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year 5, quarter 3
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[attr=class,bulk] Alexander refused his potion, claiming to be fine without it. If this had been one of his men, Sephiroth would have scolded that kind of arrogant display, but he wasn’t and so Sephiroth merely stowed the potion away again. Alexander was over-confident. He was self-reliant. He was also his own man, and if he wished to suffer longer then it wasn’t Sephiroth’s job to stop him.
It took the man a moment to process what Sephiroth had said. That wasn’t unusual. What was rather unique was Alexander’s mockery of it. ”They called your supersoldier program SOLDIER? Anyone ever tell Shinra that they’re awful with names?”
Sephiroth couldn’t help a short huff of laughter. ”The executives were more concerned with results,” he said, his lips twisted into a dry smirk. He had never considered just how…blunt the name truly was. It was a fact of life. Something not to be questioned. Now, he couldn’t help but imagine the executive board brainstorming names and ending on SOLDIER.
For the first time since they’d spoken, Alexander wasn’t wrong.
The man watched him curiously for a moment as though considering something. Sephiroth allowed his curiosity. He didn’t feel the need to explain the concept of mako. It felt ridiculous to do so, like explaining the qualities of water or air. The man’s comment had seemed more an expression of frustration than a true question regardless, and so Sephiroth waited, subconsciously standing at attention as though he were receiving a military assignment.
After a long moment, Alexander gave it to him.
”Chocobos,” he repeated tonelessly. Alexander seemed…truly concerned about them. He called this the most dangerous assignment he had. And he drew attention to the color.
Red. Sephiroth had never seen a red chocobo. Even so, he could only imagine that it would be more versatile than the others in some way. He had never heard of a particularly dangerous chocobo, but he knew better than to begin an assignment on assumptions alone. He had always made it a habit to read over the mission details at least three times in advance and annotate them with his own notes.
”What do you know about the target?” he asked, trying to suppress his initial instinct to mock what seemed to be a ridiculous reaction. ”Do we have a bestiary on hand? What are the terrain conditions? Are there any particular risks of note?”
[attr=class,bulk] Sephiroth held his steaming mug of coffee in both hands. He found the warmth pleasant, and though it was still too hot to drink, the dark aroma was somehow soothing on its own. It was a kind olfactory mental association as the scientists of Shinra would have said, but it was calming all the same. He needed that stability if he was going to deal with Genesis while he was in one of his lower moods. Patience was key.
Genesis responded to his suggestion with sarcasm. It seemed unnecessary. If Genesis already knew that he needed sleep then why was it that he’d wanted to take them all across the country instead? Sephiroth refrained from saying so, however, choosing silence instead. There were many aspects of his friend’s behavior that he simply could not understand and perhaps never would. In times past, Angeal had been their translator. He wished he could translate for them now.
Another sweep of emotion seemed to cross his friend as he suddenly found the will to sit straight again, scowling as he took an apple dramatically in both hands. For some reason, he looked almost angry at the fruit as he went on. Sephiroth frowned.
Genesis thought…he’d been over them?
Sephiroth felt a tinge of some unfamiliar emotion cross his heart. It was…an unpleasant sensation. Something like annoyance. Something like anger and grief rolled into one. His lips pursed.
Still, he said nothing.
Genesis wasn’t finished. He implicated Angeal in the man’s suicide. Then he turned his attention once more to Sephiroth before trailing off, the feelings invoked clearly too much for him. Sephiroth watched his friend patiently though he felt his patience waning by the second. Genesis held up the apple as though he expected Sephiroth to take it.
”My friend, your desire is the bringer of life, the gift of the goddess.”
And there it was. Another sensation though this one was far more familiar. The striking blade of a memory, cloaked in fog and best left forgotten. Sephiroth felt the pain creep into his eyes. He averted them, frowning and confused and wishing for once that he could simply remember.
The memory was causing Genesis pain. Why couldn’t he share it with him?
Genesis had stood before him once, elevated on a set of metal stairs as he held out the same fruit though then it had been the distinct purple color of his native village. He’d quoted his play more earnestly then, not dripping with a mockery born from anguish. And then there was that word…
Monster.
Sephiroth’s grip on his mug tightened. The smell of his coffee was no longer as inviting as it had once been.
