Like a thunder, the Akashiman was shoved back with a sock to his jaw by the demon. Vaeron watched with some degree of amusement as he saw the warrior stagger over the sandy dirt, and still ignore him entirely. The two seemed intent on keeping this battle between themselves, as if this entire arena had been built for them.

Yet the invitation had been clear. Open to more than one. The monks had welcomed the mage and his horse with open arms, declaring the rules before showing him the door to this theatre of madness. One, keep a foot on the ground. Two, it was a fight to the death. However, they had not mentioned the fact that the two warriors already within seemed intent on an aged disagreement between them. Something that had been brewing for far longer than Vaeron would, he suspected, ever find out about. He watched as his dart of energy flew from his bow, then struck the Akashiman warrior first, slicing through his arm, and then punched into the demon.

It made Vaeron smile - though his joy was brief. Snarling the blue-skinned denizen of darker places told him sharply, "Mind your own business."

Mind his own business indeed. And then the demon swung around, running directly for him. At last! Some fight!

Bending low over the back of his steed, Vaeron let out a soft murmur. "Run, Meg," he whispered.

And Megladon snorted, and pounded forwards on his hooves. Trained in the art of war he twisted sharply to the right and began to canter, madly, around the ring of the arena. The arch of the throw by the demon fell just shy of Megladon's rear hooves.

Vaeron grinned, now a moving target, and brought up his bow again. As he did he pulled off another arrow, a bolt shimmering into existence along with the string for a single split second before he released it, this time close and right for the head of the demon.

Now he had their attention. Now they were annoyed.

Now his fight could begin.