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This was better than Max could have ever expected. Any fool could say the wrong words at a bar and find themselves a fight. One could stroll into the wrong neighborhood and meet a super powered villain hungry to prove his name a hero out for holy vengeance or to be recognized. But this was none of those things. This was something so much more something older than all of that. Something that required an intricate blend of skill and instinct practiced by so many but mastered by so few. Many might have confused this for simple pacing or a waste of precious time or even as fear of making a move. But Lazenca wasnt afraid. He had already made his move.

Max followed Lazenca with his eyes even as the chill traced goosebumps up and down his exposed arms. He could have rolled down his sleeves but thin dress cotton was not going to help. When the wolf stopped and paced back the opposite direction Max pivoted his feet to keep himself facing the opponent. The ice wouldn't be so kind as to slip under his feet if he stood planted, it would easily freeze the soles of his shoes to the floor if allowed. A small thing that could cost him his footing at the most pivotal moment. He kept light on his feet and followed the steady motion. The cold itself was equal parts set up and trap and he knew it. Lazenca was patient and waiting, if the temperature dropped as far as he might like he would no doubt be able to create ice easier giving him and advantage and if Max made a break and swung first he would show he was open or without other options and be himself open to a counter. This cold was not a direct assault but, it was the very opening strike Lazenca promised. And it was a masterful play and nothing less. If Max closed his eyes he could see the figure on the distance, dark fur against white snow, piercing eyes cutting through the night, not a man no. A wolf on all four circling just outside of the view of its prey,  stalking, patient, waiting for the right moment. It's eyes were as cold and sharp as the weather.

Max couldn't help smiling. To fight Lazenca was a pleasure. But to be hunted by him? That was an honor.

Like being served a 5 star gourmet meal and reciprocating with a street corner hot dog, it would be nothing short of an insult if he did not respond in kind. The Arian Shadowlands were home to a suffocating upper canopy and a sun gods curse, they were a different sort of tutor. Most dangerous creatures there were either completely blind or perceived the world around them in some alternative way. Nature had grown and evolved that way, the Shadowbourne had to adapt their techniques and perceptions to match. Dark vision was a natural evolution for their kind and of course Max had that, but there was technique before that. A skill, trained to young ones before their eyes learned the Shadowfather's blessing. Max, right there in the ring, closed his eyes and in the darkness saw home. In the pitch was peace, in the shadows was comfort. He took a deep breath and reached out to the memory of it. He felt the shadows like small extensions of himself. He felt the pools of it beneath every seat, gathering between the grooves of his boots, he could feel the wells of darkness behind the drop down fixtures where the darkness waited in a space spooled full of wires and connectors, and he could feel the shadow Lazenca cast in the ring lights though he could not touch it.

The ring was freezing now, it belonged to Lazenca and Max could not change that. He did not want to change that. If this was their fight, then it would be their ring. It had been a little over a minute and half since the pacing began, and Max opened his eyes. There was an electric pop, and the ring went black. Small pieces of multicolored electrical wire sprinkled the ring and the area surrounding it as the lights went out leaving only pitch. Max might have been able to blanket a dome around them in supernatural dark but that required concentration he knew he would need later, just cutting the lights would have to do for now.

Max, as unhindered by the dark as Lazenca was by the cold, did not immediately strike. Or rather, he did not physically strike. Instead he took a step back and steeped his feet in the darkness in the say way he pulled shapes from it. The technique was called Shadowalking. It allowed his foot falls to be silent, and his footing to be secure. He could even use it to walk on walls or ceilings. It did nothing else. And then Max, his eyes still keenly on Lazenca, took up pacing opposite the wolf mirroring him as shadows do.

Somewhere here, between the relentless cold and the blind night, would be their stage.

Max was not blind.

No, even with his eyes closed he could feel Lazenca's every movement like ripples in the pond. Dark vision was like regular vision, it took a moment for the eyes to adjust to the pitch - that was also part of why Max closed his eyes to begin with. It was a well made plan, but like most plans as he opened his eyes, he immediately saw his mistake and the plan fell to ruin. There was something immediately different about Lazenca. Max's right eye saw it as a stark glow around the man, a rush of vitality? A strength buff? He had no idea what but it was enough. He had just sparred a few rounds with the man he felt he his battle sense for Lazenca's capabilities was safe, but the Wolf was on him far faster than that. There was something a three hundred pound mass of muscle and ferocity bearing down on him that was equal parts thrilling, and chilling. Max had time to shift his left foot back and seeth a breath through his teeth. If the lights are on, Lazenca would see wafts of black smoke slip from Max's lip as if he had just inhaled the stuff of night and then...

