Fury and magic coursed through Keystone as he stepped aggressively into combat with the specterous entity known as Glith. Perhaps there indeed was more to this story. In fact, he was certain of it. This mattered for nothing in Keystone’s estimation - the urgency of the situation spurred him onward.

Glith spoke arcane syllables, foreign to Keystone’s experience aside from the fact that they were indeed intonations of mystical origin. He lifted his hands, his knuckles black and ominous with Avar’s forgework adorning them, ready for their first test of battle. Keystone closed the distance with an aggressive stance, and hammered powerful blows into the bulwark that was the undead Knight. 

Aggressive but wary - their last confrontation almost ended badly, Glith tricking the stalwart pugilist into closing in quickly by pretending to cast a slow and powerful incantation. He didn’t want to make the same mistake again, and held just a little back for defensive measure. 

The reality being that, instead of initiating a ruse, the undead knight was in fact intoning a spell did little to ease Keystone’s concerns about the direction the brawl was headed. The disciplined fighter knocked Glith about, manhandled him into a position of martial advantage. For Keystone, that advantage lay in his opponent surrounded by the worked stone of the fountain behind him. 

Hardened in his need to control the outcome of the fight, Keystone barely noticed that, while his magically infused strength and stamina allowed him an easily perceived advantage, he was doing no real injury to Glith. The creature continued casting his spell, declining the opportunity to attack back with any real gusto. 

Keystone pressed onward, a sense of urgency filling him like ravenous hunger. Glith continued casting, his vocal cues seeming to hint at arrogance and finality; whatever was to occur next would proceed unimpeded unless he were thwarted in that half-moment. 

A rolling parry block turned fluidly into an opening, filled by either hand performing flawless verted and inverted palm heel strikes, Keystone’s wrists facing each other and fingers curled into talon-like shapes, ready for the next series of maneuvers. Even if his conscious mind did not register the game of melee chess into which he was locked, his training still had the martial adept planning three moves ahead. 

In that second, half second, instant - time became quite malleable to the perception when locked in mortal combat - several things happened. Glith staggered backwards under the relentless assault of his mortal opponent, into the fountain’s basin. His incantations ceased. Saran let out a pained cry from behind Keystone, and Keystone... lost his advantage. The entity known as Kaylee, with the accompanying headache, disappeared, as did the enchantments placed on the Pugilist by his magely companion. To make matters worse, as the large man opened himself to the arcane flow of Elemental Earth, he found it quite unresponsive. The bastard had cut him off, removed any ties he had to magic, be it spiritual, enchanted, or elemental. His plans to use the fountain’s material as an ally in this fight were dashed in the exchange. 

Magic may have the power to still magic, but not the abilities of a disciplined mind and powerful body. At least, not that spell. Keystone was still a deadly formidable fighter, trained by many masters of the craft of ancient martial technique and old-fashioned bareknuckle beatdownery. He wasted no more time. 

When last they fought, he discovered (almost too late) the blood seal that kept the undead construct’s soul attached into his armor. It was inside the collar, waiting to be marred. Damage it enough, and the armor is rendered inert. At least, that’s what he was certain happened last time. 

The formerly living knight glared past Keystone, to Saran behind him, and began another spell. No. Not this time. He was done watching people get hurt. He never came to depend on magic, not was he going to start today. 

Whether confidence or desperation motivated him more, he could not say. Whatever it was carried him without hesitation as he leapt into the basin, body twisting into a Monk’s stance in midair. The first two fingers of his left hand extended, searching for a proper point to target. It found an excellent one in this flat of Glith’s sword, a half foot from the crossguard. As much force as he could muster concentrated into the small space of two fingertips, unbalancing the movement of the light but massive blade, turning it away from Keystone and opening the walking corpse-in-a-can to attack. His other hand was opened to a rigid spearhand, utilizing the combined leverage of the leap and his torso rotating his shoulder forward. On any normal man this would be a telling blow. Keystone just hoped it would be enough to gain access into the monster’s armor. 

Success met him, exploited the opening of his helmet as he quickly turned his forearm and curled his fingers into a proper forefist strike [i]inside[/i] Glith’s metal carapace, the dull, scraping thud of displaced bone and metal colliding with each other muted by the properties of his Dwarven knuckle dusters. 

With luck, and lots of it, this would be the third time he’d seen Glith defeated, and the second time he’d done it himself. But luck was a thing untrusted and rare.