Jesse
*`Wrong place, wrong time.`*

Cumhall's question into the darkness would be met with an answer. The initial, silent armored clatter was followed up by several more of equally distant nature — then, as the faintness of the clatter grew closer, it clearer grew into individual, distinct footsteps that resonated with metallic clarity as they encroached on the outsider. 

Soon, even through the thick darkness of the illusory cloud that encompassed Cumhall, he could see the silhouette of an individual approaching: armored, yet not quite knightly, and one whose armor was an almost leaden hue (though it likely could not truly be lead for the hindrance of its extreme weight). Standing at a most human stature of 176cm, the armored individual made his appearance in a most unnatural manner, emerging from the shroud of the dark as though he had stepped forth from a thick smoke — his armor's distinct shape was instantaneously granted depth and clarity the moment he entered the remote proximity of the outsider, armor's contours lit by the whole of the full moon's light overhead, despite the fact that such a lunar body was completely unseen from within the illusory barrier.

*It was as if he was exempt from the illusion's effect.*

*`Clink!`*

The shrouding illusory darkness swirled, its shape twisting, as, within the armored individual's left hand, was instantaneously created — or perhaps simply removed from the effects of the mystifying illusion — a weapon; a *Mace,* Made of the similar leaden metal that construed his armor. The weapon clinked with a weighty and metallic high-pitch tone against the greaves of the individual unaffected by the illusion, as he continued to step through the dark and obscure landscape as though solely he were lit by a spotlight. The inert weapon hung weightily behind him in his stride forward, as he approached Cumhall without so much as a word nor a single shared display of body-language, **Seemingly preparing for combat.**
Georgia
He turned around to face his foe, his eyes narrowed and his hand moved away from the gun, the quick firing bursts of energy would do little against metal armour, he considered his moves, his opponent was certainly not the talkative sort and seemed to hold hostile intent, but Cumhall would not strike first, he never struck first, not unless his opponent audibly voiced their intent to do harm like, shouting *I'm gonna literally murder you* Or something, probably less goofy. The point was he wouldn't be tricked into making the first move, he'd learnt that lesson over 30 years ago.

He exhaled, rolled his joints, and crackled his knuckles for it would seem the time had come for some old fashioned fisticuffs, or well *New* Fashioned, they didn't exactly have highly advanced cybernetic limbs in the 17th century.
Jesse
Though the armored man was, indeed, excluded from the visually-impairing facet of the illusory barrier which encompassed the whole of the Second Floor's commons, it sounded as though he was not excluded from its auditory effects. With a subtle shift in his posture, the silenced clatter of his armor, and the shifting of his grip on his mace — him extending it to point slightly up and toward Cumhall — the armored man as though lit by spotlight stanced himself declaratively, his voice in the silence—

*`".... .... ...... ......"`*

—quelled almost in its entirety. Though they stood at no more than about four-to-five-meters' distance, Cumhall could not hear the armored man's words; only faint murmurs. And it was likely that any words that Cumhall would attempt to speak back would be swallowed by such an all-present, ever-persistent silence, manifest by the arcane nature of the illusory barrier. A most troublesome circumstance to be in. It certainly appeared as though the armored stranger was attempting to say something to Cumhall, but the silence brought all such attempts to naught.
_ _

*`".....?"`*
*`"..."`*

*`"ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ʸᵒᵘ ᵈᵒ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵈᵉˢⁱˢᵗ?!`*

—His voice, suppressed, yet not in the slight intended to be quiet, rang out with subtle clarity in Cumhall's ears. Words of warning, or perhaps words of frustration; either way, it looked and sounded as though the armored man was not pleased. 

With an idle swing of his leaden mace through the air ahead of himself, the armored man took an intentful step forward, practically stomping, before he shot with surprising agility and speed straight toward Cumhall. In one second, he had cleared almost the entire distance between the two, and in two seconds, he had already begun his attack. **The man swung not his mace, but his empty right fist toward Cumhall, leaning the whole of his bodyweight into a straight punch toward his jaw.** A debilitating, yet not instantaneously incapacitating attack, and one certainly without any lethal intent.
Georgia
```diff
- "...WHAT?" -
- "..WHAT? I- WHAT?" -
```
His defensive stance slacked slightly in the pure and utter confusion, but as the man ceased talking and prepared for an assault, his stance tensed up again and the small panels on his arm that contained the thrusters flared out.
1.. 2. Two seconds, was half a second more than Cumhall needed to anticipate the attack, he dodged to the left, the man's fist swinging millimetres from the side of his helmet.
His arm drew back, and with a `KSHOOOOO` It rocketed forward suddenly, aimed straight for the man's lower ribs.
Harry
Heavily-armored and with unnatural, crashing momentum, the armored man's fist swung forward like a sledgehammer. It was clear that his strength was far beyond human—raw power seemed his specialty. Luckily, however, Cumhall's anticipation and dodge carried cleanly through, and so too did his counter.

The metallic arm crashes against his abdomen, causing the leaden-hued metal plates to briefly buckle with its rocket-propelled force, but not causing them to outright deform. The momentum transfers fully into his body and he recoils backward, knocked a full armslength back from Cumhall. He coughed and he grumbled and it seemed there was some amount of hesitation as he stood opposite Cumhall, stationary and lowering one hand to rest above where he was struck.

It was an impact too much for the average person to handle—even armored—but as it had been proven to the outsider once before, those of the *Vektet* Were much more naturally resilient than the average human. The armored man mumured before stomping forward again, almost identically performing the exact same move as before. This time leading with his left hand, he shot a strong straight for his opponent's jaw. He was in for a slugfest, plain and simple.