This was set to be a fight of many surprises.

Fennwick, the fleeing boy, called upon his next magical creation with aplomb. As his small fingers danced and weaved in the air – a series of motions that glistened in the moonlight – he summoned what was either a transformation or some sort of living ice armor from thin air. Though not particularly large, the resultant ice dragon was intricate and would have been almost beautiful, had it not been created for the sole purpose of destroying the Telgradian. As if to emphasise this point, the lilac eyes of the dragon narrowed into slits and glared at its foe, snarling to signal its apparant displeasure with him.

Shinsou couldn't lie to himself; the kid clearly wasn't what he had first appeared. Being able to conjure this type of magic or make this sort of transformation wouldn't have been easy even for experienced mages, let alone a small boy. For that, the Telgradian afforded the Fae a modicum of respect. He remembered how difficult it had been for him when he first arrived on Althanas with his power stripped from him, trying to cope with all sorts of ridiculous situations. People were trying to kill him with bolts of lightning, crush him with psychic energy and confound him with hellish illusions. All of those were a regular occurance.

But that was a year ago, and Shinsou was now was a much different animal. There was no question of his power, but to stay on top the Telgradian needed to be hungrier to win than his enemies.

And, by the gods, did Osiris have an appetite for winning.

As impressive as that form looks, will it stand up to Enpera Kurohitsugi's might? Let's see what you're really made of, Fennwick.

The killer instinct that had helped him to co-leadership of the Brotherhood bubbled to the surface again and Shinsou began drawing from the well of dark power within him. A portal the size of a water wheel tore open behind him, its frayed electrical edges ripping at the arena's structural integrity and its black and purple energy burning the oxygen in the air, emitting a smell of scorched ozone and a metallic taste. Within seconds, an arsenal of fifteen dark lances hung halfway through the gateway; their razor sharp tips glinting in the night and their smooth, slender shafts of dark matter crackling with pure arcane power.

Shinsou could feel the sheer force of his assault immediately as five of the lances burst forth from the portal towards the dragon. As the spears tore past him, their electrical snaps clicked next to his cheeks and inflamed the skin. This dark matter spell was a hallmark of his; an angry, volatile attack forged from pure power, and it was still capable of hurting him as much as his opponent without the proper due care and attention. As the Telgradian brought his hand back to his side, a jagged smile crept upon his lips.

Game over, kid. Thanks for playing.