Can't Stand the Distance

"You'll never be able to stand the distance, old fogey!" the newcomer taunted. "Soon you'll be nothing but dust - and all your dreams with you!"

"I am stronger than you think," his opponent said creakily.

"Hah!" the newcomer laughed, tossing his sword in the air and catching it with his off-hand. "You really think you're a match for me? I'll smash you into powder and turn you into grout!"

"Try me."

The newcomer tossed his sword up into the air again, watching it spin lazily into the air; then, as it reached the apex of its arc, he charged forward, pulling his sword from the air behind him and into his foe in a tremendously flashy, tremendously powerful arc, an arc that could slice through flesh and shatter bone -

- and that ended, with a loud thunk, embedded in his foe; who seemed, oddly, quite undisturbed by all this.

"Huh?" the newcomer asked. He drew his sword back; and gasped, for only half of it remained in his hand. The rest stuck, jaggedly, from his foe, lodged too firmly for any amound of tugging or pulling to retrieve it.

"But how can this be?" the newcomer asked histrionically. "My technique - it's unstoppable!"

"Ho ho ho!" his opponent chuckled. "No-one can defeat me without finding my secret weak spots. And that's just impossible!"

With a thud, he brought his staff down; rotten eggs pelted down onto the newcomer, who fled towards the entrance of the cave, hands held over his head in an attempt to shield himself. "Yeah, that's right, you better run!" the Blockhead cried after him. "I am your better! None will ever defeat me! All shall pass!"

The Blockhead considered. "Wait, no. That's not right."

"Some shall pass?"

"Many shall pass?"

"Many shall pass..."

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