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Of course.

But Walter was not his opponent, a fight with Walter was not really a fight, it was a game or a joke or some such. No, Walter reached into his apron and pulled out a small white sheet of paper, 4inches wide, and 10inches long, and laid it on the ground.

Though the thing of notice was that he laid it in Ruuvans forward cast shadow. Without a warning the shadow turned dark as night, and dis-attached from its host forming into a small perfectly round puddle with the talisman as its center. The puddle sparked, and churned, violent, spikes and lashes rising from it before it completely calmed.

The without warning a hand rose from it, bursting free as if from the womb. This was immediately followed by a second hand, both limbs were jet black with absolutely no definition. Like a naked mannequin they lacked even the most basic of features, like finger nails. Both arms pushed revealing a head, and shoulders. The head cast down hiding its face. Soon came a decidedly male torso, though it lacked any genitalia. Then of course legs, and feet. It hoisted itself up rather wobbly as if it was stepping for the first times. Its movements were shakey and extremely fluid. Finally, its head snapped upwards revealing....

Nothing. No face, only two glowing violet spots where eyes should have been.

It stepped forward, stepping by pressing its head forward then leaning its entire body behind and underneath stepping toward. Ruuvan, and reaching its hands out toward him, but not touching him, not yet.

The Master may begin when ready.

Walter said, alerting Ruuvan that despite the oddities he was seeing the fight was quite on.

It dodged!

But in a way that barely even seemed human. It bent backwards at the waist, and at its knees, and even at the ankles, almost in a complete arch, with its arms reach upwards. Then suddenly sprung back up. Something seemed different about it, it had a tiny bit more definition, two lumps where ears should be, a bump for a nose.

No sooner had did the arrow soar by had the creature swung a jet black bow from his back, notched an arrow, and sent it hurtling at deathly speeds towards his target. The effect of this arrow was simple: Force. One hell of a punch flying through the air towards the chest of his opponent.

A bow?! Where the fleeb did a bow come from?!

A nose, it had a definite nose, and its face was a bit elongated. Its ears were beginning to for, though they werent perfect one could see where they might have come from. Those were definitely hands that gripped that bow, and feet that cements its position in the dirt.

The arrows collided giving it the ample time necessary to notch a second arrow itself and send it soaring at Ruuvans second arrow. The two met in mid air causing a rather powerful explosion of force, blowing back some nearby grass and kicking up something of a dirt storm.

The shadow was blown back, rolling onto its back and then onto hits feet. But those werent bare feet anymore, they were shoes. Or at least they were beginning to become shoes, it seemed some poorly, half constructed clothing now adorned its naked form.

The shadow hung in motion. Its body as still as a statue, as a block of ice. So totally unnatural, the way it suddenly moved and then froze. Its "eyes" locked on target.

Ruuvan dug deeper, five arrows it was!

And as he dug deeper, he fed it even deeper. Its ears elongated, its clothing filled in, like an artist carving in details to a structure, it matched Ruuvans elven armor exactly. But it was still missing something...a face. It wasnt anyone without a face.

The creature's feet secured themselves on the ground, much like Ruuvan had secured himself against the force blast. Two arrows chilled its feet. Though its arms almost immediately moved, just barely dodging the second set of arrows and firing forth a spiraling projectile of black to match the devouring light. The two swirled in mid air, light enveloping the black, before the black enveloped the light, and the two immediately broke off into two warring halves and then vanished entirely.

Is this opponent satisfactory Master Ruuvan?

Walter called out from the side of the ring.

Eeeeet...

It strained forward. The mask like face it wore breaking just above the chin.

Eeeetessss....

Sound escaped, what had to be several voices, easily ten.

Eteessfeeeen.....

No, twenty voices!

Eeeteesfeeeeeenwwwwaaalttaaaar...

No! It was thirty! How many people were in that one thing! The gaping hole in its mouth began to refine, expanding, peeling back for lips!

Itess.Itesfin!

Ruuvan zoomed across the gap between both men, and it seemed almost obvious, its hands were brought up around its neck grasping the air, straining to understand, its eyes were opened for the first time. Ten voices...were they dying off?

It iz...finne, Walteeeaaaar...

But possibly the last as it seemed it was almost out of time! Five voices?! Ruuvan was right atop it! His sword bore down with incredible force.

-THUD-

No.

It said flatly, with one voice remaining. Ruuvans voice exactly. Its face had finished forming into an exact dark opposite of the man before it. Although it carried a sickly dastardly smile. And it had brought its bow up to stop the oncoming blade, catching it in a nitch right in the center of the bow, right between its index and middle fingers of his left hand.

Ruuvan was at point blanc range. Before he could bring the other sword around, he would notice that the shadow had used its right hand to c**k back the bowstring with a arrow that glowed a sickly green.