...the shadows responded of their own accord. Darkness was more a community than it was just a force, and Max was not so much practiced at wielding it, as he was born a part of it. To the dark, Max was one of them. And the darkness that filled the room would protect him as such, without being told. Shadows moved at incredulous speeds, it was an element that never failed to fill a room the moment the lights were turned off. Lazenca would feel one, the two, then fifteen, then thirty eighty small hands reach out and cover his striking arm and lead leg impossibly fast and pull back. The shadows desperately to help one of their own...

...but to do that required knowledge. How hard was the punch? How much force was behind a beast of Lazenca's size when accentuated the way he was? How tightly need a shadow grip in order to stick to his skin or his fur? Where exactly do you put pressure to stop a punch? And exactly how much substantiation would that require? The shadows were capable of what they wanted to do. But they had no real understanding of what it mean to be a physical being. They were an element of wisp and ether and how no real idea how to help. Not without instruction, and that's what Max was there for. Or would be there for. Being as they acted on their own accord, Max had no input. Lazenca would most certainly feel and odd feeling. The touch of a couple dozen cold tar-like hands of varying consistences from fluid to gelatinous to solid grabbed at his arm and leg in random hapless locations and did absolutely nothing to slow down or protect against the gut punch what so ever. It was just a weird feeling.

Lazenca's fist would slam directly into Max's core. For a moment it looked like pushing a finger into a water balloon as Max's body seemed to crumple around Lazenca's fist. Max's mouth opened with a gasp and a wet gurgling sound, his eyes almost immediately went blurry with involuntary tears and the air was ripped from his lungs. Spittle flew from his mouth across Lazenca's arm. It wasnt classy but it couldnt be helped. Lazenca continued seamlessly into the full follow through of the motion and as Max was lifted up, something broke. The wolf would be able to feel it reverberate through his fist and arm, like something in Max's stomach had just popped. If the lights had been on he would have seen a gout of black smoke pour from Max's mouth and nose as if he had just exhaled from a tar filled vape.

The technique was called the Armor of the Damned. It was so dubbed because it did just about nothing to prevent it's user from taking damage. Infact Max had just used the technique incorrectly which was why it's protection had given out half way. It was meant to fill the ambient spaces of a person's innards with the shadow equivalent of impact foam which could allow a person to be impaled by a sword or arrows and lessen the puncture damage or even steer the projectiles away from vital areas. It kept a shadowbourne alive. It did not keep them safe. In this case - it made it so Max's ribs were not shattered on impact and then it gave out and dispelled. And that's it. For his miscalculations, Max was launched up and over the other man and through the air. He was gasping the entire time, for the later half of the trip his arms had made it across his stomach as if they might hold his innards in. He crashed to the ground exactly like that, arms folded across himself, body curled around the impact point, Max crumpled on impact and if Lazenca turned around the other man might look like a broken heap.

But he was already moving. Already gathering himself.

"...not...done." The words were breathed more than spoken but there was a fire behind them. Max just didnt know when to give up. Somewhere between swordplay, and arcana, someone forgot to teach him how. And so while he was gasping for air and it felt like a cannon had just ripped through him and left him hollow. Several miscalculations had lead him here, and he deserved what he got. But he would not repeat them. He couldnt to stay down. He wanted to. Somewhere deep inside he knew he did. But he just couldnt. He had to get up. The shadows, with only a desire to help and no real understanding of what it mean to be damaged or be in pain, were glad to assist. He got shaky arms beneath himself and then with instruction the shadows had helped him the rest of the way like some sort of broken marionette. If the wolf turned around, Max was already on his feet. Determination and will set his feet firmly, and brought his hands back into stance. He hurt, alot, but at least it took his mind off the cold.

