Echoes of the Past: Sorahn vs. Koran

[Sorahn]

The massive wooden doors creaked as they slowly swung open, echoing coldly off the massive stone pillars and high walls of the temple. Time had not been kind, leaving the ancient temple in near ruins. The pillars were broken and crumbling, and the roof had long since caved in, leaving debris scattered in the far corners of the room. Moonlight shone through the arched windows placed high on the walls.

Through the doors walked Sorahn un' Rohnahmeh, his snow white fur taking on a yellowed hue reflected from the many torches that hung from the pillars, lighting the hall. He walked straight toward the middle of the room; each step kicking up a tiny cloud of dust from the ancient floor which wafted around his tattered black pants before fading away. A low boom resounded as the doors closed behind him, then faded to leave the room silent save for Sorahn's soft footsteps and the rustle of the torch flames.

Before him stood a massive statue of Ronah, the god of all Ranoans, standing confidently with his spear in hand and wings spread, looking down on his people. At 70 feet tall, the great figure dominated the room with its majestic air. Surrounding the statue was a pool of water; cool and crystal clear. The pool was fed from an underground spring, symbolizing Ronah's provision for his children.

Directly in front of the statue stood a gray, hooded figure. He remained motionless as Sorahn approached, and neither made a sound. When Sorahn finally reached him he simply took a small step to the left, without saying a word. The Ranoan seemed to ignore him as he dropped to one knee before the statue, where the figure had stood. He murmured a soft prayer in his people's ancient tongue before standing again and gazing up at the statue. The figure removed his hood, revealing himself as an Ai'bron monk, and also looked to the statue.

“Your god appears to be quite mighty.” The monk said finally, his voice sounding unnaturally loud as it broke the silence and echoed off the walls.

“He has done much for my people.” Sorahn responded simply, keeping his gaze fixed on the statue.

“What does the inscription read?” The monk asked. Sorahn's eyes dropped to the words carved into the base of the statue in ancient High Ranoan, which appeared to the monk as simple slashes and lines.

“Shekeles tehlshath Ronah, rah tahnseth mehnatehs tehnmah na rehnasat menahtias. Rahnseth setkah neth tehnasatheles, nah rensath nethehnas.” He read from the stone inscription. He turned to the monk, looking him in the face for the first time.

“It means, 'Highest praise be to Ronah, for he hears our cries and shows compassion on us. He has delivered us from the Days of Torrent, and into the new world.'”

The monk simply nodded. Sorahn figured the scholar knew much about the Days of Torrent, and the creation of Al'Thayne, but knew nothing of the Ranoan race, who had not made it into Althanas lore. However the monk obviously could tell that Sorahn was not in the mood to recount the history of his people, so he changed the subject to more pertinent matters.

“Your opponent should arrive shortly, my lord.” He said, as Sorahn returned his gaze to the statue. “His name is Jordhan Kol'Alamar.” It was not a name Sorahn recognized.

“It is said that he is a shapeshifter.” Sorahn's eyebrow raised a bit.

“Some even say his body contains machina.” The monk added, his disbelief evident in his voice.

“It can't be...” Sorahn whispered quietly to himself.

“I'm sorry, my lord?” The monk asked, not hearing him.

“Nevermind.” Sorahn said. “Please leave me, I must prepare for the battle.”

“Of course, my lord.” The monk said and bowed slightly, before walking off and disappearing behind a pillar.

Sorahn looked up at Ronah's face, meeting the fierce eyes. “It just can't be...” He whispered, as visions of glorious battles of long ago rushed back to his mind.

[Koran]

The eyes that lingered on him were like annoying flies for the Shadow Meld, their presence an inch he could not scratch, no matter how hard he tried. He did his best to shake it off, to keep his face calm, cool and collected. His imposing seven foot eight inch figure helped the front but he could do little to hide his flickering eyes or nervous smile. He silently shifted his sword and inhaled slowly through his nose, trying to calm his nerves. Despite his attempts however, to fight down his doubts as to why he was here, he could still feel them growing and spreading the back of his mind.

