Storm was brewing at the horizon, dark blue and grey clouds growing from nothingness until the sky was a maelstrom of colors and shapes, heavy with rage and water.
Beneath the earth stood still. As still as the lone figure on a steep hill, his face turned towards the eye of the storm as it approached.

“No visual.”

One command, spoken with calm voice, and the scenery plummeted to complete darkness. No storm. No hill. No ground. Just inky blackness, a void.

“Full contact.”

Another command, and the darkness became alive with ever-changing shapes. Tendrils of mist, swirl of limbs and faces, some familiar, some completely unidentified.
He fought. Always in the darkness. Always like this, nude, and in complete darkness, his opponents dissolving and forming all around him, keeping him constantly on the edge.

It was worth it. Worth every drop of blood, worth every received and blocked blow. Worth every cut and bruise that faded soon, because amongst his shadowy adversaries was the one face, one pair of hands that he never parried.