who we are and all that we're trying to be
Inexperience was the only thing that damaged Sascha on these movements – his opponents wouldn’t always allow him the opportunity to defend from the same side time after time. They’d sense his weakness and sink their teeth into it, glorified and brilliant in their machinations no sooner than the lad had lifted his sword again. The fact that he blocked the movement of the Reaper’s blade, but insinuated his own friendly fire, caused the beast to withhold another chuckle. He smothered and suffocated it deep in his chest – because it would’ve been rude, and he didn’t want to openly mock someone who was trying in a world full of fiends and heathens who immediately cracked under pressure or hid in their houses. There was something to be said for individuals who always strived, always got back up, always hastened to endeavor their best; they would grow far quicker, far swifter, far better, than those who never bothered at all.
Deimos studied the motions, replayed them over in his head. Perhaps it had been the youth’s grasp. “The way you grip your sword,” he nodded, head indicating where the problem might be, and lowered his sword for a moment to gently grab hold of Sascha’s hands and reposition the way he held his weapon. “We will try it that way. Concentrate on your fingers staying like this.”
Then he backed away again, resuming his previous stance. His arm inclined, then swept downward, and eager to not do the same thing twice; for war was full of surprises, disaster, and ruin (enemies and opponents could be far more deadly, far more lethal, far more calculating than sunshine and effervescence) – aiming for the right side of Sascha’s ribcage. The assault was the same speed as the previous attack, hoping Sascha would be able to counter it this time.
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
