Chapter 45

The urge to simply rush at Feng was strong, but he’d spent too many hours practicing the First Form and internalizing Naomi’s training to abandon himself to a reckless charge. Instead, he approached slowly, forcing himself to remain relaxed, to hold onto a sense of calm that occluded his excitement and fears.

Feng remained motionless, chin lowered, eyes bright and probing. With his hands linked behind his back and in his faded gray robes he exuded no sense of menace; rather it felt like approaching a stern janitor, someone of great dignity but little threat.

Scorio stepped into striking distance and snapped out a couple of jabs. Feng simply leaned back just enough that his blows struck air, so he threw a high feint, right at the instructor’s face, which he immediately followed with a powerful cross, the weight of his body behind the blow.

Feng sidestepped, backed away, expression turning pensive, hands still linked behind him.

Rather than keep pressing, Scorio forced himself to relax once more, bounced a few times on the balls of his feet, shrugged his shoulders, then came in again; this time, however, he made the slightest of feints with both fists just before launching a powerful roundhouse kick at Feng’s chest.

Only to find the kick blocked, trapped between Feng’s forearm and bicep, the instructor stepping in rapidly to kick his other leg out from under him.

Scorio leaped, pivoting around his pinned leg, and tried to kick the back of Feng’s head; the attack was swift, instinctive, wild.

It nearly worked.

Feng released him, ducked down, and spun away, and again they faced off against each other, a thick lock of gleaming black hair having pulled free to fall before the instructor’s face.

“Good,” said Feng. “Again.”

Time to switch things up. Scorio leaped forward immediately and let loose an explosive volley of blows, jabs, and crosses, intermingled with uppercuts and hooks. Pressed Feng ever back, forcing him to parry and block, only to realize with a shock that he’d fallen into the pattern he’d trained against Naomi, the very one that had helped him ignite his Heart.

Feng had to know it, clearly did, for his blocks were perfect, almost automated, his eyes narrowing as he seemed to question Scorio’s own awareness of the drill he’d fallen into, which meant instead of a hook here as expected, he’d jack up his knee—

Feng laughed as he jerked awkwardly to slam his forearm down into a block, narrowly avoiding the attack, and danced back, his movements graceful and light, as if the universal pull of the world barely affected him.

“Very nice! Intelligent application of a common pattern with a surprise attack. I see variety, control, quick reactions, and power. Now let's test your defenses.”

And with that, Feng was upon him, striking with wicked precision and increasing speed, forcing Scorio back, ever back. The blows were coming so rapidly that he stopped consciously trying to track them, and instead allowed his arms to move almost of their own accord.

The only sound was of their forearms impacting against each other, the snap of cloth, and Scorio’s breath as it came in ever harsher gasps. Faster and faster came the strikes, then somehow Feng unleashed a tightly coiled roundhouse kick without twisting his hips in the least, simply snapped it out while facing him straight on, and brought his shin crashing into Scorio’s ribs.

With a grunt, he staggered to the side, saw Feng’s fist come powering down at his face, dodged, then took an elbow straight to the chest. Staggering back on his heels, he yanked his leg up to block a second kick, taking it on his shin, then received a flurry of punches on his forearms.

Teetering on the very edge of his balance, he could do nothing but widen his eyes when Feng hopped up, spun in mid-air as smoothly as a leaf caught in a steady wind, and slammed his heel into the center of Scorio’s chest.

The power behind the blow was incredible, and it lifted Scorio right off his feet and threw him back to crash onto his side.

Feng landed neatly, lightly, and without a sound, only to straighten his robes with two quick tugs and then link his hands behind his back.

“Good defense, good speed, and I see that you’ve received a decent amount of drilling. But like all novice fighters, you fall apart when the pace increases, and your desire to find patterns leaves you open to unorthodox attacks.”

Scorio pushed himself up slowly into a crouch, his lungs tight, his chest locked in a permanent spasm, trying not to gasp and wheeze before the whole class. There was nothing for it. He summoned his Igneous Heart and saw that the hall was filled with ephemeral clouds of pure gray.

Iron mana.

It was neither as slippery as Copper nor as reluctant as Coal. It was stubborn, however, in a completely novel manner, as if entering Scorio’s Heart was somehow beneath it. Summoning his will, Scorio forced a single gust of the mana into his Heart, and was surprised when that sufficed.

With a flexion of his will, he caused his Heart to ignite, and in his mind’s eye, it went up with a whoomph of silvery flames.

Power flooded into him, intense, rich, an elevating power that made the very thought of burning Coal again incredibly distasteful.