Are you just bored? Are you still wandering aimlessly, without purpose? Is this necessary? Each and every time the answers to those questions were the same. No, he was not bored. No, he was not wandering aimlessly, without a purpose. Yes, this really was necessary.

Necessary for which of us? This thought brought a faint smile to the tall mans face as a great many fond memories of the only soul he would have ever called a friend flooded into his mind. They had been an odd pair in the beginning, fighting each other with a novices' fervor but had quickly grown fond of the other, as only true friends could have. They had been a close pair in the early days, seen almost everywhere with one another, but then they slowly, steadily began to move in their own separate directions. Until...

A deep silence fell across the previously busy main lobby and pulled the tall man from his inner thoughts causing him to look about. His eyes immediately found the gray clothed monk and he knew, without the man having to motion in his direction to follow, that it was time. He hefted his massive sword and had already begun making his way toward the monk by the time the man had motioned for him to do so. He fell into step behind the monk, respectfully keeping to his own thoughts as the two of them walked silently down the long hall.

A few moments later they emerged from the building onto a well beaten, if long since unused dirt path. More like an animals trial at first glance, remnants of paving stones, laid from some age long since gone, stuck up from the hard packed dirt on occasion, suggesting that this path had once held to a greater importance than it did now. Wherever this place that the monk was taking him, it was certainly going to be remote and quite possibly old. Perhaps even ancient.

A few shorts minutes of more silent walking proved him right when they emerged into a large clearing dominated by a great temple that was steadily falling into a deep state of ruin. Its once high vaulted ceilings and roofs were long since collapsed and gone. Its walls leaned dangerously to the inside or out, depending on the collapse pattern of that particular section. It would have been a glorious temple to see if it had still been operational but it still managed to hold the tall mans gaze before he was forced to revert it back to watching where he was going. No use in tripping this close to this place and the reason he had come here. It would only serve to embarrass him when embarrassment was the last thing he needed.

The monk led him all the way to the great wooden doors that were stood open, his hand lifting to motion inside, before taking his leave with a bow. The big man returned the bow in kind but didn't give the monk a second glance as the silent man disappeared back up the trail. He instead turned to face inside the decrepit temple and set his jaw, his mouth turned down into a slight frown. Remember, you came here for a reason.

The thought echoed for a moment in his mind and the frown melted from his face, replaced instead by a rather large smile as he stepped boldly through the large wooden doors. "Sorahn un' Rohnahmeh," he called loudly in a deep voice the small figure was sure to recognize, but certainly not to comprehend as to how. "We meet at last, again for the umteenth time, here of all places: A field of battle. Echoes of our illustrious past!"

[Sorahn]

Sorahn stood silently, listening to the torch flames hiss and crackle as they lit the room. He stared at the face of the statue which reflected the flames' yellow glow, yet he no longer saw it. His eyes looked through it, staring off into space as a flood of memories washed over him. There were only a handful of events in his life on Althanas that had really affected him; those that really mattered. It was those moments that stood out in his mind the most. His relationship with his mate, Rehnahlia, his time with his greatest mentor, Ithermoss, and the glorious battles with his best friend, a cyborg named Koran Vincent Seether.

The two had fought in the great Citadel no less than four times. When Sorahn was brought to Althanas as a slave, it was Koran who killed his master, setting him free. It was a strange friendship they shared, considering they had each killed the other at least once. Still, the shapeshifting cyborg was probably his closest friend.

Sorahn's gaze dropped as the truth rushed back to his mind. He hadn't seen the man for years. He had disappeared like a ghost, leaving no trace. Still, he held on to the slightest hope that this “shapeshifting” man might somehow be related to him. Maybe, there was a chance he would know where to find him.

His ears perked up slightly as he heard the footsteps entering the great hall through the door behind him. “Sorahn un' Rohnahmeh” The voice reverberated in the hall and caused him to raise an eyebrow. It was not the voice of Koran, but something lay beneath it. Something quite familiar.

