Smoke

Two soldiers stand on opposing ends of the battlefield. One has armor of plates and in the mid morning sun it sparkles like a lost and found reflection pool. The other has puzzle pieces of bronze fit together in a union of protection and winsome. Both charge at each other, spanning the yards of grass in bounds. Hazes of smoke fill the spaces in between. The puffs roil in a whirlpool envious of an artist's palate. Iron grey, Charcoal, Ash. It's just the backdrop for the animated art that is occurring in it's midst.

The two soldiers approach and stop to draw their weapons. Swords. One, alive and flaming, an indescribable melt of metallic charcoal, flame orange, and magenta. The other, silver ice with a metallic cobalt tint and a gilded sapphire hilt. The two draw that of a breath and charge once more. 

They're inches away and all other fighting ceases. The haze retreats just enough for the space around the soldiers to be a solitary indistinct color. 

They aim at each others breasts with enough determination and prowess to cut marble when in the last bound they erupt in pink smoke. 

The smoke swirls into the air, turning the wrought haze a jubilee of colors. Chartreuse. Turquoise. Coral. Lavender. Tangerine. 

The smoke floats up to kiss the sun and then dissipates, leaving behind nothing but a grassy, sunlit plain.