The Archivist looked particularly unimpressed by the two soldiers which were summoned to strike against him. It was strange that there was no outward sign of her summoning from her specifically, but the scanner at his arm noted a disturbance in the Nexus of Worlds energy-veil which he had already scanned in the Great Hall earlier. He would be able to tell when the summoning was used in future, through this interference. If his foe was so quick to resort to tricks, then he would do the same, after quickly reading the data he had received he logged his foe’s strange summoning abilities. 

What he had learned of his opponent from the Archive was very general, but informative regardless. She was of a lesser Demi-God race; specifically Lorenvolk, she was of 13’11 in height and weighed roughly 1550 pounds. Her blade and armour were made of the same substance, though data on the materials exact properties was scarce his Data-pad noticed interaction with low-intensity environmental magic, so it likely had draining or resistant properties, which were unlikely to affect him. 

He was snapped back to reality by an arrow skimming towards him, obviously fired by the archer minion, he caught it nimbly in his left hand suffering only the barest of grazes. It snapped in his grasp and he seized the arrow-head, launching it with a sharp flick at the advancing swordsman. The man shrugged away from the projectile as he crossed the road, his one and only mistake. The arrow lodged in his armour and he dropped his shield down low enough to allow the Akarid, who had quickly scuttled to his position, to rip it from his grasp with his upper left hand with ease. He seized the man’s arm as it swung down and his claws pierced armour, and then he took the sword when the hand released it in pain as poison shot rapidly through his body. The warrior’s constitution was just not strong enough, the Akarid beheaded him with his own sword and lifted the doomed warrior’s body with both of his free lower hands before he could fall lifelessly to the ground. Another arrow lodged itself in the corpse, and blood spurted from the grievous wound across the ground and burst from the neck. With an almost negligent push he threw the fallen warrior across the road at its master, hard and fast enough to do some damage when the comatose swordsmen’s body collided with her. It was more of a message than an attack, but it amused him none-the-less.

He stood there then with his stolen sword and shield, watching with interest from his new position in the middle of the road. Blood dripped from his blade, first blood.