Prolog to the great destiny.

By Micheal Sanchez

October 7 2035 1:48 AM

The night is dark darker then most people would be used to, a solatary building appearing to be 
abandoned a single light emits from one of the brokon windows.  Getting closer the interior in
filled with machinery, upon the scaffolding two figures they appear to fighting.  Charging they
clash the bell like sounds of swords as the figures clash.  Their moves are quick almost 
invisible to the human eye the only proof they are real are the sound of their swords when they 
meet.  Wirling about in a dance the fighters apear to be floating.  Leaping almost flying as they 
fight with speed and grace of warriors exceptionally experiecne with such combat.  With all their
speed and endless attacks not one of them appears to to let up at all. Suddenly one stops just 
for a second and with a stretch of his hand a beam a light appears.  It moves quickly but slow 
enough to be seen by the naked eye.  The other makes no move avoid it he simply stand as the beam
hits, a loud explosion follows.  Smoke forms from where the man was standing the other stands
proud, confident his attack finished his opponent.  But he suddenly stands stiff and seems to 
shake as though afraid, then the smoke clears and the other appears unharmed. They stand for a 
second tranfixed by what just happened then they speak.  The one attacked talk for a minuete then
slowly the other responds low at first but then works to a shout.  With a violent out burst the 
he lunges at the other howling like an animal sword at ready.  The other does not move as he is 
attacked he stands for a second as if waiting for the blow which will surly finish him off.  
Suddenly he dodges to the left and make a quick slash with his sword.  He turns and looks at his
attacker with barly a second the other falls the sound of something rolling on the scaffoling.  
The surving man stands with his head slightly bowed as though morning his opponent.  After what 
seems like forever he slowly walks away, leaving the corps in the empty factory of his own 
making.