Alaria frowned, her eyes sliding closed and her brow twitching faintly. She remained standing straight, her arms folded over her chest. Suddenly, the shield morphed into lances and blades of light, rotated around her body once to force a back step out of the dark man, and pierced into his body. He looked like a voodoo pin cushion come to life, with how his back arched unnaturally and his black hair obscured his face into shadows.
Mathias chuckled, up-righting himself with a sickening series of cracks as the weapons of light started to become corrupt with an inky blackness. They started to fall to pieces, one by one, each piece shattering as it struck the ground and was no more.
"Oh, what fun," he said. The ragged holes throughout his form made him appear as if he was made of nothing more than a fabric of shadow, but it had been far too long since Alaria was surprised by this. They started to mend themselves, threads of black reattaching themselves together. "You truly are quite a magnificent woman, Alaria."
"Some way of showing it," she replied, "attempting to rend me in two every moment that you are awake. You are worse than the Order that I am forced to be a part of."
"You do not find this enjoyable?" Mathias asked, his brows furrowing as he leaned forward. "I find the sensation one gets when battling a challenging foe to be utterly...incomparable." His red tinted glasses slipped down to the tip of his nose, and he peered at her, waiting for an answer that he knew he would not be able to comprehend.
"When there is nothing to be fighting for? There is no such sensation. Fighting for the thrill of a fight is not something I find enjoyable in the least."
Mathias paused.
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