The attack that this ice mage had put forth was impressive. Timaeus found some respect for this new foe, and snickered as he felt the tears in his robes, the feathers on the floor. Amidst the turmoil, the flaming bookshelves, the icy air, Timaeus had slid away to the roof of the Library.

With amused eyes he watched the human stride into the yard. A millisecond later he was upon the infant, brandishing a fiery broadsword. Arcs of flame traced through the air, echoes of the fight. Winds of aether picked up quickly, tossing Timaeus’ hair in his eyes. Although his vision was now obscured with energy and blood and hair, his remaining faculties were taut and alert.

Neither of the fighters faltered, neither fell; they tore at each other’s flesh with anything they had in their possession. They breathed heavily, staggered about, but they were fierce in their movements. Then there were fragments of granite in the air, temporary platforms for the battle to carry itself out on before being transferred to another.

The air stilled. Grass tore beneath feet. The fight stopped. The human panted. Blood dripped from Timaeus’ fingers and face. Crimson rivulets danced in the air for a few moments, before lacing themselves across the ground. The world seemed more than terrestrial with the power that coursed through every particle.

“C’mon,” Timaeus gasped, cracking the silence, “don’t tell me that’s all you’ve got.”

The boy’s lips moved, creating some inaudible splinter of noise.

“Pardon?” Timaeus walked forward slowly. “I didn’t quite get that. Care to repeat it?” Timaeus cackled as he stood toe-to-toe with his toy. “I don’t know what you said, and I know you won’t say it again.” Timaeus licked his lips. “But I’ll tell you what I said.” A drip of blood flashed from the tip of the Demon’s nose. “Come on!”

And the fight resumed. Timaeus walked backwards, his sword glancing of the human’s. They continued to clash blades up the steps and through the door, into the Library. The two were completely resolute, predicting the moves of the other. No blows were landed, but Timaeus felt the strain, and it fuelled him.

“You didn’t introduce yourself, boy.” Timaeus lashed out with Jeika, was blocked.

“Zachary Leos,” the boy said, striking his sword across Timaeus’ arm.

“Well, Zachary,” whispered the Demon, flipping over Zachary’s head. “Let’s play warriors, shall we?”

The two were on either sides of the Library, across a gap in the floor. They both laughed, before Timaeus sent shockwaves of black fire in all directions. Ink was melted and evaporated, paper was incinerated, shelves were torn from their resting places, stone was flung wildly about.

Silence returned once more. Flames burnt solitarily at random places in the bookscape. Timaeus realized that he had missed Zachary completely. All within a radius of the boy was completely untouched, and the ravaged paths streaked around him in circles.

The child flailed his sword through the air, and ripples of incandescent blue were launched forth. Defending with bare wood, Jeika barely held back the magic. Reinforcing his weapon with his own power, Timaeus groaned and leaned forward into the blast. Luminous streams wound through the air, warping reality; something clicked. Timaeus was thrown, along with Zachary and the entire Vershaniskarn Library, into the air.

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