"When pride comes, then comes disgrace."
Archeron raised his hands and placed them behind his head, staring at the archer before him. He did not fear the archer, but he knew that pride preceded a fall, and, as such, he was wary of his opponent. He placed a hand on his sword, and readied himself, smirking through the curtain of white hair that almost covered his eyes. The Sun beat down mercilessly upon the two combatants, but clouds were beginning to roll in. Archeron took up a defensive stance and raised his free hand, beckoning the archer on by curling his index and middle finger towards him. A gentle breeze began to blow, Archeron's dark red coat fluttering around his ankles as he lowered his hand. He was leaning to the left, his left hand wrapped tight around the handle of Revolution. He already felt the dark storm of the soul power coursing within him, amplifying his already formidable array of supernatural powers and abilities.
"Begin." He said, his voice deep, his light blue, almost grey eyes focused entirely upon his opponent, his entire body tensed like a coiled spring.