“You’re insane, I’m not jumping in there,” Siren said. He had yet to put on the essence draining cuffs, but even without them, this would be problematic. Before him was a field of silver fire, evidently it had been taller a few hours ago, but it was still flickering at around knee height.

“Well, you wanted to know how I could turn a friendly spar into life or death? Add an environmental factor that drains us,” Tristan smiled, “Look at the bright side, the dissonance version we have here is not very hot.”

No, it was not hot compared to fire, however, it seemed to burn through a process similar to erosion. It would file away at anything inside it, grinding away at stone and flesh alike. Siren struggled to imagine a more horrifying way to die. He glanced over at the crazy young man beside him. The boy had come a long way from the twitchy boy who had arrived at the mine, not all of that path was good, but now that he had more influences than Luke he was being pulled the right way.

None of that made him any more sane, which is why it should not have come as a surprise when something heavy slammed into Siren’s back. He stumbled out into empty space with only fire below. There was only a split second for him to sheath himself in stone. It was draining, but he could not let the fire touch his skin.

Someone else fell in behind him. A sound like thousands of swords scraping against stone filled the inside of Siren's helmet as the dissonance went to work eating the armor. He infused the stone with dark essence to slow the flame down. Forces would struggle to destroy themselves, while they were in similar quantities. He was hoping whatever hunger or consumption force was in the fire would be counteracted by the hungry void of darkness.

The noise did not stop, but it did lessen. Still, his stone sense was telling him that he only had minutes before his armor was breached. His dark sense was all but useless at the moment, as the fire eliminated all shadows. All but the ones that came from his attacker.

Siren jumped out of the way as a metal staff slammed into the dirt where he had been standing. The flame around its tip regained the natural orange color for a moment. Tristan grinned, planting the butt of his weapon in the dirt. The little twerp had pushed Siren in, then jumped after, this allowed him to land on his feet and only forced him to protect his lower body.

He pocketed two dull silver orbs, then brandished his staff. No, it was a torch or lamppost, definitely an artifact of some kind, “You ready for a rematch?” He yelled.

“No,” Siren said honestly. He knew he could beat Tristan, and the saying ‘playing with fire’ was not a description of folly for no reason. Siren was willing to risk his life, he had done it many times, but every other time he had been standing between a danger and someone who could not defend themselves. Right now he was a lab rat.

“Too bad,” Tristan said, “You can’t go invisible now, so I think things will be much more equal.”

Siren grimaced and received Tristan's attack on his vambrace, he lacked a weapon, so he created spikes on his knuckles. They did not get used, the overhead blow packed a tremendous amount of power. Almost as if the staff could augment its weight. It shattered the stone armor and staggered Siren.

He had received more powerful strikes, and it was by no means decisive. However, it allowed Tristan to seize the momentum. Siren needed to take it back. Owning the momentum in a fight did not give one an esoteric advantage like the bards claimed, it simply was a contest to who would be orchestrating. The conductor never took orders from the choir.

Siren gritted his teeth and took a strike to the ribs, his chest plate cracking. He ignored it and stepped inside the effective reach of the staff. To his surprise, Tristan dropped it and it popped out of existence. Siren got a sinking feeling. The boy had mentioned feeling a very powerful artifact in the same room as the Lord of the Underworld, had he stolen it out from under his nose?

Tristan accepted the punch, just like Siren had taken the staff. In return, he drove his metal plated shin into Siren’s calf. The stone had been eroded by the fire, shattering easily. Silver flames rushed into the opening eating away Siren’s clothes and several layers of skin before he replaced the stone.

The armor was expensive to maintain, especially if he had to keep repairing it. Tristan had brought two reservoirs with him, he was not risking his kern depleting, regardless of how inefficient his kern was.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

They were still close together, so Siren stepped in to grapple and almost tripped. The staff had rematerialized between his legs, catching his foot as he stepped. Siren had enough, he swung a wide punch, aimed directly at Tristan’s face.

It was telegraphed, giving the boy plenty of time to duck. He ducked right into Siren’s ascending knee. Stone and cartilage cracked as the armor smashed him back. Tristan staggered, but he did not fall. He blinked a few times to get past the pain of a broken nose. Before he could clear his vision, Siren threw a second punch. This one was straight and fast, the way all strikes were meant to be. This one finally laid the boy out.