Feng raised an eyebrow but otherwise made no move.

Slowly, feeling as if a hasty movement could cause him to lose control and dash through the air, Scorio rose to his feet and once again dropped into his combat crouch.

“Yes,” said Feng, voice pitched low. “There you are. Now. Show me what you can really do.”

Fleet of foot, Scorio ran at him and leaped, soaring through the air to attack with a side kick. As expected, Feng dodged to the side, so Scorio hurled himself at the instructor the moment he landed, driving him back, striking at his face, snapping out kicks at his thighs, and thrusting his heel at Feng’s stomach. He felt alive, endlessly powerful, the Iron seeming inexhaustible. Feng blocked, swayed, dodged, and evaded all of his blows, but Scorio simply pushed himself faster, drawing in more Iron mana as he went, like a man swimming underwater might gasp for a rapid gulp of air before ducking back under the surface.

His thoughts ended. The separation of mind and body disappeared. He was wholly in the moment, utterly within his body, reacting without consideration, pushing himself to move faster, to strike harder, his blows drawing closer and closer to Feng as the instructor was forced to block with greater vigor.

But he couldn’t land a blow. Anger grew within him, a fiery knot of frustration that he barely managed to restrain.

But then Scorio saw it—an opportunity, wild and improvident, requiring an outflung cross that would open Scorio up completely if he missed, but if he hit—

Releasing his rage, he went for it, and his fist slipped past Feng’s guard, and time seemed to slow. Iron mana roared within his Heart, and the instructor inched away, eyes widening as Scorio’s knuckles nearly brushed the skin of his cheek. Scorio snarled as the length of his forearm passed right before Feng’s face, and then a massive blow to his side lifted him right off his feet once more, his legs flying out from under him, to crash face down onto the stone circle.

The breath exploded out of him, and he lay there gaping, focus blurred, unable to draw breath.

The Iron in his Heart surged one last time, then guttered out.

He wanted nothing so much as to lower his brow to the cool stone, but instead, he forced himself up to all fours, and then with a heave swayed up and back to sit on his heels.

Feng was considering him, expression genial, almost benign. “Well done, Scorio. Well done indeed. Good physical conditioning, good speed, decent strength. As before, your reflexes and instincts are admirable, but your temper was your undoing. It might also account for how briefly you were able to keep your Heart burning. You may take your seat. Naomi? Please enter the circle.”

Rising to his feet, Scorio bowed shakily and hopped off the edge of the platform to join his friends. Naomi’s expression was tightly controlled as she passed him, her eyes narrowed, but her grim nod said it all: I’ll make him pay.

Sitting down heavily, avoiding all the stares being directed at him, Scorio gratefully accepted Lianshi’s waterskin and took a sip. What did he mean, how briefly his Heart had burned? Was that considered brief here? Did he know that was the first time he’d burned Iron? He scowled, frustrated at not having landed a single blow. Had Feng even ignited his Heart?

“Well done,” said Leonis quietly, leaning in. “Seriously. That was impressive.”

“Agreed,” said Lianshi. “Feng rarely says anything positive about anyone.”

Scorio sat up a little straighter and forced himself to release a shaky breath.

The fight between Naomi and Feng proved riveting to watch. She moved in confidently and quickly began driving Feng backward, coming at him with great skill and power. Feng’s face took on a more calculated and focused expression, and after allowing Naomi to push him back to the circle’s edge, he deliberately turned the tables and began counterattacking.

Only for her to immediately explode up into her Nightmare Lady form, the transition near-instantaneous. The sight of her dread black form, gleaming and emaciated, elicited gasps from the other students, but Scorio ignored them. He leaned forward, watching avidly, as her wicked tail blade shot forward over her shoulder to pierce Feng’s chest.

A frisson of power flooded out from the sparring circle as Feng ignited his Heart, and with incredible precision he smacked away her tail blade with the palm of his hand and stepped away, ducking under a sweep of her claws then throwing himself into a backward roll as her tail lanced down to dig deep into the white stone where he’d stood.

He came up smoothly, smiling with enjoyment, but the Nightmare Lady was on him immediately; her tail was nearly a second opponent on its own, coming at him from all angles even as she slashed and kicked at him with terrible speed. He was forced to parry her frontal attacks and then contort and throw himself aside each time her tail sought to impale him or cut him in half.

“How is he doing that?” asked Scorio in awe.

“Dread Blaze,” was Leonis’s only response.

But even he was hard-pressed to avoid her attacks; her tail was simply too flexible and strong, able to change direction mid-sweep without effort, so that when she caught hold of his forearm and brought her tail blade speeding toward his back, Scorio was sure the fight was over.

