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Stephen was glad that his attack was just a second before the knife, because otherwise he would be sans a couple of fingers. Which isn't to say much, seeing how he nearly choked a man with the remains of what used to be a working hand back in HoH, but a wound avoided was a wound avoided.

With a smirk he looked over at his opponent. "You just wanted a hug? Man, you sure have a funny way of showing it."

He flipped the blade from his left hand to his right, then moved in for the attack. With left hand up for defense, he came in and feinted a couple of slashes before going in with a stab to the fa- dropping to the ground and attempting to sweep Damion off of his feet.

Take that, predictable knife moves!

Afterward, Stephen would get to his feet and run over to grab his discarded longsword. He would shift the knife back to its starting hand, and then pick up the larger weapon. Shifting into another en-guard stance, this time with a backup knife for defense. He shook the sword slightly in a "come on" fashion in order to tempt his opponent to come at him.

As long as he didn't attempt to be Solid Snake again. Fighting an invisible enemy was not his idea of... well, okay, it WAS his idea of a good time, but it was more trouble than it was worth in this setting.

The head careened off the staff in a squelchy mess of brainmatter and degrading flesh, causing Sunstrike to wrinkle his nose in distaste as he realized his reactions had gotten the better of him this time. He should have just ducked out of the way....

Electric magic in the air had a certain coppery taste to it, like before a thunderstorm, and the build just made the hair stand on end. Having been caught a couple of times in the line of fire from this boy's magic, Sunstrike was not inclined to repeat the procedure.

While the blade focused the energy into something more solid and harder hitting, it was also hard as hell to get that energy to form a different shape then the weapon that weilded it. So while vertically the shot was pretty intense, it left a lot to be desired for horizontal protection.

Sunstrike peeled himself to the left, feeling the raw energy build and then raze it's way across his back. This brought him those crucial steps closer to Damrius, who'd only stepped just slightly out of his weapons range. The man would feel a sharp rap on his exposed knuckles as Sun came out of the spin, weilding his staff in a swift blow downwards, crossing it over the top of the scythe with a loud crack.

There was a large swath of his shirt missing now, and a clearly defined red mark that angled from shoulder to hip.

A quick flick of Damions left hand blade knocked the flying knife into the sand, noting Stephen's running motion with a confused look before he shrugged the slightest bit, pushing his way up onto his feet, feeling the muscles tighten painfully for amoment before relaxing.

" Ah....much better."

The Hydra rolled his wrists alittle, starting to slowly circle his friend, a small smirk on his face." Come on Stephen, it's almost like you're not happy to see me." As he talked, the sand around him flowed like water, waves jumping up to come back down like waves, sand flowing like tiny rivers around him in complex patterns.

His green eyes never left Stephen though, waiting for the first trick to come out. If Stephen came in, he'd find the sand to be harder to move through, the sand gripping at him to slow his progress. Damion flicked small tendrils of sand at his opponent friend aswell, goading him with the harmless attacks as he continued circling.

" Buttons? That was never my intent." Damion said, continuing his slow circling. He had expected Stephen to charge him, but since that wasn't forthcoming he decided to waste no more energy on the trick, and Stephen would feel the earth firm beneath his feet, even lift him up slowly.

Infact, he would rise into the air on a column of sand until he was atleast as high off the ground as Damion's head, the earth elemental still walking slowly. His knives spun lazily in his hands, his fingers moving in and out of the slots like a pianist playing a crescendo. " You've gotten stronger in our time apart my friend....I'm just testing you." He continued, watching Stepehen intently. he couldn't tell what the other man was doing, that kind of sight wasn't gifted to him, but he knew something was going on.

And for now he was content to watch and wait, assured in his own skill to be able to recover. Finally he would stop though, cocking his head to the side as he looked up at his friend.

Damion watched as the tendril of water shot out of the ocean, ripping through the column and coming straight for him. " Interesting." But two could play at that game. Stephen could control water, a fluid flowing thing, and Damion could control earth, a solid changeless thing. Unless it was finely ground, like the sand below their feet. Damion's voice was drowned out as a thick column of sand shot out of the ground to rise into the air infront of Damion, effectively blocking him from sight as the water impacted in. However, that sand was also high enough to hit Stephen, likely blinding him if he was watching so intently.

