Felix gripped the handle of his rapier hard enough to turn his knuckles white. Every thought and feeling was coming to its inevitable boiling point as the hippo comment repeated endlessly in his mind, desecrating the image of the frost-coated angel from the stars into some sort of grotesque animal. Mocking him was one thing and could be ignored a little but to mock someone this lumbering meathead had never even met!
A burning wave of anger flooded his limbs searing away any pain or fatigue he felt. It was like a volcano about to erupt. Anything could set him off to devastating end.
"You don't deserve her,"Felix grit his teeth hard enough he could have sworn they cracked.
"ILL MAKE YOU EAT THOSE WORDS!"Without any kind of vent the fire had burned within Felix without end waiting for the moment to explode. To burn and consume everything around him mercilessly. Without control that may very well have been what happened. Fire elementalists could freely manipulate open flames at whim just like the other practicioners. What made them so dangerous was with practice a Fire elementalist could create fire from a spark of their emotions.
The gleaming sword in his hand held the weight of his anger as it became the focal point of the latent power trapped inside. The steel point of the dulled rapier was absorbing all of it with ease, taking in the raw emotions let loose and turning it to heat.
When Felix advanced with sword at the ready, its tip had turned a violent red that was spreading downwards. The attack pattern was simple and straightforward; a series of fast slashes from left to right followed by an angry thrust. The blows were strong but uncoordinated, any semblance of true technique lost in the blinding rage.
Jordan stood, his will still and calm, his body held with poise. He heard the scream of rage somewhere in the back of his mind, but his hearing was much more attuned to the thumping of his heartbeat, to the crackling sounds of his opponent's foil, a sound that was gentle, yet lethal. The boy was burning his sword. The Gym Teacher tsked, unconsciously. He saw the way the battle would turn out, already. It was that way with some fights. The worst were the ones that gave you no chance to see the way through, that just tossed you into the mire to see if you came out alive on the other side.
The first blow, always a crucial factor. It could be your last, or the first in a series of triumphal blows. But it could always be your last. Luckily for Jordan, this particular blow came with the expected force and speed. After all, he'd been studying the boy since they'd first begun to interact. He'd long grown familiar with the boy's body language, his stances, and he felt he had a fair appraisal of the boy's fighting style, especially when angry.
It was like when you started to learn a new language, and you could listen to somebody explain something, know what they meant, even if you couldn't pinpoint the exact words.
Jordan blocked, applying the first coat of reinforcement to his blade, crystallizing the surface, realigning the metal. Bringing it to order, applying subtle and insistent pressure. His will shaped the weapon, and his direction shaped its course. Manilow's blade took the force beautifully, the core of the sword remaining flexible, while the merest leaf of the outer layer proved harder than rock. Hard as diamond, perhaps.
Where Felix's blade met Jordan's, there was a mournful clang, and the cherry red of the blade bowed significantly. At least, such a thing would be visible had the boy paused to check. Perhaps he might have realized his error if he broke then, and Jordan would have had the decency to offer him a new foil. But no, the second, third, and fourth swipes, all hugely choreographed, so much so that Jordan felt he was the one having to react more slowly to be in proper time, all came heedless of the rapidly deteriorating integrity of the foil's metal.
The school had excellent funds, but even a strong funding base can only provide for so many foils of quality. And if Jordan were honest with himself, he'd diverted quite a few funds to his shed. He'd justified it as a necessity for the school's security, but he doubted the school's superintendent would see it that way.
Thus, when Felix made his last vigorous thrust, the blade was bent in about half a dozen places, and glowing hotly as though a smith had yet to make a sword with it.
Jordan side-stepped easily, and then slashed downward with his own thrust, at half the speed, and managed to completely cut the sword in two, the searing metal cleaving at the points where the metal had warped beyond repair. The gym's wooden treated floor hissed and whined and the heat crackled into it from the fallen bits of metal. Jordan brought his own foil up to Felix's neck, smirked, and conjured a barrier of sand, gathering up the molten metal into a heap in the corner of the gym.
"Now just imagine what would happen if you ever overreacted that way towards her." His singular statement was punctuated by the still-loud hisses of metal trying to melt through the inner layers of rock.
The warped red blade struck hard time and time again in a shower of angry sparks, the wielder willfully oblivious to the growing damage to the blade as it warped out of shape further and further until finally it was beyond use. Still seething with anger, the seemingly endless spirit pouring out of Felix hadn't even begun to cool off. Not by a long shot. In a fit of rage Felix tossed the red hot piece of warped steel across the room and marched over to the rack to receive another one.
Again that energy had nowhere to go but the nearest object, heating the sword as quickly as the last.
