The weeks blurred into a monotonous cycle of pain, frustration, and exhaustion. Every morning, I dragged myself to the abandoned foundry, muscles sore from the day before, only to find Lawrence ready to push me even harder. By now, I had spent five weeks learning the rigid fundamentals of Shotokan Karate. The stances, blocks, and strikes were drilled into me repeatedly until they were second nature, though Lawrence never seemed satisfied.
"Again," he barked one morning, pacing around me as I practiced the same sequence for what felt like the hundredth time. "Your stances are sloppy. Feet apart. Don't lean forward—your balance is everything."
I gritted my teeth and adjusted my position, sweat dripping down my face. Lawrence's sharp eye caught every mistake, every misplaced step.
"Good," he said after a while, nodding reluctantly. "Now, forget all of that."
I blinked, lowering my fists. "What?"
"Time for something new," he said, dragging a wooden dummy into the center of the room.
I stared at the contraption, its arms jutting out at odd angles. "Is this… kung fu training?"
Lawrence snorted, giving me a look like I'd just said the dumbest thing he'd ever heard. "Kung fu? What, you think you're in a martial arts movie now? Wing Chun isn't about fancy flips or showing off. It's about survival."
He stepped up to the dummy, his movements suddenly fluid and precise. His hands snapped out in rapid strikes, each one landing with a solid thud. "Wing Chun is for close-quarters combat. It's about controlling the centerline, deflecting attacks, and hitting fast and hard where it counts. Vampires won't give you time to wind up a big punch. They're faster than you. Stronger. You need something that works when they're already in your face."
I stepped forward, mimicking his stance as best I could. Lawrence moved to my side, tapping my elbows into place and adjusting my posture. "Economy of motion. No wasted energy. Forget trying to overpower them—that's a death sentence. You have to be quicker, smarter."
I began practicing on the dummy, my punches clumsy and off-target. Lawrence sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "No. You're too stiff. Relax. Let the movements flow."
Easier said than done. My arms felt like lead, my muscles rebelling after weeks of training. Each strike against the dummy felt awkward, like I was trying to fight underwater.
"That's enough for now," Lawrence said after what felt like hours. "We've got more to cover."
He tossed me a blindfold, his tone making it clear this wasn't a request. "Observation training. Put it on."
I tied the blindfold around my head, the world plunging into darkness. "What's the point of this?"
"Flux isn't just about hitting harder or moving faster. It's awareness. Your eyes will fail you in a fight, but Flux will keep you alive—if you learn to use it."
"Great," I muttered. "And how do I do that?"
"By dodging."
Before I could ask what he meant, something small and hard whizzed past my head, grazing my ear.
"What the hell?" I yelped, ripping off the blindfold.
Lawrence stood a few feet away, tossing a handful of metal nuts into the air. "You're supposed to sense them coming," he said with a grin. "Try again."
I reluctantly put the blindfold back on, bracing myself. The next nut clipped my shoulder, and the one after that hit me square in the chest.
"This is impossible," I growled.
"Stop thinking," Lawrence snapped. "Feel. Expand your perception. Flux sharpens your instincts—if you let it."
Taking a deep breath, I tried to focus. The world around me was silent, but I could feel… something. A faint hum, like static in the air.
Another nut came flying, and this time I managed to dodge, though it was more luck than skill.
"Better," Lawrence said. "Again."
We continued the exercise until my arms were covered in welts and my patience was wearing thin. There were moments, though—fleeting, elusive moments—where I felt a strange clarity. A shimmer of awareness that allowed me to anticipate the next move.
It wasn't much, but it was something.
By the afternoon, I was sparring with Sia in the open space at the center of the foundry. She stood across from me, her stance relaxed but poised. Her Flux radiated around her in a faint, controlled aura, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of envy. She made it look so effortless.
"Ready?" she asked, a small smile on her lips.
"Not really," I admitted.
"Good."
She darted toward me with blinding speed, and I barely had time to react. Her first strike was a feint, and I fell for it, leaving myself wide open for a follow-up jab.
"Too slow," she said, stepping back.
I lunged at her, trying to close the distance, but she sidestepped easily, tapping me lightly on the back of the head as I stumbled past.
"Too predictable."
Frustration boiled over, and I threw a wild punch, channeling my Flux in a desperate attempt to land a hit. Sia blocked it effortlessly, her aura absorbing the blow like it was nothing.
"Your Flux is unstable," she said, her tone calm but firm. "You're wasting energy. Focus it."
"I'm trying!" I snapped.
"Try harder," she replied, darting in to land a light jab to my ribs.
By the end of the match, I was gasping for breath, my pride thoroughly bruised. Sia, on the other hand, barely looked winded.
"You'll get there," she said as we sat on the floor, cooling off. "It's hard, I know. When I was training, I felt like I'd never get it. But you have to trust the process. Keep pushing, even when it feels like you're going nowhere."
Her words were comforting, though my frustration lingered.
The next day at school, Peter wasted no time pointing out the fresh bruises on my arms and face.
"Let me guess," he said, leaning against my desk with a grin. "You got into another fight?"
"Something like that," I muttered, pulling my hood up.
Peter squinted at me, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. "You've been acting weird lately. Sneaking off, looking like you got hit by a truck… Come on, Kyon, what's going on?"
"Nothing," I said quickly. "Just stress."
"Right," Peter said, clearly unconvinced. "Well, if you ever want to talk about it, you know where to find me."
Later that evening, I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror and froze.
For a split second, my eyes weren't their usual dark brown—they glinted red, like smoldering embers. I blinked, and the color was gone, but the image lingered in my mind.
I shook my head, trying to dismiss the thought. But deep down, I knew something was changing.
And it terrified me.