I've been here before, I know it, I just can't remember when...

Tyr couldn't laugh just yet. He was taking this seriously, precisely because he respected her. Granted, he would pick her apart and embarrass her regardless, plucking at her vanity if it helped. She was a human, he was something else. Beyond. The strongest on the planet? No, he'd never believed that for a second, but he would be.

It was lip service to feed his aspect at Alexandros' insistence, that was all – and it was working. That ravenous beast inside of him that fed on things he couldn't understand. But at the end of the day, he was probably a match for most archmages by now. Alex couldn't hope to compete with him, she'd run out of mana long before he ran out of desire to beat the arrogant, spoiled brat out of her.

He'd never struck her before, though – not in violence. Or... He supposed he'd say that he'd never struck her with intent to harm specifically, and though he'd thought such a thing easy once upon a time, perhaps – it wasn't. He absolutely did not want to do it, he had to, otherwise she'd get carried away and end up dying believing herself better than she was.

“Are you sure about this?” Tyr asked, languidly leaning into several stretches in order to get the necessary reaction – making her angry. He'd opted not to announce this duel to the others because he cared about her pride enough so as not to make her a loser in their eyes. Breaking her was necessary, but only to show dominance in their personal dynamic, others had no business being aware. Just a humbling, like his various masters had done to him, not to make her a loser or a laughing stock. She didn't respond with words. He could tell how wroth she was already, looking up at the clock and waiting for it to tick down in their private arena session. Late enough in that there was little chance of anyone observing their bout. That was the idea, at least, Tyr was sure a handful of people would be watching but he didn't particularly care. She'd perform well, Alex was extremely talented, losing didn't mean she wouldn't benefit from this.

Alex's buttons had been pushed and she unleashed her full repertoire on Tyr. Her mouth moving in a practiced blur that would make any auctioneer blush.

“Bolt acceleration! Arcane Armor! Haste! Alarm Field! Wind aspect! Stormlight Salvo!”

The cracking of a whip sounded as she became a living lightning rod, the clear skies overhead showing no sign of the clouds that had thrown that bolt down at her. She caught it, taking that external source of mana and using it to enhance her infusion.

'Calling', they called it – an archmage level technique where they'd begin to use atmospheric mana to bolster their spells rather than relying on their personal reserves. In a more visceral way, that is, all wizards relied on external mana but not mana of them would invite the fall of a lightning bolt. The way she'd done it, literally catching lightning, was a testament to just how talented she was. Awakened, even if at the half step, it gave her that kind of advantage – and Tyr had some suspicions he was about to confirm. Alex had done exactly as he'd asked her not to, he was sure of that at this point – actively pursuing the path of a nephilim and without knowing what such a thing would mean for her. How else would she have been such an astonishing mage already, and so young?

Impressive, but these were just a collection of level two and three spells. Performance enchantments, conjured armor, active infusion, and the last being a rather unimpressive evocation spell. Vivid lilac colored sparks danced from her fingertips, the same color as the light pouring from her eyes. Hair wild in the midst of a storm only she could feel, the sparks spraying from her clawed hands and rapidly growing in number until there were hundreds, if not thousands. A cloud of buzzing shards of lightning magic increasing the speed of their orbit until they were visible as distinct streaks of light tracing circles around her.

Tyr didn't wait for her to finish gathering the magic. This was a charge array, something that would only get stronger the longer she'd held it, increasing the number of those lights – whatever purpose they might have. He activated his freerunner's and burst into a blur, pumping his arms and skating forward, hands open and ready. Unlike hers, his lightning didn't scald the earth around him, it was mostly aesthetic or a reaction of his artifacts mana generating friction with the particulate around him. Not lightning, really, just visible static electricity. The movement mostly came from the dense tails of flame thrown out from his heels.

Skating. Tythas said it looked a lot like 'roller blading', some dalliance people would participate in lost Amateus once upon a time. Sliding across the ground in a blur of legs sheathed in blue electricity and scarlet flames to add some contrast. Clapping through the arena as the dull thrum because a scream, a literal man shaped rocket barely touching the ground as he streaked towards her.

Lightning magic was dangerous, perhaps the most powerful peak expression of the wind element in any offensive capacity. It struck, it burnt, and it paralyzed if one did not properly ground themselves. Tyr's bones themselves were mana resistant metal, he wasn't concerned. Just as he reached the halfway mark, she splayed her legs, straightened her fingers and swinging her arms around in a smooth wheel. Like a storm of fireflies, the roaring crackle of an electrical discharge popped in the air, sending the cloud of lights at him like bolts loosed from a crossbow. Tyr skipped, nary an inch off the ground, bringing his right leg up in a kick that split the earth and sent a plow shaped wedge of stone toward the whistling shards.