Sadly to the same effect.
Over and over the same mistake was repeated to the same end. Felix wildly slashing full tilt and Manilow responding with the same dreary, almost bored, expression. It was humiliating to be bested, toyed with even, and kept the pressure up in Felix. Stubborn to the bitter end..
let go of it The whole universe felt like it had stopped. Indeed that single moment almost had. Felix felt his hand bringing the sword down but the action was simply not happening fast enough, Manilow had already put his guard up anyways so the strike would be worthless.
The sword would be too if this kept up.
Is this how you want it?Was that his own thought or.. How could it be anyone elses! Absurd. Felix tried to think but found it impossible. There was nothing for him in this fight now, and he knew it. Locked in this moment was enough for him to really look at the foe ahead of him, muscled and scarred. Years of experience packed into his frame and etched onto his flesh as a testament to achievement.
In retrospect, the ill-tempered lad had nothing to show for his practice here and now but a few mangled swords. Burns on his hands caused by himself.. Nothing but pain he deserved.
Learn. Felix could only see Jorden, couldn't glance around, but felt it. Something else entirely. Something shimmered behind his opponent but couldn't be seen.
Control it.The shimmer was getting brighter now. Painfully so, to the point where it was beginning to swallow Manilows face.
WinThe voice was deafening, echoing so loud in his skull that the boy was certain the words had been spoken aloud. It hummed with life and power beyond his imagination. A glimpse of the sun itself behind Manilow, eclipsing everything now, dominated his vision with roaring flames.
Felix dropped the blade mid-swing and screamed, fumbling back from the vision. In a blink of the eye it was gone, nothing but Jorden staring down at him with a raised eyebrow. All Felix cared about at that moment was getting away from the teacher and whatever he had seen behind him, all but scrambling on his behind across the floor as fat beads of sweat dripped down his forehead.
Snarling rage had been replaced with an overwhelming shock.
"J-just now! You felt it right? The sun! The inferno. It.. It was here, it was behind you, burning me alive. Stealing the air from my lungs as it consumed us both.."Jorden eyed the boy skeptically as he glanced over his shoulder to find, sure enough, nothing. Just the charred spots on the floor from the melted slag of Felix's destroyed swords. Turning back to eye the boy suspiciously, he lowered the rapier respectfully but did lower his guard. Something spooked the kid but there was always a chance this was a distraction.
Felix took his time focusing on just getting air back into his lungs. The whispers and shouts of.. advice? Both lingered in the back of his mind as he slowly got both feet firmly on the ground, concentrating on the task at hand. The experience had been overwhelming to say the least. After whatever that was he felt.. tired. Adrenaline had evaporated under the duress of his own minds over-imagination..
A quick glance at Manilow reminded him of the why and where. Fighting, swordsmanship.. something about a hippo?
"I'm.. its ok. Just a.. thing. Mind playing tricks.."Get your head in the game, god damnit! We said he would eat his words.. lets just try to get a hit in first. Start small! Yeah!Felix took the last sword from the rack calmly, focused on the weapon itself instead of his frustrations. Words of advice he didn't understand danced at the edge of his conscience thoughts to guide his rampaging soul into working order, feeling the energy in his body flow.. around the sword. The heat of his burning will was coating the weapons dulled edge.. It wasn't perfect by any means but it was a far better attempt than the other pieces of molten scrap he had created.
Returning to his position across from Manilow, Felix did was he expected the teacher least expected. A bow. Blade in hand at his side, the fiery student offered a low and respectful bow expected from a student to a teacher rather than a dismissal wave. Not even a rude comment. Taking up proper footing, Felix slid his leg back and pivoted so that his right leg was leading with the rapier in the right hand waiting for Manilow to take the first move.
Jordan took a deep breath, and he sunk himself ever deeper into the stance, the headspace, the attitude of a warrior. Initially taken aback by Felix's odd behaviour, it seemed that whatever had affected him had dispelled that cloud of anger weighing down his movements.
"Good," Jordan said quietly, watching the boy bow.
"You're finally taking this seriously." He flicked his foil back and forth, working the kinks out of his wrist. His left wrist. Locking eyes with the boy, the gym teacher switched hands to his right, and then sighed gently. As though relaxing, and not giving any indication that he was-
A purposeful distraction, accompanied by a lightning quick lunge forward on legs pushing him forward so quickly that Jordan's hips seemed almost perpendicular to the floor. A vaulting uppercut and a forceful kick into proper stance once again. Mere inches from Felix's own place, Jordan then skipping back with a feinted slash and flourish of the blade that left the foil pointing toward Felix just as before, only now being pointed from a radically different place. In the span of perhaps a couple seconds, Jordan had invaded Felix's space, brushed blades with him, and evaded just as quickly. Terribly showy, and not practical against somebody of Jordan's skill level of higher. But now, and against a novice, Manilow was willing to have some fun.
