Vargas had a long list of things he'd had to do. The meeting had been, in part, a matter of delegation: sending others off to do the work of the Forge. That was its purpose, though; he wasn't shunting responsibility onto others. That was just their task. But his other work--speaking to V-Chaos-Eleven, and orienting V-Chaos-Thirteen--had come next. And now, at last, he strode from the shadows of the deeper cave and arrived before V-Onyx-Three.

"I apologize for the wait," was his greeting, with a deep exhale. "There is much to do. But now I have time. You wished to spar-?" he asked, tipping his head a little to one side. "May I ask--why with me?"

He was curious. Surely it had a better relationship with The Sentinel, who was specialized in such things. But why challenge the Leviathan himself? He didn't find it foolish--he wasn't so arrogant as to think he was unbeatable, even. But more to the point, V-Onyx-Three was not a stupid creature. He was, if anything, clever in Vargas's mind. Thoughtful and controlled, unlike many. That made Vargas curious, because it meant he had a reason--a real reason.

And Vargas could not think of what it might be.

He'd been listening curiously--and that's all it was, for all of Onyx-Three's fear of asking: curiosity. Vargas wished to know his motives; that was all. But the mention of "live or die" had him laugh--once, abruptly and sharp, too genuine and too surprised to cover it.

"Die?!" he demanded. "No, I think not. We won't be killing anyone today." He considered stating the obvious: that he didn't think it necessary to nearly kill V-Onyx-Three in order to win. That Vargas wouldn't have to fight at his strongest to subdue him.

That would be mean, but moreso, it would be arrogance. He didn't underestimate the power of a good weapon, and good training--and luck. Luck was always a factor. "But yes, if you wish to challenge yourself--to know your limits--I will of course help. It is an admirable desire." He paused, thinking, but beyond this there was little he could think to add. He wasn't asking Onyx-Three to hold back, at the very least--but he could pull his own punches, if need be. He certainly wasn't going to kill the creature.

"Come. When you are ready," he invited, easygoing. He himself was already turning to make space, limbering up with shakes of his limbs and brief stretching.

Vargas, somehow, had been imagining combat that was, if not hand-to-hand or claws, a melee weapon. He'd forgotten that the bow V-Onyx-Three carried was not for show; that it was his new main weapon. The moment the creature began to draw the bow, to nock an arrow, Vargas realized he'd need to adapt.

There was time yet to rush in, to put pressure on V-Onyx-Three. First, though, he'd do his best not to lose an eye. Of course, he didn't know that's what Onyx was aiming for. He had the sense to shield his vitals, at least; one arm came up before his head, and his hind end half-curled so that his abdomen was not too exposed.

The shot, though, punched right into the space between the spines of his arm; while his wide eye placement was useful for expanded vision, it did provide more targets for a practicing archer. He had time to see the bolt with its sharpened head fling itself for his face--and then his vision was punched out there, the arrow skidding over hide and eye and lodging itself deeply in the meaty flesh just above. Any fletching would protrude, but acid blood welled and dripped, and the guttural, sharp inhale of breath was enough indication of sudden pain.

Vargas did not speak, but it also wasn't clear if his eye was flat-out gone or just injured; either way there was a torn wound along it and above it that would most definitely scar.

Vargas didn't make a sound, though his attitude toward the spar had gone from almost playful to deadly serious. He still had no intention of causing serious harm to V-Onyx-Three, but it was clear that the child (no longer a child!) wanted a true test, a real challenge, not for either of them to pull their punches. Which--admittedly, he'd said as much directly. But now, with one eye squeezed shut and dripping chartreuse acid, the urgency felt far more real.

As Onyx-Three nocked another arrow, Vargas leapt to one side and then charged in. He threw his weight behind a punch, aiming for the hybrid's upper left leg. It wasn't necessarily his intention to break bone, but if it happened, it would heal: he did, however, want to knock him off his feet and potentially keep him there. It was a calculated move: Can he shoot while unable to stand?

Vargas came in fast. He was flinching, at least internally, from what he'd thought was the sound of a snapping bone. His focus, though, was razor sharp on the fight itself. V-Onyx-Three was--somewhat admirably--still trying to shoot him. He's able, then, Vargas thought, a fleeting and distant bit of knowledged tucked away for the future.

He pressed the attack, just as he would were this a real fight for his life--or the Onyx's. A lunging stride inward, as an arrow shot harmlessly past, and he aimed to grasp the bow and wrench it from the Onyx's grasp. He wasn't sure if Onyx-Three could fight without it; if Vargas would get blasted by magic, or a physical hit, as he made the attempt. And he wasn't trying to break the bow, either, just take it away for now.

Would that only be a minor setback? Or would it leave V-Onyx-Three helpless?