Only to find the kick blocked, trapped between Feng’s forearm and bicep, the instructor stepping in rapidly to kick his other leg out from under him.
Scorio leaped, pivoting around his pinned leg, and tried to kick the back of Feng’s head; the attack was swift, instinctive, wild.
It nearly worked.
Feng released him, ducked down, and spun away, and again they faced off against each other, a thick lock of gleaming black hair having pulled free to fall before the instructor’s face.
“Good,” said Feng. “Again.”
Time to switch things up. Scorio leaped forward immediately and let loose an explosive volley of blows, jabs, and crosses, intermingled with uppercuts and hooks. Pressed Feng ever back, forcing him to parry and block, only to realize with a shock that he’d fallen into the pattern he’d trained against Naomi, the very one that had helped him ignite his Heart.
Feng had to know it, clearly did, for his blocks were perfect, almost automated, his eyes narrowing as he seemed to question Scorio’s own awareness of the drill he’d fallen into, which meant instead of a hook here as expected, he’d jack up his knee—
Feng laughed as he jerked awkwardly to slam his forearm down into a block, narrowly avoiding the attack, and danced back, his movements graceful and light, as if the universal pull of the world barely affected him.
“Very nice! Intelligent application of a common pattern with a surprise attack. I see variety, control, quick reactions, and power. Now let’s test your defenses.”
And with that, Feng was upon him, striking with wicked precision and increasing speed, forcing Scorio back, ever back. The blows were coming so rapidly that he stopped consciously trying to track them, and instead allowed his arms to move almost of their own accord.
The only sound was of their forearms impacting against each other, the snap of cloth, and Scorio’s breath as it came in ever harsher gasps. Faster and faster came the strikes, then somehow Feng unleashed a tightly coiled roundhouse kick without twisting his hips in the least, simply snapped it out while facing him straight on, and brought his shin crashing into Scorio’s ribs.
With a grunt, he staggered to the side, saw Feng’s fist come powering down at his face, dodged, then took an elbow straight to the chest. Staggering back on his heels, he yanked his leg up to block a second kick, taking it on his shin, then received a flurry of punches on his forearms.
Teetering on the very edge of his balance, he could do nothing but widen his eyes when Feng hopped up, spun in mid-air as smoothly as a leaf caught in a steady wind, and slammed his heel into the center of Scorio’s chest.
The power behind the blow was incredible, and it lifted Scorio right off his feet and threw him back to crash onto his side.
Feng landed neatly, lightly, and without a sound, only to straighten his robes with two quick tugs and then link his hands behind his back.
“Good defense, good speed, and I see that you’ve received a decent amount of drilling. But like all novice fighters, you fall apart when the pace increases, and your desire to find patterns leaves you open to unorthodox attacks.”
Scorio pushed himself up slowly into a crouch, his lungs tight, his chest locked in a permanent spasm, trying not to gasp and wheeze before the whole class. There was nothing for it. He summoned his Igneous Heart and saw that the hall was filled with ephemeral clouds of pure gray.
Iron mana.
It was neither as slippery as Copper nor as reluctant as Coal. It was stubborn, however, in a completely novel manner, as if entering Scorio’s Heart was somehow beneath it. Summoning his will, Scorio forced a single gust of the mana into his Heart, and was surprised when that sufficed.
With a flexion of his will, he caused his Heart to ignite, and in his mind’s eye, it went up with a whoomph of silvery flames.
Power flooded into him, intense, rich, an elevating power that made the very thought of burning Coal again incredibly distasteful.
Feng raised an eyebrow but otherwise made no move.
Slowly, feeling as if a hasty movement could cause him to lose control and dash through the air, Scorio rose to his feet and once again dropped into his combat crouch.
“Yes,” said Feng, voice pitched low. “There you are. Now. Show me what you can really do.”
Fleet of foot, Scorio ran at him and leaped, soaring through the air to attack with a side kick. As expected, Feng dodged to the side, so Scorio hurled himself at the instructor the moment he landed, driving him back, striking at his face, snapping out kicks at his thighs, and thrusting his heel at Feng’s stomach. He felt alive, endlessly powerful, the Iron seeming inexhaustible. Feng blocked, swayed, dodged, and evaded all of his blows, but Scorio simply pushed himself faster, drawing in more Iron mana as he went, like a man swimming underwater might gasp for a rapid gulp of air before ducking back under the surface.
His thoughts ended. The separation of mind and body disappeared. He was wholly in the moment, utterly within his body, reacting without consideration, pushing himself to move faster, to strike harder, his blows drawing closer and closer to Feng as the instructor was forced to block with greater vigor.
But he couldn’t land a blow. Anger grew within him, a fiery knot of frustration that he barely managed to restrain.
But then Scorio saw it—an opportunity, wild and improvident, requiring an outflung cross that would open Scorio up completely if he missed, but if he hit—
Releasing his rage, he went for it, and his fist slipped past Feng’s guard, and time seemed to slow. Iron mana roared within his Heart, and the instructor inched away, eyes widening as Scorio’s knuckles nearly brushed the skin of his cheek. Scorio snarled as the length of his forearm passed right before Feng’s face, and then a massive blow to his side lifted him right off his feet once more, his legs flying out from under him, to crash face down onto the stone circle.
The breath exploded out of him, and he lay there gaping, focus blurred, unable to draw breath.
The Iron in his Heart surged one last time, then guttered out.
He wanted nothing so much as to lower his brow to the cool stone, but instead, he forced himself up to all fours, and then with a heave swayed up and back to sit on his heels.
Feng was considering him, expression genial, almost benign. “Well done, Scorio. Well done indeed. Good physical conditioning, good speed, decent strength. As before, your reflexes and instincts are admirable, but your temper was your undoing. It might also account for how briefly you were able to keep your Heart burning. You may take your seat. Naomi? Please enter the circle.”
Rising to his feet, Scorio bowed shakily and hopped off the edge of the platform to join his friends. Naomi’s expression was tightly controlled as she passed him, her eyes narrowed, but her grim nod said it alclass="underline" I’ll make him pay.
Sitting down heavily, avoiding all the stares being directed at him, Scorio gratefully accepted Lianshi’s waterskin and took a sip. What did he mean, how briefly his Heart had burned? Was that considered brief here? Did he know that was the first time he’d burned Iron? He scowled, frustrated at not having landed a single blow. Had Feng even ignited his Heart?
“Well done,” said Leonis quietly, leaning in. “Seriously. That was impressive.”
“Agreed,” said Lianshi. “Feng rarely says anything positive about anyone.”
Scorio sat up a little straighter and forced himself to release a shaky breath.
The fight between Naomi and Feng proved riveting to watch. She moved in confidently and quickly began driving Feng backward, coming at him with great skill and power. Feng’s face took on a more calculated and focused expression, and after allowing Naomi to push him back to the circle’s edge, he deliberately turned the tables and began counterattacking.