Nadia lay in bed staring at the embroidered ceiling.

Nadia was a cripple.

She couldn’t move her hands and her legs were practically worthless. Grant said her legs would likely recover, but her hands would never be the same.

The enormity of what the bastard had done to her was starting to sink in.

She was done.

Finished.

Her political career was finished. The cardinal sin in politics was to appear weak, and being rendered a cripple unable to hold a sword certainly covered that.

She began thrashing in place, her mind overwhelmed with a wordless howl.

I’ll kill him! I’ll kill him, but not before I torture him…I’ll shove flesh eating beetles up his ass and humiliate him by dragging him naked through the streets of Eshtha, cut his nipples off, tar and feather him, then light him on Fire!

Nadia tried to clench her fists, but they didn’t respond.

“Gah!”

Her eyes hurt and her pillow was getting wet now, for some odd reason. Great, there’s a leak in my tent. I’ve really hit rock bottom. It made her eyes hurt more.

“So princess,” Grant said entering the tent. “Those wasps really did a number on our organization and morale, it’ll be a day before we’re ready to go fight again.” Grant looked up and his expression became a bit smug as he saw her face.

That made her eyes hurt more. She didn’t like it.

“Day? DAY!? To recover from bug bites!?” Nadia demanded.

“A couple hundred died in the confusion, actually. Part of me can’t help but think that this level of response may be attributed to a certain person using Berserk, which is a forbidden spell for a reason.” Grant said. “Since it has a tendency to bring out the worst in people.”

“What will miss aspire to now? Queen of the bedsheets?”

Royal Order.

22/35 Bent remaining.

“Grant?”

“Yes?” he asked with his smug smile and unbroken nose.

“Punch yourself in the face as hard as you can.”

He twitched, his muscles clenching. Grant’s hand curled into a fist and hurtled up toward his face for an instant before he caught it with his other hand, muscles slowly relaxing.

“Nice try, miss.”

“Please.”

21/35 Bent Remaining.

Grant gave a friendly grin as the spell disarmed his defenses and invaded his mind, reorienting his perceptions to make the task seem less horrible, and her seem more reasonable and deserving of acquiescence.

“Oh, all right,” he said with a smile.

He punched himself in the face, hard, staggering backward with a stunned expression on his face.

“How did you –“

“Get out of my tent. Take your day to recover. But be aware that I can just as easily have you end your own life. Question my decisions if you wish, but if I ever hear you mock me again, you’ll cut out your own tongue.”

Grant reddened, his hand inching toward his new sword for an instant before he too a deep, calming breath. He knew he was out of line, there.

“As you command, your highness.”

The large man bowed and left the large tent, leaving Nadia to continue staring at the ceiling, her thoughts inevitably turning back toward the wretch who’d done this to her.

She would visit every indignity on him a thousandfold, if she could just walk.

Every indignity on him…and his friends.

The violent reaction toward her intention to use the large one as a hostage didn’t escape her notice. The sheer anger in his eyes...seen over her shoulder as he mounted her like an animal, pulling her neck painfully back while she was utterly helpless and in pain.

A warmth began to gather between her legs, and she looked down at it accusingly. Being helpless to do anything about it just made it worse. Her hand twitched feebly.

And now I can’t even masturbate! I’ll kill him!

“Hard day?” The Malkenrovian delegate said with mock sympathy as it entered the the tent. Ostensibly it was female, but there was no way she was calling it a she. She implied some level of autonomy, and it was just a puppet, not a woman.

“Do my guards just let anyone in now?” Nadia asked, irritated at the interruption from chewing on her grudges.

“Yes. Yes, We imagine they do now,” It said, staring at her like a spider.

“What do you want?”

“We smelled the scent of the Originator. We smelled Elliot. Where has he gone?”

Her lips split back from her teeth in a horrifying facsimile of a smile.

“We wish to know. The One wishes to know.”

“Elliot?” Nadia asked with a frown. That’s odd. The walking tree introduced him as Calvin.

“He’s in Mujenan,” She said, thinking fast.

“Really? We think this is terribly convenient for you.”

