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A fighter tromping through a barrage of spells, nothing but his own hardy endurance and willpower, his training he spent all those gruelling hours upon days upon years on paying off as he just. Keeps. Going. Ignoring the power that by all rights should have erased his soul. Shattering the boulder falling from up high with a single stroke of his sword. Walking through the burning oil and crossing the acid pits thrown up by his opponent in a desperate attempt to stall him. Climbing the mountain and shattering the magical walls of force that guard the citadel there. At it's heart, slice open the final gate that leads to beyond reality itself, to face down the man that evoked his wrath. Breaking through the illusion that tries to blind him to the truth, the truth in the form of the man responsible for the deaths of his wife and children. The man he once called friend.
"How?" the wizard asked, not understanding. The blade flashes, a head rolls, and the fighter turns ready to leave, his quest done. Yet, he stops once right before leaving the room.
"While you were learning the first words of the arcane, I was training. While you were meddling with the secrets of the deeper universe, I was training. While you were divining the streams of fate, I. Was. Training. I did not know what for until I found them. Dead. Dead by your hand, misguided as it was. All my life I have dedicated myself to the art of combat, the art of becoming stronger, faster, or simply better at killing the one in my way. In a way that made me envious of you. I can only destroy where you could build. Yet for some reason although you called me the fool for dedicating myself to the art of destruction, it was you, who dedicated himself to the art of creation, that destroyed so much more than I ever have."
W