He laughed with exaggerated enthusiasm, watching her carefully worked spell bury itself in such a simple simple earthen barrier. It would seem that she hadn't learned all that much from his poorly thought out lessons in the combat doctrine course, forgetting the key component of his style she'd claimed to have mastered. Odd for her, considering how smart she was, perhaps she was nervous.

All of that work to be stopped by a man sized slab of rock summoned with less than a hundredth of the mana necessary, but she kept her composure. Even going so far as to freely allow him to approach. Tyr's arm burst into crimson, flames wreathing bare flesh and striking at her midriff with an open palm, cracking against her barrier. A broken wrist for a charge of her mana shield, an ankle for another as he pivoted and twisted a roundhouse into it, each stopped by the indistinct glow of ambient mana forming a defensive ward around her body. Tyr didn't feel much like laughing, but he repeated the expression of joy. It was necessary to show her just how small she was. In a world where there were hidden giants towering over them all, behind every corner, this was the only way to ensure she'd be safe.

“Cumulus Nova!” Alex cried, her fingers rapidly tracing patterns in the air, eyes calm and voice more confident than he'd expected – completely composed given the obvious detriment of coming into melee range with someone like him. If he'd drawn his sword – she'd have been done in in an instant...

A hybrid spell. Simultaneously conjuring a cloud of dusty mist, weaving dexterously below a wide lateral hook to slap the ground with her palms. Not to cast, the spell already existed – merely to activate it. She just needed to ground herself with the wards she'd been planting all over since they'd begun the bout.

The entire arena was lit up by a swathe of indiscriminate tendrils, white bolts of lightning slapping all around like steel cables and sinking their way into his flesh.

Tyr's screamed, mind aflame with agony, eyes blind and burning from the storm coursing through him. It poured every ounce of the mana into him until he could feel his flesh cooking from the inside out, the deuritium cherry red and crisping his flesh. His greatest weapon betraying him, almost taking him out of the fight with a single spell. It was unbelievable, more mana than it was able to wick away from him and then some.

She wasn't done...

“Sky Fang!” Alex followed it up, tossing a conjured javelin that exploded into kinetic energy when it impacted his chest. Tyr's mouth made a noise like a torn bellows, tossed violently from his feet and cratering the wall of the arena, leaving him half buried in it. Dozens of meters crossed in less than two seconds, his attempts to stop the impact wholly unsuccessful.

Almost was a word, but he didn't care for it and never had.

There was no 'almost won', or 'almost lost'. You either did or you didn't, that was his take on any given situation. Usually, that meant you lived or died, and his survival instincts were tearing at him, trying to make him abandon control and retreat into that warm embrace of natural compulsion. This was not normal spellcraft, no typical mage – even an archmage, could've hit him with something like that. In the opening salvo alone she had effortlessly woven enchantment, evocation, kineticism, conjuration, and showcased the ability to use exceptionally short incantations resulting in complex compound spells in a matter of seconds.

She's amazing...

Tyr hadn't encountered a mage like this, always thinking that of those of a similar age to him given his experience – Lina was the best pure spellcaster he'd met.

But Alex far exceeded her. The problem was obvious, though, Lina always had the concept of efficiency foremost in her mind. She was a paladin, a knight, and a battlemage – thus relying mostly on delayed activation's to control an opponent while she engaged with them in melee combat. Whittling them down and ready for any nasty surprises, never revealing all of her cards. Skilled in the short range, whereas Alex excelled at the mid. That's why she was warding herself, utilizing what most mages would consider an 'emergency' spell so early.

Notably, a mage could not simply cast spells as much as they wanted to – these had been prepared in advance and were... To be honest, in a normal duel, this would be cheating – but Tyr was no normal opponent – he could respect the preparation.

They also called them 'suicide' spells, because in a real battle an enemy outside of the area of effect could just hit you with something else. Perhaps she had considered that this was a contest with only one enemy in her calculations. One who could not use magic in the way she did, otherwise an archmage could simple make an embolism erupt in her skull and kill her instantly – weighing mana signatures together. Magical duels were complex and nuanced, but Tyr was effectively just an animal and he knew it – all might and no nuance.