Max was smiling, but that would be almost impossible to see. Infact, for Lazenca it probably impossible to see alot of things. If Lazenca attacked in the interim he would be ready. But if the Wolf didnt, what happened next would seem almost paradoxical to what happened just before it. Max's right eye, the white eye he used to see magic, souls, emotions, and the like, took on a faint white glow. It did not illuminate his face, the glow was singular like a knife a curtain or a cigar cherry in a dark room casting no light on anything except itself but, it was an excellent point of reference for Max's face. He wiped the wet from his face and balled his fists tight and evened out his breath.

"Again!" He said eagerly. Pain was the best teacher he was ever going to have, he send her away now. Not when they were just getting caught up. That single word wasnt a request, it was a statement of intent. If by some chance Lazenca had not already closed ranks with him and begun swinging, Max would do the honors. He burst forward on silent feet, his right eye drawing a white line through the dark room. He stood light on his feet this time, with a focus on speed and not force. Once within arms reach he'd wrap his knuckles against one another, as the hands seperated a trail of violet and indigo sparks danced between them. A pulse of energy ran down both of Max's arms tracing energy leylines like tribal tattoos in his skin. And then he threw right jab directly at Lazenca's sternum. It would move like a quick bee sting of a jab, matching the light stance of the person who through it but if it hit, it would feel like a running drop kick on impact. The price for such a strength boost was the backlash it delivered on the arms that wielded it, Max was safe if he missed. But every action has an equal and opposite reaction if he struck, his arm would pay. That was Nocturne's way, power for payment. The Shadow Cannon like all other Shadowbourne techniques was not kind to the recipient or to the deliverer.

Lazenca, never a disappointment kept the pressure. He was forcing the Shadow to keep on his feet, keep the guard up, keep his attention locked on the fight and not his injuries. But let no mistake be made, Max was injured. He could push through pain, but he couldnt just regenerate damage. He had scrambled his way to his feet and began mounting an assault of his own as Lazenca's front kick came in. Max's stance was lighter this time, he was on his toes, his hands open and ready. His left hand came down, smacking the inside of the other man's kick and pushing it aside as he stepped into the exposed space and delivered his jab. If the lights were on there would have been a visible splash of black on contact as the preternatural strength discharged and sent the other man sliding back, but in the dark there was nothing but force.

But force went both ways. The particular maneuver he had employed was traditionally meant to finish a combo set or to provide a sudden and cruel joint strike, not as an opener in the way Max had used it. The point here was to surprise, to unbalance. But the recoil left him open. Max's arm shot back, his right leg slid back dropping into a wide, low stance, giving him a strong enough foundation to arrest the arm and c**k it back even with his shoulder. His shoulder, took the brunt of the unpleasantness from the sudden stop but compared to his gut or his face, it was little more than a dull throb. A few more blows like that and he ran the risk of shredding his rotary cuff or shattering his collar bone. But those were considerations for later.

For the moment, Max could see Lazenca recovering and he refused to be the reason the pace dropped. Had Max been able to dash forward immediately following his own punch he may very well have been able to catch Laz before he came to a stop but he hadnt, and that would cost him. Lazenca was taking a low stance, which meant he was going to be prepared. First and foremost Max imagined he was about to get pounced, shoulder charged, something that let the other larger man use his weight advantage. Max still had a solid shot left in his left arm which could reset the balance and clear more space, but it needed to be held defensively for the time being. The best strategy for the moment was to pause, and pace and let Lazenca come to him or try and use shadows to throw him somewhere else...

...Max didnt do any of that. He dashed at Lazenca covering ground in silence but with expedience. Before entering arms reach with Lazenca his left foot came forward pivoting so his heel faced toward Lazenca, Max's body followed the twist, his right hand smacking the ground for support as he the dropped low to send a spinning heel whipping kick toward Lazenca's face. The thrill of battle pumped like fire in his veins, pounding in his skull, and he wanted more. Lazenca had been so kind with his gifts, Max wouldnt dare deny him his generosity but he dare not be so greedy as to for more without reciprocating.