Echoes of our illustrious past... what past? Sorahn thought as he finally turned toward this challenger. His eyes met a being that was extremely tall and very white. Nothing like his cyborg friend of old. Yet still, there was something about him. Sorahn's eyes narrowed as he simply looked the man over, unable to dissuade himself of a fact that he knew to be false.

“Koran...?” He said simply, still trying to see beneath the flesh exterior and into the true face of this man. “Are you Koran Vincent Seether?”

The puzzled frown on his face broke into a wide, understanding grin. “How fitting indeed, that you would seek me out in an arena. This makes... what... round five?” The thought amazed even the Ranoan, but their battles had seemed to become something of a tradition.

“You've changed quite a bit.” He said simply, looking over the man's appearance again. Somehow instinctively his hand reached up and touched the black horns on his head, feeling hard and rough as he ran his fingers along them. “I guess I have, too.” He said as he looked away, lost in thought.

Suddenly he looked back to Koran. “But I am NOT going to shake your hand.”

[Koran]

The tall man boomed with laughter, his chest heaving as the smaller of the two spoke about not performing an age old trick the taller man had fallen so much in love with. He spread his free arm wide, a warm smile creasing his face, his eyes alive with mirth. "Old friend, the thought had never even crossed my mind." His eyes narrowed then, his piercing gaze peeling away at the layers of knowledge and experience that his friend now wore about him like a cloak. He saw the physical changes, his stance, the determined and proud glaze to his eyes. His smile became a little less friendly as he slowly slid his great blade down from off his shoulder.

"We have both changed, quite a bit it is true, but I still believe, and hope that you do to, that we are still the same men we once were when we first met." His gaze drifted around the decaying temple. "Although I must say, we have developed a certain sense of style over the years." His eyes lifted toward the statue momentarily, admiring its strange but striking beauty before reverting back to his friend.

"Well then, the time for history lessons is past. You know the drill, as do I. We both know this has become more habit than a quest for glory, fighting simply to test each others skill since last we met." The tall man swung his sword around in front of him, tip resting lightly on the ground in front of his feet. "Now, prepare yourself, creature of the gods!" His head turned down slightly and he lowered his voice to just above a whisper. "For I will not go so lightly as I have done in the past."

His smile was malicious now and his eyes burned with an anger that he reserved for only certain occasions. Fights such as these and long journey's where being angry at yourself for not finishing yet was the only thing that saw you through to the end. His hands tightened on the hilt of his sword and his muscles tensed; he recalled quite clearly what it had been like to fight against a spear wielding agility freak such as Sorahn.

He had a feeling that this fight was going to be his greatest yet.

[Sorahn]

As his friend spoke, Sorahn knew what had to happen next. Every time was the same. There was a greeting and friendly banter, but both of them ached for the true meeting. Warriors don't greet one another with friendly words. They speak with their blades. One could learn more about a man in one battle than in a lifetime of talking.

The smile on Sorahn's face grew wide, displaying his assortment of razor sharp teeth. His eyes narrowed, creating not a friendly smile, but a mischievous one. Battles with Koran turned him into a different person, and all bets were off. Their last encounter resulted in the Ranoan regressing into a beast, acting only on animal instincts, and ended when he held a bloody piece of Koran's throat between his teeth.

“You never go lightly.” Sorahn retorted, an air of confidence in his voice.

“I think you will find, my changes run far deeper than the skin.” He said, as a spear as black as night suddenly appeared in his hand, surrounded by a swirling cloud of darkness. Slowly, he slid his legs out and bent his knees, holding the speer horizontally behind him. His tail swayed with anticipation as his muscles coiled like a spring, ready to launch him in an instant.

He had to calm his mind to keep himself from getting overconfident. Koran had become a big man with a big sword. Such men were very slow, and easily taken down by Sorahn's agility. But arrogance breeds mistakes, and such thinking would only spell disaster for the Ranoan warrior. Remember, he used to weigh 3 tons, and kept up with you just fine.