Instead, Feng stretched out his free arm and caused a burst of white dust to flow forth in a cone, washing over the tail and slowing it, reducing the strike to a turgid, almost lazy-looking attack. He wrenched his arm free, leaped back, then brought his cone over the Nightmare Lady so that she stood as if in the center of her own, personal blizzard.

“Feel free to concede whenever you like,” he said, tugging at his robe with his free hand to smooth it out.

The Nightmare Lady snarled and leaped at him, but she was visibly held back; Feng, nimble and quick, avoided her clumsy slash, stepped around her tail as it slowly sailed toward him, then hit her in the knee with a smart kick.

With each passing moment, the Nightmare Lady moved ever slower, as if she were drowning in honey, and Feng moved commensurately quicker; soon he wasn’t even bothering to block but simply ducked casually under her blows, stepped brazenly within her guard to tap her throat with two fingers, and otherwise displayed his mastery of the combat.

Even more incredibly, each time he stepped around her flank or out of her line of sight, she’d suddenly stiffen, freeze up, and cast around, looking confused and unsure of herself. Only to react in shock when he touched her shoulder or tapped her in the center of her spine, whipping around and seeming to remember what was going on.

By the time the Nightmare Lady sank into a crouch, her tail settling beside her, she was so stiff and slow that a child could have walked safely past her without much concern.

“Not a terrible first technique,” said Feng, stepping safely back and ending his cone of dust. “In time, and as you develop your other powers, you’ll become an effective close-quarters combatant. Still, try not to rely on your tail so much; deploying it so wildly will result in it being severed. Hold it back for critical strikes. Dismissed.”

Naomi reverted to her human form and rose to her feet, face downcast. Scorio could sense her fury and misery from where he sat. She trembled as she stood before Feng, thick hair sliding forward to obscure her face, body rigid, and when he dismissed her, she quickly returned to her seat, where she sat tightly coiled up upon herself.

Scorio wanted to talk to her, to reach out, to connect, but everyone was staring. He knew that Naomi would loathe any more attention at this point, so with great reluctance he let her be.

The rest of the class was more methodical; they drilled against each other, moving at first at half-speed, working on the cleanliness of their technique and trying to react smoothly to each other’s strikes, then at three-quarters speed, then at full.

This was followed by Feng demonstrating different bare-handed parrying techniques against different weapons, such as how a block against a stick differed from that of a swung knife. They took up wooden props and practiced, and then transitioned to working together on striking large, stuffed pads, going all out until Feng called time.

It was humbling how quickly Scorio ran out of strength when he gave the strikes his all, pounding the pads as hard and as fast as he could. Humbling when he was forced to slow while others continued savagely beating their targets, and in those moments, hands on his knees, sweat dripping down his brow, he thought on how real the advantage everyone else had over him due to their months of optimum training.

It only hardened his resolve to do better and cover lost ground.

The last section of class was the five demonstration bouts, and though they were held between unfamiliar students, Feng’s commentary was both thought-provoking and logical; Scorio found himself nodding as the instructor demonstrated why certain decisions had proven poor or inspired, and by the end of class felt eager to return the following day.

When the lights pulsed to signal the end of class, everyone set to putting away the equipment, while the five losers of the showcase matches went to fill large buckets with water and set to mopping the ground.

“Good work, class,” said Feng, fixing his hair as he turned away. “Tomorrow, do better.”

“He always says that,” said Leonis, scratching at his beard.

“Good advice,” said Lianshi, face gleaming from exertion and sweat. “Come on, let’s head back to our rooms. Leonis, I want to practice that take down a few times before lunch.”

“Do I look like a punching bag?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answered,” said Lianshi with a laugh, tossing her hand towel over her shoulder.

The pair of them moved ahead, discussing the move, so Scorio allowed himself to move slower, matching Naomi’s pace. She’d done everything since losing her bout with listless energy, as if going through the motions, and more than once, Scorio had caught Feng watching her pensively.

He didn’t ask her anything though, just walked by her side. When Lianshi looked back to say something, she caught his expression, closed her mouth, and resumed walking ahead.

They entered the common room in silence, and Lianshi dragged Leonis aside when the big man went to make some jest.

For a moment Naomi just stood there, staring blankly at the floor, and then she turned and strode into her room, closing the door behind her.

“Hey,” said Scorio, rapping his knuckles softly on the wood. “Naomi?”

Nothing.

“Hey,” he said, knocking again. “Can we talk?”

Nothing. Or wait—was that a sound? Something small, barely heard.