But of course Damion wasn't about to stay still, and instead dove to the side to avoid the watery blast. If Stephen didn't know where to aim, he wouldn't be able to hit him, and jumping at an earth elemental was always a bad idea. But he wouldn't attack again, he seemed content to watch and see what Stephen would come up with next, watching the column, or whatever it would be next, move.

" I look forward to it." Damion said with a smile, crossing his arms over his chest as he stood up. " But you got worked up trying to hit me. Sometimes just setting up the hit is all you need to do to dismantle an opponent." Not like he himself had done much of that this fight, but still good advice he thought.

" Now then, I smell cookies."

Speed, grace, agility, and quick wittedness befitting one of his blood and order. Maximos taste rusty iron in his mouth and with it the indescribably sweet flavor of nostalgia. This was it. This was a fight that he had worked at for years.

Maximos felt his freshest wounds ache in time with the wounds he remembered from so long ago. Today, Ruuvan's blade sunk into flesh, the past in sunk into shadow. Both times it burned, both times it throbbed. Both times it spurned him on to the next attack the next swing. Maximos had fought Ruuvan countless times. It seemed there was once a time where the two warriors met everyday, and every day Maximos hoped his friend would remember. A silent prayer went out to Nocturne to removed the obscuring mist that Shadowed the elves mind. Maximos fought time, and time again...and time and time again it never came. His prayers were never answered, the sensation burning in his side this very second seemed destined never to return.

Max relished the feel of black blood trickling down his exposed arm, spilling out from underneath his glove. He grinned as Ruuvan attempted to twist the blade to no avail. Ruuvan's sword was caught between the unrelenting joints of his black steel knuckles, the sword would not twist or budge. The two men had been here before, and now...at long last, it was time to continue.

Ruuvan was in constant motion, had deflected one swing outwards and then another by swinging back inwards. That meant, that as he moved to headbutt the elf, his jet black long sword was very much still between them. Suddenly, Ruuvan was gone, Maximos' head passed through nothing but fluid air...he was so fast...but the Shadow was fast too. What is a headbutt if not a forward lunge? What is forward motion, if not followed through? A waste. Maximos would not waste anything in this encounter.

Ruuvan was arching backwards, the pommel of his sword was coming from Maximos' head but it was very unlikely it would ever reach. As Ruuvan moved backwards, Maximos pushed the gap closed by stepping forward. And as he stepped forward he ripped his sword back slashing from right to left across the less than a foot of space between both men. Ruuvan a heartbeat to escape the 5ft arch of the Shadow's swing. If he did not, he would soon find it very hard to keep his innards from becoming his outards via a new seam in his gut. A pop to the skull would not be word evisceration. And as Maximos' black iron grip would not be surrendering any time soon, it was very unlikely Ruuvan would be taking both swords with him.

And yet, Maximos had no doubt in his counterparts ability to clear the necessary ground. Infact, if Ruuvan stood to take the slash the Shadow would have been highly...highly...disappointed. Instead, as the elf moved for the necessary defense, Maximos spoke.

"Good." He said, slowly and meaningfully savoring each word as if it were the final incarnation of a scene he had replayed in his mind over and over and had to be said precisely. "Your learning...your remembering..."

Maximos would flick Ruuvan's second blade back to him, as globs of tar pooled at the injury in Maximos' side, visibly stitching the cut shut. Not healing, only stitching. Maximos right hand slipped into his pocket and casually pulled out four small flat stones about the size of marbles.



Four swords coalesced from the darkness, swirling and condensing into solid forms just as they each pierced one of the tossed stones. This made for a total of five identical swords. One in Maximos' left hand and four floating ominously around him. Maximos held out his right hand, and one of the four gently twist in the air slid its hilt into his waiting grip. The others took up station around the shadow. One at either side, with the last floating behind him, tips toward the ground.

What happens when a man masters one sword? He moves to two. What happens when he masters two? Then three? Then more? A wise man once said that unless you were going to grow extra limbs, fighting would always be basically the same. Max was not satisfied with that. What truly happens, when an individuals mind can orchestrate a battle using more than his anatomy allowed?