In the beat of the Battle area, death had become common ground. Washed away by the ever-crying clouds, shrouding its ichor of blackness over the Academy.
Explosions thundered like firecrackers.
Flames busted out in a beam of hot, fiery, misfortune. Scorching the earth with anyone sorry enough to get in its way.
Water trailed the air, tentacles of doom. Replenished from the pond that stood behind them.
It twirled like serpents in the air, reaching for the heads of the Robed figures. Pulling it. Grabbing it. Choking it, and better still, Drowning it.
Every attempt to get the other to surrender or help them evades them from their eluded principles.
The ground shattered with the force of blows and swords. Splits and cracks crawl down the earth like seizures.
Earth's crying transformed in its rawest forms. A protest of the earth against the thundering feet above it.
