Seems that despite the illusory nature of the battle, the participating fighters were still shackled by mortal limitations. Willpower could only get so far, the axeman visibly slowed before momentarily halting in place. One could see the laborious breath, the wince from the pain and distraught eyes looking at his falling comrades. But then steel return to his gaze as he took a step forward, weapon raised... only for another pair of arrows finding their way through his eyes.

The rotund soldier unceremoniously fell, no possibility of rising from [i]that[/i]. For the most part Roxas went through the entire exchange unharmed, save from some throbbing toes from kicking a steel axehead.

On the other side, the two soldiers watched with despair as the orb of frost intensified. They raised their hands in a desperate bid to halt the incoming attack, the attempt completely ineffective as the temperature dropped into frigid hell. Frostbite rapidly ate into them, freezing flesh and veins alike, their range of motion dropping rapidly until only a pair of half-frozen corpses remained.

The swordsman at the center was stilling already, unnaturally quickly considering the wound. The first to succumb to arrow too were unmoving, and with the last combatant felled it was as if a pulse ran through the area. The view turned blurry, scene of slaughter distorted by black shadows, the ever-present distant whisper taking a cacophonous turn. Only the light ahead was unaffected, a lighthouse that seemed to intensify with every passing second.