Akanatur (Marcus) vs Lobos (Lobos)

A long dead city burned.

Towers of stone, crumbling from age, alight with wytchfires. Twisted, tortured overgrowth yielded only grudginly, seemingly resilient to the fortress's bane raging around them. Gales of winds twisted through dusty halls and windows, the harmonics generating a noise akin to thousands of voices as one.

Screaming.

Warrens, tunnels, lost libraries, foundries, row upon row of dwellings and monuments to greatness were nothing more than fading reminders of mortal glory. Yet evidence of the superb craftsmanship remained, for these ruins had stood for millenia against the test of time, the powers of etherial energies and the life of its forgotten people suffusing the bricks, the mortar. If one cared to dig deep enough, they would find the bones of its makers the foundations on which it settled, yet thus far none dared. For it was a haunted place, filled with pain and anguish, demanding remembrance that it would never receive. Debris lined the streets, the bones of animals and the signs of their leavings and nested scattered about. The beasts themselves were nightmarish, twisted by the penumbra they dwelt in until barely recognizable as creatures at all, but monsters incarnate.

The earth to the north creaked, a vast weight settling upon it as something immense in power settled down, the coronas in the heavens that of those to the far north. It was with a heavy report of bedrock snapping asunder that bared feet touched the earth, a powerful stance over the narrow fissure. The apparitions appearance was unearthly, that of an immense, powerfully built man. Worn leggings of leather were the only clothing worn, his muscled chest and arms bared to the air, covered in tattoos of arcane, tribal writing. Within the woads were letters of a dead language, their glyphs ever changing, glowing mutely with the power within them. About his wrists were manacles of dull, tarnished metal, shattered chains hanging from them. Clattering quietly in the gusts that tossed the mane of gleaming, white hair that rolled down his back, the figure studied the place for a long few minutes, inhuman yellow eyes taking in the sight with an expressionless mask.

Names held power. Lobos understood that, and his own was lost to time. Better that way, he told himself. Walking slowly for the ruins, the god breathed the brimstone laden air, sighing with a deep, rumbling growl not at all like any sound that came from mortal lips. Something was wrong, a sense of perversion in the winds. And one of enough power to warrant direct attention. That its nature directly opposed his own simply made it...

Personal.

A mammoth hand touched the pendant at his throat, the round wheel of burnished bronze and stone glowing with runes and glyphs in such concentration that its surface swarmed. From it radiated power to chill titans, quake other gods. It was alive in a sense, yet so far removed from time as to never perceive the transience of matters of mortality or lack thereof. Even after the dust of his passing had long since blown to the corners of the heavens, the obelisk would remain. And so it had, until he had come into its care.

"Let us be rid of this, then." With a voice of quiet thunder, Lobos, Lord of War, Wolf of Winter, and God of the Blizzard Storm, strode onwards to the shattered peaks and ever lit flames, ignoring the howls of the wind and the tainted presence of a murdered people still clinging with hellbound determination to this, a relic of a lost age. The denizens fled his approach as would beasts of the forest spread apart to allow the hunter to pass unchallenged, ghosts flinching back with fright at the nearness of his wild glory.

Who dares intrude onto the work of the Akanatur when the dead turn to ash and the smell of burning flesh and hair fills the air bellow! It was true that the mighty lord scorched all that stood before him but it was due to his conquest and survival that the flame must persist, even in a world such as this. It was that at the top of this perch which stood watch over the fallen city that a portal to the ever burning plane of fire was open and at its mouth sitting on a throne made of solid stone with obsidian and bronze inlay that formed unique runes up through the arms to the back of the mighty seat. The fiery armor that enveloped Akanatur's lean body is comprised of the whitest flames while the scythe he held loosely in his grasp appeared to be in a constant state of melting but remained as strong and flexible.

"Who dares enter into my house of pain?" The Lord of Fire spoke with almost a metallic tone to his voice while his eyes focused on what or whom was coming up the worn path. A challenger to claim his throne maybe? Or possible someone who feels like they can shove their way to glory. "It is all who strive for conquest that their hearts burn with fiery passion. It is all men who loose themselves that they cannot discipline themselves when offered the chance of a life time.

It was right as that was said that the elder elemental slowly began to rise from his seat allowing the use of his scythe as a make shift staff in order to make it easier when rising to meet this new challenge. "I am the first flame! What makes you think that I will be snuffed out so easily?"

Fang shone on the god's face as he caught sight of his adversary, lips peeling back into a scowl. His measured pace did not falter, simply drawing ever closer to Akanatur with each step. Finally thirty paces distant, did he finally halt, studying this elemental with distaste. How easy would it be to merely surge forward, strike without a word. But then he was a Lord of War, and within war there were courtesies.

His voice rumbled like that of a massive beast, clearly heard over the wind even at the distance. "Elemental Lord, do not be so quick to arrogantly judge. Were that I a lesser I would have struck you down as you spoke, but you find yourself fortunate indeed."

As his words came forth like thunder, mists rose around his form, billowing into a cloud that concealed him. It grew to large proportions, enough to shroud a dozen men his size. His eyes continued to be visible, however, burning with eldritch light that scythed through the chill fog like it simply didn't exist. And they had risen, to a height well over ten feet.

"I am Lord of War. Wolf of Winter." A massive paw came forward into view, claws the size of daggers capped in a dusky, golden metal. About its ankle was the very manacle that had been on the wrist of the man, the chain that slung forward into view not four feet...but fourteen. Another landed beside the first with a thud, identical to it brethren. "Who dares to challenge elder fire, you ask? Lobos, God of the Blizzards."

With a heaven splitting howl, the mist tore asunder, the very city trembling with the noise that came from the throat of the beast before Akanatur. Fifteen feet tall, a heavy coat of white and silver fur thick on his hide. His mane rolled along his body like a shifting river, several bunches held together by beads of the same metal that capped his claws. A mask settled on the face of the wolf, the golden metal carved with arcane symbols, streamers of paper with indecipherable writing along their lengths as they tossed in the winds. On his hinds legs, strange glaives seemed melded to their sides, heavy blades simply ominous in their promise. Black markings marred tribal patterns along the his body uncovered by his billowing mane. But the most notable feature of the behemoth was the massive obelisk that hovered over his back, spinning on a lazy orbit. It was the very emblem that had hung at the man's neck, now magnified a hundredfold. It carried a sense of weight in the air that was staggering, blended with his own to be titanic. Every being with a scrap of magical talent could not help but feel Lobos from five hundred miles in every direction.

And so he did not give Akanatur a moment to respond, twisting the ending of his roar into a blurred series of words that resonated power. He lashed his head forward, ice twisting into being from the very air to form jagged chunks the size of footballs. These hovered for a mere instant before surging forward with the force of rockets, slamming a fusillade of projectiles into the earth around his foe with such wild power and numbers that sheer numbers were its nature to hit. And should they hit, the damage would be simply brutal.

Even as they surged forward, Lobos leapt back with deceptive grace, turning thirty feet into fifty, landing in a crouch with huge fangs bared. Lupine eyes bore with intensity, that of a predator, regarding prey.