By the time I had completed all two hundred hits, I had missed the dummy just as many times. Although I thought it wouldn't be too bad outright, it turned into something much more exhausting. The first fifty hits I had placed with fairly decent accuracy, however, as I continued I began to get tired, and much more sloppy with my placements. James was criticizing me the entire time, telling me to correct my form, to lunge faster, to fake dodge, all of which made it much more difficult to work with.
I thudded against the floor as I laid on my back, panting, staring up into the high ceiling where Azura still preened her cinnamon colored wings. Golden eyes stared into mine as she cocked her head to the side. I felt beads of sweat trickling down the edge of my face to my neck. I pulled on the neck cover of the uniform ever so slightly to let the coolness of the room flood my skin.
"Not bad," James spoke, his pearly white teeth startling against his deeper skin tone. He towered above me now, couching in front of my head, as he too cocked his head to the side. "Was it really so bad that you can't get up? Or do you just prefer to stare at my stunning face all day?" His face was shaped in a smug expression, one of his eyebrows raised toward the ceiling.
"Like hell, your cockiness won't get you anywhere James," I sneered, forcing myself upright.
"Oh? I think it already has," he said as he stood up. "It gets the fuel going for you. Makes you spill over with rage." He walked over to the weapons wall, scanning them.
"What are you doing?" I asked cautiously, staring at him. He still wore his newly ripped t-shirt, one of a deep navy along with a pair of black sweatpants.
"Well we've got to train you somehow do we not? We'll fight with weapons, and see if you can hit me. I'd prefer if you didn't cut too deep though, I have enough scars as it is," he spoke sarcastically while flexing his right hand, accentuating the scar atop it. "Hm," his eyes trailed over the black metal that held the weapons in place.
"Why don't you just use your whip?" His face seemed to light up at that.
"Although I'd love to my dearest Makayla, it would be wildly unfair to you as," he turned to glance down to the dagger in my hands, "your weapon is not currently long distance compatible."
I rolled my eyes at him, crossing my arms as I stood about seven feet away from him. "So you're going easy on me then?" I scoffed.
"No, not that either, because unlike you, I know how each weapon needs to be used. Its strengths and its weaknesses in a battle. I'm just exceptionally great with my whip," James's hands wandered over to one of the shelves that held numerous daggers, along with throwing knives and shurikens. "Today I feel like we should start out on an even playing field." He gripped a dagger with a blue hilt, ever so slightly smaller than my own. "Mine does have a safety mechanism though, so don't expect me not to draw any blood at all. But then again, you didn't want me to go easy right?" He smiled as he made his way back toward the center of the training room, readying his stance.
I followed suit and did the same opposite him. "What do I do?"
"Remember when we were practicing sparring? Do what I taught you, this time just use your blade as an extension of yourself." I nodded my head, taking a deep breath before lunging forward with my dagger.
James immediately parried, sending a shock through my wrist and up my arm. I stayed there pushing against his blade. "In a battle of strength Makayla, in your current state you won't beat me." He pushed his blade against mine, sending me tumbling backward, I almost fell, barely stumbling back into position. "Use your speed, you will have to be fast against a larger opponent, brute force won't cut it." I nodded my head, shaking out my wrist. "Again," he spoke forcefully as I lunged for him again, this time lower than before.
In the instant it took me to get there James got there faster, his blade snug against my throat as he turned me around, I felt a sting as a small stream of blood began to drip to the floor. I gulped feeling my own pulse from my throat hammering away. I tried to lean back farther to escape the blade but he brought it tighter to my skin. "You can't just think someone will automatically let you win, even if we're friends, you have to see the reality of the situation and think ten steps ahead at all times or you'll get into a pinch. One similar to how we are now." The huskiness of his voice, the utter seriousness of it made a chill run down my spine.
It sent realization flooding through my veins, his words however harsh they seemed were true. At any point someone could kill me. I was weak. If James felt like it he could end my life right here and now. "How do I do that?" He loosened the blade ever so slightly, and as he was about to speak, I kicked him, grabbing his wrist and twisting hard. Sending my free hand with the dagger toward his face, where I cut his cheek just barely before he dodged it. His own weapon clattered to the floor as he touched his cheek with his free hand, looking down as the blood on his fingers.
A look of triumph was plastered on his face. "Not half bad," I released James's hand from my own, walking back to my spot as he picked up his blade.
"Again," I spoke, a newfound determination boiling inside of me, the floor beginning to speckle with crimson from both of our wounds.
"As you wish," he mocked, bowing, lowering his gaze before coming at me faster than I've seen almost anyone move. I staggered to the side barely parrying his own blade, a blade that would have otherwise torn the flesh on my arm. He pushed hard against my blade, and I barely had enough time to bounce back before he was throwing hit after hit at me.
My wrist was throbbing, my arm burning against the constant blows. A cut to my cheek, one to my left forearm, another to my right side, another to my right leg. The blows kept coming at a speed that seemed inhuman. My mind was racing, my body seeming to scream at me to do something to defend myself, I once again parried, sending searing pain through my wrist again. I felt rage dancing through my veins.
Come on Makayla, I thought to myself gritting teeth as I began to push upward against his own blade. Land another hit, fight like you know how. Please. Please. Fragments of memory began to flood my mind, of training, of practice, of James, Chase and I wandering through the woods, of us finding scouts from CLA, of us fighting goblins. I pushed against his blade harder now, the edges of my vision trying to go dark. Remember, said a voice in my head that rang throughout my skull. I was holding onto consciousness by a thread, flipping James's blade away from my own before I pushed my blade against his throat, drawing blood from his tanned skin. A look of astonishment was all I could see as I fell lax against him.
James dropped his blade, at least I assumed so as I heard the clatter of steel hitting the floor beneath us, my vision steadily became darker. "I beat you," I dropped my dagger as I fell like a heap against him, as I passed out.
"Both of you are so weak," a triumphant young me, stood battered and bloody in a training room. A much younger Chase and James lay in a heap clutching their sides, where a small puddle of crimson had formed.
"You didn't have to go so hard on us Makayla," Chase said, clutching the wound at his side, and staring at the one on his brother's.
James removed his hand from his side, staring at the blood that covered it. His younger self was shaking as though in disbelief. "How did you get so strong?" He asked, shocked. I shrugged my shoulders in response.
"I just must be better than you I suppose," Chase picked himself off the floor.
"Have you been training more?" Chase asked his facial features soft.
"Well duh I was tired of getting stepped on all over by the two of you," I stuck out my tongue, and smiled brightly. Chase and James exchanged a bewildered glance.
"With who?" They asked almost simultaneously.
"Florence!"