AN: This story and the following chapter take place in the Elemental Knight Universe otherwise known as The Adventures of Patrol Group B.

As Brant stepped onto the field of battle across from his most trusted ally, he steeled himself against the coming battle. He had gone undefeated so far and suffered minimal injuries, but as he saw his cloaked friend make his way to his starting position across the arena, he shivered with fear for the first time that day.

"In this corner," the announcer boomed, "the knight of the north and renowned Glacier King, Brant Tarl!" The crowd cheered loudly at this, their applause nearly deafening him.

"And in this corner," the announcer continued on with his posturing, "the Smiling Man, the friend to all children, Xesfort Soric!" The crowd cheered at this, but less so than they had for Brant. It was the finals, and many of them had bet upon him as an underdog so the lack of cheering was a bit odd.

"I apologize to you Soric, I will have to use your creation against you my friend." Brant said as he drew his sword from his hip and readied his massive shield.

Soric simply laughed and brushed off the apology.

"No need to apologize Brant, it was made to be used after all." Soric said as he drew his own blade, a red aura beginning to coalesce upon it.

As the announcer said for them to begin, Brant dashed toward his foe, size belaying his impressive speed as he cleared the distance in a blink, sword raised and already crashing down upon his brother in arms. The blade connected with a meaty crunch as it dug into Soric's shoulder, crimson fluid flash frozen by the frost imbued within the blade.

"A fine blow Brant," Soric said nonchalantly, as if he were discussing the weather, "let's see how you like my first move." And suddenly his free hand was moving in elaborate patterns as he muttered arcane chants before the hand was jabbed into his side and a deep red energy flowed into him.

As the hand dug deeper, Brant felt pain unlike he ever had before. He felt no wounds or blood upon him, but the pain felt as though his entire body was one massive gaping wound flowing freely with blood. It was pain like he had never experienced, it was agonizing and made his mind feel like it was filled with needles and knives. He lost focus for a brief second, and then it was like he had seen the face of a god. He was enlightened for a brief moment before reality struck and he was sore all across his body. As he stood up from where he lay facedown in the dirt, sword clutched in one hand and shield propping himself up, he saw the inquisitively raised eyebrow of the necromancer, looking at him as if he were an interesting experiment.

In that instant, Brant Tarl, formerly Brant the Brusque, a man who held himself in proper decorum and abstained from all vices since his defeat at the hands of his master Braum Tarl at the age of 19, lost his temper. He took the brief second of enlightenment he had been granted and channeled it into his blade, focusing it down onto the tip as he rose to his full height. The air in the arena grew cold, even though it was only the beginning of August, and ice began to form along his body.

"Frost Queen's Claim…" He uttered, voice harder than the rime he had been born into, as he raised his blade skyward as it began to glow a deep indigo blue.

Watching with interest, Soric's eyes widened at the sight of snow falling upon his cloak.

"Glacial Lions Anthem." Brant finished, his blade now the color of pitch as it swung down upon his adversary, a spike of black ice the size of two or three men gouging out of the ground as his blade found purchase within the necromancer's unharmed shoulder, the spike driving into his foes sword arm, shattering the brittle bones within it before its wielder slumped onto his foe as the two drifted into unconsciousness from both exhaustion and pain.

The crowd fell silent at this display, jaws agape. Even the ever-chattering announcer had fallen speechless as the two men clashed. As the fight ended, the announcer found his voice and summarily announced the match would be treated as a draw and all prizes would be split evenly between the two fighters before they were taken from the field to be treated.

End Part 1: The Bout