Words wanted to come. His very being struggled against them. It was as though something inside of him rejected the notion, perhaps a self-protective survival instinct deep at his core. He didn’t want to know the truth. And yet…
Sephiroth forced his way past his own instincts, past the security of his amnesia, and quietly asked the very question he’d been holding onto since his meetings with forgotten adversaries had gone awry.
[attr=class,bulk] The day came and went. Evening took its place. Sephiroth spent that time uneventfully, seeking peace in this place of nature even if it did not provide him any solitude. Genesis did not return. Perhaps that was for the best. Without Angeal to mediate a truce between them, their interactions were always tense at best and violent at worst. Sephiroth preferred Genesis’ company in moderation. His friend was a firebrand, always following his passions wherever they might lead him which often clashed with Sephiroth’s cool and logical demeanor. He never knew when he might cross an invisible line and be met with Genesis’ wrath.
No, it was better that they part ways at a time like this. Genesis, following his whims. Sephiroth, seeking silence and peace of mind. As night fell and the tourists slowly made their way to their cabins, Sephiroth knew that it would not be long before he could secure his long-awaited isolation. He waited until the last campfire was extinguished and the campgrounds were shrouded in darkness before he made his move. Under the cover of night, he would not be noticed. With his eyes, more adjusted to the gloom than most, he had the tactical advantage.
Sephiroth gazed down upon the valley below him. The trees bristled in a smooth, shadowy carpet of deep green, sparkling with the last remnants of the winter snow. They called to him, and in that moment, Sephiroth could imagine himself nestled among their branches, surrounded by nature and life and the smell of pine needles. It would be a perfect place to clear his mind and so, with no eyes currently upon him, he hopped effortlessly over the safety rail, willed himself weightless, and stepped off the edge of the cliff.
Falling no longer held any meaning for him. It was a natural descent, as normal as walking. Unlike Genesis, he did not need to expand a wing to visualize the motion. Genesis thought of their shared power as flight. Sephiroth conceived it as a mastery over gravity. As he approached the treetops, he willed his momentum to slow until he landed safely and effortlessly atop their uppermost branches. He kept his concentration, willing himself light enough that the weaker branches would not buckle beneath his weight.
Sephiroth sighed, closing his eyes as he appreciated his new surroundings. This place smelled of earth and newly formed leaves. It enveloped him as deeply as the sound of crickets, the rustle of mice in the undergrowth, and the mournful calls of a distant owl. Yes, this was what he’d craved. It was a place for him and him alone, a place where no others had the power to reach. Here, beneath the dim light of the quarter moon, he would go unnoticed and unbothered by the civilian populations, always bustling, never stopping for a moment’s peace.
This was where he would find a peace of his own. And for a moment, Sephiroth was content.
That was, until he heard approaching footsteps through the woods. Heavy boots smashed the twigs and undergrowth that littered the forest floor. There must have been a hiking path nearby, and he could not help a twinge of annoyance at whatever intrepid hiker thought to disturb this place at such late an hour. Still, he knew that such distractions would pass. Sephiroth had the advantage of distance, standing at the full height of the treetops, and shrouded in the darkness of the quarter moon, he knew that no ordinary eyes would spot him. It would take someone with instincts and senses beyond that of an ordinary civilian to see through this gloom. Someone like…
”Hey buddy. Whatcha doin’ up there?”
Sephiroth’s lips pursed into a frown as he looked down at the path below him. A man stood there, unmistakably watching him. The man’s eyes glowed through the darkness. Mako eyes. At first glance, Sephiroth might have mistaken him for Angeal, but the voice was different. Familiar.
A SOLDIER. Sephiroth sighed. He didn’t know what twist of fate had brought them together here of all places, but he could not ignore someone who had once been under his command. Hesitantly, he stepped from the solitude of his treetop vantage point and landed effortlessly on the path below.
Here, he could see the SOLDIER better, and though his hair and uniform were different than he last remembered, he recognized the man all the same. ”Zack.”
Zack Fair. Sephiroth remembered him as young and excitable. His hair had been shorter then. His eyes had been bright with dreams he could not hope to accomplish. Still, he had shown promise. Angeal had taken the second-class SOLDIER under his wing like an apprentice. He’d shown potential for one day joining the ranks of first-class beside them. From the color of his sweater, it seemed that time had made truth of that potential.