Still, the malicious grin lingered on his face, whether from confidence or from anticipation at one more chance to face his arch-nemesis and old friend rolled into one. He remained still for a moment, allowing the tension to build. The adrenaline had already begun to flow; surging through him like liquid fire.

Then in an instant, he took off. Rushing toward his opponent at full sprint, grin intact. The balls of his feet pressed hard into the stone with each stride, stirring up a wake of dust as he flew. Just before he got within range of the massive great sword Koran held, he planted his left foot and pushed off, flying to the right as he swung his spear around toward Koran's midsection. The blades sung as they sliced through the air with deadly speed and precision. But rather than continue his onslaught, he turned and prepared himself for the inevitable counter-attack.

It was only an introduction; the first note of their opus. Sorahn knew his attack would miss. He would be disappointed in Koran if it didn't. But by now they had both gained plenty of knowledge about each other's style, and both knew better than to bring out the best at the beginning. He was just getting things started.

The fire that decimates the mightiest city starts with a single match.

[Koran]

The taller of the two let his smile slip a little when his opponent materialized a weapon into his hand from thin air, but the slip was a slight one. He himself had been known for seeming to pull weapons from 'thin air,' so it came as only a small surprise to him that someone else possessed the trick. Improved upon it really, the cyborg thought wryly. He would have to be on his guard with that, if used right that ability to phase a weapon in an out of the air could be a deadly art and a rather gruesome way to die. His hands shifted on the hilt of his massive blade and he shifted his weight to his right the moment the weapon materialized; whatever happened next, he would be ready for it.

Holy shit! With an almost blinding speed his opponent rocketed forward, his weapon, a wickedly grotesque spear the taller finally noted, a streak of black metal as it raced for the taller man lightly guarded stomach. Instinct saved him, if not for the very first time in his life, and he just barely managed to avoid having his bowels emptied onto the tiles, the blade passing so close to his stomach that he could feel the pressure difference as the blade sliced through the air. His smile faltered and his eyes widened slightly, but if there was ever a moment where he was grateful for his cybernetic implants, it was certainly then. So much for being ready!

Any other man would have stumbled back, his face a pale mask of shock and fear, but the Shadow Meld, forged by warrior scientists and enhanced for the perfection of battle, instead reacted with a practiced precision witnessed by only a very few and survived by even less. Almost as if he had planned it as such, the taller of the two stepped forward just as the spears blades cleared his body and, twisting his hands on his blade so that he could bring the blade around, swung the widest part of the blade at the exposed knee caps of his opponent. It was a blow designed to knock the opponent off balance, not necessarily to hurt them and with the blinding speed his opponent had just displayed, the taller knew that he was going to need every spare second he could get. A small part of his old, 'New.', self surfaced then and he laughed as he followed through with his swing, twisting his body and blade up and around him to plant himself squarely back where he had started, blade held upright before him. He didn't waste any time however, and spoke even as he launched his next attack, using the small amount of momentum left from his spin to aid in his movements.

"Come now Sorahn, let's dance." Feinting left suddenly and advancing forward a half step the taller man suddenly ducked his left shoulder and swung his blade up and to the left, flicking the long blades black tip out to try and catch his opponent in the hands. The blade stopped short however and with a timely twist of his wrists, and a small amount of effort for he had momentarily overextended his already long reach, the taller sent the blade whisking up to try for a cut along the exposed forearms of his furred opponent.

It was a feeble first few strikes, but he was just testing his opponent, prying for any weaknesses early on. Looking for patterns in reaction times, specific movements of various body parts in accordance to the type of threat. Every opponent has a weakness, small or great. He assumed defensive stance an instant later, the tip of his blade held at an almost forty-five degree angle from his body, arms not quite fully extended with his elbows slightly bent, feet shoulder width apart with his knees bent only slightly.

