[Kratos, if anything, spurs that speed and motion onward, redirects it as returning, ever-faster flurries. The Swallow glances off his blade and shield but never hits directly; deflections and parries which ought to be enough to rattle a heavier man. He adds to the spin, doesn't stop the Swallow's music in cutting air.

[Yuan and the Swallow alone might have been a dance. Against the enduring ring of Kratos's sword and shield they're more like the hammer in a smith's hands, forging hot steel into something unyielding; a stone turning the river's course, over and over, never broken by the crash.

[Lloyd's encouraging cheers are distant to the rhythm of breath, and the light-footed tap of boots on hard ground, and the match of scraping steel over and over. The close of the fight is unspoken, more a sense of how long they've been matched and that it does need to end. Between one step and another Kratos sets himself forward and braces, and takes the Swallow's edge full in a blow which would shatter a lesser shield, and still makes Kratos's feet slide.

[It never seems complete until he gets to feel the weight of Yuan's speed and strength, and know he can still hold.]