Sephiroth wondered what holes his memory had left out. Zack had approached him far too…casually for the dynamic not to have changed between them. Perhaps they had worked together after Zack’s promotion. That seemed the most likely explanation.
”I could ask the same.” Sephiroth gestured to the abandoned hiking trail. From its unkempt state, it appeared to be less used than its cousins near the campground above. ”Were you...looking for me?”
[attr=class,bulk] To his surprise, Angeal did not emerge from his room, sword in hand at the possibility of a sudden attack. The reason was made clear enough when Genesis opened their friend’s door without knocking and then returned. He wasn’t there at all. Sephiroth frowned. Angeal hadn’t mentioned a mission, but he supposed that his friend’s more…altruistic mercenary work was unpredictable. He felt something of Genesis’ frustration as his friend fell back into a chair.
’Why is it that I can’t get rid of either of you except when I actually need you?’
Sephiroth was more concerned of the difficulties gathering them all in the same place together. It seemed logistically improbable which meant that there was either discontent or extreme misfortune between them. Sephiroth was inclined to believe the former.
”You have been gone for some time,” he said placidly. Genesis looked exhausted. Sephiroth had no idea why he had returned with a bag of apples. He had less of an idea why he insisted they go on a vacation now of all times. Genesis was, as ever, a being of emotion. An enigma to Sephiroth’s cold calculations and strict sense of order.
Genesis asked for coffee and then slid down his forearms until he was curled over the table, looking suddenly like a dejected cat. Sephiroth felt a tinge of his own unease. He wished that Angeal were here. He would know how to decipher Genesis’ sudden mood swings. Perhaps he would be able to talk sense into him.
”Why…did you want to go to a hot spring?” He heard the hesitance in his voice. It sounded like weakness.
The water whistled where he’d placed it on the stove, and Sephiroth took the opportunity to turn away from him, busying himself instead with the coffee he had promised himself. Genesis had asked for his share. Sephiroth prepared a cup only for himself, but left the rest out in case Genesis deigned to pour a mug on his own. From his verses of poetry, it did not seem likely that Genesis would have the willpower to so much as stand.
Loveless, Act III
Sephiroth sat perched in the chair across from him, holding the soothing warmth of his mug in his hands as he tried to ignore the chaos of the apples spread on the table between them. It was…difficult. Sephiroth longed to place them neatly in the pantry.
”You don’t need coffee,” he said. ”You need sleep.”
[attr=class,bulk] Sephiroth stood at the edge of the trail, eyes closed, smelling the scents of late spring in the wilderness. This was a place close to nature, thriving in a way impossible on Gaia. He had been sent on missions across the continents, and always he was met with dry earth and withered life. Here, the air was clean. A wind came from the west, rustling through his hair with the scent of pine needles. There were flowers, too, late in bloom. Soon the seasons would change.
Sephiroth opened his eyes to watch over the trails. His presence was unnerving for the various civilians here, tourists mostly here camping and hiking. They avoided him, perhaps on instinct, perhaps only once they’d caught the blue-green glow of his eyes. And so he stood alone, watching the valleys beneath them, their verdant green carpet of leaves and foliage sullied only by the rushing tributaries of meltwater draining from the mountain into lakes and rivers and reservoirs. If it were not for the people and their eyes on his back, he could have considered this a peaceful place, much to his tastes. As it was, he knew he could only stay for a short time. This was Sonoran territory, and as he knew firsthand, that frozen city did not take kindly to disruption.
Yet here he was, back in the nation which had placed a bounty on his head. It was all because of Genesis and his whims. He’d insisted that they go together to the north to see the sights. He’d half expected it was a ruse so that Genesis could spend the days shopping in a true city not unlike Midgar where his cravings for culture could be indulged. They had yet to enter the city’s capital, however. Genesis, uncharacteristically, had been true to his word as of yet. They had visited the local hot springs and then they had traveled west to the camping grounds at what the locals called the Twin Loops Trail. They’d rented a cabin here because, as Genesis said, it was less expensive than a room elsewhere. Sephiroth didn’t ask about this nebulous “elsewhere” before Genesis had left him for something else which must have caught his eye.
Genesis had always been flighty. Even before he’d developed his wing.
Now Sephiroth was alone at this tourist trap, listening to the protests of children as they were sprayed down with bug repellant and the giggling of young couples out on a romantic getaway. There were picnics and wooden tables and campfires, all of it far too commercial and far too crowded besides. Instead, Sephiroth longed to release his grip on gravity and step weightlessly onto the surrounding treetops, stepping from perch to perch until he was well and truly alone, surrounded by nothing but nature and solitude.
