Wings, and scythes, ringing cries.
Sands that burn, seek their turn.
Ivory that masks, Fails it's tasks
the irons of wrath, the results of an old path

In the ring. Masker was king, but now, with those damnable gems. He's found his match. Space itself is trivial to him, time meaning only slightly more. The only way to win this fight, is to run... at least, when he's alone. What were these elements based off again? friendship?... Eh, if it works for them why not him?

Special thanks to: Arkadios, and Falkenlied for editing some chapters

Cancelled cuz this was executed poorly. I intend to reuse the character at some point, but this story is through