Atmospheric pressure hinted towards the clash of powerful magical forces, droves left in the field deterred from the initial path, whilst a single hole bore in to the ground where the impact was met. There was no doubt in Myron's mind, that he had caught his opponent off guard, but the ever looming presence of lifeforce unveiled Corban's survival and whereabouts. Dust kicked up between the magi, caused from two separate explosions, shrouding the naked eye's view. Myron could feel a vague presence a good distance away, honing a nexus to magic. His mask would slide out from under him, so that it was fully facing the gem wizard in case of a sucker-punch styled riposte. To be frank, Myron was very impressed that his opponent survived.

Fluidly connecting his own spells and giving momentum to craft, Myron chained together his offense with preparation of a new defense. One of his runes was being fortified at his feet whilst the laser beam met a powerful disjunction, and that engraving would be complete before the explosions even kicked in. To begin a long process, such as the one creatively imagined in Myron's head, he'd need to begin with the [i]one [/i]rune, which embodied the aspects of meditation and universal connectivity; he'd become highly attuned to his surroundings in an instant of its creation, as long as he stood within the vicinity. His next many spells would come at a heightened speed, so much so, that it would be obvious that something changed for Myron. His new awareness applied to all things affixed to his magicka, and so drawing back his tome to face him, and force-melting the dome of silver liquid before came as childsplay. Much of the immediate ground had been completely coated in a silver liquid, even from the hole bored, a vial had been tossed down, paired with the broken vial now opened again by the kinetic freezing's wearing off, a seemingly endless silver stream veiled the earth and reflected the sun's rays back.

Clear water poured out from two vials located at Myron's back, they coiled around to his front quickly, and spread out wide and tall, forming two crystal clear wings when frozen, each perfectly encompassing a front-to-back view of the scholar. If any could see him, they'd bare witness to his deft handiwork, swiftly clipping six runic cards from his vestment, and flicking them all away. The flat side of each rune pressed tight against the inside of his wings, and with a steady mind, Myron extracted the ink of each card and pasted it on to his wings at six different key spots. Using the cards would hasten an adamantine enchantment, allowing the scholar to focus his wand-hand elsewhere, he'd have much to prepare, and his opponent was taking his/her sweet time transforming, using her free time to boast and laugh. Myron would be able to complete his runic defense measures before his opponent was done scoffing at him, and then continue to bolster it afterwards.

From between the ice wings and the now frozen landscape, black hands slithered below icy wings and contorted beyond normality, they reached out symmetrically to either side of Myron, and each clawed the earth with all five fingers, both in a clockwise fashion that circled the scribe, and tainted the ice black. Five runic circles would be drawn, and the ink would reshape in to methodical patterns as quickly as they were etched in to the ice. The circle drawn by the thumbs closest to Myron were the only discord in an otherwise identical pairing of runes, and their effects would be activated first and foremost; Another adamant mark, this time much larger, recreating the ground at Myron's feet in to a humongous, nearly indestructible ice rink, denying most latent attacks from below. The latter four runes would remain dormant for tactical reasons, they would compose the scribe's greatest defense.

Every second that Crystal wasted speaking or laughing, Myron used to further his personal agenda. Wit and words didn't work in the beginning, and using them now would waste the artist's enlightened focus and inspiration. The dust in front of both wizards only covered so much, Myron was as observant as can be, and his exterior eye was quick to catch on to what could be a feint, a ball of some sort shooting straight up in to the sky. If it were aimed to fall back down on Myron's head, he'd be ready for it.

The last rune to begin formation would begin its growth above Myron's head, where he amassed an aquatic halo, which soon filled in with a variety of complex symbols. It'd be done before the crystal ball fell down, if that was the target path. Although taking the appearance of an angel may seem transposing to the divines, the shapes and forms were more useful than aesthetic. The wings covered every angle from front-to-back, and having six separately marked areas for two wingspans, coverts, and patagiums, meant they were malleable. A halo would guard from the equivocal chance of a meteor shower. Strange cosmic glitter would eventually be visible inside of the crowning rune, if seen from above.

Wandering through thoughts, worries, and the ephemeral doubt, Myron's omni-coloured eye grazed over his magical tome as its hundreds of pages flipped and turned without a licked thumb peeling them. Every moment was a mayfly's eternity, and needn't be wasted on a single wrong move. Ever studious, the scribe began researching alternative runes written throughout his book, in the hopes that he'd find a spell actually capable of breaking his opponent's surreal level of defence. He remembered his old reflect and varied enchantment runes quickly, they might serve a purpose, but likely wouldn't do much without a trap to impose their effects. The [i]greater [/i]rune might enhance a beacon of nihil to actually pierce those gems, but raw power hadn't worked so far. Whilst the halo filled in, Myron's quill-wielded hand twisted and flicked aimed upright, and his other hand hovered over the book. "Aha!" Myron began to take mental notes on the runes needed to invoke a couple new idioms, which were ones he had already memorized long ago. The correct combinations were trivial, but far from impossible. And to think, the scribe was actually reading a [i]book [/i]in the middle of a life or death scenario.