A sudden gust of wind took him of guard. He fell down on his knees, while the rain tortured his face. He heard his foe grinning behind him. What happened? How could he have grown so strong? These and many other question flashed through his mind. He tried to stand back up, but felt his strengths streaming out of his body. He looked down, and saw his face reflected in a puddle of blood which was forming beneath him. It was covered in mud, not the picture he was used to. His long, white hairs touched the surface of the blood. His blood. What was to happen now? Was this the end? A strange sensation came over him, and he felt as if he was drowning. Drowning into oblivion. ‘No… This can’t be it… It can’t be!’ he muttered, trying to get back on his feet. ‘It is! Accept it! You and you’re so-called friends are doomed! There is no alternative! Now feel my wrath!’ his foe spoke, as he swung his giant axe down to finish all that what had happened in the past years. With his last ounce of strength he managed to create a barrier between him and the cold steel of his foes axe. ‘Pfuh… You’re magic might have saved you this time, Pherion, but next time I will end it!’ said his foe, quickly disappearing into the shadows of the trees which rose around them. But Pherion didn’t hear these words, nor was he conscious enough to realize that he was safe. Sleepiness fell over him. He closed his eyes, and thought about all those whom he had lost and was about to lose. His last thought was dedicated to his best friend, after that… Darkness.