Truth be told, Max did not in any way underestimate Lazenca. He fully believed the Wolf would, and very much could win this. He would have infact been more surprised to learn that for a moment Lazenca actually lost track of him, than to learn that he could have sensed him all along. Laz could have smelled him, felt his body heat against the cold, sensed his life force in some way, or really even heard him. Max's Shadowalking technique silenced his literal footsteps, but the rest of his movements still made sound. In short, Max had the distinct feeling he was being toyed with. Lazenca could have literally mauled him, tackled him, pinned him, used his claws, or worse. Max thought of these things because roles reversed they were the things he might would have done. However, they were things he would not have done if his opponent didnt warrant them.

And then Max felt disappointed, but not in Lazenca. He was absolutely appreciative of Lazenca and of the chance to square off against the man wolf, but he felt disappointed in himself. He had been given a golden opportunity and he wasnt living up to it. His movements, while reckless, held things in reserve. They were safe. He pushed, but only so hard or so very hard he paid no attention to execution or delivery. Kicking wasnt even his strong suit, he had been trained primarily in the use of his hands. Simply put, Max realized he was being sloppy. Lazenca deserved better. The realization hit harder than the punch just moments before.

Right about then, Lazenca stood up and stepped forward, grabbing his leg and throwing Max's entire balance off. Max dropped face forward, his chin and bottom lip smashing into the cold ring floor. He could taste red from where his tooth had bit into his lip. He wouldnt have this. He wouldnt be this. This was a pitiful display, insulting to his opponent who had done nothing to deserved the slight. Max hated himself inwardly for letting his skills fall to such disrepair, he grit his teeth and clenched his jaw, determination welling inside his chest like a fire. He had to do better, now. Before Lazenca could take a second step, Max acted.

First, his left leg tapped the ground toe first. He was wearing dress boots and black slacks so it may have been hard to see the glow trace up his leg, but it was there. A stream of dull purple and blue that traced invisible leylines inside his pale flesh forming shapes like likes of flames or wisps of smoke frozen in his skin. While it charged, Max moved. He brought both his hands up, even with his shoulders and shoved off the ground and into the air performing a sort of pop-up push-up. For a moment Max and Lazenca looked like two men forming a human wheelbarrow. In midair, Max twisted his body to his right, pivoting with his captured leg as an axis. Lazenca had his leg pinned, not his foot, which gave room for rotation, room to bring Max around so that instead of having his back to Laz, he had his side to Laz. And then he stomped down with his left leg aiming for a difficult to hard to miss target - Lazenca's core, his gut. The kick was fast, but it wasnt too hard. It only needed to reach it's goal before Lazenca tried to spin him or slam him or worse. If the kick made contact with the other man it would fire off another Shadow Cannon like the earlier jab and with the same drop kick of sudden force. The idea was to shove Lazenca off of him while using the recoil to foot placement to try and pull himself free. If he was lucky, he may even knock the wind from the man. In return, the reverberation from his shot may damage his ankle or foot, but if he didnt act fast he had a sinking feeling that the whatever Lazenca was using to make his foot go numb might cost him his foot entirely.

The Shadow Cannon, or Nox Pugnae in Arian, was actually a very versatile maneuver, it had three main forms although room was made for other strike surfaces. First was the fist - which could project an amount of force along side a punch or launch it from a punch as a short range projectile. Second, Shadow Buster, was the open palm which had very little range but allowed the rawest expulsion of force across the shortest distance. This was used by Aesthetics and Monks who spent hours meditating the meaning of darkness and light, it was used to buffet volleys of arrows from the sky and with masterful finesse and timing it could even be used when catching a fist to implode upon it and devastate it. Third was the knife hand, Shadow Blade, which focused the energy release into a thin blade like expulsion to cut through armor or flesh and had zero range just vicious contact. Each shape of expulsion could be increased by three stages. The Nox Pugnae, wasnt so much a part of a style, as it was the heart of style in and of itself. The style was called Noximum Pugilistae. Max's application to a certain fighting stadium had that roughly translated from Arian to Shadow Boxing - and then filtered in his application here to Pugilism. Max knew all three forms, but he was a master at none. He was no monk or aesthetic, he was a assassin, trained in knock downs not drag outs. If he had any of the advanced training or finesse he would be able to deliver the force of the blasts without such harsh recoil. Recoil like he was expecting to experience from his kick.