Perhaps he would, under the cover of night and the dim quarter moon. Perhaps he would when there was no one to witness his differences to the average civilian and report them to waiting military forces within a city as hostile to those of power as Shinra had been to the Wutaian spies. Until then, he would wait. He would appreciate what he could, and he would fulfill his promise to Genesis that he would not attract attention even as he knew that his friend rarely fulfilled any promises in return.
[attr=class,bulk] Sephiroth’s strikes landed, every one planned and precise. They came in a practiced flurry of steel so sharp and quick that it took a moment for Alex to react. It was only once Sephiroth had finished his attack and dodged weightlessly out of range that he saw Alex’s face go white, launched onto his back with the impact of the final blow as blood began to well from the eight wounds that Sephiroth had given him. Sephiroth found no joy in this. There was a thrill, he had to admit, to facing an equal in combat. There was satisfaction, likewise, in victory. This encounter held neither of those qualities. Sephiroth had been a force of nature, delivering the only natural consequence to a man’s own hubris. That was all.
The man’s clothes, once a casual red button-up with black suspenders, were now shredded as terribly as the flesh beneath. Sephiroth watched impassively as the man laid there, slowly collecting a pool of his own blood beneath him. He wanted to give the man a chance to recover. With his unusual magic, he may have cast something protective before their battle – Life 3 perhaps? But the moment for any such magic came and went, and while the man’s breathing was far from the death rattles of the fatally wounded, Sephiroth knew better than to wait for a concession of a battle lost from a man in this condition. He stepped forward, silver bracer raised as he called on the power of his materia.
Revive. Life 1. He would not waste his magic on a man who had brought this outcome upon himself. He would do enough to stabilize him, but that, it seemed, was well within the man’s own well of abilities. Before Sephiroth could finish his casting, the man was already struggling to his knees, perhaps out of sheer determination or perhaps some unknown ability. Sephiroth lowered his hand and raised his eyebrows instead as he looked into the enraged eyes of the mercenary. They promised a fight to the death. For what? Pride? Sephiroth fixed the man with his own cool and unblinking stare. After a tense moment, the man half-collapsed again and finally conceded Sephiroth’s victory. It was unsatisfying.
More importantly, it seemed that the mercenary was not as of yet unconscious and had some kind of healing magic up his thoroughly torn sleeves. His hands lit white with it as he held it to his many wounds, and Sephiroth watched the familiar sight of flesh knitting back into angry red scars. The man groaned.
”You know, you really undersold yourself. I really should’ve seen it coming when you said you went from just a soldier to a general.”
Sephiroth felt his lips twitch at that. Perhaps there had been a misunderstanding between them.
”Shinra’s SOLDIER program is only open to the most elite,” he said with the slightest hint of amusement. ”We are given mako injections to enhance our abilities and trained for Shinra’s most formidable missions. I was a general of those SOLDIERS.”
The fight was done, and Sephiroth took no joy in watching Alexander struggle before him. Instead, he strode forward until he towered over the staggered man, reached into an inner pocket of his coat, and offered him a hi-potion. ”When should I expect my first mission?”
[attr=class,bulk] The morning had been a silent one. Sephiroth had woken before dawn as always, dressed, combed out the tangles in his hair, and then taken to silent meditation. He listened to the chirping of the birds outside his window and tried to classify their calls. It was spring – mating season – and they were particularly vocal at this hour. He sat with his legs crossed on the worn, patchwork carpet, letting his thoughts come and go like the cool breeze that fluttered the budding flower petals on the Provoan trees. He controlled his breathing like he controlled himself, and at exactly six am, he rose to his feet and started towards the kitchen.
They had enough money for coffee this month, and he had taken great care in selecting the foreign blends from the local cafe. In the end, he had chosen a dark roast with hints of a particular nut harvested in the forests of Kahiko Valley. In another life, the ShinRa doctors had warned him against the potential harm to his performance. Hojo had been disgusted with what he called Sephiroth’s caffeine addiction and had assaulted him with charts of data comparing his long-term endurance tests with and without the drug. Still, Sephiroth had kept this one indulgence to himself. Every morning, he would have his single cup of coffee if it was available or two cups of tea if it wasn’t. On the battlefield where supplies were often low, he would need an extra hour of meditation to calm his nerves.
