He quickly pressed his right hand against his chest, and his vision blurred as he was engulfed in a bright divine light that burned through his body in a pleasant burn, an irrepressible surge of power, and the familiar sensation of his clothes disappearing, giving way to a shiny, silvery suit of armor. When the light receded, there remained nothing of the gruff military in a brown leather jacket, in his place there was an angel-like knight bearing a sword. The Messerschmidt came within range, and fired. The knight had heavenly powers: looking straight at his enemy, he could see the bullets flying at him clearly, and to his eyes they were flying no faster than dead leaves dancing in the wind. With one slash of his sword, he deflected them all back to the Messerschmidt, and to his great satisfaction he saw his enemy's propeller burst in flames as well, and nosedive. But then he saw a shadow above him, the German pilot who had ejected and was now diving down on him. The knight raised his sword. The German drew his sword as well, and as the two of them were still falling down, they crossed steel and seemed to be in suspension. The German thrust, the knight parried, slashed, the German countered and slashed back, and the knight replied with a mighty kick to the chest that threw his opponent far away.
Eventually, the knight reached the street and braced himself, landing on his feet with the grace of a cat, after a fall of seven hundred feet. He was breathing calmly under his helmet, preparing for the challenge to come. He raised his sword again, the silver Celtic cross that ornated his chestplate shone even brighter, and the black smoke vanished. In the now clear street, he could see his foe standing before him, sixty feet ahead, as unharmed as he was by the fall. He was dressed in a Luftwaffe officer uniform, an obvious disguise, for his eyes, like two orbs of poisonous fire, were giving away his true nature. The knight had fought many a strong opponent, and this one was the strongest of them all. But he was not afraid. He had prepared for this moment all his life.
He charged. The officer charged as well, and as they crossed blades a second time, it was with such force that a detonation was heard, and cracks appeared on the street and on the walls all around them. And the deadly dance was resumed, a dance of thrusts and counters, of slashes and parries, rythmed by the threatening clatter of steel hitting steel. The German lunged, his broadsword aiming for the silver cross. The knight stepped aside, saw an opening on the leg, and attempted to cut it off. But the German was swift, and perceiving the threat, he raised his leg above the knight's sword and kicked him in the head. Seeing this as an opportunity, he followed by a jumping attack, raising his blade high above his head and bringing it down like a guillotine. At the last second, the knight was back on his feet and held out his sword in defense. There was a spark like a hundred stars when the blades met, and the two opponents were sent flying away in opposite directions, both landing back on their feet with feline grace, and watching each others from afar.