A Wolf's Howl, A Fairy's Wing

In the middle of a patch of rain forest, cleared by the destruction of battle, two third rankers stared at each other. One with solemnity, the other with indifferent amusement.

So far, they had mostly engaged in probing attacks in an attempt to find weaknesses, for the simple reason that they were mostly there to protect their troops against the other.

If they could secure an easy win, they would, but the simple fact was that third rankers were a precious resource. Even assuming they wanted to give their life for the cause, doing so would deal a significant blow to the factions behind them.

Thus, they preferred not to escalate their battle unless absolutely necessary. If a winner was determined among the lower ranking troops, the other third ranker was likely to give up and retreat.

At least, such was often the case, yet the African man's sombre expression suggested he might be unwilling to accept a loss today. If no reinforcements came, and his troops lost, he might decide to throw caution to the wind and put it all on the line.

Of course, everything would change if another third ranker entered the equation. At that point, nothing mattered anymore, because the allied third rankers could team up to take down the enemy with little effort, and then simply mop up whatever remained of the enemy's lower ranking troops.

Unfortunately, that was exactly what happened.

Suddenly, the heavy chopping of a fast-approaching helicopter echoed, yet only the third rankers could actually hear it over the sounds of fighting.
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Both of them instantly turned their attention in that direction, but it wasn't long before the man's expression turned into a frustrated scowl, combined with a hint of anxiety. The helicopter's affiliation was clear, as a sun with two crossed spears dominated its sides.

"Big brother…" he mumbled to himself anxiously, his gaze lost in the distance for a moment. But it didn't take him more than a second to shake himself free from his thoughts and harden his gaze.

He had to act, right now, no matter the situation. Thinking was a luxury he could not afford at the moment. The only chance he and his people had now, was if he could take down his counterpart before that helicopter arrived.

And so, he acted. With the usual crackling, groaning, and tearing, his shapeshifter body instantly transformed into a fierce werelion with light brown fur. Even his transformed face became framed by a wild mane.

He roared a challenge into the surroundings and, like a coiled spring, instantly sprang into action. Red hot runes appeared on his fur, and the fiery power of a scorch affinity exploded under his newly transformed feet.

Tensing the powerful muscles in his beastly, backward knee legs, he jumped forward with his claws out. Just like that, he managed to leap over the entire battlefield, heavily surprising the man on the other side, who immediately understood just how much his opponent had been holding back.

Unfortunately, they were a third ranker as well and managed to recover relatively quickly.

A devilish smile spread on the Indian man's lips as he conjured three light-brown magic circles around himself. Instantly, one of them flashed, and the earth around him turned into mud. He was quickly slid nearly fifty metres (~164 feet) to the side, far away from the werelion's intended impact zone.

At the same time, two powerful streams of mud catapulted out from the remaining magic circles. Yet, their angle was strange, as they weren't aiming for the attacking shapeshifter.

Instead, one of them was flying straight towards the defending troops, and the other was just to the side of it, seemingly heading towards nothing.

The werelion, however, scowled. "Coward…!" he snarled in mid-air, before suddenly changing the direction of his body in mid-air, when another scorch explosion occurred beneath his feet, and he was launched in the direction of those mud shots.

As it turned out, the second mud shot was actually launched very precisely, because the werelion couldn't get to the mud shot targeting his people in time, without putting himself in the trajectory of the second shot.

Yet, there was no hesitation on his face as he sailed through the air, towards the powerful mud-coloured missiles. He pulled out a dangerous-looking club with his right hand, and flexed the claws on his left, as exploding sparks flickered on the ends of both.

It soon became clear that the Arcanist continued to underestimate his opponent when more small explosions turned the werelion into a rapidly rotating whirlwind of claw and club.

Failing to do any harm, both attacked were deflected, and he even managed to send one flying into the enemy Arcanist's ranks, killing several of the enemy spell slingers.

The Arcanist didn't sit still, however, and continued pelting both the werelion, and the troops behind him, with powerful attacks. Then, whenever his opponent got too close, he'd use the mud slide again to create more distance. Meanwhile, the helicopter continued closing in on them.

"Just give it up, you alley cat!" the Arcanist taunted with a wide grin as he slid out of range again. "Perhaps you'd actually give me a challenge if you weren't so idiotically insistent on protecting those ants down there!"

The werelion didn't dignify his taunting with a response. He knew his opponent was right, but tradition and honour demanded he protect his people, and he refused to make any calculation involving their lives. It just meant he'd have to work twice as hard to make sure he didn't fail.

And so he did. Realizing the current situation wasn't getting him anywhere, he roared again, and funnelled even more power into his abilities. Unlike Arcanists, who had large, slowly recharging reservoirs of aetherium, Runebound used smaller pools of rapidly recharging energy, with the recharge rage determined by stamina.

With the extra energy he was using, his body was draining energy rapidly, but he'd been training as a warrior his entire life, even before the awakening. His stamina was immense.

Unfortunately, behind him, more than a hundred people on both sides had already fallen victim to the fight between these two third rankers despite his best efforts to keep it contained. Yet, the battle raged on, independent of the third rank struggle happening next to them.

The Arcanist cursed when he noticed the man became even faster, yet was unable to do anything about it. He could put more power into his attacks, just like the werelion, but he couldn't create them faster. This was a difference in training and experience.

Thus, the werelion was quickly closing in on him with a furious scowl. His jaws were wide open, and claws spread wide as he catapulted himself the last few feet towards the Arcanist.

The Indian man scowled in frustration, but didn't panic. As soon as his opponent came close enough, he smirked, and spawned another mud-coloured magic circle.

Instantly, a flood of soft earth exploded outwardly, engulfing the werelion and blasting him away again with a howl of pain and frustration. Yet, even that wasn't enough to deter the werelion.

Every muscle in his body screamed, but he managed to turn himself back towards the Arcanist. His body was covered in mud, but a quick blast of scorching heat freed him.

The Arcanist scowled at his opponent's resilience and stamina, but it didn't help. The man charged again, and the Arcanist was starting to get in trouble.

It was obvious the werelion was not only further along in the third rank, making him more powerful, but he was a far more experienced fighter as well. Combined with a drive and desire for victory that the Arcanist simply couldn't match, the fight was quickly turning in his favour.

"Your people will not advance any further into Maasai lands!" he roared when he performed a final, scorch powered charge that the Arcanist had no way left to defend against.

"Damn you savages!" the Arcanist screamed and raised his arms to futilely defend himself against his attacker with his weak, Arcanist flesh.

Yet, just as his claws and club were about to turn the Arcanist to mush, he realized something.

He was too late.