“He was here, then he left, you said so yourself,” Nadia reasoned. “Mujenan is the only place he could’ve gone. Help me crack it open, and you’ll have this Elliot you seek.”

It studied her for a moment.

“Yes. We will provide, but this is something that cannot be left in the hands of another.”

Without warning the creature lunged across the tent, drawing its hand back and striking down at her chest in the blink of an eye. Nadia’s arms raised to stop it, but her hand simply folded out of the way.

Strange black snakes tore out of the creature’s palm and buried themselves in her flesh, sending a paralyzing pain through her lungs as they began to curl around her major organs.

In a panic, Nadia did the only thing she could think of.

Royal Order.

20/35 Bent Remaining.

“Stop.”

The creature ignored her whispered command, driving the snakes deeper into her chest, filling them with freezing cold.

“Please.”

A few bubbles of blood escaped her lips as the snakes drove air out of her lungs, and in moments, her vision went white.

***Calvin***

Calvin was floating face up in the ocean, eyes closed against the noon-day sun, perfectly relaxed, perfectly at peace.

Warm sun, warm water. I don’t think anything could ruin this.

The sun darkened, and Calvin peered through his eye to see a giant looming over the ocean, between him and the sun.

That’s weird. I guess I spoke too soon.

“Kinda looks like Kala, actually.” A voice from his right said.

Calvin glanced over and spotted the man behind the mirror, still wearing his strange clothes, floating in the water beside him.

“Elliot?”

“That’s me.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Pssh,” Elliot scoffed. “Don’t look at me, it’s your near death experience.”

“My what?”

Another shadow moved over the sun, before the sun itself unhinged and fell aside to allow a giant black tube to come down from the sky, shrinking as it forced itself into his mouth.

Calvin tried to raise his hands and push it out of the way, but realized he couldn’t move his arms.

“Here we go.” Elliot said, flipping over, and Calvin had just enough time to notice the man was lying on some kind of brightly colored sled on the water, before he felt a tremendous heat build inside him, choking him.

On the horizon, the ocean began to roil before it suddenly heaved, creating a gigantic wave that towered over the two of them.

“Whooo!” Elliot shouted as the wave came crashing down. The last thing Calvin saw was the man climbing up on his sled and somehow standing on it before a rush of water slammed into his face.

***

Calvin’s eyes flew open, his pupils aching at the bright light above him, only mitigated by Kala and Ella standing over his bed. His face had droplets of something on it, his throat was sore, and he was colder than he’d ever been in his life.

“Oh, thank the gods,” Kala said, sweat dripping off of her as she collapsed backwards onto the wooden floor.

“Calvin?” Ella said, peering into his eyes. “how are you feeling?”

“Not great.” Calvin said hoarsely. If he didn’t know better he would have sworn someone had just used a wooden dildo on his throat.

“Where were you born?”

“Deinos.”

“fifteen plus twenty-one.”

“Thirty-six, why?”

“Checking for soul damage.” Ella said, her big fingers his eyelids back.

“That’s a possibility?” Kala asked, becoming alert.

“When warriors are brought back from the brink of death with Noeula, sometimes they lose bits of themselves along the way. Calvin seems okay, though.”

It’s brain damage from oxygen deprivation, not soul damage, you savages.

“Brink of death?” Calvin asked. “What happened?”

“You went to bed with an unbandaged, aggravated wound and nearly exsanguinated in your sleep.” Kala said.

“Ex-what?” Calvin asked.

“Bled dry,” Ella said. “Lucky for you, I felt you stop breathing, and we had enough Noeula left to patch you up.”

“Didn’t you want me as a Chained Spirit?” Calvin eyed her suspiciously. “Seems counter-productive to let me live.”

“Pssh,” She waved a hand. “That would be petty, and you grow much faster as a living man than as a Chained Spirit.”

She leaned close, her breasts encompassing his cold, weak arm as she spoke beside him.

“Besides, I want to see you with a beard.”

“Me too,” Calvin and Kala said at the same time, before glancing at each other.