He prepared the coffee grounds, taking a moment to appreciate their dark aroma. He set the water to boil. And then he heard a key in the lock of the front door.
Sephiroth turned his head just enough to see if it was an assassin or a friend.
It was Genesis.
The door burst open with enough force to send it ricocheting off the opposite wall as the SOLDIER came staggering in, quoting poetry in greeting as he dropped something on the table with a heavy thud. Sephiroth returned to his coffee. It was still a strange sensation – sharing an apartment even with his closest friends. He had always considered his space to be sacred. Genesis considered it neutral ground.
”Angeal isn’t up yet,” he said simply. He didn’t know why he said it, only that he needed to say something, even a self-evident something. If Angeal hadn’t woken before, he had no doubts that the sound of the door would have had him upright and grabbing for his sword. Genesis’ voice, likewise, was not meant to be missed.
Once the stove burner was lit, Sephiroth turned to see Genesis, fully clothed in his red coat with a crazed look in his eyes. On the table was a brown paper bag full to bursting with apples. A pamphlet of some kind was pressed under Genesis’ gloved hand.
Sephiroth blinked twice in surprise. His eyes flicked from Genesis to the pamphlet to the apples and then back to Genesis again.
”A trip,” he repeated without intonation. He had no idea what Genesis had been doing for the last month. He’d been more or less missing since the day of Sephiroth’s defeat at the hands of the feral SOLDIER. His wound still ached if he stretched in the wrong way, reminding him of his failure. Was that why Genesis had become so distant? Because he had saved Sephiroth’s life? Sephiroth was never one to let his fears or emotions show, yet still he couldn’t stop himself from questioning…
While Genesis had been gone, Sephiroth had fended off encounters from apparent enemies who claimed to know him. He had heard the same names over and again. Cloud. Jenova. He had always known that Genesis was hiding something, yet he had always feared to ask…
[attr=class,bulk] Sephiroth didn’t know what happened next. One moment, he had his sword raised defensively. Then the moment passed. Alexander did not charge forward as Sephiroth had expected. Instead, he merely stood there, a look of undeserved triumph on his face. It was that look that planted a seed of uncertainty in his heart. On the one hand, he ought to take the offensive if Alexander was not going to do the same. But on the other…
No. This could be a trap. This man wielded strange magic not tied to any materia in the databases he had studied. The best course of action would be to skirt around him or perhaps take to the air. He had the upper hand in dexterity. No matter what the mercenary was planning, it would come to nothing if he was taken by surprise.
Then the smell struck him.
Sephiroth was almost staggered by it. He felt his throat convulse. His eyes watered. Still, he kept them open, aware of his circumstances. His head spun with that noxious, fetid scent. It was a silent, unseen miasma which engulfed him and the surrounding woods. Was it poisonous? Across the clearing, he heard Alexander’s voice, confident and almost mocking, ”Look, you’ve done good. But if you want to call it here, you’re more than welcome to. No shame in it.”
Sephiroth raised his eyes to Alexander. He was simply standing there, arms crossed, completely unguarded. His lips pursed into a thin line.
He didn’t hear what Alexander said next. He heard words lost to the wind as he launched himself weightlessly into the sky. The air was no more clear of the stench here than it had been on ground level, but whatever effect the gas attack had intended, it had failed in its execution. Perhaps Alexander was inexperienced in its use. Perhaps there was something in Sephiroth’s rather…unique biology which had shielded him from it. Though his eyes stung, though his stomach turned, though his concentration threatened to waver, he would not be dissuaded from the fight.
No sooner had Sephiroth launched himself airborne before he thrust himself down again, single-wing outstretched for accuracy as he struck Alexander like an arrow from above. He slashed once, twice, three times and then more in rapid succession. It was not his most perfect form. The stench was a distraction if nothing else, but he knew his own signature move by instinct alone. Octoslash. His strikes were precise, piercing nothing vital even with its immense speed.
He would not kill Alexander. No matter how dirty his opponent played, no matter how he’d taunted him, no matter how he’d assured him to fight as though he meant it, he would make certain not to kill him.
He had his revive materia equipped, after all. How near death Alexander came depended on the mercenary’s own reflexes.