His smile remained constant through this as the thrill of the fight over came him. The tiny cybernetic impulses from his implants beginning to fire off, filling his blood stream with a near limitless source of synthetic adrenaline. Heightening his already naturally enhanced senses to nearly super human levels

Been far to long since I had a good old fashioned fight, the taller thought with a smile as he awaited for the inevitable counter-attack.

[Sorahn]

The black blades hissed through nothing but air, just as predicted. But as soon as he had turned to prepare himself for counter attack, the massive great sword swung toward his knees. Reacting without thinking, he gave one quick push with his legs and leapt over the sword.

With merely a flick of his arms, Koran brought the huge sword back around to slice upward at him. Sorahn acted purely on instinct, relying on the martial arts training ingrained in his mind to aid him. His first reaction was to bring his spear around and block the attack. The heavy great sword lumbered into it like a freight train, and the collision shook Sorahn violently, causing him to slide back an inch or two on the dusty stone floor.

CLANG! The metal meeting metal resounded in the great hall. For a moment, Sorahn was thankful that his spear was indestructible, because he knew that such a strike would have turned his previous nihon redwood spear into a splintery mess.

Despite the impact, he managed to hold. Luckily he was no longer the skinny weakling he once was when he first fought Koran, many years ago. His muscles rippled as he held the great sword at bay, creating a deadlock between the two fighters. The black spear and the delyn sword ground against each other in a stalemate.

In the lull in their fighting, Sorahn looked up at the man who called himself Jordhan Kol'Alamar, the man he knew as Koran Vincent Seether, and who he would never call otherwise. This new version of Koran had almost two feet in height over him, and a great deal more body mass. By comparison, the Ranoan warrior looked puny. He had to look up to see in the face of his opponent. But despite this, Sorahn bared his teeth in an almost demented smile.

“Sure. Let's dance.” He said finally. “I'll lead.”

Instantly the entire temple shook as he sent out a massive shockwave. It flew out in all directions, rattling the great columns and vibrating the floor with the impact. Large rocks and debris fell from the pillars and the already decaying ceiling, and dust from the floor swirled out in a circle around him.

Immediately Sorahn launched forward, unleashing a barrage of attacks on his unsuspecting opponent with a newfound ferocity. Each swing of his dark spear was gracefully followed through with another attack, true to the flowing style of the Ranoan martial arts. Keep up with me, Koran. He thought as he quickly struck, one after the other.

He felt strange. This behavior wasn't normal for him. The malice and arrogance he had just displayed seemed foreign to him. But such was his battles with his arch-nemesis. They always brought out something deeper in him that he didn't know was there; something darker. He couldn't explain it, but he liked it.

In keeping with his newfound evil, he let out a maniacal laughter as he attacked, feeling as if he had finally been freed from the confines of propriety and decency.

[Koran]

*~*

You've grown stronger since we last met Sorahn, the cyborg thought to himself as he ducked and weaved to avoid another vicious slash toward his head. Faster too. He grunted as he stretched himself up onto his toes, leaning back as far as his body could allow, his massive black blade lifting to deflect the sickly black blades from tearing into his face. I hope that I can keep up with you this time.

*~*

The initial strike had caught the cyborg off guard, knocking him back a full step before he could regain his senses but by that time it had already been to late. It took all his strength to bring his lumbering black blade up to block the first strike, one which shook the taller man to his very core, and it was only through a great stroke of luck that saved him from impalement from the second strike. Twisting himself in a tight arch around the wildly swinging Ranoan, the cyborg squared himself up once more, better prepared for the onslaught that was sure to follow.

Follow, it did.

It became like a dance between the two of them, with Sorahn in the lead. Just like you promised. The nimble creature ducked, jumped, juked and lunged left, right then back again, all the while stabbing and slashing with his massive spear. It was all the cyborg could do to keep the blades from killing him right off; he could do little to prevent the small cuts and pinpricks that soon began piling up on his body. Many weren't deep enough to cause bleeding, some were barely even a minor rash, but they were painful, and they were multiplying. The cyborg knew that he could only keep this up for so long; he needed a plan, a way out.

