Markus's punch never connected. The hunter had failed to judge the Lahmian's agility properly...and he would pay the price.
By the time the punch would have connected, Niklaus had shadow-merged. Markus, exhausted as he was, had let his guard down, and was thrown forward by the weight of his own punch dragging him forward, unopposed. Niklaus reappeared behind him, scimitar descending to cleave the hunter's spine. The assassin whirled around, blocking the blow, but he was, in quite literal terms, on the back foot.
The Lahmian spread his palm, and a torrent of shadow spewed forth. Markus met it with a jet of fire, and as the two streams of magic collided, the pyromancer focused all of his efforts on beating back the shadowmancer.
The collision drove the duelists back to opposite ends of the arena, a dome of shadow cased in fire. Markus snarled, "This fight could only ever end one way. You are a pathetic triumvirate dog, a young weakling; council scum. I am trained to kill your kind. I am an assassin of the new order. I - "
The fire mage was interrupted as the spinning ball of heat and darkness at the centre of the arena started to move its combatants. The forces applied against each other were such that they began to be driven round along with their torrents, rotating in a circle around the arena, going faster and faster. Markus continued his speech, " - AM - ".
As the momentum of the great wheel of magic increased, the combatants started to be dragged along, latched onto their own pillars of magic, each desperate not to let go - each desperate to succeed. The magicks employed in this particular bout were so powerful, so draining, that it would decide the outcome of this duel. As the wheel's speed picked up yet more, Markus and Niklaus were lifted off their feet, their only tie to the ground through their opposing pillars of arcane power.
Markus finished his sentence with but one word: " - SUPERIOR!"
By this point, Niklaus' greater magical skill was showing, for Markus' flames were being driven back towards him in a demonstration that he was anything but.
However, the magician had one last trick up his sleeve. As the shadows crept towards him, eager to end his life, he finished his casting, and disappeared, finishing his shadow-step next to Niklaus. Wrenching him from his pillar of shadow, he held the Lahmian up to the approaching pillar of flame. Burns wracked the Lahmian's body, and he was incapacitated. "There'll be no more shadow-merging now," Markus gloated, "I'm going to finish this." Taking no chances, he kicked his opponent's blade out of his hand and away from the duel. He then held Niklaus up to the wall of flame that was encased in the shadow dome.
He considered the Lahmian for a moment, wondering how a creature so young could have caused him so much trouble. After this pause, he dismissed his musings with the almost dispassionate remark, "In the end, you were nothing." He heard a small explosion behind him (it was of no matter - the winds of magic were volatile in this enclosed area, and could cause a combustion, but he would soon calm them) and prepared to thrust the burnt shadowmancer forward, into the wall of flame in which he would most surely perish -
Markus' plans came to an abrupt halt. So did his movements. So did his thoughts. So did everything that made him who he was. He had a moment of clarity - clarity brought on by intense pain. He dropped Niklaus to the ground, and looked down at his chest. It was a strange sight. He looked up again, with an almost betrayed expression in his eyes, and gazed at Niklaus, who bore a grim smile. He knew what had happened, just as Markus knew what had happened.
And in that moment, the assassin realised. He realised that he had not just underestimated the Lahmian's speed. He had not just underestimated his magical capabilities. He had underestimated everything, everything to do with the Lahmian - perhaps this was because he did not behave so arrogantly as the others in the council, which had falsely indicated that he was weaker than them - and now, he was going to pay the price with his own life.
The explosion that Markus had heard was that of the pillars colliding, and the magic that held them together collapsing, releasing an outward burst of energy. It would be of no consequence to Markus normally. But when Markus had so carelessly tossed aside Niklaus' scimitar, it had been sucked into this ball of energy, and when that ball exploded, the weapon was thrust out, and into Markus' chest. It was a fatal injury, and judging by Niklaus' expression, he had been expecting this.
He knew. Blood bubbled from Markus' lips, and the fire wall inside the shadow dome disappeared as he no longer had the energy to power it. The dome itself then collapsed, as the exhausted shadowmancer stopped using his magic energies to sustain it. "You damned bastard," Marku managed to hiss, and then he collapsed into dust.
The fight was over.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Henrick barely managed to block the wraith's blow, but that left him open to Kithan's bolt of jade, which slammed into him. He cried out, stumbling back...and then he saw what had happened.
It appeared that Rikert was now at the mercy of Jäger, and Sieghard and Kylar were desperately fighting for their lives. The new bloods, and now Markus, were dead. The senior brother considered things grimly for a moment; he had to hold the line until reinforcements came.
Suddenly, he felt a most unwelcome and terrifying presence. No, he thought, it cannot be him. But the feeling did not pass - it grew. The senior brother could not stand against this new, approaching adversary. He would not stand against him, not even for a moment, without significant support, and there were nowhere near enough troops to have even the slightest chance of holding their own against this new foe. It would be folly to fight Commander Meta in this situation, and it is undoubtedly he who is approaching, so there is nothing for it. Henrick was paralysed with a mixture of fear and reluctance for a moment, and then he shouted a single word: "Retreat!"
A pit of shadows appeared under his feet, and he sunk into it, shadow-stepping away from the battle and into the woods.
Sieghard, though he could only crawl in his current state, could still shadow-step. Using magicks that pained and tired him, he whispered a few words from his bloodied lips, and then disappeared in a puff of smoke, reappearing near Henrick's position in the woods. Kylar, making use of the probable and imminent collision of Mikhail and Varelsa as a distraction, did not hesitate to follow suit, shadow-stepping away and reappearing next to Sieghard.
Henrick took the crossbowman's arms, and Kylar his legs, and then they hastily lifted him up, only to run into the woods. The casings of fire and shadow that had trapped Rowhaine within his carriage vanished, the magicks that had held them together dissipating in a matter of seconds.
The assassins had been defeated. One was captured, one was killed, their subordinates' remains littered the ground, and the remaining three had been forced to flee, severely wounded and with shattered pride.
Victory had come at a price, but it was a price worth paying.
