who we are and all that we're trying to be
Sascha was a core example of practice amidst precision, of proffering chances instead of forgoing someone’s potential. No sooner had Deimos lunged in for another attack, then Sascha blocked it efficiently, even as it came from another direction. One little change with his grasp had heralded a much better performance, and the Reaper’s arm retreated back to its standard hold with a firm nod, the smallest of smiles. “Good,” he paused, listening to the exclamation of disbelief. “That is what should happen,” and he arched his brow, fighting the reign of laughter struggling, grasping, longing to bellow. The only problem was Sascha wouldn’t be able to do such a thing in the midst of a fight – there wouldn’t be time to shriek or shout or stare in shock or surprise; that’d be the moment his enemy tore him apart. “Now, we will try it one last time.”
He motioned back into the fold, readying his blade. “I want you to concentrate. Think only of your reflexes. Then – what are you going to do after you block?” The beast lifted his chin, the only indication he was coming towards the younger man; a rush of movement and motion, and though still not truly up to any battle speed, it was a test, a trial, to see if the lad could follow a quicker pace. For this interval, he aimed higher, coming for the left side of Sascha’s neck, practice sword slashing through the air. How would he react? Would he be able to counter it? Would he be able to draw his attention long enough to conduct something in the interims laden afterwards?
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
