Tomoe's blade no longer seemed attached to her wrist in any meaningful way, appearing wherever her desire to cut became strongest, while Sylas' fists began moving through paths that looked crude only until the purpose behind them became clear.
A missed punch changed the angle of his hips, that shift altered the placement of his feet, and the new stance became the foundation for a counter before Tomoe had finished recovering from the attack he had supposedly failed to land.
The battle felt like instinct clashing with intelligence, a maelstrom of technique and dancing Wills forming a storm of blades and fists.
Sylas could feel Tomoe's excitement every time she forced him back.
And she could feel his every time he returned stronger.
A sword edge opened Sylas' shoulder, another cut across his thigh, and Tomoe laughed as blood sprayed through the air, but Sylas stepped through both injuries without hesitation and drove his fist into the sphere of Sword Will surrounding her.