He quickly reached into his pocket, before all the clothes on his upper half were eaten. A suite of armor encased him, it was stylized, like he had copied one of the temple’s sculptors, as opposed to making normal armor. It was rather cumbersome as Tristan had trouble getting back to his feet.

“I’m done with this,” Siren said, before turning and walking out of the fire.

Why the boy thought this would stress his kern, Siren could not say. Though it had an obvious answer. Tristan was not supposed to be here alone and only started early because Siren was showing signs of doubt.

Siren wondered if he should help Tristan out, but metal did a much better job of keeping the fire out than stone. The boy was also regaining his feet with the help of his staff. He would wait by the boat, no sense making him walk back.

Sirens only warning was a flash of green light. Something hit him in the right shoulder, pulverizing the crystalline armor and fracturing two ribs. The transference of force was instant, blasting Siren back like a bolt from a cannon. The world spun as he bounced across the dirt and back into the silver fire.

Stone once again crusted his chest, negating burns, but more cracks were created with every bounce. When stone breaks it tends to shatter, exposing Siren briefly to the fire. His kern was straining to keep up with the repairs. While he regained his feet, a flaming staff bashed him in the shoulder.

Looking up he saw the sole of Tristan’s boot. He staggered, trying to catch the leg. Still dizzy from the strike that had knocked him back here, he missed the grab. It opened him up to a one armed thrust to the gut from the staff, cracking the armor yet again. Tristan held his other arm to the sky, a nonsensical gesture that was explained when the lamppost disappeared. Half a second later it appeared in his raised hand, Siren was still recovering from the stab, he could not react.

The pole came down on his shoulder driving him to one knee, before teleporting to his other hand and performing a wide swing into Siren’s knee. Gritting his teeth Siren again repaired the armor. He was far enough into the fire that if he did not get out now he would die. From the kneeling position, he surged up, intending to use his superior weight to throw Tristan aside.

Tristan stepped aside, completely avoiding Siren. The lamppost was again manifested between his feet. This forsaken artifact, Siren internally yelled. He could objectively say that Hestia’s Sickle had shown more power, but the raw mobility this pole demonstrated made it much harder to deal with. He went down again.

Thankfully, his armor held. Siren scrambled to get up, he felt sluggish, a feeling those with an earth kern were prone to, but he had worked to overcome it. Again he pushed past it, looking over his shoulder he noticed a metal construct molding itself to the end of Tristan’s lamp. It was a common weapon, a crow's beak, something Siren had commonly used to crack open the tough shells of Mythical Beasts.

Siren rolled out of the way as the now much deadlier instrument whistled by. He had to get rid of it. Strain and exhaustion were starting to take hold of Siren. Normally he would have seen the crow's beak as a good sign, sure it was an armor killer, but the staff could not blip around and keep its accessory. Now his mind stopped at the term armor killer.

Something shifted. A flood of untapped essence filled him, he had experienced this a few times in his youth. It was something his unit called the glory killer. A second wind for warriors that always preceded death if not used to escape, the last gasp of a kern for survival.

He ran, he opted to avoid Tristan. The boy had extra essence from his reservoirs, Siren could not compete, not without the active use of his dark essence. Tristan was slower, he was a tier lower and had the only kern less speed focused than earth. Siren quickly outpaced him, he looked at the rim of the flaming crater and his heart sank.

Luke stood there grinning. He took a deep breath and blew on the flames. Despite not following any other rules fire was supposed to, the area he exhaled on flared up. Siren skidded to a stop as the extra fuel created a ripple effect in the lake of fire. He protected his eyes as he was buried in silver fire for half a second.

Once the wave passed, he looked up. Luke was still there, but he mouthed, “Behind you.”

Siren cursed, just before Tristan slammed into him. That was when Siren realized that ornate ceremonial armor was far heavier than it should be. He was knocked over quickly enough to also trip Tristan. The young man had expected this and regained his feet.

Both of them stared at each other, breathing heavily. Siren’s armor was full of fissures that he could no longer repair, Tristan’s armor was bent and warped so badly that some of the joints did not work properly.

“Good fight,” Tristan said, exhausted.

“Out of my way,” Siren said. He took one more step and his armor once again thinned down, cracked beneath his weight. Fire flooded in. Siren instinctively repaired it, only there was no essence available. He staggered, then collapsed.