“Well now.” Metz grinned, the dark veins around his eyes pulsing as the chaos in the lobby raged around him. It seemed he had been favoured with another victory, though this time he was disappointed, it would have been entertaining to rip out the man’s entrails. His sharp teeth showed as he was targeted by some creature of darkness with wings and a dreadful visage. Whatever it was seemed awfully perturbed by the bolt of lightning he rocked through it, even more so by his knife entering up and into its skull. It was one of many, but he still took his time ramming his blade into its fleshy body where it was unprotected, his ferocity such that it was perforated a dozen times before it could hit the ground, weapon falling from its lifeless grip, dark blood staining the crazed Mage. 

The battle raged on in the lobby, and Metz was happy to take part in it, standing off to one side as many of the previous defeated competitors fled towards the foyer and through the portals. He sighted the Wolf who had been his first foe, caught up in the greater battle between the skeletal being known as Skallagrim and some winged warrior wielding a polearm of some form, and with their aid it seemed they were getting the best of the tournament host. Metz eyes narrowed as he tried to remember why he should care if Skallagrim fell, but he was lost to the moment, the violence of it all alluring him to release his magic with reckless abandon. Whatever strange magic replaced the vials at his belt had taken a turn for him on entering the Arena, apparently able to replicate or somehow acquire mana, it steadily fed the Mage with Black Mana as he consumed it, keeping him fully charged. In the throes of madness, Metz was unable to rationalise his incredibly long period under its effect, nor question the permanent damage it could be doing.

Sheathing his knife, he raised both hands and began to weave, twin circles appearing beneath two winged figures as they fought with the staff. They erupted with flame that consumed the invaders, their screams piercing the cacophony of noise and confusion as Metz smile broadened. As he fought he saw Skallagrim being launched from the room through the wall, leading into the portal room, and stopped for a moment. Not entirely rational, Metz still doubted he could engage the figure that had thrown the host through the wall, but he might be able to do something about its closest and presumably most powerful allies. Relatively ignored as the melee raged around him, Metz sped towards one of the winged mace wielding warriors as it stood, his hands weaving a dark curse that called to him as Black Mana raged through his body. The Forgotten was powerful, but whatever had previously struck it made it sluggish, and with the Corruption pulsing through his body Metz was faster than any man had a right to be. The creature raised its free arm to bat him away and he slipped low to thrust his right hand into its chest, even as he was slammed backwards forcibly the spell left him, the mark of the Death Hand shining on the Forgotten. He laughed as he flew through the air and crashed into the ground, sliding across the slick stone floor. The Forgotten was strong, but its own power would turn against it as the mark raged, and it would know defeat at the hands of a mortal. How delightful.