How To Train Your Endbringer Novels & Stories

The fire in his eyes that wasn’t there before. He meant it. For a second, I almost respected him. I leaned forward, voice low, cold. “You want me to train you? Fine. But I don’t train dogs to fetch. I train them to bite. You’ll bleed. You’ll break. And I won’t stop just because you cry.” His jaw set, tight. “Then break me.” A grin spread slow across my face. “Good. Training starts tomorrow.” The next morning, the house was quiet except for the sound of fists hitting flesh.

“Not with bricks. With focus.” I pull my hair into a loose tie and drop down to the dirt. “Every one of you, sit. Close your eyes. I’ll show you how.” Theron gives me a surprised look, but he doesn’t stop me. The others follow, forming uneven rows across the training ground. The sound of wind and shifting gravel fills the silence. “Start by listening,” I say, walking between them. “To your heartbeat. To the ground under you. To your own breath. Focus on it until nothing else feels real.”

With a final nod, I bid them farewell, knowing that they were now prepared to fight the war that is coming to our pack. During my training, I immerse myself in the ancient teachings passed down through generations of my kind. I study the intricate details of each transformation, learning to manipulate every muscle and bone in my body with precision and grace. I push myself to the limits, testing the boundaries of my physical and mental endurance.

“You think he’ll let you? So you can tell everyone what he’s up to?” That gave the Elder pause for thought. “We will attempt the impossible,” he finally said. “Perhaps you can surprise us all. But I doubt it.” Wouldn’t have killed him to give it a bit of a more positive spin. So my training to become a level two mage began. Slowly. The Elder used the shame-based technique of training, where you constantly act horrified at how useless your student is. “What are those finger movements? Did he teach you that? He has arthritis, that isn’t even close to the correct configuration.”

Brack was trying to train the flight instinct out of me. "There's a time to run and there's a time to kill this motherfucker. That's what you're training for." I grumbled as Brack continued to pummel me with his tough-love techniques. I swam, ran, played racquetball, and picked myself up off the mat more times than I could count. Brack was rightwhen I fell into bed that night, I was too tired to think about what he did in the shower. I have no memory of him climbing in beside me.

“How?” I murmured, sighing, lowering my gaze to his cock, which was at full attention. From zero to a hundred by a single word. My face got hot. And that’s when my training began. For three weeks, he molded me, transformed me. I went from bursting grapes within seconds to holding them inside me for a full minute. He used beads and plugs to get me opened up, he used his voice and his hands, to keep me focused on remaining spread out.

Fennel nodded and said, “Yes. This is only part of the training behind the door. After you enter, you’ll come across a wide variety of talents. Some of them can control flames, some can control water, some can float in the air, some can control lightning, and some can teleport. These are all based on the potential that you stimulate, which is the energy and aura developed in your body. You’ll carry out different targeted training sessions.” Hiss! Philip was stunned. Control fire and water?

I wrestled with the dummy for a while before admitting that I was tired and wanted to rest. He didn’t let me rest for more than two minutes before instructing me tk get up for our next part of the training. For this part of the training, he asked me to see him as an intruder and engage him in a fight. He brought out a piece of paper and a tape. He tore the paper into little pieces and taped them to his joints and asked me to hit those pieces of paper with all that I’ve got. And if I succeed in making him grunt even once, that I’ve won and would be able to take on any foe.

The next three weeks were the most intensive of my life. We restructured everything around teaching Elena control. Maren designed a training protocol that compressed what should have been months of development into concentrated daily sessions. Damien coordinated with the pack to create environments where Elena could practice responding without commanding. I became both mother and teacher, learning to separate nurturing from training even when they overlapped. Elena was six weeks old and looked three months along. She could hold her head up steadily. Could track complex movement patterns. Could make distinct sounds that clearly communicated different needs. And most importantly, she was begin

an hour before my dad gets here, and a few minutes before my training starts. I hear Raz again, "Ok. Mrs. Lambert, your beverage is now gone. It is time we start your training. First, we are going to start with something that is easy. You are going to wake up all the people you awakened without moving or using your voice. Everyone that you awaken forms a bond, a bond that you can use to contact them or they you. Just focus your mind and think of your family and friends and try to push the phrase time to get up, to them."