But thankfully Lazenca arrested his retreating ankle, saving him from that. Only a few drops of red would well up and drip over Lazenca's claws where they dug in, but Max could smell them. The scent of blood had a certain excitable, instinctual reaction that mad Max's smile twist at one corner in a deviant sort of way, but he made a conscious effort to hold it back. It wasnt time, not yet. It was an odd moment, Max felt the kick connect, he felt the blast go off and then he heard a sloshing sound? He cursed himself for not looking at Lazenca before he kicked. He had a magical right eye that could see such supernatural effects for a reason, but it was useless if he didnt actually look. But Max wasnt going to waste any more time worrying about his mistakes. It was time to correct them.

Lazenca was spinning Max counter clockwise, that meant he would be moving from sidelong, to facing the ground again. Max wasnt really disoriented though. Shadowalking was one of the very first techniques him and all Shadowborne children learned, it allowed them to scale sheer surfaces like walls or branches and explore around the pitch black forest they called home becoming accustomed to all sorts of angles of locomotion. If Max's legs were suddenly taken out from under him, he might be confused but Lazenca had him and he knew what sort of angles that could present and he planned for them. As Max turned, he reached his left arm out. It might have looked like he was trying to catch himself before hitting the ground. But he wasnt. Instead, he bent at the knees and the waist and tucked his body in and thudded into the ground left shoulder first. His left arm aimed directly at Lazenca's knees, his right arm braced his left for support. Max was just a few inches taller than Laz, with their positioning that put his outstretched hand just a few inches away from the other man.

There was no time for hesitation. A shock of vibrant purple and almost pink energy zipped across the curlicue leylines in his arm, Max splayed his hand out in an open palm and fired. Unlike the fist form of the Shadow Cannon, the open palm exploded in a different way covering a larger area but with less range. The Shadow Buster would normally cover a 3ft width and 2ft depth and there was no damage fall off. Everything inside that radius felt the full effect and even a feather outside of it would barely be billowed. The blast radius was clearly detailed by the size of the explosion, but as the room was pitch black - it was not visible at all. But there was more to consider here.

Max's left arm already had a charge. Before the jab that sent Lazenca backwards Max had knocked both his knuckles together and sent a charge down both arms. But he had only punched with his right, keeping the left in reserve. The Shadow Cannon, not only had three forms, it had three stages. The first stage, Lazenca had already felt it struck like a drop kick. The second stage, was capable of skidding a metal dumpster backwards a few feet. The third, could knock a dump truck on its side. The second shock of purple down Max's arm meant the Shadow Buster being blast at Lazenca was now at it's second stage. This not only meant it was a good deal stronger, it also meant it covered a 5ft diameter and approximately 4ft of depth. It would boom with a tortured roar, overlayed with the sound of groaning steel. The explosion may have been close to Lazenca's legs, but it certainly wasnt pinpointed at them like a punch would have been. The recoil was going to be a monster, but high risk sometimes equals high reward. Max was covering a larger radius so that simply being shoved or twisted further alone was not going to allow Lazenca escape.

Lazenca could weather the blow, he could even retreat. A good hop back could take him out of the range or at the very least become airborne and ride it out taking less damage. He could not, in Max's mind, barring unknown techniques effect any of those escapes while holding the source of the blast's legs ergo forcing it close to him. If he wanted to defend, he'd have to let go. Max imagined that if Laz was gunshy about a single charged punch he'd want nothing to do with this what so ever just like Max wanted absolutely nothing to do with being a point blank range for whatever was just beginning to wink into existence in Lazenca's hand. That could buy him his freedom.

But there was more. The Shadows were issued a command. It had to be a simple command so that it could be executed just as the blast was fired. There would be a boom and then - seize. Those same grabbing arms that whipped into life earlier and tried miserably to slow Lazenca's punch, would spring into life now and grabbed Lazenca's ankles and calfs. But unlike before, where they had acted on their own, here they were given instruction of a shadowcrafter. That gave them all the strength they lacked previously. They werent inescapable by any means, but they had an effect similar to trying to walk while half a dozen or so bungee chords were attached to ones legs. Lazenca could escape, but Max wasnt giving him anything for free.

