[i]"I beg of you not to kill yourself then. That defeats the thrill of the hunt, Wolf of God."[/i] Phoenix extends a hand forward as fire gathered around it, engulfing his armoured hand in cobalt flames. Ash from the doppelgänger rushed to his fist, mixing with the fire and creating a small, self-contained firestorm around his fingers. [i]"You think you've tasted the power of the Dojo? This place is just a former shell of its glory, a shameful corpse of the once wondrous vessel it was."[/i] With the other hand he throws the acoustic guitar in the air, fire snaking from his hand under it. In a flash of flame, another body made of ash is different - much more featureless, but definitely that of a male. Its arm reaches up to catch the guitar, shedding loose embers from its biceps as its fingers find their way around the instrument. [i]"Reincarnate what once was lost to time; raise what entropy's eternal grasp has taken. Sonata of Flame: Duellist's Grave."[/i] The ashen mannequin began playing a song on his guitar, a much more melodious tune compared to the Eldritch strumming of Phoenix. No, this was a ballad - a story told through song, with words still yet to be understood by Fenrir. Like a veil being lifted, the entire area around Fenrir begins to burn away... Quite literally. It was as if the already-burnt scenery around him was tinder to a spark, quickly consumed by the rift of blue flames that created seams in reality. All around the Wolf was the Dojo... But much older, more worn out. It was pockmarked by bullet holes in the walls, burn marks on the ground and sword slashes all over the place. Cinders littered the earth like some eerie holocaust byproduct, flickering embers within glowing blue. The sky above the two warriors burnt blue and violet, as if the very heavens were being incinerated by the flames of Phoenix. Even the sun had been eclipsed by a burning swathe of cobalt fire. Holding out his hand, Phoenix formed a bow made of pure darkness. Light from the flames above was absorbed into the inverse shadow of the bow's ornate arms, runes seemingly fashioned from night itself adorning its limbs. [i]"Do you hear that song? That is the guitar of Woodchuk, one of the oldest Dojo lieutenants. His name has been lost to time, his features marred and dulled because of it. And this? This is the bow of the shadow archer, Jams. A comical name, no doubt, but a true warrior at heart. He was one of my first comrades here... One of my greatest friends. He bequeathed himself to me and allowed for me to carry on his legacy. Two forgotten names; two true warriors of honour. Both long-gone, for they realized the truth of the dying Dojo before I did. I now hold their skill in their stead as a final memorial of defiance. Let me tell you a story, Wolf. This is the story of my love. This is the story of my martyrdom. This is the story of my exile. This is the story of my hatred."[/i]