410 Time to Leave

The power of a single Tyrion's faith was nothing short of awesome. 

Tycondrius was forced to narrow his eyes to thin squints, peering through the magical eruption. He'd feel much better after witnessing Maboc's corpse. 

In the silence that ensued, Victorius gulped... "Did... did he get him?"

Tycon sighed loudly. 

Zenon did not. 

The white glow on the sands swirled and shifted... then all at once, transformed into smoke and shadow. 

Maboc reappeared outside of the crater formed near the arena's center... "Hmm... I'm glad I saved a ⌈Riftwalk⌋ for such an occasion."

...

"No... N-no... It can't be." Zenon winced as his recklessness finally caught up to him. His entire body began to spasm, furiously trying to replenish all the mana he'd expended. 

In his righteous fury, he'd drawn too much power. He tried... but failed to keep standing, dropping to a knee while the witch stood over him. 

"You think yourself a hero, Librarian?" The witch sneered, thinking he had won. 

"I'm just a man... a man who has no patience for your heresy, Witch," Zenon scowled. 

Maboc slapped Zenon across the face, the shock of it snapping him out of his fatigue. Before he could recover, though, Maboc's magically-empowered kick struck Zenon's stomach and sent him sprawling into the dirt. 

"Magic is neither good nor evil, Tyrion." Maboc shook his head as he walked, "What it is, however, is power. And that power, you must respect, 'lest it be your downfall."

"⌈Aspect of the Winged Seraphim!!⌋" A voice called out, accompanied by a magical screech, like a Tyrion hawk. 

From halfway across the arena, Tanamar burst upwards through the cloud of sand... Six glowing wings of light blazed on his back and shoulders. In his hands was a glowing beam of light-- a holy lance. 

Tanamar... that man was a hero. 

Zenon smirked, "You'd better respect that."

The silver-haired angel flew high up, then plummeted down, his spear directed at the Riftwalker. Upon collision, earth and rock erupted high up into the air. Zenon shielded his eyes while controlling the wind to sweep away the clouds... and once again, Maboc was gone.

Tanamar stood up, flourishing his spear, wings flared outward. 

Hero pose. Nice. 

"Tanamar..." Zenon coughed painfully... "I already tried a big, all-in attack."

The silver-haired youth raised an eyebrow, "I figured he wouldn't expect a second one."

"⌈Riftwalk...⌋" A frustrated voice emanated from a puff of shadows, a dozen paces away. Maboc stepped out of the darkness, his left sleeve dripping with blood from a deep laceration. 

Tanamar began to circle Maboc, "Zenon, get up, man. We only have a few seconds to flank this guy in close combat."

Zenon swallowed hard, "I... didn't bring my weapons. I left them all at the estate."

Tanamar furrowed his eyebrows... slowly rotating his head to look back. His eyes widened, staring at Zenon's empty hands. 

It really shouldn't have been a surprise. Zenon had been unarmed for every single one of their previous matches. 

"Zenon..." Tanamar grimaced. 

"Yeah?"

"Are you f*cking serious?"

"Wh-what? YES!! Why don't you just use that crazy cloud-splitting arrow thing??" Zenon countered. 

"What? My ⌈Oath⌋ arrow? I can only use that on monsters!!" Tanamar shouted. 

"That's a load of bull..." Zenon's eyes widened as he looked past his duo, "SPLIT!!"

The ground below rumbled under the pounding of massive skeletal bear claws as Gruffydd barreled towards them. 

Tanamar ducked down, then leapt skyward, flapping his wings for height. 

Zenon began sprinting away before leaping to the side, whispering to the winds for a little bit of safety. With the briefest touch of magic, he barely avoided being crushed by the stampeding bear. 

Flipping onto his back, he found it was as safe as he hoped-- but not for him, "Tanamar!! Watch out!!" 

A dark blot sped into the air, rushing towards Tanamar from a blind spot... then like a raven snatching airborne prey, Maboc grabbed hold of Tanamar's throat. 

Two winged humans levitated in the air, a mix of shadowy ink-black feathers and soft, white down floating gently downward. 

"Angelic magic... Very impressive," The Riftwalker grinned. "Lancer Athanasius, you are aware that angels are not specific to Tyrion, yes?"

Tanamar glared hatefully, struggling to free himself from Maboc's grip, "Oh, f*ck you." 

"Hah! Hahaha! HAHAHAHA!!!" Maboc began to charge mana through his outstretched arm. Tanamar's body began to twist and writhe, convulsing as violent, purple-colored bolts of energy snaked his form. 

Tanamar didn't even have the chance to scream. 

Unconscious and with his wings fading away, the silver-haired angel fell back down towards the sands... towards the waiting claws of Gruffydd. 

...

It was time to leave. 

Tycon pulled his hood up and began making his way through the crowd-- even going as far as to silently use ⌈Shadowfang Strike⌋'s movement effect to increase his speed. 

He had to exit the seating area, then bypass one or two more checkpoints before he would feel safe. Depending on the amount and activity of the lazy, underpaid guards, he even considered finding a place to hide within the coliseum... maybe even in the gladiator pits. 

...He could use a private room, as well. As much as he wished to avoid the sewer systems, he could transform and slink through a drainage pipe.

The walls! He could scale a wall to freedom!

"Hold it right there, boy," A crotchety but familiar voice demanded. 

An old dwarf reached out a hand to grab him... but Tycon reflexively swayed his body to avoid it. 

"Eh? Slippery as a snake..." Hark frowned. 

The dwarf also wore his hood up... but backing him were shield-bearers wearing the armor of the Church, Bronze and Iron-Rank in strength. 

Tycon briefly considered evading capture... but that course of action would be exceedingly difficult. He would need to leave the Holy Country to evade the relentless dogs sent by the Church of the Eternal Flame.