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Darkness.
Heavy rain.

Several years after this story begins, in empty city, at empty, kind of narrow street, surrounded by tall, practically identical buildings that rise towards the sky, two men are walking towards each other. It is kind of dark, and it rains heavily. It might be dawn or morning, or perhaps dark clouds just block almost all the sunlight. It is not relevant.

They are approximately 300 feet away, both walking towards each other.
Other one is clearly a young man (should be 'One is clearly a man) , probably about 25 years old. He has dark, kind of short hair, just short enough to not cover his eyes, even in heavy rain like this. He's not wearing a hat.
He has long, white leather jacket, and pants of same color (and pants of the same colour). Not white as snow. More with the shade of gray (More a shade of grey). In the back of his jacket, there is odd symbol of star that has six points. (there is an odd symbol of a star that has six points)
He's not wearing gloves.
In his both hands, he is carrying two unsheathed katanas. Srangely (Strangely) enough, he doesn't seem to have sheaths to either of them, yet they still seem to be in perfect condition.

250 feet.

Based on the other person's body structure, he seems to be man, but it's impossible to say for sure. It's too dark and rainy to see more details about this person, one exluded:
He's carrying huge, perhaps 4-5-feet sword in his left shoulder. With one glance, it's obvious that it's two-hand sword (it's a two-handed sword). Even still, it seems bit too heavy (it seems a bit too heavy), big, and unconvenient (inconvenient) to use. Whoever has forged it must have had good reason to make it like that (Whoever forged it must have had a good reason to make it like that).
...Were there... spikes? on the back of it's blade?

200 feet.

"Things tend to work out in the end."

175 feet.

"Good friend of mine used to say that. A lot."

140 feet.

"It's kind of ironic, really..."

120 feet.

"It's been years since I last saw him, and heard him say that..."

95 feet.

"...And ever since, my things have mostly gone towards hell."

70 feet.

Both men stopped. One with two katanas said something (The one with two katanas said something). Other person (The other person) responded with words not to be heard nor known by us just yet. Katana man tightened his grip and took battle stance.

"But now..."

Other person (The other person) still just stood there quietly.

"For the first time in years, I've been driven to situation (driven to a situation) that I cannot win."

Other person (The other person) raised his huge sword from his shoulder, then took his own battle stance.

"If I lose this fight, I die, no doubt..."

Neither one of them moved. Whatever their reason to fight, it was obvious that neither one wanted to solve it by talking.

Darkness.
Heavy rain.

"...But if I win, I lose my last reason to live."

"For the first time in years..."

"I'm truly afraid."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Good."

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I like the switching back and forth between memory and action; it adds a lot depth.

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...Were there... spikes? on the back of it's blade?

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Chainsword Trilogy - Part 1 - Chainsword

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Several years after this story begins, in empty city, at empty, kind of narrow street, surrounded by tall, practically identical buildings that rise towards the sky, two men are walking towards each other. It is kind of dark, and it rains heavily. It might be dawn or morning, or perhaps dark clouds just block almost all the sunlight. It is not relevant.

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"For the first time in years, I've been driven to a situation that I cannot win."

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In this buzzling metropoly, few miles from the docks, in the ghetto, there was a teenage boy, probably 17-20 years old, walking on a narrow street, listening music from his headphones.

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Walking slowly.

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Coming from middle-class family, one would think a ghetto to be dangerous a place, but he had lived at the edge of this area and "better part" of the city his whole life, and he had made most of his friends from this part, so he was known enough in these streets to walk safely around.

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Even though he had been a young boy at those days

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While this part of (the) city had been kind of poor his whole life

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Granted, after docks were built and the city started concentrating to shipping cargo to

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and the area quickly got a lot more quieter and impoverished.

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"How can an area only a few miles from the biggest trade center in 1000 freaking miles be this poor!?"

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With business -and money- leavng the area

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With that, it's obviouss that anger is born, especially with younger generation.
Gangs. Endless fighting over the rulership of these streets. Streets that had no real value to them. With few practically identical gangs, fighting over somethin wth no real value, what is the point in that?

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Exitement and glory, perhaps?

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But still, adrenaline and gloory play in both. Fighting for your life, even witout good cause, gives you feeling of being alive, and a story you will never forget.

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the boy still thought it to be a sad life. Of course, he had grown up in a different family, in a different life

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Everyday in danger of being beated or shot to death?

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Leave to the next place on the same day you decided to leave.

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Travel with wnd and rain.

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And the fact that those dreams weren't ot of reach

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That is what kept his hopes high and head up in the grey world that is called everyday.

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While others started openiing their umbrellas, he smiled, and keept walking. Rain and wind on his skin gave him the feeling of bing alive.

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Does your story play in Lore? (Seeing you have posted it in AE fanfiction rather than Other Creative Prose.)