I piss on your magic, he snarled internally. Jubril's hand closed on the haft of his spear, callouses unfeeling to the abrasive runes carved along its length. He jerked his arm, pushing the rim of his shield under his helmet, and pushed it off in a single, fluid motion. The heat from the volcano was spilling up from below, but he could deal with that. He had dealt with much worse than such a pitiful display of magical might.

"I've tested the mettle of gods and demons," he half-roared, "do you think this frightens me?"

Pyralis said something, but it was cut off by a massive, blinding wave of pure, white light. The hero sprinted forward, the faceplate of his shield held in front of him and pointed straight at his enemy. Light poured from his weapon, his shield, his armor, and the heat from it seared the very ground his feet touched. The spear in his hand flashed—literally—with a vivid white-gold aura for a single moment before he arced it over his head and slammed it down into the crook between his neck and shoulder.

The flesh and bone changed to earth upon contact and instantly combusted, the sheer weight of the light a horrible physical force and the heat an intolerable and amazing force. The goddess was with him, and her specialty was light and fire. He smiled, moving catlike on his feet, and dodged sideways from the opening of a lava-spewing chasm. His spear thrust forward again, piercing the Wishmaster low in his side, and punching all the way through his body, before the insane mage put his own weapon into action and thrust out against the tenacious skirmisher.

Jubril leapt back instantly, avoiding the reach of the sword just barely, and counter-swiped with the blade of his spear. It drew a line on the arm of his foe and drew forth a snarl. The light diminished, then vanished. That was not as much help as she could have given, he thought.

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[Graphics by Me.]

[The signature links to Aleksandr Sokoll.]
["I believe in sleeping." ~ Bruce Lee]