As Jack fumbled with his sword, the pale Oni drew a sword, also still sheathed, from their sash. They slammed it point first into the ground, where it stuck inexplicably. Something was spreading from the point where it touched the ground, though in the dark it wasn't clear what it was. They drew the sword out with deliberate care. The hilt was wrapped in white silk, with a golden pommel and matching guard. The blade was the palest silver. When Jack lunged, the Oni brought their sword up to block with breathtakingly perfect form. Form of the sort that assumed the opponent was fighting in the same caliber, which of course Jack was not. His wild and ill practiced slash skittered off of their sword, and nicked the left side of their neck. They kicked off the ground, flying back an unreasonable distance for the slightness of the motion. A hand came up and stroked the cut thoughtfully. Nothing flowed from the wound. They brought their sword up to their own neck, and mad a cut, matching in perfect symmetry, on the right side. Suddenly, they lunged, closing the distance they had created in the blink of an eye, and aiming a diagonal slash across Jack's chest. [@rocketrobie2]