[i]“I can smell you…”[/i] the words of his adversary permeated the air, and Lysander couldn’t help but laugh. Of course, the chocolate was a dead giveaway. He should have thought of that, honestly. This was no ordinary foe, but one who knew his opponent very well. Of course, Lysander knew Unaru rather well himself. He could feel the shadows being shorn by the ether blade surrounding the golden M, which was actually just one of the W’s turned upside down honestly. Like Mario and Wario, similar beings of opposite dispositions. Poetic as that may be, the deadly precision with which the sign cut through the air was the opposite. The shadows coalesced around him once again, his own energy flowing through them as he listened to the whistling of the blade in the air. 

As it drew near, and he could begin to see the gleam of gold in the dim light cast by the flames around him, his body reacted on its own accord. Bending slightly at the knees, then ducking backward at the waist – it all seemed to happen in slow motion, like some weird bullet time in a movie where his upper body bent back just in time for the W/M to fly over him horizontally and slam into the wall behind him, embedding itself through the brick and mortar to be nearly buried within. 

Standing back up straight, the shadows edged down him like a knife – laying perfectly against his flesh and pulling the fresh coating of chocolate off his body before it had a chance to fully harden. Even as this happened, the shadow wall pulled back to reveal him – tunneling between the two like a road. As Unaru’s vision of Lysander returned, he’d find the man leaning against the wall, carefully not touching the ether-shrouded letter, munching on a Wonka’s Wondrous Willy Bar. [i]“You know, that could have seriously killed me. Not really sure how I feel about that one, to be honest.”[/i] He said pushing himself off the wall – even as the tunnel of shadows collapsed down into a massive drill bit shaped monstrosity. His own ether shrouded around it, and disappeared against it, black on black as it were. The rotating mass of shadow pushed forward quickly – tip aimed for the man’s midsection.