This time, his mismatched eyes stood locked on the Wolf. In the glow of his right eye Lazenca was more topography than man. His right eye could see life churning through Laz, a soul and whatever sort of turmoil it might be in, spiritual beings that may or may not be present, and the circulatory system by which supernatural energy flows through a living body. He could even see the glow in Lazenca's palm and where it was being fed. This was overlayed like a transparency laid atop a projector over the mundane vision of Max's left eye. Now, just because Max could see it did not mean he could understand it. But he was aware of it. That way if there was a sudden change to any of it he could be alerted and given that much more time to react or adapt. They knew nothing about each others moves, beyond the basics. Information was an advantage in and of itself. Every detail was vital.

This attack was not Max's endgame, he knew full well Lazenca would weather it. This was Max's step up. Lazenca was a combatant of impeccable caliber and respect. As quick witted as and strategic as he was powerful. Max felt it was not only his duty, but his honor to treat the man as such. He could no longer afford to think only one move ahead, he could no longer afford to sloppily use his own techniques, he could no longer afford to take his eyes off the wolf for even a moment. Their clash demanded no less of him.

Years from now over some fellish tea Max would tell the story of this fight to some young adventurer that wandered to his door looking for a new sword or a life saving enchantment put on his armor. He'd describe the darkness, the back and forth of the two men and the way his heart was pounding in his chest in a way he hadnt felt in what felt like a lifetime. He'd smile, laugh softly and shake his head. The youngster would think it was for dramatic effect and Max would certainly play it as such, but the truth was he really didnt know what happened in those precious few moments.

The Shadow Buster had intense backlash, it was going to send him flying back as surely as it might send Lazenca flying back. But Lazenca added to that force with an explosion of his own. Wild and chaotic, raw and powerful. Max's body felt like it was caught in a rip tide and thrown against the breakers. He was thrown, impacted, pushed, thrown, blown up, there was impossible cold all around him. Max wasnt even sure if he was moving or if he was just being struck so hard that it felt like he was moving. All Max really knew was that at some point he blacked out, maybe from pain and maybe from smashing his head too many times but his vision swam and then grew suddenly blurry. When he came too, he was not where the attack had started. His back was against the chain link of the gate surrounding the arena. Cold still numbed his extremities making his hands slow to move and making him for a moment doubt if his feet were just numb, or had been lost in the blast. Was he bleeding or was he frozen enough it had slowed blood flow. Max couldnt say he was in pain, that would be a quantifiable location. Max was pain. Everything hurt. It was impossible to take an inventory and the confines of a fight wouldnt allow him time. His body just felt disconnected like his mind had drawn a divide between what he was feeling and the act of thinking just so that he could actually manage coherent thoughts.



Max only knew a three things. One, he could see Lazenca was just getting to his knees so the fight was still on. Two, Lazenca looked winded and frustrated while Max felt like he was teetering on the edge of consciousness which lead to Three. It was time to give up. Lazenca had outplayed and outclassed him. Max could taste blood on his mouth. The entire from row ensemble of his teeth had begun to sharpen telling him that the Hunger was creeping in, and that side of him did not belong in a friendly competition. There was no dishonor in this, he had tried his best, given his all, and learned many a valuable lesson in this encounter. Lazenca was a noble fighter, a powerful fight and worthy of every ounce of the respect Max had for the man. This was a good fight. All good things come to an end.

Which was precisely why it made no sense to Max when upon realizing that, blinked sweat or blood from his eyes and realized he was on all fours, and now pushing off numb fingers and rising up on shaky feet. No. Something was wrong. The a tournament rules said the match ended when an opponent was unable to battle or submitted. Max qualified. This wasnt right. There was a problem. Max had been beaten to within an inch of his life that was sure but - that was the problem. He still had an inch. Max's arms came in front of him. Lazenca might as well have been an steel wall and these arms of his were as good as wet sponges trying to beat it down but still there was only one thing he could do. Try anyway. He knew this as a fact, even as his feet gave out from beneath him.

