Well aimed brick, not so much

Swords and poles swung back and forth, mostly missing, sometimes colliding, but never hitting their mark. Breathing became labored. Sweat poured freely. Fifteen frantic seconds passed.

Quill summited the roof and hucked himself onto the roof next to the fight. At that moment, the two combatants, Poople and Stylus were panting and grimacing. Quill, seeing the inaction, let himself slump and exhale.

Five seconds passed.

The fencing match resumed. Thrusts were made. Parries were delivered. No points were scored. Quill leaned over the edge of the roof and yanked a brick, loosened by Stylus’s hook climbing, off the wall and waited.

He waited until the fighters stopped to grimace and pant again. Twelve seconds later, they did and he threw the brick at Stylus, missing completely.