The air crackled with tension as Cyrus faced his nemesis for the first time in their long-standing confrontation. This encounter was different, for Nemesis wielded a magic Cyrus had never before witnessed. A sinister aura, dark as the void between stars, enveloped the masked figure. With a single step forward, Nemesis vanished into thin air, leaving Cyrus momentarily stunned.

Instinctively, Cyrus raised his sword, it blade gleaming with an ethereal blue light. As he swung them in a wide arc, the azure energy collided with the oppressive darkness that had materialized around him. The impact sent shockwaves through Cyrus's body, his hands trembling as if he'd clashed with a falling star. The sheer force drove him backward, his boots scraping against the rough stone as he struggled to maintain his footing.

Nemesis pursued relentlessly, fingers weaving intricate patterns in the air. Dark tendrils, like writhing shadows given form, shot forth one after another. Cyrus found himself in a deadly dance, maneuvering through the treacherous magma-filled arena. He flipped and slid with preternatural agility, narrowly avoiding the massive attacks that threatened to obliterate him. The walls around them groaned and cracked under the onslaught, rivers of molten rock beginning to pour through the fissures.

In the midst of this chaotic battlefield, Shi engaged in a fierce duel with Leora, while the enigmatic prophet stepped forward to aid Cyrus. As he dodged another of Nemesis's devastating attacks, Cyrus couldn't help but marvel at the old man's unexpected prowess.

"The old man isn't bad," Cyrus thought, his respect for the prophet growing with each passing moment.

The prophet's actions defied conventional understanding of magic. With a mere gesture, he seemed to grip the very fabric of reality. Above them, a breathtaking cosmic panorama unfurled, countless stars twinkling in an inky void. The prophet's finger traced an imperceptible pattern, and Cyrus felt his body shift, drawn back towards the old man as if pulled by invisible strings. Simultaneously, Nemesis was flung in the opposite direction, momentarily thrown off balance.

Cyrus blinked in astonishment, his mind struggling to process what had just transpired. "What just happened?" he asked, voice thick with shock and awe. Never before had he witnessed the prophet employ his arcane knowledge in combat.

Nemesis, ever the analytical foe, spoke with an unnerving calm. "I see you have been through rigorous training. The magic of stars, under normal circumstances, has no use in combat. Its only advantage is catching a glimpse of stupid prophecies. But you have changed it. If I'm not mistaken, the little dots should represent our positions, and each time you move them, you can alter reality and move our positions in real life."

A ghost of a smile played on the prophet's weathered features. "Very insightful, but you are far from having seen it all." Once more, he waved his hand, and the cosmic tapestry above them shimmered and shifted. The very ground beneath their feet seemed to undulate, and Nemesis found himself unceremoniously slammed into the magma-slicked walls.

"Go! Help Leora and leave this place now!" the prophet commanded, his voice carrying an urgency that brooked no argument.

Cyrus hesitated for a split second, torn between his desire to aid the old man and the need to ensure Leora's safety. Before he could make a decision, the prophet had already manipulated the celestial representation. In the blink of an eye, Cyrus found himself transported to Leora's side, while Shi's position was swapped with the prophet's. The assassin crashed against an invisible barrier, crying out as she was crushed between competing magical forces.

The young warrior gasped, his perception of the seemingly frail prophet utterly shattered. He had always assumed that a gentle breeze could topple the old man, that he could effortlessly defeat him in combat if the need ever arose. This display of complex star magic forced Cyrus to reconsider everything he thought he knew.

The battle raged on with renewed intensity. Nemesis's attacks grew increasingly furious and destructive, dark foam oozing towards the prophet like a malevolent tide. Yet the old man stood firm, protected by an ethereal blue hue that shimmered around him like a second skin. Impacts of light flashed continuously in the void, a dazzling and terrifying display of raw magical power.

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As the fight progressed, it became clear that the prophet held a slight upper hand. However, his advantage came with a glaring weakness – he couldn't move as agilely as Nemesis or Shi. Forced to remain rooted to the spot, he presented an easy target, a heavy price to pay for wielding such formidable magic.