Jordan's first honest attack, a simple touché, came after a couple caught breaths. His rapier spiralled in a blur towards Felix's chest, brushing the boy's own foil aside as though it were an after-thought, and felt the blade give as it pressed into the boy's chest.
Manilow came away, wiped a shiny coat of sweat from his brow, and cleared his throat.
"The first and only determinant in fencing is finesse, and its only dependent factors are those of speed, accuracy, and reflex. Technique is a prerequisite to all three of those, and such mastery of technique requires many hundreds of hours of drills, physical training, and competition with athletes of similar skill level. Also, don't try and pull any of that shit I just did, with the leaping and the spins. That was me being a show-off. I'm by no means the best at this particular discipline, but I have unquestionably mastered the basics. Why did you choose this martial form for our fight? You must've known you wouldn't stand a chance against anybody with any real experience. I mean, just look at how you're holding your sword."
I don't have a damn choice to be anything but serious, now do I?Felix was not a soldier. Every nerve in his body was on edge at Jordens sudden change of attitude. It had gone from the usual mild-seriousness to an almost casual approach.. It was as if he was-
The strike was perfectly executed and deathly fast, too fast for the lad to even try and defend against with anything serious of his own but to his credit both blades struck as reflex took over where thought could not. Sparks flew as the two weapons clashed. Felix's own blade withstood the strike unbent.
Doesn't matter. We knew going in he was gonna be tough, but damn!The foil came in at a dizzying display of control, a fairly common misdirection that shouldn't have caught him but the blade he held was pushed aside before Manilow struck home with a direct hit to the chest. Blade out wide there was nothing he could do but accept the strike for what it was. Of course that didn't mean Felix was going to be happy about it; far from it!
Familiar anger welled up in his chest that spread to his eyes before a quick intake of breathe focused that feeling onto himself. His body, his arms, the steel in his hands. If it was the last thing he did Felix swore there would be a strike that landed on this pompous macho.
"Why do I choose this martial form?"That was the first real question Felix felt compelled to answer with something beyond a snide remark. His posture slouched as he looked away from Manilow, eyes a thousand miles away at a home long gone.
"Because it used to mean something. Every moment of my younger life was spent in the room performing the basics you preach about because there was nothing else for me. No friends, little family, just me and a quiet room full of expectations.." memories of his time as a boy flooded his thoughts as he recalled, days on end, practicing the simplest of moves; The lunge. Like Jorden had demonstrated it was just a forward rush aimed at the opponent, but footwork and precision were crucial. Strike after strike on the wooden target until every thrust was where it needed to go.
As a teenager the muscle memory was there but.. it was distant. Unused. The memories were there but the skills were rusted over.
With conviction burning on his face Felix locked eyes with Manilow,
"I chose this because it is all I have left. One last chance at a respectful fight that doesn't end with a bare knuckles.." He left out the obvious fact that hitting Jordan was futile anyways. Instead Felix focused on his hands, both of them stung from the abuse he had inflicted on himself over the last few days that swelled painfully whenever he tightened his grip.
Even now his right hand bled ever so slightly into the dirty stained bandages she had put on him.
Like a badge of honor he stood taller at the thought of her.
Just gotta wait for a strike I can predict. If I can just time it right.. Felix stood his ground and took up his stance, blade at the ready and light on his feet, and focused on the opponent ahead. Now it wasn't Manilow that looked at the adolescent but the image of his father scowling back.. The source of his agitation.
I'll crush you for good.
Jordan listened to the boy state his convictions, and saw him lie in wait, more cautious, and attentive. That was good of him. He was actually paying attention now. And Manilow believed him, that he might have seriously practiced fencing, and developed some skill with the blade. Of course, training alone would've reinforced his errors, but Jordan had seen many an old pro lose their lustre after a sufficient break period. The key now? Probably to throw him a bone, Jordan figured. The convictions in his ability and techniques wouldn't loosen until he'd been given evidence that he wasn't just throwing himself against a wall. Manilow hadn't the time, environment, or resources to carefully break down the boy into a malleable state the way he might with a new recruit to his unit. He needed this done delicately, and with more finesse than one might expect.
