Without thinking, Bartleby jumped forward, knocking Cassius Carnage off of his feet.  Carnage was a sorcerer, born with a powerful supernaturability, and giving him any amount of time to think would be a mistake.

They rolled to the ground, and Bartleby punched Carnage across his face, feeling the sting of his hot skin across his knuckles.  Carnage kicked himself free and Bartleby tucked his hand beneath him, swerving his legs across the ground and kicking his opponent across the jaw.  Carnage reeled back, far out of reach.  Too far.

Bartleby tried to jump forward, but he had hesitated a moment too long.  Carnage lifted a hand in the air, and Bartleby stopped, hovering just above the ground, immobile.

“So what I’ve heard about you is true,” Carnage said, wiping his lip as he smiled.  “Always bringing a pair of fists to a magic fight.  Tsk tsk…”

He walked over to a nearby table.  Bartleby struggled to move, but he knew it was pointless.  Carnage was powerful, and whatever had been keeping him in check in the asylum was obviously no longer working.  He watched as Carnage took a knife from the table and examined it.  The hilt was made of iron, and the blade itself was black.  It looked ancient.

Bartleby couldn’t even move or scream to acknowledge the pain as Cassius Carnage jabbed the knife into his stomach.  Visions flooded him, flashes of the Second World, then back to the train car, as the green orb dimmed and everything faded to black…