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Steel rang on steel as both my blades danced intricately amongst the weaving, slashing blades of the Others. For the moment I could think of them as nothing else. The name by which I have called them for thirty-four thousand years. In the heat of the battle they were the Others, my old hated rivals, and I could think of them in no other vein.
Those around us were all juvenile to us by many degrees. It was like slaughtering incompetent novices. They were all well trained, even Masters, within the art of the weapon each carried, but they could not perceive the blinding speed with which we attacked. I parried an attack from my left and then stabbed the Palag through its neck before it realized its blade had even been deflected. Then I quickly yanked it free, coated in black blood, before the Palag I had stabbed in the neck even began to fall, dead, parried another blade among the mass either chopping or stabbing at me, and another and another and another, much faster than the thought, operating on muscle memory alone, before finding the barest sliver of a moment to strike back. While my Cumosachi Katana wove a defensive ring of steel around me to my right, and my cane sword danced the same caper to those on my left, as I swung the cane sword back to parry yet another attack I let my arm slip out to its farthest reach and the tip of the blade opened the great black teardrop shaped eye of one of the Palag whose blades I had just parried there. As the Palag staggered back my cane sword cavorted on, and the opening the Palag had left in the ring around us was filled with the next eager attacker. They came blithely on.
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