He missed.

How did he not see that coming. 

The monk had vaulted right over his iai strike. He knew he couldn't avoid all the shrapnel he'd made of the coffin, but as he recovered from his attempted strike he saw the monk land and yell something indistinct past the noise of the broken coffin bits splashing into the water. 

Then a huge, concussive fireball ate through the air and filled the hallway with such force that he struggled to stay on his feet. All around him he heard the telltale sizzle of water flashing to steam in an instant, including the water he was standing in. 

Bastard. 

He stood his ground, sword still drawn as he held it vertical and steady, channeling all his ice powers even as his flesh began to heat and sizzle, the powerful fire magic eating past his icy elemental form to scorch his true body, causing him more pain than comfort. With a mighty swing and a loud roar he cleaved vertically downward, parting the wall of flame with the power of frost.

The fireball blew past him in a matter of seconds. In its wake, the stones glowed red hot from the blaze, steam poured from every rock and metal beam. And, in the center of the dry hallway, stood the wolf, panting as he shook his sword clean of the ice that coated its blade. His sleeves, chest, hair, everywhere that he could possibly imagine, singed and scorched by the blazing inferno. It hurt all over, it hurt like an almighty bitch, but he stood firm, panting as he gave himself a once over, poring over his injuries and how to best heal them before he continued to fight.

However, today was his day, as physics proved. Once the fire had burned itself out, therein was a huge area of hot air, without moisture. However, that fireball couldn't possibly have burned through the entire labyrinth that they were in. A few moments later, there was an inrush of cold air that circled his feet, invigorating him from the bottom up. As he felt the chill spread through his whole body, he smiled, the burns and scorched patches on his bare flesh slowly peeling and scabbing over as his body began repairing itself with the benefit of the cold. The process would take time, but he could accelerate it.

With his sword still ready, he gathered what he could muster of his ice powers and channeled them into his blade once again. The black sword grew icy cold as clouds of mist rolled off of its blade, and he gently pointed it behind him, where the hidden chills were coming from. He delved into them in his mind, pulling every bit of moisture and cold that he could find and accelerating them towards his sword. Slowly, surely, he felt a strong breeze against his back, cold and wet against the large bare patches that had burned through his jacket and shirt and jeans and shoes.

He raised his sword above his head, a smirk gracing his face.

[color=lightblue]"That hurt. But you know what's gonna hurt more?"[/color]

He swung his sword down and leveled it at the panting monk.

[color=lightblue]"This."[/color]

All of a sudden the inrush of air grew stronger, way stronger, and bits of ice began freezing in the air. The superheated hallway sizzled and spat as the renewed cold assault battered the wave of heat in its wake, dissipating it quickly as the growing blizzard advanced down the hallway.

Daniel took a step forward. Then another. His wounds closed and sealed themselves, one after another.

Another step. Quicker. Further. Another step.

He was at a jog. Sword still ahead of him. The oncoming blizzard tore at his heels, the gusts of wind powering his forward advance. More and more ice filled the air until it was swirling with it, a huge blizzard that had formed out of the moisture the monk hadn't touched with his fire.

At a run now. More steps.

With a touch of his magic, the ice crystals in the air formed and combined themselves into deadly sharp slivers no more than a palm's length long and thin as a wire.

He changed his stance as he ran, from sword horizontally ahead of him to a closed stance, his right hand close to his face, sword blade pointed upward and slanted diagonally to the right. His left hand braced itself on his right forearm and he gathered his strength, simultaneously gathering the ice needles in the air around him and willing them to his aid.

Then, just a few feet before the monk, he stopped, braced a foot, and took a huge, almighty swing downward, chopping downward at the floor as the blizzard rushed past him, the shards and needles of ice in the air flowing in a clockwise spiral that shot straight at the monk, enveloping the whole corridor.

As the blizzard and rushing ice passed him, he crouched and blitzed forward, closing the distance again between himself and the monk.

His left foot landed in front of his right, sword back behind him in his right hand. He raised it, gripped the hilt with both hands, and swung it downward and to the right (Xing Yi's left) quickly, before reversing the direction of his swing and cleaving upwards and to the left in the same motion.