He shifted left and then twisted right quickly, barely avoiding having his back sliced open by the blades that materialized there from seemingly nowhere, and he knew if he was going to do anything, something, that now was that time. While his opponent was still recovering from the long thrust the cyborg stepped into the dead zone of his opponents long reaching weapon and brought his elbow up into where the mans face would have been. Normally it would have been the end of that, but the cyborg wasn't going to pass up as good an opportunity as this, so he lashed out again. Twisting sharply around in a tight three-sixty the cyborg brought the hilt of his massive weapon around like a cudgel, the blade twisting down toward the ground, swinging it upward where he thought his opponents arm pits would have been. He followed through with the twist by jumping into the air, his massive blade following behind his twisting body, the razor sharp edges sure to inflict some kind of bodily harm on his wild opponent.

He landed with a thud and rolled sharply to the left, coming to his feet and taking two half steps forward before wheeling himself about quickly, his blade held before him like a dagger. That is to say, hilt grasped tightly in on upraised hand, blade at an angle vertically to his body, blade pointed toward the ground. His breathing was hard and he could feel sweat beginning to fill the many tiny pinpricks, cuts and scraps that littered his body.

He inhaled deeply, calming the nerves that were beginning to edge toward outright panic. This was not the time to be panicking, Yet. Besides, the fight had only just begun, if anything, now was the time to be having fun. The machine forced himself to smile wickedly and with his free hand lifted, beckoned his wild opponent forward. I think its time to change the tune a little.

[Sorahn]

Sorahn moved like a graceful dancer, swinging his weapon to create art from movement. Yet each twist of his body and each contraction of his muscles was carefully planned and followed in the pattern of his ancestors. Yet despite this kinematic poetry, he couldn't land a solid hit on his opponent. All his efforts resulted in nicks and scrapes.

He lunged forward to stab Koran and instantly realized that something was wrong. His devious smile disappeared as his tuned instincts sent off alarm bells in his head. He attempted to react, but it was too late. An elbow connected solidly with his face, and instantly it was consumed with a fire of pain. The impact knocked him backwards and off balance and he knew he was vulnerable.

The waltz of battle changed lead yet again, as the hilt of a sword crashed into his shoulder. Added to his already backward momentum, his feet left the ground as he flew backward. But before the pain could reach his brain, he watched the sword swing up at him as if it was being played in slow motion. He twisted in mid air, trying to avoid the brunt of the strike, but the bloodthirsty blade still managed to catch a piece of his bicep.

He hit the hard stone floor with a thud just as he let out a sharp yelp. The dust was still falling around him as he looked down at his now bleeding upper arm. Red blood was also flowing from his nose; running down his canine face. His arm burned with a sharp, fiery pain, but as the adrenaline began to flow stronger, the pain started to fade away.

Slowly, he pulled himself up and looked at Koran, a new malice in his eyes. His eyes focused intently on his opponent, fire burning in his eyes along with that hint of something darker; something more sinister. He panted as he stood, ignoring the warm blood that was now running down his forearm.

“Play time is over.” He said simply in a raspy voice, tinged with anger.

With a grimace, he raised his arms, one of which was now dripping blood, and let out a deep growl. Instantly black fire began to swirl around him, surrounding him in a circle of flames. The room grew warm as they licked the air, eager to devour.

“Try and stop me, Koran! HAHAHAHAHA!” He screamed in a very un-Sorahn demented tone, just as he flicked out his arm, sending the flames soaring toward Koran as a jet of fire. It crackled as it flew, leaving a wake of destruction in its path. Sorahn followed behind it, taking two long strides before planting his foot and taking off, bringing his spear above his head with both hands, like a sledgehammer. He descended on his opponent like a meteor, ready to rain death on him.

A darkness was consuming Sorahn, infecting him like a plague. He felt evil, no where near his usual valiant and righteous self, but he couldn't control it. An inner beast was rising, and it appeared to lack manners.

