Waxing philosophical

"Do you ever think that there might be a day that we, as a race, will be greater than God?"

"It's a bit of an odd time to be waxing philosophical, don't you think?"

Andrew knocked aside an incoming blade, using the momentum to pull in the soldier and ram his own shoulder into the soldier's jaw, dislocating it with the raw strength of the steel pauldron he wore. The soldier stumbled back, knocking into the chest of another incoming opponent, stunning him just long enough for Andrew's sword to pierce both of their chest's in one smooth cut, their now lifeless bodies collapsing to the ground.

Michael's heel drove into the knee of his own opponent, forcing him to the ground so that he would be trampled by the next oncoming foe, whose head was quickly dispatched from his shoulders. The two partners fought with their backs against one another, so that they would not be caught off guard by an opponent approaching from behind.

"I'm just saying," Michael explained, flicking the blood left on his blade into an oncomer's eyes so as to momentarily blind him. "We as a race are becoming more powerful by the day. We are discovering new resources that we can use to create more powerful weapons and armor, and we are building weapons that can destroy entire castles in a matter of hours."

"And you think that will place us above God?" Andrew cut down hard, sinking his blade into a soldier's shoulder, thus making him drop his own sword. As the man cried out in pain and struggled, Andrew placed his foot on the man's chest and kicked hard, sending him flying back and knocking over a dozen others with him. "God was as much a creator as he was a destroyer. Do you think us capable of creating an entire world, capable of growing and populating with thousands of plants and animals?"

"Perhaps not now," Michael replied, knocking an incoming sword out of its owner's hands, flying through the air before lodging itself in another man's chest. Only a moment later, Michael's sword was fully through the first man's face. "But in the future, who is to say? We may be able to do unbelievable things at some point in time. Perhaps we will be able to create our own worlds."

Andrew pulled his sword out of their final opponent. The two took a moment to clean their equipment, though it was difficult given the thickness of the blood on the ground around them. As they left the area they had been fighting, they sheathed their swords, planning to clean them better later.

"Somehow," Andrew said, "I find that unlikely."

"You're just a sourpuss."

"Perhaps. I still find it unlikely."