[attr=class,bulk] For a long time, Angeal said nothing. Sephiroth glanced at his friend in the dim and dismal darkness. His eyes had adjusted well enough to see more than his shadow. There was something in his expression, in his glowing mako eyes. Unsaid words raced through them. Silent thoughts weighed heavily on his friend’s shoulders. Eventually, Angeal forced them all back and said simply, ”Okay.”
That was all, and a promise that he would be there. Sephiroth’s eyes returned to his tea. He was…tired. His body demanded sleep, and it was not like him to refuse his own instincts, and yet…
This time, he would refuse them. For the sake of his mind and whatever lurked there in the shadows.
He finished his tea, slowly, one sip at a time. Angeal did not leave him. Eventually, he placed the empty mug on the table, wincing as he forced his wounded body through the motions. He knew that Angeal would have preferred that he ask for help, but if he couldn’t do even this much…
A feeling of powerlessness swept through him. He was useless without his strength. Without his enhanced abilities, without his sharpened skills, he was…
With that herculean task done, Sephiroth collapsed back into the couch cushions, breathing shallowly as he waited for the pain in his side to recede to a dull throb. He leaned his head back until his eyes had turned to the ceiling. It swam a little as the darkness threatened to take him. His head spun.
”I think I’ll stay here tonight,” he muttered. He knew that Angeal wouldn’t like it. Sitting up like this on a couch was not the best position for his healing wounds. It was more than possible that Angeal would make good on his threats and simply carry him back to bed while Sephiroth was too weak to stop him, and yet…
Here on this couch in the living room he’d long shared with Genesis with Angeal sitting beside him…Perhaps here, the dreams would not claim him.
He allowed his eyes to close. They felt heavy. They demanded rest. His wounds may have done better in a sick room, but he’d get far better rest, he knew, in this place that he shared with his friends, the only people he had ever trusted and the only ones he would ever allow to see him in such a weakened state.
Already, he felt consciousness leaving him. It was as though it had been waiting for his permission, and now sprung its long awaited ambush upon his senses. With the last of his willpower, he summoned the strength to speak, quiet and exhausted as it was.
[attr=class,bulk] It seemed that he had overestimated his opponent.
It took only that single strike, and Alexander Sorel was sent flying backwards through the air in an ungraceful arc, a look of shock on his face before he landed hard in the surrounding foliage. Sephiroth’s lips twitched into the shadow of a smirk as he let out a short ”Hmph,” of laughter. For all of his talk, for all of his posing and shows of power, Alexander was the same as any other overconfident soldier which Sephiroth had quickly put in their place.
The truly strong, he’d found, had very little need to boast of their strength. Sephiroth watched as Alexander scrambled back to his feet, his face and arms scratched with whatever plant-life he had scraped through on landing. Sephiroth would have thought that that short show of power would be enough for their little interview, but it seemed he was wrong. As Alexander turned to face him, his eyes burned with fury. He was indignant. Shamed, perhaps. And like all men with more confidence than power, he channeled that shame of defeat into anger.
Sephiroth raised his sword defensively, ready to counter whatever came his way, as Alexander braced himself against the ground and let out…
A squeal? It sounded rather…pig-like. Sephiroth raised his eyebrows derisively. His derision turned to confusion as Alexander’s strange squealing turned to an enraged shout.
Who was…she?
Sephiroth didn’t have long to question because Alexander threw something over him, and instinct took hold once again. He felt the crackle of magic over his head, and Sephiroth dodged backwards as the force of something fell directly where he’d been standing only a moment before, landing with a loud thump into the earth. Whatever it was, it was metallic and thick and reminded him vaguely of the weights that Angeal slid endlessly onto the bars at the gym. Sephiroth didn’t have time to take it in fully because the simple act of its summoning had caught him off guard, and now he was on the defensive, sword raised, aware that for a split second he had been made vulnerable.
If Alexander was truly as experienced in combat as he claimed then he would use that second to go on the offensive and take advantage of Sephiroth’s surprise, and so Sephiroth prepared himself to counter, always perceptive of whatever strange magic might assault him next.
If the man was as untrained as Sephiroth suspected then he would let the moment slip by, and Sephiroth would have the time to readjust his stance and dash in for an offensive of his own. The battlefield was always changing, and rather in war or a mere session of sparring, combat required fluidity above all else.
