Chapter Two: Shit-Kicking

Chapter Two: Shit-Kicking

Chapter Two: Shit-Kicking

Toms idea of a perfect day wasnt getting the shit kicked out of him by arrogant young Idealists. Today, however, was a Firstday, and Firstdays were most definitely for shit-kicking.

Still, he made his way across the Academy grounds to the training hall in the near-full light of the morning. The sun wasnt slacking on the heat either, and sweat threatened to pour freely down his back if he hurried.

He wasnt worried though; he was never late for class. His father would make him pay in blood if he heard of it. Tom would never forgive himself either, for that matter. His training was too important, and he drove himself hard. It was the single most important thing in his life if he ever hoped to manifest, and he treated it that way.Visit no(v)eLb(i)n.com for the best novel reading experience

The first and last class of the day was always combat studies. Tom was ambivalent towards it. On one hand, he loved to fight, and he was passing good at it. Excellent really. On the other hand, he had little hope of managing consistent wins against opponents that were stronger, faster and more agile than him, even if he was older and more skilled. That wasnt even counting any skills theyd manifested under their Ideals.

Tom was in an unfair position. He was older than the next oldest students by a year at least, and all of those older students had manifested, most months and months ago, and were just waiting to choose a profession that suited them. There was no real place for him that wasnt awkward. With the choice of either putting him with early teens who hadnt manifested yet either, or placing him with Idealists his own age that beat him bloody every match, the Instructors chose the latter option.

Tom was glad for it, in a perverse way. Everyone knew circumstance was one of the three pillars of manifestation. His father always said that to manifest you needed adversity, and by adversity he meant pain. Beating up little kids ten years his junior would not help him. Getting the shit kicked out of him every day by his classmates just might though.

The training hall was a large, low building set near one of the walls of the grounds. One of the long sides of the building was filled with huge, sliding wooden doors. They stood open, facing onto a dusty training yard. On one side of the yard, against a specially strengthened section of the wall, were targets and dummies made for both mundane and mana-based projectiles. Younger students hurried about, sweeping the circles used for matches and pouring new sand from buckets.

Tom cast about and found Rosa standing with a handful of his classmates by one of the outdoor rings. His Instructor, Cullen Mace, a brawny, bearded ex-Guard, barked at some younger students as they positioned a weapons rack nearby.

Tom moved to join them, and stumbled as he was shoved roughly from behind.

Ready for your hiding today, shit-boy?

Gad, only sixteen, had manifested Bluntness not a month ago. Tom found it fitting. Gad had always been a spoiled pest, but now that he had manifested an Ideal, he was a hundred times worse. His sister, Ella, stood impassively beside him, a hint of distaste on her face. She was much older and taller than her brother, merely stocky where Gad was built like a tree stump. His habitual smug leer split his thick lips.

Nothing to say, huh? Im gonna fuck you up again today, shit-boooy, he said, sounding impressed with himself.

Gad was just the latest of Toms bullies, and not the worst hed had. He would never have dared giving Tom a nickname like that before he manifested. Now, he thought he was Goddess own gift, funny enough to make an orc laugh. Hed gotten after-class work from Instructor Glass, the philosophy instructor, for laughing so much when hed thought of it.

Tom was under no illusions as to what would happen if they fought outside the ring. Likely hed get a hiding from Gad, then from his sister, and then from the closest Instructor. The fact that Gad would cop a beating from the Instructor for fighting too didnt make the idea any more appealing. Well, not much more, anyway.

So, as always, Tom simply bore it. It was hard, though. He straightened, trying his best to seem unaffected. He had a fine line to tread, one hed been walking for years. Appear too weak and he invited more bullying. Appear too angry and he gave them the satisfaction of a rise.

He clenched his jaw and unclenched his fists, fingers shaking slightly. Save it for the ring. Emotions help you manifest. But he knew it for a lie as soon as he thought it.

He envisioned his next series of movements: hyperextend the arm, then strike the elbow to disable it. Step back and sideways to gain distance and force the opponent to turn. Step in and punch through their weak-side guard



but Gad regained his balance too quickly, stepping into Tom and slamming a fist into his gut using the extra momentum. He doubled over, his breath blowing out in an explosive ooft, and Gad finished him with a heavy knee to the chest.

Tom felt ribs crack as he flipped backward and smacked soundly into the sand once again.

Stop! Cullen growled, and Nita, the youthful Healer that was attending the combat classes today, pounced on Tom. A cheer went up from the class, sounding odd and metallic to Tom through the ringing in his head.

Gad gave him a triumphant porcine snort, lording over him a moment before turning around to grandstand to his friends. Tom lost focus as the training yard swam before his vision.

Tsst, she said under her breath as she checked him. Fractured ribs. Possible concussion. She flexed her fingers, muttering to herself about the stupidity of fighting. The skin on her hands began to go translucent, her bones showing black and her veins picked out like bright red cracks. She smelled strongly of pine, perhaps from some cure shed been working on. Her deft hands prodded at his head and chest.

Tom gritted his teeth against painful breaths. Enduring pain, at least, was something he was good at.

Suddenly, an intense crawling feeling surged in his head and chest, and his face felt like it was vibrating. The feeling receded quickly, leaving no pain whatsoever in its wake. Nitas button nose snapped back into focus.

Thank you, he said quietly to the Healer, standing and brushing himself off before giving her a small bow.

She looked him up and down, and gave him a small sigh as she wandered back to the raised chair the Healers used to survey the bouts for injuries.

Healers usually disliked sitting in at the training hall, though it gave them good opportunities to practice their skills. Nita, he had heard, had manifested Blood and Bone, both Ideals which skirted the line of being taboo. If it was true, then she probably didnt get much thanks for her assistance here. The fact that her skills tended towards the Healing arts must have stopped her from being assigned to the Hunters. Healers were much too valuable to have running around outside the walls fighting monsters.

Cullen absently waved him back to the group and called out two more of his peers.

Tom found a place in the sniggering crowd. His mind distractedly ran over his ribs and scalp for injuries like a tongue running over a loose tooth. There were none to be found, and no pain, but after Healing it sometimes took a moment for the mind to catch up with the body.

I should know, he thought. Ive probably been healed more times than a Guard.



Tom watched the remaining bouts with disinterest, trying his best to tune out the whispered sneers and jibes of his fellows around him. They were unimportant. His dignity was unimportant. He had no pride to hurt anymore. All that mattered was manifesting.