“Hey Calvin, guess what-“ Baroke stopped just inside the door, holding a loaf of bread and a full pot of soup as he eyed the three of them.

“Was I interrupting something? I could come back later, with all this delicious soup.” The smell wafted over to Cal and his stomach made its presence known with an angry growl.

“Nope, I’m starving,” Calvin said, reaching his arms toward the pot of steaming sustenance and making the ‘gimmie’ motion.

“Right, sit up, buddy. Your arms are probably too weak, so let your good friend Baroke feed you.”

“To the Abyss with that.” Calvin said, reaching toward the pot.

“Now now,” Baroke said, easily pushing Calvin’s weak hands back down to the bed. “Don’t overtax yourself.”

The towering mass of muscle took a seat on a stool in front of him and began blowing on a spoonful of soup as he watched Calvin with an amused smirk.

No matter how many eye-daggers Calvin shot at him, the musclebound idiot didn’t relent and hand off the food to someone Calvin actually wanted before shoving the spoonful of Baroke-breath soup into his mouth.

“I’m covered in sweat,” Kala said, pinching her dress between her fingertips. “I need a bath and a change of clothes,” She retreated from the room.

Nooo, don’t leave me with this bastard!

“Good to see you’ll make it, Incha Huala, you’ve got a good friend.” She gave him a Genosian sign of encouragement and walked out of the room, abandoning him to his plight.

“Way to kill the moment.” Calvin said between spoonfulls of soup.

“What are friends for?” Baroke said.

“Remind me why I saved you from the Ilethans again?”

“You did what now?” Andra asked as she entered the room.

“Encouraged him to escape his…trauma. With my prayers.”

“Uh huh,” She glanced at the blood-soaked bindings around his stomach and back up to his face.

“You didn’t go anywhere last night did you?”

“How could I?” Calvin asked, pointing at his now healed wound. Luckily she couldn’t see that through the bloody bandages. Not technically a lie, but close.

“There was a kerfluffle with the princess leaving some kind of kidnapper’s note and running off the entire night. Know anything about that?”

“I didn’t know about it, no.” Certainly didn’t know about the note.

“She claimed she did it to get out of her responsibilities for a night, but behavior like that is deeply uncharacteristic. Any ideas?”

“I’m just as surprised as you are.”

Andra’s eyes narrowed, glancing him over. “Unhelpful. Good work on the wall the day before. You’re officially a veteran. Once your wound is sufficiently healed in a couple weeks, you’ll be back to defending the wall.”

A shudder went down Calvin’s spine, and Andra smiled at his expression.

“Any idiot can run into battle once believing he’s invincible. The second time, that takes guts.”

She turned to leave and glanced at Baroke, as if seeing him for the first time.

“Stand up.”

Baroke lifted a brow and stood up, towering over her.

“What’s your name?”

“Baroke.”

“Baroke, do you use a sword?”

“Bow.”

“Ah, shame,” She eyed him up and down. “And, are you good with it?”

“Level sixteen.”

“You got a bow?”

“Lost it in Surrak.”

“What’s your draw?”

“Six hundred pounds.”

A wicked smile spread over the general’s face, and she clapped him on the shoulder.

“Well, Baroke, give the quartermaster your name this evening, and he’ll have something good for you. Also you’re drafted.”

Baroke’s eyes widened.

“But-“

The general was already gone, her cloak billowing in the doorway as she turned the corner.

“Can she do that?” He asked, looking at Calvin.

“Probably. Guess you were right about them wanting your magnificent body,” Calvin said, feeling a smug grin blooming on his face.

“Careful,” Baroke warned, raising the steaming pot. “If you don’t want this soup in your lap. I’m still not entirely sure this isn’t another Ilethan mind trick to get me to shoot people.”

Baroke sat back down and fed Calvin until they were both sick of it, then he left Calvin to his own devices. Ella was off somewhere, and Kala didn’t come back, so he had nothing to do but twiddle his thumbs.

A week or two, huh? Calvin wasn’t exactly chomping at the bit to get back out there where people were trying to kill him. He needed a better defence, and he had a damn good idea where to start.

