Sword fight

Rutger stood with his sword held gingerly in his hands, held just off his side, with his legs spread out in a wide, strong stance. He watched his opponent slowly circle around him, their own blade raised up and consistently pointed at Rutger's heart as he slowly turned to stay face to face with the man. Most men Rutger could take easily in a fight, but this one was different. He was fast and strong. Both of their swords had been heavily damaged by the blows they had traded, and Rutger wasn't sure how much longer his own in particular was going to withhold. The blade was old, and while it was well loved, it could only hold for so long, and this was testing its limits.

"Well, it seems you weren't the match that your friends claimed you to be," the man mocked him. Rutger glanced over his shoulder at his two friends, who had been knocked unconscious and tossed aside like day old meat by the mysterious man. He had come from nowhere and demanded to be given a good challenge. The trio had no idea what he wanted or why he had come to them, but his friends had boasted Rutger's skills.

He deeply wished they hadn't.

His breath was coming ragged to him, and blood from a head wound he had received early on while underestimating his foe's skill was dripping into his mouth. He spat it out and wiped at his face without taking his eyes off the man. "I wouldn't go taunting someone who hasn't yet fallen if I were you," he responded bitterly. Stiffly, he lifted his own blade in front of him, pointing up at an angle towards the man's face, right between his eyes, an open challenge for the fight to continue.

The man grinned cockily and lurched forward.

Rutger only had a split second to parry the strike, just barely catching it with his hilt and knocking the sword aside, letting go of his sword with one hand in the next moment to punch the man in the side of the head. But the man was already ducking out of the way, bringing the hilt of his own sword back and striking Rutger in the ribs with it. Rutger staggered back but didn't fall, bring his sword up once more as the man continued to strike. Barely parried blow after barely parried blow, Rutger was pushed backwards until he was pinned against the wall. As soon as his back touched it he hesitated, and the man struck fast, knocking Rutger's blade away and stabbing through his hand, piercing it to the wall.

The man grinned. "Not going to be much of a fighter without your sword hand," he whispered, and ripped his sword back, letting the blood from Rutger's hand splash across his own face in the process. He seemed to revel in it. He lifted his sword once more and pointed it at Rutger's face, his blood dripping from the end of the blade. "Kneel, before it is too late to forfeit."

Rutger glared at the man, nursing his hand. He hated doing this. "I'm afraid you underestimate me," he muttered. He flung his hands forward, a large amount of collected blood splashing forth, catching the man by surprise. The blood hit his body, but didn't stop. It had become solid and sharp, like a dozen knives that cut into the man, sticking into his skin like needles. The man looked down at his body for a moment in confusion, seeing the two dozen red crystalline knives sticking out of him, before looking back at Rutger.

Rutger's blood was dripping down from his hand, but it never reached the ground. It gathered together on itself, crystallizing and solidifying until it formed a new blade, which he pointed at the man. The razor edge on it was clearly sharper than his previous sword, like a freshly sharpened machete in comparison to a butter knife. "Looks like it's just getting exciting," he spat out.