A Style, Unforgettable
He didn't have time to respond, nor did he intend to as the man rushed towards him, seemingly unhindered by the weight of his massive weapon.
The atmosphere was so dense with dread and horrific acts that his mind was hazy–there was no doubt he was off of his game.
…Don't lose your focus. You're better than this. Use what you've learned! He told himself.
Focusing up, he faced the man square on, drawing his sword from its sheath just in time to narrowly block against the incoming downward swing of the massive blade.
"Do you actually believe you can defend against my strikes…?" The man asked.
Of course, it wasn't feasibly just off of physical merits alone, but the man was surprised to find that his massive hunk of steel was indeed stopped by the much tinner, black-tinged sword that the boy wielded.
"...What?" Terry let out.
There was a small space between both edges of their blades; a gap in which a stream of air flowed, acting as a barrier between them both.