(While I'm going to let that slip, I'd like to state that I highly doubt someone is going to be making multiple dimensional rifts with their mind that are constantly moving and directing such a huge amount of objects from one spot to another without having some serious repercussions. And I'm not talking about going crazy or loosing control. I mean straight up migraine. Because if you are refabricating the air into dimensional pockets, you are going further than just simple psionics and are working almost on a degree of straight up reality manipulation. In fact, what you are talking about is creating rifts in space-time. Which means you have chronokenisis and god-level telekinesis, plus the concentration to be able to literally collapse reality like that. In my opinion, your profile fails to really place that into your range of. Also, I'd like to note that the feather's wouldn't explode simply from something so trivial as passing through a dimensional rift. That would be like saying that because you launched a missile or torpedo through one it would do the same thing, which I'm pretty sure we both understand they wouldn't. It would take a crushing force to do that. And in the same sense, upon entering one side of the rift, there would be explosions on both sides. But again, I'm not going to contest. This works just fine for me.)
Range was, by no means, a favorite of Maxwell's, and as the feather's continued to descend upon his intangible enemy, he followed a short distance behind. Again, in this field's lack of gravity, terminal velocity was much slower and acceleration aided by that natural pull would also be slower than Earth's. The feathers' natural aerodynamics would allow them to stay their course, though with some degree of speed. All in all, Revan was still experimenting with his opponent. Too many of his own cards had thrown on the table; more than he felt comfortable. As such, the winged being was only a tens of yards above his assailant when the strange reddish gateways were manifested.
Clever.
The thought rang through Revan's mind as he sensed the familiar energies that he had set returning to him from various and changing angles. Every animal instinct in hims gave rise to premonitions, crying as reality was warp around him. It was like the foreboding feeling dogs, cats, cows or eagles observed when an natural catastrophe was in the process commencing. Faithful sword drawn, Maxwell was at the ready. This time, he held nothing back of his sword skill in fear that it would cost him a limb. Upon the the feather's immediate departure into free space, his blade came across them and slit them before they could come to bear against his skin. Even when the ebony streaks were just beginning explode upon their exit, the excess energy would be absorbed into the midnight weapon. This was the ability of his father's dragon blessed sword, the Black Diamond Rapier. It ate energy. Simply. Whatever outward spreading energy that would have resulted in a tumultuous expansion of hot, concussive blasts was quickly taken and rendered harmless.
Revan's decent, therefore, was left unhindered by the redirection of his own attack. This allowed him to continue to close the gap between himself and the target, of course being weary of the still present dimensional rifts that loomed about him. While he doubted these creations would remain much longer, taking to account the immense strain that must have been working on his foes focus; he was after all performing such the highly complicated task of folding time-space, maintaining the grasp on reality itself, and making sure that the object that flew into it made it to its destination all while controlling the multiple rifts to move, he was ready for them. The fact still remained that, even the most powerful psionic users, making two would be pushing an aneurysm and he had several. This meant one of several things, but the most obvious was this creature could not be a simple humanoid(Not referring simply to humans). Maxwell's plan was to be in enough of a proximity to form a successful strike using the thinned and bladed tip of his scabbard to meet with the massive sword and coerce his opponent to take to a more physical choice of actions. Revan had a plan, and if he could get close enough, this battle could be his.
Still being careful not to allow his weapons to fall pray to the spheres of distortion, he swung down and across with the sheath. His control over energy seeped into the blade, extending the reach of his contact to it. All he needed was to make contact. Simple, sweet, and quick contact....
(Also, I figured as much with the post, and yeah, now I'm being serious.)
