Contest

Author Note: If you don't know what a Flamberge is it's basically a greatsword with a wavy blade.

Standing in the large clearing outside, beneath the hot sun, Thirteen stood tall, his black hair grow long and wild, and his body now showing prominently the muscles of a fighter experienced beyond his years. His blue eyes stared down the opponent across from him.

Four stood with his head cocked upwards slightly, shouldering a large flamberge he held in his right hand. Today was an official sparring day, and the two had requested to be paired with each other.

The dynamic between students and instructors changed subtly with every year that passed. Each year, the students became closer to the skillful killing machines they were forged as, and those among them who would command respect in the years to come were treated increasingly like men of the king rather than orphans from the streets.

"The rules are simple. Fight until one is unable, or any contestant surrenders. If I believe a situation too dangerous I will intervene and announce a winner. Understood?"

Instructor Diores looked to them each and confirmed their nods. The boys had already honed their focus on the foe before them, their intent to battle practically spewing forth.

Surrounding the very wide clearing they were given was the rest of the eighth generation, now 19 in total. This duel was treated with a great amount of importance among the students, and Instructor Diores had propped it up to be a public affair to inspire some others to catch up.

"Begin when your ready." He stated as he backed out of the clearing.

Neither of them attacked immediately, opting to keep the space between them. Four took his greatsword, the flamberge into two hands and began to flex his 'Intent', exhibiting a mild though oppressive martial aura.

Thirteen, with his left hand holding the sheath of his longsword, drew it slowly with his right. It was on the longer end for a longsword, and its blade was a shade of deep, highly reflective crimson.

Thirteen's thoughts flashed through the terrain, his opponents stance, the reach of his weapon and the many most common maneuvers he had witnessed Four employ in his everyday training. And then he stepped forward, his both hands grasping the long hilt of his blade.

It changed in an instant. Four moved with a controlled dash, kicking up small amounts of dirt as advanced forward, his flamberge held low. He moved in an outward diagonal at first, before kicking off the ground and reversing his sideways direction to close in on Thirteen at a 45 degree angle, employing his great weight to his advantage as he swung his flamberge in a heavy downwards slash.

Thirteen monitored Four's movements at every step of the way and responded quickly. He moved in before Four's strike could reach completion, and held his blade in a half sword grip.

Moving his left foot to position in front of Four's right, he restricted his foe's movement before catching the flamberg early in it's swing using his crossguard to stop the blade. He followed immediately by pulling his left leg back behind him and twisting his body left, throwing the flamberg aside as he delivered a right elbow to Four's face and readying to bring his pommel in to strike soon after.

After being struck with the elbow, Four's shoulders rose slightly as his head dipped, and his large body tensed. Thirteen recognized his foe was about to overpower the restrictions on his blade, and so abandoned his follow up to back off swiftly, but he underestimated Four's speed as the great wavy blade rose from the dirt with such force it looked to have been shot from a cannon.

Thirteen leaned backwards, resting most of his weight on his left leg as he subtly redirected the blow with his weapon and used his right foot to interfere with Four's own, and avoided the upward strike.

The two backed off from each other.

'Well, that's about as good as warmups go' He thought to himself as he stretched his shoulders and the two began to pace a circle around each other, flashing a brief smile each.

But as Four's smile fell, his face became emotionless and his eyes narrowed. A wave of dense air burst out from him, kicking up dirt and stones in the surroundings. His 'Intent' took corporeal form in an aura lacking any of the mildness of earlier. An oppressive wave of spiritual might.

Thirteen's hair was pushed back by the combative wind but he remained unfazed, the many dozens of swordforms and footwork from the Unhindered Motion flashing through his mind as his red blade gleamed a dreadful light.

He stopped pacing, and slowly dragged his left foot out ahead of him, taking a stance.

'Three, two, one' he counted. With every second a large portion of unneeded thoughts and considerations vanished and his breathing smoothed as he entered a relaxed trance, his thoughts hyper focused but clean and simple, with no internal words to process them.

This was how he had come to battle. It was how he adapted to the incredible pain and distraction of fighting five helpers and instructors.

Four was zoned in completely, his entire will and Intent focused on battle, while Thirteen was zoned out, his mind cold and distant as he took in all things.

Again it was Four who moved first, but his speed was far faster than before. This time it was for real, and he appeared before Thirteen in an instant, his greatsword thrusting into a stab from beyond Thirteen's reach.

'His left hand is forward on the grip. His right hand is half on the pommel. It's a feint. He's going to lever upwards. Not enough force. Also a feint. Unarmed attack?'

Thirteen's thoughts moved, but without monologue as he recognized the inconsistencies in his friend's grasp of the sword.

Thirteen held the hilt of his sword up and to the right, the blade pointed down and to the left. When his blade made contact with the bottom of Four's own, he stepped left and in one swift motion, locked his blade into the groove of the flamberge's waves, and rotated his sword swiftly until it was on top of the flamberge's blade pushing it down to the ground, where he then brought his left leg up and stomped down on it's flat, locking it to the ground for a moment.

Thirteen didn't stop moving and as his right hand and foot locked Four's blade to the ground, and his left leg supported his weight, Thirteen's left hand released the sword, its thumb running along the index finger of his glove to conjure forth an arming sword with a red blade that he threw at Four's chest, point first.

Four employed great speed in his reaction, his right hand releasing the flamberge's pommel to slap away the arming sword without receiving any cuts.

With his left hand, which was not his dominant one, Four yanked the Flamberge up high with such power and ferocity that even Thirteen's foot and sword could not keep it down for a moment longer.

Thirteen fixed his posture only to find the great weapon being swung from on high. He avoided by delaying it with his sword and evading with his whole body, but another was coming in quickly.