Scorio tried the door, found it unlocked, and cracked it open.

He saw Naomi sat on her bed, arms wrapped around her shins, face buried against her knees. Her shoulders were jerking silently, and she didn’t look up when he stepped up beside her bed and sat slowly down on its edge.

“Naomi,” he said, unsure of himself, half-expecting her to change into the Nightmare Lady and cut off his head. “Hey, talk to me. What’s going on?”

Her struggle to remain quiet grew all the more violent, and when he tentatively moved to sit beside her and wrap his arm around her shoulder, she let out a pained moan that sounded as if it had been torn right out of the bowels of her soul and leaned against him, her whole body a clenched fist.

“Hey,” he repeated, squeezing her gently. “Hey, it’s all right. You’re all right. You’re with friends. It’s going to be fine.”

She leaned against him as stiffly as a cartwheel set against a wall and wept. Deep, guttural sobs that were clawed out of her, fistfuls of pain that she fought against every time, and lost.

“I wanted to beat him,” she said between breaths. “I—I wanted to destroy him, to—to show him I was worthy of—of—”

“You are worthy,” said Scorio. “Are you kidding me? You forced a Dread Blaze to use one of his techniques on you. You were incredible.”

She looked up at him at last, eyes red between the thick strands of her hair. “You—you don’t understand, this was my chance, this was my chance. To show them, to show all of them…” She trailed away again in utter misery, tears welling up in her eyes and overflowing.

“You did. Were you expecting to beat him, Naomi?”

“Hurt him,” she said, voice thick with emotion, guttural. “Make him bleed.”

“That’s, ah, not a realistic expectation, I don’t think—”

“He mocked me!” Her cry was raw, loud, sudden. Jerking away from him, she glared with feverish intensity at Scorio. “He was one of them, Scorio! Who refused to train me, who said I wasn’t worth the time, that I wasn’t a true Great Soul! In front of a class just like that! He told me to go back to cleaning, and they laughed, they laughed at me as I walked out, so numb I felt like I wasn’t even a person anymore, I was so miserable I wanted to die—him, Scorio! And when I had a chance to prove him wrong?” Her face twisted in disgust as she stared down at her hands. “I didn’t even hit him, he just played with me, laughed at me, and then—and then he broke me down, humiliated me by forcing me to stop, to give up, till there was no way to fight him.”

“I mean, that’s his power, right? To slow opponents? He did it out of self-defense.”

“No,” she said, voice a low hiss. “I’ve never seen him do more than check his students with it. Ask Leonis and Lianshi. He saved his full power just for me.”

Scorio didn’t know what to say. She curled her arms about her shins again and lowered her face.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last. “If that’s true, then there’s only one thing we can do.”

“What’s that?” she asked, voice muffled.

“Get strong and kick his ass.”

She jerked her head up and frowned at him.

“I mean it,” he said with a grin. “He’s a Dread Blaze, sure, but it’s a big hell out there, right? Let’s do it together. Grow so strong that one day we can come back, and you can show him what you really think.”

She searched his face, looking so wretched and unsure of herself that Scorio felt his heart break. Finally, she gave him the slightest of nods. “All right,” she whispered. “Let’s do that.”

He put his arm around her shoulder and squeezed her again. “We’ll get through this, yeah? We’ve both been screwed over through no fault of our own. The odds have been against us from the start. But here we are. Doesn’t matter if it’s fair or not, we’ll still make it all the way. You and me. Together.”

“Together,” she said, and put her hand upon his forearm, temple resting against his chest. “Yes.”

They sat thus for a spell until a gentle knock sounded at her door. “Guys?” It was Lianshi. “I can’t keep Leonis back for much longer. He’s raving about lunch. Do you want to come with, or should I bring you back some food?”

“We’re coming!” called out Scorio. He stood and looked at Naomi. “Right?”

She sniffed loudly, wiped her sleeve against her face, then sat up straight. “Right. Give me five minutes?”

“Take as long as you need,” he said, moving to the door. “But we’ll be gone in five.”

She gave him a deadpan look. “That makes no sense.”

“I try to make as little as possible,” he said. “It allows me to keep pushing through this world without allowing reality to get me down.” And even though he knew the joke was terrible, it allowed him to smile at her, and to elicit a slight smile from her in return.

Slipping into the common room, he closed the door behind him and leaned against it. Leonis and Lianshi were standing by the front door, hesitant and unsure. He gave them a nod of assurance, but deep within him burned a spark of unyielding rage.

Damn Feng, he thought, pushing off the door. Damn him to hell.