Metz couldn’t see much of his foe, seeing as how there was a gate between them, so he began pacing rightward early on to strafe around the obstruction. His weight slowed him, made him sluggish, giving the Mage the impression of being pained or otherwise infirm as he struggled on without mana. It called to him with every step, whispering to him that there was an easier way, that it would solve his problems. Mana had a tendency to do that. He had left his backpack on the ground where he arrived, lightening his load somewhat.

Finally he made enough ground to actually see his enemy, approaching him with no similar infirmity, Metz knew that the environment was to be against him for the combat. He sighed, expecting nothing less. Metz was a survivor of the apocalypse, he had come to expect those little inconveniences life tended to throw at you, however irritating. They weren’t far apart, maybe 150 feet, a pittance of distance to the sorts he’d been faced with thus far. Still, he’d overcome them, why would this fellow be any different?

“Maybe because he has two swords and doesn’t give a shit?” Metz asked himself, staring his masked enemy in the face. Fighting melodramatic assholes with masks was becoming somewhat irksome, he’d have preferred to be facing Snowy the Wolf. He chuckled to himself, and then let his frown re-assert itself. It wasn’t like him to be making light of a shit situation, Black Mana was an awful burden sometimes, and he didn’t appreciate how it unhinged him slightly. It was sort of like the edges of shock or hysteria, he’d seen men driven mad by one too many doses, he hoped that wasn’t what was in store for him.

“Of course not Metz, you’re going to die here, because that man doesn’t need any juice to walk tall in high gravity, and you’re too much of a bitch to let loose.”

“That was uncalled for.”

“Sorry.”

Now I’m apologizing to myself, Metz thought with despair, standing stock still and letting his enemy approach. He had a vial of mana in his left hand now, Pure Mana to be exact, and was toying with the lid of the metal flask as he watched the man’s approach. He drew his gun in one smooth motion, watching still. He raised the weapon in the man’s direction, his finger on the trigger, brushing it slightly. He wanted to see how fast the man could move, he should see just that the moment he levelled his gun, unless the man was suicidal. However, he didn’t pull the trigger.