[Koran]

"Gah!" Fucking shit! The damned Ranoan had pulled a fast one on the cyborg, again! The taller of the two cursed his unfortunate luck, for that was clearly the reason behind his obvious lack of contest against his opponent. He couldn't let the string of curses built up on his tongue fully flower though, for the attack his opponent had launched against him was one that took ones breath away, in addition to all the hair on ones body. The cyborg would later recall that if it hadn't been for the magical resistant capabilities of his sword, he would have died in those first few instants.

Fire, hotter than any he had ever found in all his long years of life, engulfed the pitch black blade, the red-orange tongues of death flicking themselves against the exposed flesh of his forearm and wrist. Pain, such that could only be described as a numbing tingle so great that it would have made even the most stout-hearted men weep, wrapped itself around the cyborgs extended arm and he cried out in shock, his hand instinctively pushing and then pulling itself away from the source of its discomfort. He was, unfortunately, too late to prevent any serious damage to his flesh or his moral, for right at that very instant, like a meteorite breaking free of the atmosphere, all fire and brimstone, his opponent was upon him.

The massive black blade, glowing a bright red-orange from the punishment it had just received, clatter to the ground in a shower of sparks and hot metal shards, having just been released from the burned hand of the cyborg only instants prior. The cyborg, his body still writhing from the searing pain in his sword arm and that portion of his chest, twisted himself around away from the blade and fell heavily to the ground. All the air in his chest escaped him in that instant and he twisted onto his back, body arching as both the sudden absence of oxygen in his lungs and the full force of his burns finally sank in. His head snapped to the left and in that instant he witnessed something he had never before thought about; had never even considered before. A flash of memory came to him then and his vision flashed white for an instant.

*~*

When the shopkeeper emerged from the back of his shop, his arms cradling the largest sword he had ever seen, the cyborg could do nothing to stop a smile from splitting his face in two. The massive blade landed with a loud thud onto the wooden counter top and the cyborg reached greedily for it, only to have his hands slapped away from the blade before he could touch it.

"A word on this blade and the metal it is made of," the shopkeeper said quickly, when the cyborg recoiled in anger. "Dylen, if you are unaware, is a combination of two metals, both with strong magical resistances and imbuing properties. This makes this type of metal very susceptible to magic and although this can be a very, very helpful property, it also means it can be its most deadly. If this blade is struck by another metal that is stronger than it, and the blade has just recently been charged, it will more than likely explode with very deadly force. You must be careful when imbuing this blade, or fighting against a magical opponent"

The cyborg snarled and reached..............

*~*

The cyborgs eyes widened in horror as he caught sight of his opponents spear arching toward where his body had once been but where his magically overcharged blade now lay. His thoughts raced and in the brief instants before the spear would have hit the blade dead center, the cyborg lashed out with the closest arm to the blade, trying to knock it clear of the descending blades.

It worked; almost.

Luck was against him that day, as was probably already evident in his battle performance, for he was unable to prevent the blade from being struck by the massive spear head. He did however, successfully set the blade in motion, which helped a little. But only just.

In a moment of wide eyed terror the cyborg watched as the spear head struck the blade, showering the immediate area with bright red-orange sparks, and sent the massive blade skidding across the tiled floor. Immediately following the show of sparks his vision was obscured by dust and bits of gravel as the massive spear found the tiled beneath the now missing blade, causing them to explode as well.

Pain was forgotten in an instant at that point, mainly because the cyborg was now in a panicked state and because his implants had just changed gears again, flooding his body with natural and synthetic endorphins and adrenaline. He rolled swiftly to his feet and dodged around the massive cloud of debris, looking for both his blade and another way to continue this fight.

I can't give this up now, not after talking the talk! He leapt over a badly broken bench, skid for a moment on the small bits of wood, tile and stone on the other side, and leapt behind a large pile of frame and roof debris, his mind racing. He looked over his shoulder from his new hiding spot, his eyes frantically scanning for his crazed opponent and his damn sword. Why didn't it explode?!

The dust was beginning to fill the room and billow out through the gaping hole in the roof.