Night Slash

"Just what do you think you're doing, boy?" the towering monster asks me, "Interfering with plans that don't concern you. Shouldn't you be up in some mountain, tossing Graveler around?"
"No," I reply simply, "I've had enough of mere weight-lifting. Now I want something more...and I think defeating you will be a good start."
The being known as Sharp laughs, sending out pulses of a sound like grating metal before locking my gaze once more. "So you've decided to make a hero of yourself, have you?" he surmises mockingly, "Well, allow me to teach you about the real world. There are no heroes. The only ones who matter are the ones with power. All others exist to serve them."
"Is that why you're trying to take their home?" I ask, glancing over at a crowd of terrified acorn-people, "Because you think being strong gives you more right to it than they have?"
"Because I KNOW that being strong gives me more right!" he bellows, proudly raising a bladed arm, "Might MAKES right, boy! I and my underlings desire a refuge in which to live, and this berry-saturated wood suits us nicely. Living from victim-to-victim, always on the move is beneath me."
"Then why is that your natural existence?" I ask, risking a presumption to learn more about my inevitable foe, "If your kind belonged here, you would already be here."
The line on his face twists into a smirk, revealing itself to be a mouth. "I simply have more vision than most among my feeble-minded kin," he proclaims, "don't try to pretend that you aren't the same. You wouldn't be out here, either, if you didn't see something wrong with your kind's traditions."
He's trying to confuse me; something I never had an opportunity to train for. Even if Sharp isn't smarter than I am, he's definitely more experienced, and steadily moving closer. I need to put an end to the banter now, or he might catch me off-guard.
"If you're not going to leave these people in peace, I have nothing left to say to you," I tell him, steeling my body as subtly as possible.
"I expected nothing else," he replies, the moment before hand becomes a silver crescent.
I hear the air itself being sliced apart as I pull my head out of the attack's range. Speed was not something my opponent lacked. I move to counter with a blow to the legs, but the gleaming razors which compose his feet dissuade me. A lull settles over the battle as I break away with a short leap.
His advantages are weapons, longer limbs, and experience. What are mine? When I struck his underlings, my blows seemed to be supremely effective; a trait which likely applies against him. His height is more than twice my own, meaning that he must stoop to strike at me with his hands, torso, or head. What else?
He takes a quick step forward, shredding the ground beneath him. I slide back to avoid a slashing kick, only to have the soil cast from his foot blind me. Reflexively, I raise an arm to clear my eyes, and he takes the opportunity to slice that arm open with a lightning-fast strike.
My opponent's tactics are ruthless and underhanded; nothing like sparring with my kin. He hadn't followed up on my moment of weakness, though, which must have meant that he had no techniques prepared to use from the crouching position slashing me had put him into. It seems that one blow had always been enough against opponents my size.
Pain surges through me as I stumble back, finally regaining my sense of sight. I know what I'm fighting now. It's time to take the offensive.