Middle Of Somewhere [Open]

[Moon]

[continued from here.]

Training Soul Split.

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The Clones slammed together an instant later, covering the distance between halves with lurching flashes of the soul. Two blades pressed against the larger gift from his sister in a thundering wave of metal. It throws the once quiet forest into screeching cacophony. This was the perfect opportunity to go all out! A flurry of strikes too fast for the naked eye, but pulsing in a monochrome wash of chakra information that nearly slowed the impacts.

Each clone registered them like bursts of paint across a pale canvas. An opening to the rear, a swerving, a perfect countering spasm, a slashing force. Wings unfurled from one side as the Hell Eating Fang rose. It cut a swathe of air heavy, barreling downwards. The other, still ground-borne, spins like a top, his two thinner, smaller blades curving through the slow igniting flame parting the space between them.

Their is a collision of force that throws both back and they shunt through it at the same time. One body, beset by scales and fury and joy in equal measure, is corkscrewing forwards. His wings row him through the tempest surrounds like oars, he pushes, he swims in wind. The other is bearing down with its larger fullblade. It is stabbing towards the midline of its foes body, both feet flaring, caught in a sway, now atop their blades handles, driving them deeper, reaching down with a claw to catch the coming evasion. Their moves are flawless. Their frustration grows.






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