20
Eric
“You have to concentrate, Shoman,” Urte bellowed over the explosion as I slammed into the white wall, gasping for breath.
My black T-shirt was shredded, and my skin was burning. I was already drenched in sweat, and it stung my eyes. The simulation room was kicking my ass.
I pushed off the wall and leapt to the side as a beam of light struck where I’d been standing. The wall shattered, dust flying over my arms, and I cursed, dodging another attack. My muscles strained against the abrupt movements.
Minutes before, I was acing my fight with Urte. I was quicker and stronger than he was, but his light replica was beating me every time. Her realness was eerie. She was tall, and her striking white hair blinded me. Her dark eyes were hollow, yet they followed me as she lurked from one corner of the room to another. Even for a light, she was impossibly flawless. She easily dodged anything I threw at her.
Urte warned me she would appear real, but I hadn’t expected the illusion to be so—physical. When she touched me, I felt her. When she attacked, I heard her breath. When she moved, her hair followed. She reacted differently every time, and her shadow followed her wherever she went. Nothing about her seemed artificial.
A bright light filled the training room, and I rolled, attempting to avoid her attack, but my foot caught the tile. The blast smacked my body against the ground, and my teeth clenched as I wheezed, trying to breathe. This was ridiculous.
“Your endurance is too weak,” Urte said, and I lifted my arms, blocking her endless assaults.
“You’re not the one who’s been fighting for two hours,” I shouted back, knowing he was safely standing aside.
“No one knows how long your battle will be, Shoman,” he said. “It could take seconds or years.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” I retorted, feeling her heat sizzle behind me.
I spun on my heel, grabbed her hand, and tossed her to the ground before she could blink. At least my reflexes were faster than hers were.
When she leapt up, I soared backward, twisting to the left and the right as she followed my tracks. We moved side to side, and, for once, my movements were ahead. Her eyes flashed, light vibrating off her tanned skin, and she growled when she repeatedly missed. Even a simulation could lose her concentration.
I used it to my advantage, and, within seconds, her face smacked against the ground. Her white hair sprawled around her, her arms straining to lift her body off the floor. I towered above her, unable to move.
This was my chance to end it all—to win the battle. I was tired and sweaty. All I wanted was to end the fighting, but I could only stand above her.
Urte sighed. “You need to be able to kill, Shoman,” he said.
“I can,” I said. She sat on her knees, but I only kicked her over, watching her squirm again. She could barely stand, let alone hurt me back. She wasn’t even real, but I remained still.
“I don’t think you can,” Urte said, beginning to walk forward. He was going to end the simulation.
“I can—”
“Then prove it to me.”
My jaw locked—the only part of my body that moved—and the light sprang to her feet. Light exploded into my chest, and I flew across the room, slamming into the furthest wall.
“See what happens when you hesitate?” Urte asked, and I blinked, watching the simulation walk toward me.
I spit blood out of my mouth and ignored my arm. It was bleeding. Overlooking the minor pain, I raised my hand and shot a blast of Dark energy her way. She fell backward, sprawling across the floor, and I wiped the blood from my mouth.
“What’s the second descendant’s name?” Urte asked, and I glared.
“I thought you wanted concentration.”
“You also need to be able to think at the same time; you need to plan out strategies and understand what you’re facing,” he said, folding his arms. “What’s the second descendant’s name?”
I leapt to my feet, allowing shadows to curl around me. “Darthon,” I said, focusing on the light as she stomped toward me. She shot near my legs, fast despite her injuries, and I mimicked her movements.
“Name three things the Light is capable of,” Urte continued, and I growled.
“Illusion, poison, tracking.” I fought the girl, avoiding her eyes. “And Darthon has my sword power.” My words caused me to shudder. My dream consumed my concentration, and her nails dug into my arm. I tossed her away, forcing the images of Abby out.
“Name three ways you can fight back,” Urte said, without scorning my mistake.
“Shadows, fly—sword.” I lost my balance and tumbled to the ground, using the angle to slash at the girl’s feet. She collapsed, and I pinned her, still thinking of Urte’s question. “Unless it’s before my birthday,” I said. “Then I need to get help or escape.”
Anger devoured my conscience. I had to run. I knew the rule, but the logic promised my futility. I was Shoman. I was supposed to be an undefeatable killing machine—someone whose existence fated a better future—but I couldn’t until the designated time. If Darthon—a boy who hadn’t asked to be born Darthon—was truly evil, I didn’t understand why I couldn’t end his life now.
Could I even do it? I doubted it. Evil or not, I was murdering another, and he’d be my age. He probably went to my school. Almost certainly, I knew him, and I would watch his short-lived life be mourned by his loved ones. Neither of us asked to be born descendants, yet I’d be rewarded with his death, and we couldn’t prevent that. No one could.
“Shoman,” Urte was quiet. “You need to control your anger.”
I looked down at the girl I held on the floor. She was practically lifeless, but my vicious grip allowed her torture. I hadn’t stopped beating her, yet I didn’t notice.
I stretched my arm out, extending my hand, and my sword slashed through the air. I could kill. I wrapped my hand around the grip and slashed at the girl, but she disappeared. Around us, the broken walls and cracked floors glossed over, and I stared at the pristine training room. It showed no signs of my battle, and my sword dissipated.
“What the hell was that for?” I punched the ground. “I was going to do it.”
Urte frowned. “That anger isn’t healthy, Shoman.”
My knuckles were white. “If anger will help me defeat Darthon, then I’ll use it.”
“And they will use it against you,” he said, kneeling by my side.
I shook the hair from my eyes. “They can’t use my emotions against me unless they poison me,” I said, gripping my remedy. “And Camille stopped that.”
“What happens when it runs out?”
“It won’t.” I stood up, avoiding Urte’s green eyes. I stormed away, unable to argue with him, and grabbed the nearest water bottle. I chugged it, quenching my thirst, and panted. This was my third simulation of the day—each lasting longer than the one before—and I knew it was near dinnertime. Jessica would be at my house soon. I wanted to go, but I couldn’t—not without completing my day’s goal, killing.
“Why’d you stop me?” I asked Urte, knowing his answer. He didn’t think I was ready.
“Shoman—”
“Do you ever think I’ll be ready?” I asked, knowing he’d avoid the topic.
He sighed, grabbing his bristles. “With enough training.”
I traced my finger along the side of the bottle, and condensation dripped down my skin like tears. I tore my eyes away. “I don’t know if I can win—not in a year.”
“You will be ready,” Urte said, suddenly by my side. “Our community will prepare you.”
“In time for December?” It was only nine months away. “It’s not a lot of time.”
“It isn’t,” he agreed. “But you have the entire summer. You won’t be in school, and you can dedicate more time to training.” He smiled. “It’ll be fun.”
“Fun isn’t the word I’d use.”
Urte chuckled. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “B
ut, as your strength grows, your abilities will, and training will get easier.”
“I hope so,” I said, walking toward the doorway. I picked up my bag and turned to my trainer. “Don’t set up another one,” I said, knowing we’d train through the night if I didn’t leave. “I have homework tonight, and it can’t be late.”
His expression curled. “You act like these sessions are nothing.”
My shoulders dropped. “If I don’t do this, I’ll fail this class, and then I’ll be in summer school.” Maybe a lie. “I can’t train if I’m doing that.”
Urte sighed. “Very well,” he said. “Go.”
“Thanks, Urte,” I said, forcing my grin down as I began leaving, but Urte grabbed my arm.
“I’ll take you home,” he said. “I have to talk to your father anyway.”
So much for a victory.