A dozen different pairs of apprentice wielders lunged toward each other with harried steps, running through various forms and techniques in an attempt to force their fighting partner to submit. One by one the apprentices fell, forfeiting in exhaustion or defeat, until only two apprentices remained fighting in the large training hall.
“The master’s favorites,” one of the fallen apprentices groaned out from her spot on the floor. “Of course they would still be standing.”
“What else would you expect from them? They are in a league of their own,” said another apprentice as he opened his water satchel and poured it on his head in an attempt to cool off. “At least we can enjoy the show, right?”
And what a show it was. Across the hall stood Eraqus, the famed descendent of the master of the Age of Fairytales, as he held his Keyblade tightly with both hands. The apprentice made calculated downward slashes against his older opponent, sweat rolling down his smiling face with every stroke of his blade.
Xehanort, the famed prodigy of Scala ad Caelum, held his own Keyblade in one hand as he spun and thrust his Keyblade like a fencing foil at the younger apprentice at an unbelievable pace. His grey eyes were dark and piercing as looked Eraqus up and down in a slow, languid manner, analyzing every gesture and pose in order to meet each blow head-on with a smirk.
The two were almost dancing across the hall as they clashed weapons, both apprentices seeming to be able to predict and anticipate the other’s movements despite how drastically different and advanced their forms were.
Suddenly, blades locked against each other as the two wielders fought for dominance, leaning into their own stances and bringing the two wielders impossibly close to one another.
The other apprentices got the feeling that they weren’t spectating on just a spar anymore.
“This is getting a bit…intense, isn’t it?”
“You wanted a show. Enjoy it.”