be powerful again, to waste his precious supply of mana in such a fight was foolish at best but addiction was a powerful motivator, and the Manaless mage was in every sense an addict. Addicted to mana, addicted to power, there were worse things to crave, but not many.

“Alright then, I’m sure you remember what happens next.” Metz quipped, sweeping a blue vial off his belt and flipping off the lid. “Bottoms up!”

At the one, Daniel tossed his pistol and sword into the fountain. They clattered onto the broken marble and stone, next to Metz's kit.

As the mage took a swig from his blue mana vial, Daniel frowned. Yup, he remembered that. But to attack now would be the coward's thing to do. So he prepared himself the same way he'd done at the Nexus. He stretched out his arms, arching his back slightly, as ice grew and froze over his entire body. Then, as he finished stretching, he shook the accumulated ice off his body like an actual dog would.

The ice magic within the elemental's body swirled and flowed like blood. As he slid into a simple fighting stance, fists up and feet spread, he smirked.

"And I'm sure you remembered that."

“Oh yes, I remember you are an ice elemental of sorts. You have far more sentience than those I’m familiar with though.” The Mage referred to the summoning of ice elementals as servants, an ability said to be favoured by the Torm of yore. Summoning in general fell out of fashion almost thirty years ago, but Metz had seen one of the last summoners create something not unlike Daniel once. It was very nearly a living being, made entirely of an element. If Metz had not chosen to take the path he had in regards to his pillars he might very well have gone down that route instead. Still, he was getting off track.

“Still, we’re not here to chat about magic are we?” Metz’ grin was feral. “We’re here to use it!”

Metz strafed left away from the fountain to give himself more space, his left hand held low while his right was held palm out before him as a ward. He obviously favoured a different style to Daniel, keeping his right side forward and his left hand out of reach and partially out of sight must have been a by-product of Mage combat. Most Torm spell casters used their offhand to weave the patterns of magic, it was usually a bad idea to give your enemy too good a look at that process.

After clearing about five feet from the fountain he started to move forward. They were about twenty feet apart when he started to approach, it would only take him a couple seconds to walk within six feet, just enough time to begin weaving a spell Daniel had not yet seen. A spell named Spellbreaker, as it happened.

The wolf watched Metz as he strafed away from him, and responded by doing the same. He ran backwards, coating his arms and heels in ice as he skated away from the mage. Obviously to keep his distance. He knew what the combat mage could do with his bare hands, and he didn't want to be on the receiving end of another faceful of fire.

As they separated, Daniel grew two shards of ice in his hands and flung them outwards. Not intending to hit the mage at all, the shards instead landed on the other side of the fountain as he skated around it. The shards embedded themselves in the stone floor, and ice slowly began to spread, frost expanding from the two shards as he rounded the fountain.

The broken fountain was now between him and the mage.

Daniel stopped skating and dropped one more ice shard down at his feet, the ice magic buried in it slowly spreading to the ground around him.

He smirked to himself.

But then he focused on the task at hand: how to defeat this mage. He would've surely learned new tricks in between their first bout and now.

Daniel started skating to his left, back around the other side of the fountain. The mage was walking towards him now, and he could sense the magic building in the air as the caster wove a spell. In return he wove a few smaller shards of ice, akin to shrapnel, and flung them at the mage to get a response. His throw speed wasn't that fast, but it would be fast enough to catch the combat mage and give him a few cuts if he wasn't careful.

Metz was waiting for the power to kick in. Internally, he was getting worried. It always hit instantly, that burst of energy he craved so much. Where was it? Where was it? It almost floored him when it hit, as he began casting his spell and Daniel made an immediate retreat, shooting ice at the ground to seemingly skate on it. No matter, Metz could see where he was going, and now he had the energy to do something about it. He finished casting even as he moved.

Metz had only sidestepped away from the fountain so he could get around it with some space, but Daniel had taken that as provocation to immediately retreat backwards while shooting ice at the ground. However long that process was going to take, presumably quite long as there wasn’t exactly any water on the ground to freeze so he was going to have to generate all the ice he needed, Metz could head him off. With his limbs buzzing due to the influx of mana and his muscles literally raring to go he quickly tracked Daniel’s movements and ran straight across the empty fountain. His steps carried him up onto the outer lip, across the centre structure and down onto the far lip at incredible speed as he headed Daniel off, leaping straight at him with enough force to drive him into the ground if his left elbow made contact with Daniel’s upper body or head. Even if he missed his target the rest of his body and its momentum would be crashing into Daniel’s side, and might still bear him to the ground.