With each passing moment, Nemesis's attacks grew stronger, his movements becoming blindingly fast. Shi, outmatched and overwhelmed, was forced to retreat from the battle entirely. Cyrus watched in growing horror as the tide began to turn.

"What kind of magic is Nemesis using?" Cyrus wondered, his mind racing. It was clear that there was more to these attacks than mere destructive force. A chilling realization dawned on him – if Nemesis had wielded this power in their past confrontations, Cyrus doubted he would have survived this long.

The prophet raised his hand once more, blocking another devastating strike. This time, however, his arm visibly shook from the impact, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. Nemesis's laughter echoed through the chamber, cold and mocking.

"I wonder how hard you had to work to reach this level. Was your hatred that deep?" the masked figure taunted.

The prophet's eyes blazed with determination. "Deep enough," he growled, unleashing another attack. The very fabric of space seemed to constrict around Nemesis, the pressure so intense that his mask began to crack.

"Shit! The boss hasn't allowed me yet," Nemesis hissed, dark foam immediately splattering across his face to conceal his features. With inhuman speed, he shot into the void, Shi's body morphing into a long, sinuous branch to pull him free from the prophet's cosmic grasp.

A bone-chilling roar reverberated through the chamber as Nemesis glided through the void, moving faster than light itself. The dark foam surrounding him condensed around his fist, crackling with malevolent energy. With a sickening crack, his blow shattered the prophet's defenses, sending the old man's head smashing into the magma-coated ground. Ripples spread outward in concentric circles, a grim testament to the force of the impact.

Cyrus, gripping Leora's arm tightly, made a desperate dash for the exit. But he found himself frozen in indecision, one foot ahead and one behind. "Damn old man," he muttered, torn between the instinct for self-preservation and the nagging pull of loyalty.

In that moment of hesitation, Nemesis's gaze locked onto him. The masked figure's voice dripped with venom as he spoke. "Do you know what I did to the last person that judged me? I plunged my daggers into their eyes. That way, they will forever be blind to the power they wanted to take from me. You're next." He planted his foot firmly on the prophet's chest, sword pointing menacingly at Cyrus.

Without warning, Nemesis launched his attack. Cyrus felt his bones curve inward, as if his very skeleton was rebelling against him. Blood sprayed from his mouth as his body was flung like a discarded stone. Before he could recover, Nemesis had already turned his attention to Leora. She lashed out with her golden rope, the weapon striking like lightning across a storm-darkened sky. But Nemesis moved with unparalleled grace, evading her attack and, with a single devastating strike, leaving her paralyzed on the ground. The box containing the primordial canine now rested in his grasp, a trophy of his victory.

"We can't defeat him," Cyrus managed to say, spitting out another mouthful of blood. In an instant, he found himself shifted back to the prophet's side, the old man's magic still active despite his grievous injuries.

"Do you remember what I told you about magic the first time we met?" the prophet asked, his voice choked with blood.

Cyrus helped the old man into a sitting position, his mind racing as he searched his memories. "Yes," he replied, the words coming to him as if from a half-remembered dream. "Beware, Cyrus, for with each incantation spoken, a debt to the cosmos is incurred, demanding recompense in ways unforeseen."

"Yes, Cyrus. Recompense in ways unforeseen," the prophet confirmed, coughing weakly.

Suddenly, understanding dawned in Cyrus's mind, illuminating the cryptic warning. "Magic has consequences," he breathed, the realization as clear as crystal. His own healing abilities, he now understood, diminished drastically after each wound – the price he paid for his power. For the prophet, the cost was immobility while wielding his magic and a drastically shortened lifespan. With this newfound clarity, Cyrus knew what had to be done.

"Exactly, Cyrus. You have just touched on the reality of magic in Arkania," the prophet wheezed. "Find the consequences of Nemesis's magic, and you will know how to defeat him. Unfortunately, I'm too old for that."

Cyrus rose to his feet, a new determination burning in his eyes as he faced their formidable foe. "Nemesis!" he called out, his voice ringing with challenge. "It's time for you to pay your debts!"