The larger problem, largest of all and of most concern to him personally, was that this fight – as all fights were to a normal person – was a sparring match to her. Tyr doubted she'd ever run into someone who was even remotely close in ability to her, no real struggles. Meanwhile, he'd been doing it his whole life and he'd learned a thing or two. Dirty tricks. He decided not use them now, not against her, even if it would help the lesson. And she was already preparing her next round of casting, giving him no time to rest.

Tyr dug himself out of the wall, spitting the remains of his pulped lungs and skating around her in a series of rapid and concentric circles. Firing off dense bolts of flame with punching thrusts that she had no problem deflecting with her wards. He was fast, but with her enchantments every movement of her arms was a blurred wheel. Never ceasing in her motions, that way she spun with her arms constantly wheeling around her hard root and wide stance.

She hadn't forgotten his lessons after all, she'd simply determined at some point that her own style was better. And from Tyr's perspective, he couldn't call her wrong.

“Stormfield!” She shouted, and ten meters around her in a perfect circle was a faux domain of electricity, crawling over the ground like a nest of serpents. It did not use her own mana after the initial casting, rather the thin stone protrusions shooting up from the ground like stalks of wheat. Level four, incredibly impressive for someone so young. Except... Calling it 'level' four was not an accurate assessment. As Tyr felt the power of the spell separating them, suspicion flooded his mind once again. “Tempest reach!”

Alex wasn't a half-step awakened human, she'd gone all the way and become a true nephilim... Only an inch away from greatness, but nothing so profound as the hero tier. One day, though...

Not a circle, but a dome now, faux domain indeed. The air itself was electric and all of that energy could be utilized by her to lash him with a whip of lightning should he come in range. And he did, Tyr had never been good at long range emissions or skirmishing.

Throwing him around like a child, she was in complete control of that space and continued to expand it. Summoning more of those purple lights and harassing him until his only option was to build a palisade of stone around her, still skating at a harsh angle and burying a hand in the ground. Calling on the waiting earth to raise it up into a circular ramp, flat faced on her side. A layer of water in between to play havoc with her electrical dominance. Water summoned by means of mana was chemically pure, there wasn't a single speck of particulate in it. One of the worst conductors of electricity, enough to prevent her from expanding the field, at least for now.

This was the difference. Tyr would never call himself the best mage of any of them, not even Brenn – but he knew how to fight. They did not.

She was looking at him with a wide, almost manic smile on her face. He was glad she was having fun with it, but it irked him more than he'd liked to admit. Having come into this thinking he could shut her down quickly – and he wasn't by any means holding back. But using the sword could kill her, and song magic could do worse, he was stuck like this and forced to come to another solution.

Tyr was getting agitated. This was lasting longer than he'd expected, every attempt to get close, where he'd reign supreme, was rebuffed with long whips of condensed electricity. Not only through power, it was the complete opposite, which frankly irritated him even more. A flaming knight versus a woman with the command of a storm at her fingertips, like the related god's Agni and Tormund's many clashes in the old legends.

Incredibly fine control allowed her to use the simplest spell to interrupt his blistering approaches. There was only one way to end this, and fast, and he felt sorry for her. It was cruel, but he'd do it. If not to protect her in the future, then for the solemn pride of beating her at this one thing.

After a lifetime of being her second fiddle, the unremarkable one, he wanted to be better in this moment. They'd never been particularly competitive with one another, not until now. His whole body wreathed in crimson until it began to hurt, pouring out of his mouth and obscuring his vision. Flamed licking their way out of his faceplate wickedly, every joint filled with blaze until he became a burning scarecrow of melting meat and stitched heaves of discomfort.

He did not feel rivalry. Not with anyone. Iscari, perhaps, but for entirely different reasons – whether Iscari could pummel him (which he could, quite easily) was irrelevant. Tyr loved Iscari, he simply wanted to be the man's equal – and for the same reason... Something Alex could assuredly relate to.

Power was a part of the path but it wasn't everything, it was a guiding line. With that being said, while Tyr might not feel rivalry, he'd always been ferociously competitive, usually only with himself – but Alex was an innate part of him and always had been. Almost desperate to win at the smallest thing. So much so that he avoided competitions with anyone he was not intimately comfortable with. Which boiled down to Valkan and Tiber, that was it. Mikhail and Fennic, too, but they were small – normal men, as arrogant as it was – they could never hope to compete with him, his brothers. An anchor of sorts to humble Tyr and remind him of the standard for a typical veteran combatant with no access to magic.

“I can do this all day.” Alex shouted smugly from beyond the wall. “How does it feel to be number two, eh?”

Number two. He bit down so hard that his mouth began to fill with boiling blood. We'll see about that.