A battle of concepts
It was the middle of the night. A smothering blanket of clouds littered with stars and beams of moonlight fluttered into the grave of the nearby church. There were three figures, among them an elderly man who stroked his long scratchy grey beard wearily, a scythe clutched and held over his shoulder. Dressed in old Victorian clothes, looking dapper as any man of the time would, his brown jacket and his grey suit top and trousers were worn plainly but still organized. He observed two young boys battling spirited against the ghostly white apparitions that haunted the yard. Haunted screeches tore jagged through the air as rays of blinding gold light pierced their body.
"Haha that's three for the price of one. That means I'm up one," a boy with perfectly-coiffed blond hair laughed as he conjured more light which he then formed into razor-focused beams that vaporized his ghastly foes altogether. He adorned a forest green hoodie and a paltry AC/DC shirt as he dodged around the hazy purple menace of his ghosts. He laughed again and set his sights on three more, saying to his friend, "I'm gonna leave you in the dust this time Agi!"
Then, a flash of steel broke them apart to dust.
"Dreadfully sorry old boy, but there must be something wrong with your ability to count. You've only destroyed 12 wraiths whereas I've now slain 17. You appear to be slacking, Tristan," the other claimed as he dashed about, slashing and bashing each wraith he could, cutting them down with a great sword that his arm protected with a copper gauntlet. Something snuck upon him from behind, another ghost, but light green circuits appeared on his legs as he leapt over its assault, bringing the sword down on the specter's head.
The man was wearing a black blazer and a white office shirt beneath it, styled suitably modern, as modern to the present as one could be. His trousers and shoes followed suit. Black hair slickly gelled back, he had a pair of rectangular copper glasses that filled out his long face quite well.
The battle lasted mere minutes but for the combatants it might as well have been hours. Agravain clicked a button on his sword as his gauntlet transformed into a copper chain, his sword twisting and compressing, returning again to its original shape of a pocket watch. The older man sighed and stood up, strolling towards his two apprentices.
"Agravain, you need to work on your positioning. That was an utterly ridiculous, sloppy display, you're capable of more. You were flanked today," he said sternly and bashed the man in the head with the back of his scythe. Agravain fell to his feet and stared back up at his teacher, who continued his lecture, "You are a student of the reaper, boy. You can't go ruining my good name out there with those skills. What's with you today, hmm?"
The other laughed at the dark-haired pupil, and that bit of arrogance earned him a scythe to the face as well. He grabbed his nose desperate to stop the bleeding.
""Gah!" the blond man yelled, then ducking to avoid another swing, "damn you, old man! I did good today!"
Agravain got to his feet as his recovered from the impact. He groaned, holding his head.
"Yes, my apologies master, it is just that— well, I will be returning to England in a matter of days. My father insisted that I partake in the holy grail war being held in London. Whilst I dread my return to my family, I must do my part as eldest son to live up to expectations," he said.
The two looked at him with concern, instantly stopping their petty squabbling.
"A holy grail war— but Agravain, that's suicide. You're a strong mage, I made sure of that, but a grail war. The best of the best test their mettle there. You aren't exactly teaming with mana, any of the knight class servants will drain you quicker than a swarm of flies on pork," the reaper strongly warned, waving his scythe around all sagely and necessary.
Tristan calmly walked up to him, smile somewhat still there, and then he hurled back a fist and punched him in the face. Agravain fell on the ground clutching his face as he looked up at him.
". . . Ow!" Agi said, almost mocking the boy.
"Tristan!" the reaper exclaimed.
"Oi," the boy vocalized in interruption, "you've got the title as the oathkeeper right? Even though I'm just the Flash, you get a cool as hell title. You're such an arrogant asshole, god damn it. I just can't stand you. I've always wanted to beat you into the ground to prove that I'm better than you. Now, your dumbass is robbing me of even that to go and die in some crap-tastic war that you have no business being a part of."
The rant was certainly spirited, however vulgar it may have been.
He came to a point and up a finger, "Well, I'm gonna make you promise me something then: you're not allowed to lose. You're not allowed to lose to anyone until I beat you. Until you're kissing my boots begging to know how you could be even a fraction as cool as me. Got that, compadre?"
Agravain raised a silent eyebrow.
Tristan grabbed the scruff of his old shirt as he lifted him up to his eyes till they were semi-even. Infuriation thronged through the boy's emotional eyes, trying to hold back the true sadness behind reactionary anger.
"You're my best friend. If you go out there, win that stupid cup for your family and come back to America so I can kick your ass at I dunno something. I don't want ya dying just yet," he said and he pushed Agravain back to the ground, turning away from him.
The reaper walked over and knelt down next to his student. He didn't say anything, merely picking him up and hugging his student, stroking the back of Agravains head knowing this may have been the last time he'd ever see him. Tristan would come around in time, though Agravain could sense the tears he might soon cry. Though he didn't much appreciate the fist put into his teeth, he simply smirked at the sudden confession, knowing beneath it was an ardent softy who just didn't want him to march off into war.
"I did not become the Oathkeeper without reason. I'll come back, you know I will. And when I do, we can compete all you like in whatever sport it is you prefer, old boy," Agravain chuckled, knowing he'd gotten it wrong.
Tristan chuckled and shook his head, looking back at the man with a sarcastic smile.
"I'm gonna hold ya to that. Maybe I'll even get you a girlfriend, huh? Wouldn't that be somethin', mister Oathkeeper getting a special-lady-friend," he said humorously and he walked back over to him, shaking his hand like a warrior. They simply stayed that way, conversing and ribbing one another till the sun finally rose and what could be Agravains final trip back to England had been called by the wind to fully begin.