☈ Gazes that match; ℬeasts who meet
With the might of her country upon petite shoulders she moves, by the grace of a lithe danseur who maneuvers her way across center stage. Verdant eyes are keen, not predatory but inkling with perusal. They sift through the stirring air around the aggressor, exercising footsteps with caution.
Ah. So it appears words were but futile in their attempts. He wished not to speak with the appellations that spills forth from lips— but with the carriage of seasoned warriors: to speak with the language of blades. She understood.
His attacks came in a flurry, eliciting a toughened cringe that is further enhanced by the weight of his incursion. Upon years of training, petite statuesqueness was capable of withstanding the harshest of barrage, but he places his full weight into the small of her frame. She parries with skill, but is left once more to his flurry of attacks that are fueled with every fibre of his being— he is dedicated, indeed.
Yet another clash of blades. She takes a step back, pushing the might of her weight forward to deter the amount of force and weight he enforces. Muscles burning, she moves her blade sideways, to deflect his blade and to retreat a few steps back. She’d been pressured. He’d been pressured. Both were bathed in their own sweat— the drudgery that twines with labour.
Despite the wear that seeks to bind her, merriment escapes. The armoured knight oozes with the sentiment she knows is shared with her competitor— the beauty of a contest that elicits the pride, the utmost honour, the conflagrant ardour that greets passioned heart. It beats ferociously, palpitating with not adrenaline but the surge of felicity. The continuous meeting of blades ricochet through fettered chasms— she understands. She can hear him. She can feel his heart. His heart and her are one—
the dance upon the flurry of blades.
His exclamation only excites her further and evokes a genuine smile that swathes dirtied features. The damage done to the venue remains unnoticed— both these hearts twined with the fiery spirits of battle. The repercussions will be met later— her heart has not pranced so since she locked blades with a certain Knight…
Sublime are her footsteps, deft and silent before she rushes forward, a bellow matching his own spilling from lips. She had accepted his challenge, accepted it with all the might and fervour possible from her petite bodice. And in a sudden rush, she dashes, almost at an impossible speed. She slams her blade downward, pulling her weight in the single blow.
This would not do. This was indeed, only the beginning.
Without the need of words she retreats several footsteps, the triumph of a battle that so long has been yearned for festering. She takes a single moment to assess his very person— they are both weary, both caked in dirt and grime, sweat, and trickles of blood. A smile is offered, and at once— her blade shines.
Adjourned precautions he’d take steps back with each long forward blow, reading how with each catastrophic swing there was prize to it. In which the strength matched vibrating against the winds and concrete beneath his feet. Slammed and cracked by the weight and winding sword that she held. A crater left in the placement that Masamune would have been surmised and reduced to had he not let his legs slip back. Presumably so, there was no stopping once the other jumped forward from the swing. Meeting against the metal of his sword, the echo’s of scraping metallic objects screeched through out the streets and he became ever interested of what laid before him unseen to his eye.
Pressure; utilized against her swing and as the contact would wring through out the streets the Dragon continued to move with this facetious beat. A fast paced one at that. Their strengths both met on even terms, sending the two contenders back despite the mid air assault. It was enough to leave him slamming against the concrete below, crackling sidewalk remnants of what has occurred and what more to come. The ground below him groaned with each step me made. It was clear that the repercussions of their battle met the air with much destruction but he didn’t care nor did he notice. For if he let the outside enclosure interfere with what was hindered to their battle, he would not have nearly dodge the sharp step of Saber racing forward leaving cars tumbling and turning at her wake.
A curt jump down and the sword scraped the top of his helmet leave a clear cut that would have split his skull in half had he not fought with such vigor. A quick swipe would adhere the woman to step back and yet he was certain his sword met with flesh and was soon met with his own wounds that left un felt by due to the rushing adrenaline. Breath, exasperated as they might have been. Was a reminder by just how frantic he was left by this catering display of a dance, that they exposed to those rushing out of the way around them. He’d continue to breathe, muscles tightening as he braced and echo’d along the path forward.
Another crater left in their wake, and the building just to the side of Saber had a clear cut lingering where Masamune had nearly swiped her in half. Quick agile war mistress with the twist of her body had left the building in it’s score. The click of his tongue and distaste of aggravation had finally met him but it was melted into an advocating grin that stammered along the way of their battle until the pause between them left the two bodies at opposites ends. Heaving to breathe, burning with such firey disposition.
Then the shimmering of light had caught his attention, eye flickered to the corner as it widened with disbelief. Was he to see the weapon enclosed in a mystery?
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