He blinked a drop of sweat out of his eye. “A real fight?”
She nodded. “And if that is the best way to advance, why bother with training?”
For a moment he couldn’t figure out why.
“Because,” she said, smile cold and cutting, “you must fight a superior opponent to benefit. And in a real fight, that’ll mean your death.”
And with that, she stood up and backed away.
Scorio sat up. “So the harder you beat me while training, the better?”
She shrugged one shoulder, gesturing for him to come at her again. “Not really. Otherwise, you could simply thrash Great Souls to higher ranks.”
Scorio raised both fists and approached.
“Ambition and hunger are what drive you on,” she said, linking her hands behind her back once more. “If those are beaten out of you by insurmountable odds, you’ll cease to grow.”
“Makes—” began Scorio, only to lunge forward again, hoping to catch her off guard. He threw a succession of three punches, then kicked out to try and crack his shin across her thigh.
Each time his blow missed, with Naomi reading him well enough to avoid every blow.
“—sense,” he finished, hopping away before she could trip him up again.
She was good, obviously better than him, but not insurmountably so; what she had was calm and confidence, which allowed her to react smoothly to his attacks. But he’d sensed hesitation when he’d kicked at her, thought he might actually connect before she spun away.
She was, after all, only an Emberling.
“What the Academy does,” she said as she gathered her thick hair and tied it off in a ponytail behind her head, “is excel at finding your edge. How far they can push you before you start to break. Or so they say. I think their actual execution is weak. But in theory, that’s the way to go. Find a new Great Soul’s tolerance for abuse, and keep them hovering just below that threshold.”
Scorio rolled his head about his neck, eliciting a series of pops, and forced himself to take slower breaths. She wasn’t invincible, she’d simply trained more. And, better yet, he’d managed to back her toward one of the roof’s corners. If he kept pressing her, she’d run out of room to maneuver.
“So that’s what you’re going to do?” He came at her again, throwing jabs, testing her, driving her back. “Find my threshold?”
With her hair back she somehow seemed smaller; he could have captured one of her fists inside his palm, punched clear over her head without having to aim up. But she was light on her feet, surprisingly strong, and her coordination was incredibly smooth.
“Yes,” she said, voice betraying a little exertion as she slapped aside a jab and then raised her leg to take his kick along the length of her thigh instead of across it. “Find your threshold, and then break your back over it.”
Gaining confidence, he continued to drive her back. “Good. Sounds like an actionable plan.”
She was nearly pinned. Had she realized? One more step back and she’d have no room to escape. She was fast, but she was small, and he doubted she could hit him hard enough to truly give him grief.
Expressionless, she took a long step back, right into the corner, trapping herself more neatly than he could have hoped.
Scorio grinned. “Perhaps you can get some training in, too.”
He went to close the distance when she changed.
It took but a breath, but he felt a rushing of an invisible wind swirl past him, and then she nearly doubled in height, her frame growing gaunt, horns sweeping back and up from her brow, talons rippling forth from her skeletal fingers, her eyes burning a sulfurous green that the sun-wire’s light did little to mute. Her tail fell free, swept up and around to loom over her shoulder, its huge, bladed head aimed at his heart, and when she smiled, her fangs showed as her black lips went taut.
Scorio felt his body go numb with fear.
“Perhaps I can,” she whispered and came at him.
Scorio gave ground so quickly he was practically locked into a rearward stumble. She could have killed him at any moment but contented herself with open palm slaps that near broke his arms when he blocked them and battering him with the flat of her tail’s blade.
And she was fast; it was all he could do to keep his arms up, chin tucked, bobbing and weaving to no avail as she came at him from all sides at once, even from behind; her tail curled all the way around and swept his feet out from under him with utter finality, so that he crashed flat onto his back, breath exploding from his lungs as her tail rose to hover an inch from his face, its wicked tip aimed at his left eye.
“Getting closer to the threshold,” she said, voice cheerful, and the tail retracted. “But we’re not there yet. Up.”
The next half hour was unrelenting. She would drive him across the roof, at times slowing her attacks so he could gather himself, only to speed them back up so that his focus would shatter, and he’d reel before her onslaught. His arms quickly began to throb from the impacts, and just as he began to think he was so hopelessly outclassed he should give up she’d open herself to a paltry punch, or give him a moment to stand there, reeling, gulping in deep breaths as she stepped back to observe him.
“You know what the single trait every successful Great Soul has?” she asked during one such reprieve.
Scorio bent forward, hands weaving before him, fighting to catch his breath. “Access to a charitable trainer?”
Her black lips pulled into a wicked grin. “Insatiable hunger.”
And her tail snuck out to crack against his ankles, dumping him onto the floor.
Biting back a groan, Scorio climbed to his feet, body aching, stars dancing in his vision.
“Every Great Soul has infinite chances to quit,” she said, and again her tail snuck out. This time he leaped at the last second so that it flew beneath him, only to be tripped as he landed when it reversed direction and took his feet out again.
Scorio fell down onto his forearms, the pain lancing through his battered muscles and joints.
Again he forced himself up to standing, though it took him longer.
“And you’d be surprised how many ways there are to quit,” she said, sweeping her tail at him in a series of lashing blows that he ducked under and leaped over. “If you’re not hungry enough, you’ll find a way to convince yourself to stop. Sooner or later.”
He was watching for tail, so didn’t see her punch. It cracked him square in the chest, lifted him right off his feet, and sent him hurtling back to the roof’s edge, where he slid right to the edge before coming to a stop, his head and shoulders out over the void.
Before he could pull himself back her tail was there, the long edge against his throat, keeping him trapped, almost completely off-balance, aching as he held himself in place.
She loomed over him. “Give up, Scorio. You’re outside the Academy. You’ll never be anything but a third-rate Cinder at best.”
He scowled, slapped aside her tail blade, and pulled himself back onto the roof. Fighting the urge to retch, sucking in deep breaths, he curled over onto his side, then straight-armed his way up to sitting. The roof was spinning, but he fought his gorge down and somehow climbed back to his feet.
He wanted to say something. Something defiant, something sharp, something that would take her by surprise.
But all he could do was stand there, trying not to vomit, not to fall back down.
She studied him for a moment, tail coiling behind her, then shrugged one shoulder and turned away. “One-minute break, then.”
Scorio only realized they’d been training for two hours when the sun-wire shifted, going from First Rust to First Bronze. As the air grew more luminous, the deep ochers and reds lightening to oranges and tans, Naomi stepped away and shifted back into her human form.
It was galling to see that she hadn’t even broken a sweat.
“Rest,” she said.
“We’ve not found my threshold yet,” he croaked, throat dry to the point of desiccation.