MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

Their blades clashed again, the air erupting with thunderous cries of metal, as if the very world recognized the magnitude of their duel.

Raelith's katana curved upward in a merciless cleave, sharp and fluid like a tide of silver. But Anthony met it head-on, his katana rising with flawless control, intercepting the strike with the edge aligned, the timing exact, the clash ringing like a sacred bell.

No movement was wasted.

No step was retreat.

Anthony shifted his stance, not backward but sideways within the circle of combat, his wrists rotating with precise economy as he guided Raelith's next descending blow away from his shoulder and immediately countered with a rising arc toward the throat.

Raelith's blade intercepted it mid-curve, steel crashing against steel in a dazzling flash of sparks that lit the shadows around them.

Again.

And again.

Raelith struck downward like a falling mountain. Anthony parried upward like a surging tide. The impact shook the very ground, yet neither flinched, neither stumbled, neither yielded.

They stood rooted in the storm of motion they created, each katana swing a conversation of skill, each parry a rebuttal carved in steel.

Raelith's eyes narrowed, his hand rotated, and his katana blurred into a furious set of five chained slashes, all from different angles, neck, chest, ribs, waist, then throat once more.

Anthony met every single one.

CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG

Each parry was delivered with terrifying precision, the exact measure of strength required, no more, no less. His katana danced to meet Raelith's, not a single motion out of place. He did not dodge. He did not flinch. He met the storm like a mirror forged in combat.

And then he gave his answer.

Anthony's katana erupted in a brilliant surge of motion, every strike a waterfall of ferocity. He carved from above. Then from below. Then from the left at a diagonal. His movements were relentless, a tempest formed from thousands of repetitions, each swing perfect, unhesitating, committed to the blade.

Raelith didn't blink.

He parried each one.

Edge met edge. Blow met blow.

Parry met cut. Clash met clash.

Their feet dug into the earth, their bodies unmoved by the chaos around them. The ground quaked, yet they never stepped back. Their clash was the only truth that existed now, every swing demanding a response, every response returned with an equal fury.

Anthony's blade curved in a spiral motion, slicing horizontally in a wide sweep. Raelith shifted within his space, his arms turning slightly as his katana met the slash with an angled deflection. Sparks hissed through the air.

Raelith followed up instantly, his blade swinging upward in a vertical line toward Anthony's center. But Anthony didn't yield, his arms moved in a clean arc, his katana pivoting as it slammed into the oncoming strike, stopping it cold with mechanical elegance.

There was no pause. No breath. No falter.

Their arms blurred once more, like two grandmasters of an ancient art, performing in silent defiance of everything but the blade.

One attack. One parry. One attack. One block.

Their katanamanship had left the realm of mortals. They no longer clashed for dominance. They danced for the ideal, the concept of perfection in motion.

Steel screamed.

Hearts thundered.

But neither stopped. Neither blinked. Neither broke.

Raelith's blade swept in from the right, horizontal and tight, like a viper aimed for the ribs. Anthony's katana moved in a perfect crescent, meeting the blade with the same rhythm and tempo as a conductor guiding a symphony. Their weapons collided and rang like tuned instruments forged in war.

Immediately, Anthony retaliated, his blade rising in a double-handed arc that should have cleaved through anything, but Raelith was already moving, his body turning just slightly as his arms executed a diagonal deflection that threw the force aside with no extra motion, no struggle.

Their pace did not lessen.

They moved with the same brutal calm, a storm of purpose, their every strike paired with a response, their every technique matched, their breathing unshaken, their eyes alive with nothing but focus.

Anthony's hands twisted as his katana carved a sharp, tight stroke aimed at Raelith's collarbone. Raelith's katana met the strike with a simple downward drop, counterbalancing the angle with just enough force to cancel the momentum without breaking posture.

They exchanged blows like gods of discipline.

Anthony stepped with his right foot forward, his upper body bending slightly as he launched a low horizontal slash with refined aggression. Raelith's knees flexed minutely, and his blade dropped and lifted in a smooth parry, neutralizing the motion without creating even a ripple in his aura.

And then came the elevation.

Raelith's katana began to shimmer, not with magic, but with skill so refined it looked supernatural. His blade moved, not faster, but sharper, his cuts more exact. He began to narrow his swings, slicing with smaller angles, tighter execution, and faster rebounds.

Anthony met him.

His blade no longer moved in arcs. It moved in lines. Clean, mathematical, blinding. He met each of Raelith's compact slashes with equal economy, his own technique folding into an intricate weave of high-speed parries and counters.

Their blades became afterimages. The air could no longer catch up.

From above, the battlefield looked like a dance of white and black lines flashing across a cracked and broken canvas. Trees continued to explode, roots twisting out of the ground as wind pressure from their strikes pulverized the area.

Each swing was purposeful.

Each parry was divine-like

Their hands no longer looked human. They moved like machines of war, forged by obsession, maintained by respect, and driven by nothing but the art.

And still, neither was slowing. Neither showed a hint of exhaustion. Neither let a single blow slip through their guard.

Anthony's slash came at an angle no normal warrior could anticipate, but Raelith was already there, his blade perfectly positioned as though he'd seen the technique ten thousand times. The clash shook the ground beneath them, but their feet remained planted.

They moved again.

Anthony parried a brutal overhead cut and responded with a direct thrust, not to kill, but to test Raelith's stance. Raelith's katana dropped and turned, catching the thrust with a crescent block before launching his own three-point vertical series.

Anthony matched them all, blade to blade.

The next movement came without hesitation. Raelith unleashed a spinning sweep, aiming to break the line of defense with pure, crashing momentum. Anthony's katana twisted, reversing the flow and locking it mid-spin, parrying it so smoothly it looked choreographed.

Still they clashed.

Still they fought.

Still they met each other's storm with a storm.

Their eyes never left each other. Their lips never moved for any form of speech. The world around them ceased to matter.

Just katana. Just steel. Just motion.