They were already fighting.

Or, they had begun to fight when he had arrived, and the short few moments that it had taken for him to swing himself onto the black of the brilliant steed, and then face into the arena once more. Megladon pawed his mighty hoof, as big as a dinner plate, at the snow-laden ground, seemingly eager for battle. Yet already around them the clash of steel could be heard echoing off the seats of the stadium, the stones of the pyramids and the force-field itself, powerful and protective.

Blades were currently being swung, and three discarded shuriken now lay on the soil. Thump a sword connected with something, tearing into leather and flesh. The figures flickered - Vaeron could see them now - and they clashed together like the apocalypse incoming.

One was some form of demon. Blue skinned, with dark patterns like tattoos climbing over his skin. Horns, but small like pebbles on the shore, stuck from his skull in a certain, natural pattern. He wore leather armour, and had several weapons attached to him. He seemed to currently be flying a fist, or otherwise free-handed cut to the enemy incoming.

Who seemed more samurai than warrior. This one bore a mighty slightly-curved sword, similar to the ones that Vaeron knew were called 'katanas' yet bigger. He had ferocity in his stride, had been the one to loosen the shuriken and was flying at the demon with surprising speed. Swift. Direct. Condemning. Vaeron winced as he imagined the strength of the blows.

It seemed they were interested in one another solely, currently. And perhaps had not noticed him. Good. Nodding to himself, and his old friend he reached over his shoulder to swing down his bow. It was elegant, and elf-made, sourced with strong wood, and unstrung. But his magic being what it was, it needed no string. Instead, it would serve him well as he stayed away from this fight. That was the plan, at least. Remain back, throw some damage, then ride away on the four hooves that carried him.

He smiled, amused, as he readied the bow. He aimed into the centre of the mass and listened to the crowd as he mimed drawing an arrow. Except there was no arrow, just a draw of fine silver light which would release a pulse of energy and hit -

Well, it could hit anyone, for all he carried.

He let it fly.