Lazenca was given a sound before he was given sight. Max snapped his fingers and then Lazenca would hear the hiss of steel being removed from a sheath and slicing through air. He would hear five distinct rasps from unsheathed blades and then three shinkt's as they found purchase in the arena floor. And then there was a measure of light a soft orange glow like a dying candle. There were two blades in Max's hands, both dagger length, both held downwards like a sort of praying mantis, one was glowing like it was made of super-heated metal which provided the glow and the second looked like it was made of glass but as Max ran then against each other the heat from the first blade seemed to fill the glass of the second making both emit a warm glow. In the glow Lazenca would be able to see light glint off full length jet black b*****d swords impaled in the ground around Max. He had no way of knowing Max had summoned them to use as support so he could get to his feet, but now that he was on his feet he had managed to keep himself there on his own power. That was when he had decided to call forth Sha'yd and Dragon's Ashe. Lazenca had claws, perhaps he would too.

Max was a silhouette in the darkness cut out by from the shadow by the light of the two blades he held in front of him. His right foot lead, his left behind him, his right also lead with his left a bit back and closer to his chest. His grip was tight, but not so tight as to be restricting. His neat dress clothes were a disheveled mess befitting every bit of the attack he had just suffered. There were more scuffs and wrinkles than there were outright tears but they were there alongside smears of dirt from the arena floor and dark patches of what was more than likely blood. Max's face was home to a big dark bruise on the bridge of his nose from that first opening punch. His lip was busted and bleeding down his chin, his right eye was shut because the eyelid above it was cut somewhere in the tumbling and red was pouring down the right side of his face making it hard to keep his eye open. Easily a dozen or more scrapes covered his face just being so roughly thrown. Only one eye was looking at Lazenca. The orange glow reflected off the wetness of his left eye and showed it was open.

And ablaze with fiery determination. Max's body was broken but his spirit could not be more alive. He was smiling and Lazenca would clearly be able to see where is teeth were different, sharpened, like a mouth just full of canine teeth all stained a bloody pink like his lips. Max didnt say anything. He smeared the blood away from his right eye and across his face, his right eye ignited a fierce white trailing wisps along the side of his face and then Max launched himself forward in as much of a run as he could manage.

When, if, he reached within melee range he'd stomp his right foot down and send a right hook soaring at Lazenca's jaw. Max was holding daggers but was not stabbing. He was punching. Despite it all he was he was trying to punch Lazenca in the face.

That attack was going to miss.

Max had thrown a right hook and it was stifled aptly by Lazencas bracers. The Wolf would feel the force of impact then feel it quickly fade as if Max was already pulling into a follow through or a counter.

Max leaned forward, toward Lazenca, sort of like he side stepping Laz's punch. Like maybe he was trying to reach around or past the other man. Then he learned farther, and farther still. In fight speed it would look like a deft dodge that just turned strange. Max's feet werent moving. He was overextending. It looked, strangely as if Max's right arm had suddenly become very heavy and he was losing his balance to it.

Lazenca would see that look in his eye, that fiery excitement. Lazenca would also see when that light, went out. Maxs eyes closed weakly and the glow faced. Lazenca punch would miss because Max because the Shadow literally toppled over, half falling against Lazenca's left side before he crumpled to the floor exhausted and unconscious. His wounds, an exhaustion for a solid few years of zero training overtook him. And yet he was still smiling! Even as he hit the floor. As the three swords vanished into the shadows from whence they came. Even as The Hunger, an instinctual reaction from an Arian to serious trauma, faded and his teeth returned to normal.

The truth of the matter was that Max could craft the stuff of darkness like he had crafted the shadowy arms that tried to bind Lazenca twice now and the three swords left in the ground when he started this attack. He didnt need light. There was a world and a time where Max could have zoomed around in the shadow summoning weapons the pitch. There was a man who once had a reputation for removing the limbs of his opponents and generally being a monster. But this wasnt that time or that place. This was a contest of skill. Not a bloodbath. And Max was as much a sportsman as he was a gentleman.

Lazenca needed light. If Max could have dispelled the darkness after realizing the crippling effect it had on Lazenca he would have. He wanted to even the playing field not overtake it. But he couldnt. He couldnt just suck the darkness out of a room. He summoned the daggers because they were the only weapons he had that could glow, just like his eye. So Laz could see him coming and they could fight evenly. Fairly. Not with some monstrous destructive forsaken personality. It was the only way that would count.

And on that even playing field, as even as it could be, he fell short. There was no shame in it. Only respect. It was an honor to lose to a better man.