[Open] Of Gifted Blood

"HEY!"

Unlike Einar, Jacob did not look to be enjoying the idea of a semi-friendly spar. Again, reacting reflexively, his body moved to intercept Einar's strike. His left hand seemed steadfast in only holding the sheathed sword, seemingly leaving his right side exposed, especially to a surprise attack. But his guard quickly came up with minimal twisting of his body. His left hand angle the sheathe upward behind his back to intercept the strike.

Sword and sheathe met. But Jacob, eager to put distance between himself and Einar, leaped several away the moment the attack was guarded. His jump was graceful and fast, but his landing was rough as he stumbled under his own momentum.

"H-How?"

"Just like everythin' else, son! It's in your blood! You even move like your mother!"

"What do I do?!"

"Don't think! Just follow your instincts! And go on the offensive for once, boy!"

Jacob could only nod and let himself be sucked into the moment. Thinking was the enemy of second-to-second, high-speed moments. Like a sword duel. Even if he did not like his current predicament, not fighting would only make it worse. So he had to breathe and let it all go, just like his dad had said.

He placed the sheathe at his left hip, put his right hand on the grip, took a breath, then let himself go. His instincts told him to close the gap. Use his speed. Leaving a plume of dirt behind him, Jacob advanced so fast that it looked like he was merely sliding along the ground on his feet. He came in ducked low, then unsheathed his blade in an upward arc of flashing metal.

Jacob had to admit that there was a satisfying element to the TING sound of his blade meeting Einar's spear defense. There were even a few sparks to mark where their weapons had collided. Jacob also started to realize that he did not feel 100% in control of himself. His body was running on so much auto pilot and instinct that he felt like a front seat passenger in his own body, free to observe his movements as a spectator. And there was certainly a lot to spectate with the sensation of time slowing.

Sheathe still in his left hand, it was a quick move to bring it up and guard him from the spear blade. Unlike the previous times where he simply caught and held the strike, he too redirected it to his own liking. He pushed the blade down and away from him while his sword followed a similar trajectory right back at Einar. The pommel of his sword (Or where the pommel would have been located) nearly touched the top of sheath, and he used them together almost like his own polearm.

Jacob chose the avoid option as well. Using his already existing downward motion, he ducked low under Einar's slash. He did not get out of it entirely unscathed though. The blade grazed over the tips of his hair, giving him an impromptu trim. He then chose to put some distance between them again, and slid away a few feet. Whatever was letting Jacob move so fast, it characterized itself as a gliding or sliding motion over the ground, almost like he was hovering.

With some distance between them, their advantages had been reset, and there was a short lull in the duel. Jacob was starting to understand the need for the ebb and flow of battle. Going all out would tire and strain too quickly, but not doing anything would, well, not do anything. And the short lulls gave him time to consider a new attempt.

He drew his sword arm forward, curling his right arm across his chest and left shoulder and winding his sword up for something big. His shirt visibly stretched for a moment while his muscles cocked and ready themselves before releasing. Jacob swung his sword with a gigantic swing, sending out a massive burst of wind toward Einar. The wave would be less like air and more like being hit by a wall of water.

Back when he had accidentally discovered his sword abilities, Jacob had made a joke about maybe getting good enough to deflect bullets. Immediately afterward he had knocked over everyone in the room with an unintended blast of wind. But that little comment about deflecting bullets took on a more prophetic meaning as he watched Einar weather his... wind blast and counter with an arrow.

Despite the dangerous object screaming toward him, Jacob's lips curled into a smirk as brought his sword forward, edge-first. He wanted to see if he could do it just like he had seen in so many movies. He dropped his sheathe and gripped the sword with both hands while he readied himself.

Unfortunately, an arrow and a bullet were two different things. His sword met the arrow tip almost perfectly. But the arrow simply glanced off his sword and only slightly away from him. The arrow slid across his blade and nicked him right across the top of his cheek, drawing blood and lodging itself in the ground behind Jacob.

"Ah! Nice one!"

Not even bothering to wipe away his blood, Jacob retook a stance and started to slowly circle Einar.

"Holy shit... This is actually kinda fun..."

Jacob was a pacifist. He believed in as much non-violence as was practical in the modern world. He hated to hear when young men got themselves into fights over pure ego or stubborn masculinity. He knew wars were almost an inevitability, but he wished they never occurred all the same. Violence was shorthand for ignorance, and an easy excuse to oneself out of trying to understand and learn. Almost all, if not all, lives were precious, connected to family and friends, and death hurt them all.

But... He was still enjoying the duel. It felt like a guilty pleasure, a joy that he knew he should not be partaking in. His heart was racing and he could barely contain his excited breath. The more Einar spoke, the more Jacob nodded in acceptance. Well, maybe not the heads falling part... Even in his excitement, Jacob could find no joy in the thought of killing. The fight itself? Battle? The power to carve his own path with his blade? THAT was enticing.

He imagined himself as some kind of wandering swordsman, traveling the countryside and etching a legend into the very landscape. What kind of swordsman would he be? Would he be the mysterious stranger who rolled into town, proved himself a hero, and then left silently? Leaving only peace for the village, and maybe a longing heart in a young woman. Oh! Maybe he would Captain of the guard or something! Or maybe some kind of dojo master.

His imagination was almost the death of him. Einar was right on top of him by the time he got out of his own head. Images of being a ronin still in his mind, Jacob dodged upwards, backflipping high into air. He corrected himself to face Einar mid-hair, and there was a grin matching Einar's on Jacob's face.

His sword became several flashes of silver as he unleashed a series of air slashes at Einar, like before. These were less intense than the single large one previously, arcs of rippling air that bared down on Einar.