Soundless, the teleport pieced his body back into existence, Vos arriving into the battlefield - which he noted to be slightly more barren than the previous arena. With nobody in line of sight, he turned his head around careful not to even make the leather jacket creak, only to be be met with quite a disheartening reveal: his opponent was there, just about 8 meters away, and by their posture - the characteristic hunching of the shoulders - Vos could guess what weapon they were wielding. If he was right, then the fight promised to be a harsh one, brutal and short.

Deeply inhaling, he turned around, drawing his sword and a stiletto dagger, then stopping in a sideways stance, right side facing Jok, heavily exhaled. The creaking of the leather, the sliding of Danwarge against its sheath, the rustling of the ground underneath his boots, his own breath - all would be a dead giveaway, and Vos readied himself for the gunman's attack, both dagger and sword held in front of his body.