91热爆

A distant scream, the cry of a hawk, its feathers matted with blood, its claws coated in the thick, black substance. Shooting skywards, as if it followed the hawk's path, a circular tower of white and across from it, a second. Twins. Twins that climbed higher than the clouds themselves.

Connecting the twins, a single bridge of marble, almost floating. Soaring above, the hawk made out a single black figure on the bridge's centre, like an ant on a daisy petal. From the right, crossing this immense, elegant passage, two more insects to the hawk's eye. Swooping, the bird broke through the sky.

"Ballad!"
The cry echoed across the bridge.
"Don't go... I'll go. I haven't fought yet, I'm ready, I swear, but please... don't go."
Ballad was silent. He turned, his eyes, dark and slicing, cutting into hers. His black hair a stark contrast to the purest, snowflake footing beneath them.
"No. I can do this. I'll go."
Stepping forward, Ballad listened to the world. He heard his heartbeat, his heel against marble, the slow, deliberate clink of his sword's hilt as it bounced on his belt. A katana, the sharpest sword in the world, easily able to cleave its way through flesh and bone.
"Ballad... be careful."
The young, raven haired girl cried out, the youth nodded, but did not turn nor waver. High up, above the clouds, the wind was vicious, a harsh blaze that leapt to bite at exposed flesh like a frenzied hound, and the air was thin, taking effort to draw a single breath, a breath that rasped down an icy throat.

Before Ballad, his opponent. Thin, tapered fingers resting against his blade's hilt. For a second the two stood opposite one another, the wind howling, whipping strands of hair across Ballad's eyes.

"Ballad. I knew you would come, eventually, your kind never can stay away can they? It's a fault that will lead to death."
A hawk's cry, a beam of sunlight flashing across the void.
"Yes. Of that I am sure... but not today. Today it will be you who will fall."
"Brave words. I will see if your sword matches them."
A new sound echoed through the heavens, the screech of metal as a katana was drawn from its scabbard, the thin blade glistening in the sun's untainted brilliance. Ballad watched as the razor tip sliced down, glancing the marble below, throwing up a shower of embers in its path.

He reached, feeling his fingers grip the cloth wrapped handle of his own blade. A familiar sensation, a familiar sound as the sword cried out its protest, unleashed from its muzzle. Throughout all of Earth, Ballad knew, there was no sound that could match it. Sound that spread combat's fire through the bones of warriors, and struck terror's frost into all others.

Facing each other, two blades shimmering, anticipating the clash, savouring freedom. Ballad's blood was aflame. The air was thin... his energy levels low... the battle would be decided quickly, perhaps in as little as three strokes. No mistakes.

His opponent advanced, Ballad's ear catching the footfall, his blade slicing, cutting through the slashing cold and sparse air, felt his arm jerk back, his muscles straining as the blades wrestled. He withdrew, the katana sliding apart. Nothing. His opponent's defences were potent. Despite the cold, like predator鈥檚 claws to skin, sweat dripped from Ballad's brow.

A flash of light, the two swords cut once more to an embrace, his rival pulling back, following up with dual strokes, each one striking Ballad's blade with a force that rattled his bones. Glancing up, a moment caught in a victor鈥檚 eyes, he saw his opponent's smile, felt defeat on his shoulders. Ballad's head swam, he could sense the height, over the bridge's edge there was nothing but thick, swollen cloud, an unfathomable drop, ten feet, thirty... a thousand. Here there was nothing but cold rock and empty air, as empty as his blade was lethal.

Shrieking, metal on metal. Ballad grit his teeth, grinding forward, each stroke sapping strength. He drew a breath, feeling the bitter, frozen air fill his lungs... but there wasn't enough. Each breath took less oxygen, his arms felt heavy, his vision danced...

A glint to his right, a razor edge cutting down. Flicking his wrist, Ballad brought his blade to bear, the tip glancing his opponent鈥檚 and sending the strike wide. An opening... just a fraction. Just enough. He slashed out, impaling the air and catching the black coat, its shoulder torn. A single drop of blood, splashing onto white marble. A tarnish on perfection. A growl rising from his rival鈥檚 throat. It wasn't enough. Ballad felt his blade crash to the floor as his opponent鈥檚 sliced downwards, pinning it. Stalemate. Or so he thought. The two katana ground together, sparks shooting out.

He saw it, from the corner of his eye. Fingers, crawling through the black cape. A glow of light. Ballad gasped, eyes wide. A second sword. It was over. In a single motion his enemy grasped the second blade, the metal tip firing forward like condensed lightening. It was a perfect slash, directly horizontal, searing a straight line through Ballad's chest. In a second the blur of movement faded to nothing. There was silence. The world shattered against a piercing scream. A woman's scream. Blood splattered the marble, floods of it, gushing from the open wound. Ballad gasped, the rancid liquid spurting from his lips.

He dropped, fallen. Knowing it was finished, that he would never stand again. Two screeches of metal as two swords were sheathed. Twins. Almost. A word appeared in Ballad鈥檚 mind. His final thought.

顿补颈蝉丑艒

A sword technique comprising of dual blades, the katana and the wakizashi, a second, smaller weapon concealed in a swordsman鈥檚 robe. Ballad felt the pain slicing through him. Everything was over.

Two screams echoed through the world. Two screams merging into one, the scream of a woman, the scream of a hawk in flight. Twins. Almost.