The splashing of blood and clashing of steel filled the tower of death as Lance met the sword; past met present.
'I have never fought such a unique opponent,' Auros thought as he stood amongst a pool of his blood, his sword ready.
Asura stood opposite him with similar injuries and a slight smile on his lips. The more he fought the young man, Auros found that his skills, stances and abilities were being matched, copied and soon surpassed.
In the beginning, Auros felt he would win, that no young boy would defeat him. However, the more they fought, even a phantom with long-past memories felt something in his mirrored soul's depths.
'This boy is me. Yet, unlike me, he's fighting to control those feelings and forces that twisted my mind!'
This was the magic of the tower of death; those whom a person fought every ten floors weren't just copies or images made to look like genuine people.
Magic created the world.
