The comedown from Black Mana was a thing nightmares are made of, soul scorching agony the likes of which few could describe as the Corruption leaches itself from the Mage’s body, leaving permanent scars of a physical and mental nature. Fortunately for Metz he was spared all that, as he suddenly came to in another realm with little recollection of that past few minutes. Somehow he had come from the last battle to here, which didn’t necessarily add up in the Mage’s mind. 

“How is it possible I finished my previous battle and came here with one dose?” Metz asked himself rhetorically, looking around at his new surroundings. He stood there fully healed, his vials returned to the belt on his waist, sand and dust gathering on his stab-proof vest as it was kicked up by a light gust of wind. His eyes widened in alarm, as he realised much like before he had been transported to another world, but this one had the makings of something far less beautiful than the last. It was barren, dead, like the deserts of his world but lacking even the small signs of life that allowed one to rationalise such a vast nothingness. Before him stood a strange gate, made of some stone he recognised as similar to that from his first conflict, basalt at a guess. He took a breath, his body had become somewhat accustomed to the greater force of gravity after his last bout but even so the mark of higher gravity was not lost on Metz as he winced. Not only that, but he was having trouble getting his breath, his lungs straining to acquire the necessary oxygen. 

It seemed like the Dreamers did not want to see him succeed for some reason, what other explanation was there for the numerous inhospitable environments he was being placed within. With a start, he checked his right hip and looked down, finally understanding the weight there. Even his pistol had been returned to him! Despite being lost in the previous conflict, forcing him to rely on the knife strapped across his chest, it had been returned with a full clip. He barked a laugh, rocking back his head and letting his reddish brown hair fall low in its pony tail as he looked up into an unfamiliar sky. He rifled in his pocket and looked down, finding some kind of shard in the palm of his hand, the knowledge of how to use it clear in his mind.

“It seems they giveth and taketh away.” He muttered, taking a step forward, his boots sinking into the desert sands just enough to leave a noticeable imprint. He flexed his upper torso, the underpadding tight to his body in comparison to the loose coarse nature of his green jumper.  He had one left to face, but to who would go the spoils?