Author's note:
Hey there!!!
How are we all doing on this fine day/night/alternate dimension you've stumbled into?
Just a heads-up: the next chapter you see from me will be the grand finale of Book 1! (Don't worry, there are more shenanigans to come - I'm almost finished with Book 2!).
In the meantime, tell me, what are your thoughts on these latest chapters? Are they hitting the mark? Are you sufficiently invested in the characters' questionable life choices?
Spill the tea! Your feedback is my lifeblood (or at least my caffeine IV drip). Let me know what you think! Good, bad, or "this made me snort my coffee," all opinions are welcome!
Ian Flint.
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Chapter 20
"Oof."
Mark hit the floor hard, the impact rattling his bones. The air whooshed out from his lungs, leaving him sprawled on the ground like a discarded rag doll.
For fuck's sake.
He groaned, rolling onto his side and pushing himself up with shaky arms. Every muscle howled in agony, his body a patchwork of aches and bruises.
The room reeked of ozone and sweat, the faint scent of charred wood lingering where his lightning had singed the floorboards. Scorch marks streaked the walls, remnants of their earlier sparring sessions. Julian stood a few paces away, arms crossed, his posture relaxed as if the last hour had been nothing more than a light warm-up.
These daily battles had become a twisted kind of routine, a mix of punishment and addiction.
He knew he wasn't going to win, not yet, but he kept coming back for more, drawn to the challenge, the frustration, the sheer, exhilarating impossibility of it all- a constant reminder of how far he had to go.
It had been a week, a solid week of getting his ass handed to him, and the results were always the same - Julian, calm and untouchable, effortlessly deflecting every attack, while Mark ended up sprawled on the floor, wondering how the hell he'd let it happen again.
I fucking hate this.
But he also loved it. He spent his days replaying the fights in his head, analyzing Julian's movements, strategizing, searching for a weakness, a crack in the his defenses.
He was making progress, albeit slowly. He could tell Julian was having to work a little harder now, his movements not quite as effortless, his expression not quite as bored.
I'm getting there.
Julian stretched, his joints popping. "Alright, kid, let's call it a day."
"Wait," Mark said, wiping the blood from his split lip.
I'm so close.
"One more round."
I think I've almost got it. If I can just time my attacks, use his momentum against him...
He kept visualizing the scenario in his head, the way he could feint with his lightning, then use his speed to close the distance, to land a solid blow.
"Nah. Let's move on to something new."
"Just one more round," he insisted, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"What?" Julian raised an eyebrow. "You got a new strategy?"
Mark spat out a mouthful of blood, his hands crackling with sparks of lightning. He settled back into his fighting stance, his gaze fixed on Julian.
If I can predict his next attack...
Julian shook his head, almost amused. "The answer isn't in your head, kid. It's in your gut. Your instincts. Your connection to your power."
Mark didn't lower his stance. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're still fighting yourself. Trying to control it, tame it. You're treating your power like a tool instead of an extension of yourself. That's why you're stuck."
"I'm not stuck."
"Sure you are. That's why you're thinking so hard about how to hit me instead of just doing it." Julian gestured vaguely at the scorched floor around them. "All this effort, all this energy--it's wasted because you don't trust yourself. You don't trust your power."
Mark groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "So what do you want me to do, exactly? Stop thinking? Just switch my brain off?"
"It's not about turning it off. It's about trusting what your body already knows. Your lightning, your speed, your strength--they're all extensions of you. Treat them like that, and you might start seeing results."
"And if I don't?"
"Then you'll keep getting your ass handed to you."
Mark let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, figured that much. Okay, fine. So what do we do now?"
"We start by breaking down the basics. You've got good technique. Your control is solid, your output impressive. But technique's just the foundation. If you want to be a real threat, you need more than that."
"More what?"
"Experience. Adaptability. A deeper understanding of the nature of your abilities. Raw power and fancy moves will only get you so far. You have to understand your abilities--their essence, their potential, their limits."
"Okay..." He still wasn't sure where Julian was going with this.
"Most people are trained from a young age," Julian continued, pacing slowly around him. "They're constantly sparring, battling, learning to adapt to different opponents, different fighting styles. You, on the other hand, you've mostly just trained with Lida. And while she's a formidable opponent, it's not the same as facing a mage, or a shifter, or... well, a crazy old me."
Mark thought about it.
He has a point.
Lida was strong, terrifyingly so, but she fought like a witch--her magic deliberate, rhythmic, almost methodical. He'd learned to anticipate her movements, the way her body shifted when she prepared a spell, how her voice changed when she chanted an incantation. She was a powerful teacher, but her style was predictable.
Julian was chaos in comparison, all raw precision and unpredictability. And against Elia or that Vora woman, it had been even worse. They hadn't given him time to think, let alone strategize, he'd been completely out of his depth.
"As I said you've got the basics down. Good spatial awareness, decent technique, impressive power output, even a surprising amount of control for a hybrid. But your adaptability... that's an issue."
Julian stopped pacing, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You need to learn to read your opponent, to anticipate their moves, to adjust your strategy on the fly. The time it takes you to assess a situation, to understand your opponent's abilities... that's what'll get you killed in a real fight. And believe me, in this world, the fights get very real, very quickly."
He's right,
Mark admitted silently. He thought of Ria, how effortlessly she had used her ice to control the battlefield when they fought Elia. She created openings, forced them to react to her rhythm.
She's a natural.
"The associations understand this," Julian went on. "They have their young mages battling constantly. It's brutal, but it forces them to adapt, to learn, to survive. They learn to assess a situation, analyze their opponent's strengths and weaknesses, and adjust their tactics accordingly. That split-second decision, that instinctive reaction... that's what separates the survivors from the casualties."
"Okay, so what do we do?"
"We're going to push you out of your comfort zone."
"Comfort zone? Pretty sure I don't even have one."
"It took you a week to figure out how to even
land
a hit on me, kid," Julian said, his voice dry. "In a real fight, that's a death sentence."