Its not fine at all.

The veritable Dark Ruuvan said as it fired forth its arrow. Ruuvan knew this arrow, he had used it before. It launched a cyclone of wind to carry its target soaring upwards into the sky. But it was focused, refined on him, and only him.

But wait!? He didnt use that arrow yet!

What type of fool stands there waiting for an attack? The answer was simple...this one. As Ruuvan soared back, it stood still moving only to bend the bow back slightly and shatter the ice off its feet.

It didnt fire arrows in his wake, it didnt bullrush him. It didnt need to, it just smiled a dastardly smile, a smile Ruuvan alone would know. It was the sort of face you would expect to be bathed in the blood of innocents. A sickening sight for any hero to see precisely what they would and could look like if they were to fall into the pits of despair. No, he didnt need to attack, like a good sniper he knew when to strike and when to let his target suffer and bleed. He could see the fear, he could smell the doubt, his single arrow had done far more than strike Ruuvan's chest, it had struck straight through to his heart. He was more than a copy of the man across him, he was his shadow, he had been there through every good and bad deed of both his lives, he was his equal he was his opposite in every way.

This just wasnt a fair fight. Not yet. Not like this, not with any doubt or fear in Ruuvans heart. Where Ruuvan had fear, his shadow had joy, where he had doubt it had boundless confidence.

Ruuvan charged forward at blinding speeds, his footsteps were graceful and yet purposefully barely disturbing the grass beneath him. Then he lept into the air.

Darkkeeper!

The shadows voice called out as Ruuvan exploded in white.

GUIDE MY ARROW!!

He wretched his bowstring back, a look of utter exertion tearing across his face. His blank violet eyes strained, his grip quivered as the bow strained to pull back, a bolt of black forming in its space. There was a low rumble, more audible than physical as the bolt began to surge and glow with sickly lavender waves of power. As the armies of the light were released by Ruuvan's blades, the single black arrow shot forth from the Dark Ruuvan's bow. The rumble focused, becoming clearer, and clearer, this was no rumble it was a roar. The sickly deep roar of some monstrous beast locked in depths unimaginable reaching its unholy and truly wretched arm forward to grasp at Ruuvan's confidence, at his faith in himself and tear it to shreds. In true representation the arrow shaped and formed into a massive hand ripping across the space between both warriors in effort to grasp and smother the army of light.

The two met in a most violent fashion, bathing over each other and battling with one another. Blades dug deep into the hand and yet its mighty fingers crushed more than a few warriors of light, until finally in a explosion of black smog the remaining warriors of light shredded through the hand and mercilessly collided with the shadow below. This body was sent soaring back like a rag doll smacking into one of the nearby boulders holding it in place as it cut, sliced and rent until after what felt like an eternity of agony, the light dispersed.

Through gravities will along is fell to the floor landing on its knee. It was without both arms, and had half of a visible face. Its legs and body was torn to veritable shreds and yet somehow the remnants of its face still smiled. For a moment Ruuvan would see it, the talisman, the small sheet of paper Walter had placed into his shadow was buried deep in the Shadows chest. And slowly the shadow began to stand, its limbs reforming, reattaching as a sickly laughter filled the air.

....its about time....now show me your strength...

Now, the fight was even. Now Ruuvan and his oldest foe could stand on equal plane. And now the real fight could begin.

As opposed to the famed blades the shadow rested on the strength of the bow. A bow in melee combat was nearly unheard of, but the shadow wielded it as skillfully as Ruuvan wielded his swords. Which is to say he wielded them as skillfully as Ruuvan wielded his bow.

He twisted the bow to the right, his dark hands immediately sliding hand over hand like rotating a quarter staff. It caught and diverted the horizontal slash, while halting the vertical cold with a dry thudding. His nimble hands stood ever close to the center of the bow, ever ready to notch it back.

As it did, as it completed one rotation his right slid back grasping the taught string and bending the wood back, and then releasing it, dry firing the bow. Though he fire no arrow, that is not to say he did not attack. The sheer force of the bow snapping back into place would be more than enough to knock Ruuvan's blades off the bow and away from attack range for just a second. The second it took for the shadow to step forward and swing the bow, like a bat toward the elves gut.

-SMACK-

Success, head against head. An improvisation! With the fierce impact the shadow shuffled backwards, momentarily stunned. His hand rising up to caress a black cracked line in his forehead.

Ruuvan would be able to see it, the surge of arcana from the talisman in his chest coursing through his body to heal the small wound. Hopefully, he would figure out what to do before it was too late. But in either way, magic took time to build, and a stun stole from the shadow a precious few seconds of action.

How much more time does a proper elf need?