A Midnight Mind

Chapter 23: The Voices in Violet's Head

Shocked, Ethan grasped the hilt of his fadeblade with both hands and held it up just in time to catch Neil's sword with his own. The blades hissed like bacon on a frying pan.

"Hey!" Ethan shouted. "What the hell?"

Neil took a half-step back, pulling his fadeblade into the air and tearing it downward. Ethan found it difficult to look directly at the dizzying blade, but he managed to swipe it away with his own sword, sending it streaming down past his shoulders and nearly into the floor.

"Come on!" he gasped, but Neil only advanced for another attack.

A quick swipe from the side, parried at the last minute, then another diagonal slash, narrowly dodged. Ethan could remember recesses playing at sword fighting with childhood friends, but this wasn't the same. Neil wasn't aiming for Ethan's sword; he was trying to sweep aside his defense in order to go for the killing blow. Or fading blow, in this case.

Face like stone, Neil advanced slowly, free hand held behind his back while his other sent a flurry of slashes directly at Ethan. Ethan back-stepped with every other strike, his heartbeat pounding in his ears even though he knew his heart was in his bedroom several blocks away.

Unable to continue his defense, and running out of hallway space to back into, Ethan grew frustrated. He slapped Neil's next attack with a great, two-handed swing, nearly tearing the fadeblade from Neil's grip.

Before Neil could bring his sword back in time to defend, Ethan had his weapon inches from Neil's pale throat. Neil stopped dead, icy blue eyes staring down nervously at the warbling nothingness of Ethan's blade.

"Okay," Neil gasped. "Guess you've figured out your stance."

Ethan relaxed, pulling the weapon away from Neil. He realized he was holding the fadeblade much the same way as he started, with legs spread and two hands on the hilt. Samurai style.

"Easier to figure out when you just fall into it," said Neil, panting. He then stopped panting abruptly, saying, "Man, the things your projection does even though it doesn't have to. Look at you, you're sweating. And me, gasping and puffing. It's all in our heads, right. Our bodies are the ones worked up; our projections don't need to be. But you forget that when your survival instinct is in gear. Thanks for not fading me, by the way."

"Likewise," muttered Ethan as he made a conscious effort not to pant from the exertion. "Though you could have warned me you were going to do that."

Neil shrugged. "Then you would have consciously tried to use a stance that didn't work for your fighting style. Whatever your instinct tells you to do is what we're going to have to go with for now."

"And you were telling me to be careful. Sheesh, you could've got us both faded."

Neil laughed. "It worked out. Anyway, let's practice for a bit more and then we'll head over to Violet's."

They were more careful as they sparred this time, ensuring not to accidentally hit a hand or arm in an overly-enthusiastic swing. For a scrawny nerd, Neil could outpace Ethan at every turn, dodging and parrying and striking without a second thought. He gave Ethan a few basic pointers, but assured him that sword fighting among psychics was rare, and mostly only occurred during leisurely sparring.

He mentioned that rogue projections sometimes carried fadeblades, and psychics would have to fade them in order to stop them. Even Scrubbers carried fadeblades. Their memory-erasing power was more powerful than a fade, but it took time. Sometimes a quick fix with a sword slash bought time enough for them to do their real work.