"The only way you can disrespect somebody in combat is to not take the fight seriously, to not p-"Jordan did it again, feigning a predictability that he would never have risked in a fight where he was at risk of losing, or even reaching a tie. He leant back onto his leg nonchalantly as he spoke and then shot forward, low to the ground, and then opened up with a flurry of strikes, this time aiming for the boy's blade, treating it as though it were Felix's torso. The blades clanged and sparked, and Jordan spent what he felt was enough time to reinforce the notion that what happened next was not at all intentional.
Two things, piled on top of each other, leading to disaster? Such a thing was not merely impossible to fake, but ridiculous to expect, especially from an old pro like Jordan. Of course, his finishing thrust, coordinated with such fervour that a blind man could readily point out the direction, angle, and speed of the blow was made. And in the same instance, Jordan's shoe slipped on the gym floor. Of course, it was really sand slipping underneath his shoe, deliberately, but that would have been something Felix needed to be watching for, instead of fighting to beat back his teacher's blows.
Come on then, I've thrown you this bone. Reach out and grab it Felix! Jordan thought as he fell, preparing in his throat a cry of surprise and frustration.
Felix held firmly and gave ground freely under the weight of Manilows sudden offense. Each attack carried a significant amount of weight behind them that the ill tempered lad could scarcely keep up with let alone retaliate against and yet from the outside it looked as if he were doing just that, matching strokes and lunges with his own as the two blades shed sparks.
Eyes locked unshakably on the brutish teacher.
Back and forth it went as the two combatants traded blows now. With his initial momentum slowing down they were locked in a contest of stubborn will with Felix suffering the most and finally realizing the difference between them. Like a flower blooming in an open field he realized this school held monsters within it disguised as the staff that had clawed from the bottom to stand where they did.
Blinded to the harmony of this place his minds eye was drawn instead to what he had seen. Wielders of flame and stone alike, people flying in the sky, and controlling the waters with grace.
If they wanted to any one of them could kill another.
If they weren't careful-
The critical moment was interrupted as Manilows defense slipped wide, opening his chest to a single chance at a strike. It was all Felix needed, wanted, desired in the world, and by whatever demons in his heart it would be so! The tip of his blade slipped aside of Jordens, slapping it harmlessly to the side before being brought back for the thrust.
No more big talker.
No more bullying.
This was the start of an end for the dirty dust covered meathead that paraded himself around as the toughest.. Felix was going to throw him from that lofty perch one day!
A key part of the swirling collection of raw fire that danced across his blade the focus needed to keep it there, contain it across the edge of the foil instead of storing it all inside like a bomb. Without that focus to keep it around and in...
It went out.
All at once it erupted in a catastrophic ball of biting flames, the pent up anger and raw emotions that were the foundation of Felix's ever burning spirit. Released without knowing. The pain in his hands, the bleeding, thoughts of his father, everything and anything that elicited a strong internal response fueled his ability to create flames and rarely had he ever found an outlet.
The detonation triggered the moment his dulled point hit Manilows chest.
An overwhelming sense of pride and happiness became the spark. While the flames were short lived and quickly consumed, it was enough to launch poor Felix clear across the room in a heap as the dirty clothes that hung across him blackened every further from the uncontrolled burst.
Exhausted, Felix couldn't move if he tried. Instead.. he just laughed. A chuckle of true happiness untainted by self doubt or fear of failure, but true and honest happiness.
"I think.. I went.. Too far.." He groaned.
Jordan was falling, and he inwardly whooped when Felix took the bait. Although he frowned slightly when he caught the expression on the boy's face.
Have I just set this kid up to exploit his full potential and use a maximum energy attack on my body point blank? Fuck I'd better harden my ch-Felix's sword exploded. Jordan flew through the air. With near instinctual reflexes he twisted in the air and landed on his feet. Jordan gingerly rubbed at his chest, feeling for any permanent injury. Perhaps a slight bruise. Jordan saw the boy was in much more of a state. He hurried to his side, and trying to be as gentle as possible, hefted the boy up in his arms. Jordan took the boy over to his office, and used his power to clear his desk of clutter, a wave of sand brushing the wood clean. He then collected the sand and packed it to form a simulacrum of a cushion.
Laying Felix back on his desk, Jordan chuckled lightly, patting the boy's shoulder.
"Sit tight, and I'll go get the nurse to look you over. We'll get some training for you yet, you've just got to stick with it."And so Jordan left his office, rushing off to the infirmary to call a nurse back to the gym. And once he'd turned the corner, he took a breath, and calmed himself. They'd fought, and Jordan had had to work harder than he'd have thought, though nowhere near his maximum strength. He shook his head, and made his way out the back entrance of the dorm. It'd be quicker to get up to see the nurse.
And thus, Jordan's sigh of relief went unheard.