Four released one heavy strike after another, never tiring, but instead growing increasingly fierce. His face remained empty as he delivered strikes any gladiator would consider their final blow one after another.

The martial aura surrounding Four grew increasingly dense, and Thirteen noticed it was harder to breathe, as if his body was reacting poorly to the aura and failed to intake as much oxygen.

Thirteen assumed there would be an incredible mental pressure when facing this aura, if he still felt such things. He was within that empty place, much like when he meditated without cultivating. He was in a void where nothing else mattered, and he simply observed the happenings through his body's eyes, picking up on every detail and acting accordingly, unfazed by pain or panic.

Like this, the fight continued for a short while as Four's momentum built faster and faster, and yet while Thirteen was always retreating, he was never flustered, never injured, and never caught unprepared. Instead, all he did that stood out was conjure more blades with which to attack or throw, only to be disarmed. By now, four different weapons already littered the battlefield, each having been disarmed or deflected mid flight, every one of them with a red blade.

'His focus is on my hands. He's waiting for me to conjure another.' Thirteen thought.

'Good.'

Running his thumb down the small finger of his left hand, Thirteen conjured a fifth weapon, a handaxe, but four immediately recognized the fact and attacked to disrupt any sudden actions he had planned, just as Thirteen had thought.

In one incredibly flexible and swift action, Thirteen rested all of his weight on his right foot, and twisted his body into a side kick that reached up high towards the wrist of the right hand swinging the flamberg down from above.

The kick was so fast, so unexpected, and had so much power, that a soft cracking could be heard as Four yelled and his right hand released the greatsword.

It continued to strike down with only the left hand, Four exhibiting his incredible strength, but it was slower than before. Not by much, but enough for Thirteen to act with his speed.

Bringing his left foot back to the ground, Thirteen stepped in closer with his left side to Four, and lifted his left elbow to strike at Four's face while blocking his vision for a moment to hide the handaxe in that same arm moving to intercept the blade of the flamberge.

But that was just the surface, what Thirteen wanted Four to see. In truth, his longsword, held only in the right hand, was stabbing swiftly at Four from beneath Thirteen's armpit, while his left leg was kicking out to wrap around Four's right foot.

Three movements at once, achieving five things. Defending against the greatsword with his axe, blocking Four's vision, delivering an elbow to the face, interfering with his footwork, and delivering a critical stab wound to the lower abdomen.

This was one benefit from the Unhindered Motion style, the ability to focus on multiple tasks at once, only compounded by the empty trance that Thirteen had unwittingly trained himself to enter.

Four however, was no pushover, and when his vision was blocked by that elbow strike to the head, he did not step back and bump into Thirteen's well placed foot behind his own, nor did he avoid it with head movements. Instead, he tilted his head down, and headbutted.

He headbutted the elbow.

And the elbow lost.

A fierce jolt ran through Thirteen's arm as his grip on the handaxe almost faltered. He would no longer be able to defend against that greatsword in time, as Four was still committed to it and had not been hit in the nose or lost his stable footing.

Worse, in lowering his head to meet that elbow, Four had seen the deep crimson blade stabbing at him and in a fraction of a second, his right hand with the damaged wrist had flicked around.

Thirteen had to decide what he would do within the milliseconds before that right hand interfered, and the greatsword struck.

'He's going to need to step back for that sword strike to do anything. He'll likely grab my blade, step back, and cut me. Since that's the case…'

The reflective crimson sheen on Thirteen's blade changed from the base, darkening into an obsidian hue in a wave from the crossguard up to the tip of the blade. No longer was it a scarlet red, but an obsidian black blade with a shiny reflection.

Four grabbed the blade and Thirteen released his grip on the hilt, instead slapping the pommel upwards with force and causing vibrations through the weapon, cutting Four's tough hand as he yanked it away and stepped back, the greatsword now reaching Thirteen.

In one smooth motion, Thirteen dropped the handaxe and used his right hand to unglove his left. His left hand, now bare to the air for all to see, was covered in a deep, reflective crimson, as he punched out to meet the steel flamberge directly, blade first.

It was a harsh and deafening noise when the fist and blade met, much like sharp metal scraping against each other. Vibrations travelled through the blade to Four and Thirteen both, but neither were too affected.

Instead, Thirteen kept moving, his left fist unfurling as he latched onto the greatsword that Four tried to pull away, and his right hand made a grasping motion. The handaxe he had dropped earlier flew back to his hand as he made to deliver a gruesome chop to Four's left wrist, but his opponent was too strong and with one yank he pulled both his hand and the greatsword away.

A pause ensued as Thirteen removed the glove on his right hand, revealing that it too was covered in red. He looked over to Four who was focused intently on his own right hand, having dropped the black blade. His right hand was shaking, and veins were bulging on it's surface.

Thirteen gave him a moment to recover. It was a stupid act, but what he had used was a nefarious tactic meant for enemies, not friends. Of course, they were not allowed to hold back anything during a spar so long as it was not fatal, but the least he could do was let Four understand and adapt a bit before he continued. After all, that was only the start of what he could do.

Black blood, filled with a chilling, withering power, coursed through fours own bloodstream as Thirteen readied himself for round two. His hands and the blade of his axe both coated in a solid layer of steel-like blood, morphed to a razors edge.

And the many weapons scattered in the immediate surroundings of their fight, all with the same.

Four looked back up to Thirteen and gave a small nod before his aura coalesced even further, taking visual form in demonic visage. Two spectral heads appeared adjacent to Four's own, one a mask of sorrow, the other of fury. Two more arms appeared, each wielding different weapons as Four's face remained a bland mask of focus.

'Three, two, one.' Thirteen counted. Unnecessary thoughts vanished as his body relaxed, and he again entered that observant trance, once more becoming a focused killing machine.