I was growing desperate, the phantom was countering my most advanced techniques. Not even my acrobatics gave me any advantage, the phantom countered my most complex strikes with similar moves, effectively countering every blow I made. Eventually, out of desperation, I whispered a name on my breath. I couldn't give up, but I was out of energy. I simply made a slash out of desperation. It was no technique, no finess, it's what you'd expect a child playing with a stick to do. Yet for all of this phantom's prowess with the sword, his block was feeble, equally unskilled, and he missed my blade completely, slicing through the dark mist like water. The phantom began disipating, and I fell to my knees, breathing heavily form complete exhaustion, as black mist began spreading throughout the room, casting a shadow over the place.