A Clash of Blades

The shrill clash of their blades rang through the forest, two warriors dancing in the darkness, with only the waning moon providing a glimmer of light to either warrior. But calling them mere warriors would be a disservice to them, because they were more akin to artists, masters of their craft, painting a deadly game before my eyes.

They glided around the forest floor, enacting their deadly game, blades moving impossibly fast, weapon an extension of their body. The black clothed figure wielded the broadsword with incredible strength, and grace, while the other figure wore lighter leather armor, hand and a half sword a blur in the darkness. 

It was clear that the longer reach of the broadsword was an advantage the black figure was exploiting, forcing his opponent back with long sweeps of his blade, trying to reposition the battle to his advantage, while his opponent looked for an opportunity to strike, and then it happened, if you blinked you would have missed it. A move so slight that an ordinary warrior may not have noticed, even I barely saw it. Just a slight movement of the foot, barely noticeable, but it showed everything.

The white figure lunged suddenly, trying to disrupt the deadly arcs of the broadsword in a desperate attempt to get closer to his opponent. He parried the broadsword aside as it was just beginning to start its long sweep, using his momentum to carry on and thrust his blade into his opponent. It would have worked against a normal warrior, but instead of finding his opponent, his blade felt nothing but air, and a knife buried in his chest.