CHAPTER 13: The First Lesson

POV: Neoma

0500 hours didn't come with a sunrise. It came with a fist pounding on my door.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The vibrations rattled my teeth.

"Up," Barzil's voice boomed through the wood. "Training. Now."

I scrambled out of the closet. My body ached from the night spent on the floor—stiff muscles, bruised hip bone. I grabbed the grey training gear they had left for me—loose pants and a tight tank top—and pulled them on with shaking hands. The fabric was cold against my skin.

I barely had time to tie my boots before the door hissed open.

Barzil stood there. Filling the frame. He wasn't wearing his commander's tunic today. He was shirtless. Wearing only black tactical pants.

His chest was a roadmap of scars. Thick ridges of white tissue crossing defined muscle. The Ashfang brand on his pectoral seemed to pulse in the dim light. Heat radiated off him, hitting me in a wave.

He didn't speak. He just turned and marched down the hall. I followed. Jogging to keep up with his long, predatory strides.

We ended up in a massive, windowless room that smelled of stale sweat, rubber, and the ozone tang of rigorous exertion. The floor was covered in black mats. There were no weights. No machines. Just empty space.

Barzil walked to the center of the mat. Turned to face me. He stood loose. Relaxed. His hands hanging by his sides.

"Attack me," he ordered.

I stood at the edge of the mat. Crossed my arms. Hugging myself. "I'm not going to play gladiator for you."

Barzil didn't blink. "You are an asset of Unit Vanguard. Your survival is my responsibility. Currently, you have the survival instincts of a cornered rodent. I need to turn you into a weapon."

"I survived twenty-two years in the Dregs," I snapped. My voice sounded thin in the large room.

"You survived by hiding," Barzil corrected. His voice was gravel. "And running. There is nowhere to run here. Attack me."

"No."

Barzil moved.

He didn't charge. He simply blurred. One moment he was ten feet away; the next, he was in my personal space. The air displaced by his movement hit my face. His hand lashed out—an open-palm strike aimed at my chest.

I didn't think. The Dregs took over.

I dropped to my knees. Dodging the strike. I drove my shoulder into his gut while simultaneously aiming a savage kick at his groin.

It was a dirty, vicious move. In the Warrens, it would have ended a fight instantly.

Against Barzil, it was like kicking a concrete pillar.

He absorbed the blow to his stomach without flinching. His muscles didn't even yield. His hand caught my ankle inches from its target.

His grip was iron.

"Predictable," he grunted.

He twisted his hips and threw me.

The world spun. Gravity reversed. I hit the mat hard.

Wham.

The air exploded from my lungs. I skidded across the rubber, gasping. My vision spotted.

"You fight like a rat," Barzil said, standing over me. "Vicious. Desperate. But sloppy."

I rolled onto my stomach. Coughing. My ribs throbbed. "Rats... survive."

"Rats are stepped on," Barzil countered. "Get up."

I hauled myself up. Anger flared hot in my chest—a physical burn. I wiped a trickle of saliva from my lip.

"You want a fight?" I hissed.

I lunged.

This time, I didn't go low. I feinted a punch to his face. When he moved to block, I snapped my teeth at his exposed forearm.

He pulled back just in time. My teeth grazed his skin—salty, warm. I used the distraction to gouge at his eyes with my nails.

He caught both my wrists in one hand.

With a sigh of disappointment, he swept my legs out from under me.

I hit the mat again. Harder this time. My head bounced off the rubber. The impact rattled my skull.

Barzil pinned me down. His knee on my sternum. His weight crushing the breath out of me. I couldn't expand my lungs. Panic fluttered in my chest.

"You rely on dirty tricks because you are weak," he stated. His face inches from mine. Sweat dripped from his brow onto my cheek. "And you rely on the Void because you are lazy."

"Lazy?" I wheezed. Thrashing against his weight. "It drains... my life."

"Exactly," Barzil growled. "The Void is a finite resource. It eats you to feed itself. If you burn out in the field, if you hit your limit, what are you? You are dead weight. A liability."

He leaned in closer. His golden eyes burning. The gravity in his soul pressed down on mine.

"I will not tolerate liabilities in my Unit. Your body must be the backup. When the magic fails—and it will fail—you need to be able to kill with your hands. You need to be stronger than the magic."

He stood up. Releasing the pressure.

I lay there for a moment. Staring at the ceiling lights. My body screamed at me to stay down. To curl up and protect my vital organs. That was how you survived a beating in the Dregs. You played dead.

But the anger... the anger wouldn't let me.

I rolled over. Pushed myself up to my hands and knees. My arms shook. My hair stuck to my face with sweat.

I stood up. I swayed, but I planted my feet. I raised my fists. Wobbly. Bruised.

Barzil watched me. For the first time, the hardness in his face softened. Just a fraction. He looked at my stance. At the defiance in my eyes. He nodded. Almost imperceptibly.

He stepped back. Opening his stance. He extended a hand, palm up.

"Again."