Calvin closed his eyes and folded his arms over his stomach.

Eye of the tiger

Shadow Boxing.

Calvin stepped outside his house into the cold morning air of Deinos and took a deep breath, missing the unique smell of the village beside the muddy river.

Karen was standing in the middle of the practice yard, her massive biceps coiling and uncoiling as she stretched out for the morning practice.

“’bout time,” his adoptive mother said, motioning for him to join her.

Calvin did his stretches and the two of them faced off.

Karen slid forward into his space, intending to knock him off balance, not even bothering to use her sword.

Calvin focused on his new defensive skill, trying to redirect her bull rush.

Beli Ma

It amounted to almost nothing. Her shoulder slammed into his unprepared face, and he was thrown violently to the ground, bleeding from his nose in his own imagination.

“Huh,” Karen said, frowning down at him rather than pulverizing him with a follow-up. “What was that?”

“I was trying to slide it to the side.” Cal said.

“Interesting,” she said, giving him a suspicious look. “I didn’t teach you that.”

“I’m trying something new.”

“Your funeral kid, get up.”

Calvin climbed to his feet and readied his stance. He needed to incorporate his two main ways of defending himself: manifesting blades through his skin where people were striking, and deflecting attacks, until they became one cohesive whole.

Karen thrusted forward with her sword, and Calvin adopted the Beli Ma stance, dragging his palm in front of the wooden sword, which was thrown off target enough to jab him in the shoulder instead of the heart.

Karen followed through with an elbow strike to his chest designed to make him wish he was dead, using the opening provided by his hand sweeping to the side.

Calvin didn’t have enough control over it, and he didn’t need to be overly concerned with the safety of his imaginary sparring partner, so he pushed his one absorbed knife out of his chest in the path of her elbow.

After that, things didn’t go quite as planned.

The elbow redirected mid-strike to catch him in the jaw, causing his consciousness to turn fuzzy as Karen rode him to the ground. Catching him in a submission position before they hit the earth.

“Alright you little shit, where’s Calvin?” His adoptive mother said, her face red with anger as her huge hands cinched down around his neck, making his spine creak. “You obviously think I’m an idiot, using Beli Ma and Whatever that other thing was. Who do you work for? The Buleyan council? The Hash’Maje? Elliot? Hmm?”

“IIII MEEAIOOO!” Calvin gurgled, trying to speak through the chokehold.

“What?” she said, relaxing her grip.

“It’s meditation!” Calvin said with a gasp of air. This shadowboxing is going poorly.

That’s what happens when you Shadowbox way above your level.

She grabbed the blade sticking out of Calvin’s chest and yanked it painfully out of his skin, before holding it up to his mouth.

“What the hell does ‘it’s meditation’ mean?” she asked, glaring down at him. “Answer my questions or I remove your tongue.”

Over the next fifteen minutes, through a great deal of discomfort and clarifications, Calvin managed to explain that he was indeed Calvin, and that she was a figment of his imagination in the construct of Shadow Boxing.

When she finally believed him, Calvin expected her to have a nervous breakdown from the existential dread of ceasing to exist when he opened his eyes again, but as usual, she was thinking something totally meat-headed.

She tapped the knife against her knuckles, pondering. “So what you’re telling me is…Because this is all in your head…I don’t have to pull my punches anymore?”

“…I guess not?” Calvin hazarded.

I can’t get hurt with Shadow Boxing, could I?

Of course not. Probably. Maybe?

“I’ll go get my real sword.” She said with a wide grin, heading for her house.

“Crap.” Calvin muttered as he watched the giant warrior skip away in delight.

…

…..

Beli Ma has reached level 3!

Beli Ma level 1: Redirect force. 15% correction.

Calvin gasped as his eyes shot open, raising his shaking limbs up to his eyes.

“Oh, thank the gods, they’re still there.” He allowed his weak arms to flop back to the bed.

Maybe spar with someone easier, like Kort or Jinnei? Elliot suggested.

Not if I want to be as good as I can be. Wait…how did Karen know your name?

Probably some other Elliot.