✈ - An Eye-Opening Memory
“You’re good, Faora Hu-Ul. One of the best.”
The young soldier stood over her opponent – the third she’d defeated in a row, now– smug and proud at her trainer’s praise. She stepped to the side to allow the young man at her feet to shuffle off the mat and tend to his bruises, smirking up at her close combat instructor, Bey-An.
“One of the best, sir?” The glint in her icy eyes betrayed a boundless self-assuredness. “You’ve yet to find me an equal.”
“Right you are, Cadet,” Bey-An grinned wide, the burly, middle-aged warrior stroking his thick beard with one hand. “So I thought we’d try something a little different today. Up for a challenge?”
Faora turned her back on him with a derisive snort, “I’ve been waiting for a challenge since I enrolled in the Academy.”
“Uh huh,” Bey-An grunted. “Hey, worm, go get Nam-Ek,” he barked to one of the other cadets Faora had already beaten bloody into the floor. The young officer in training shot to his feet, stumbling off balance as he hurried out of the combatives training room to retrieve Faora’s next opponent. “Like I said, girl, one of the best. But not everything you ever fight is gonna be conveniently your size, give or take a few inches.”
She tilted her head back, eyeing the older man. The look on his face almost made her nervous. Almost. Still, no one in the Academy thus far was even close to her level. She couldn’t imagine this “Nam-Ek” would be any different.
The doors opened again. The beaten-down cadet came scurrying back in, head down, avoiding eye contact with Bey-An and Faora. Behind him, a huge shape loomed. The shape bent low to fit through the door – then lower still. When he emerged, Faora forgot herself. Her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open.
“Get your jaw off the floor, Cadet,” Bey-An growled. “And get your hands up. Nam-Ek doesn’t mess around.”
She dropped into a defensive posture as the – what was he? – gigantic man lunged forward, the young cadet sidestepping past his thick fist as it rushed just inches from her face. When she recovered from the dodge, she swallowed hard, glancing at her instructor. His eyes were affixed on the brute, almost as though he’d forgotten Faora was even there.
Nam-Ek rose to his full height as he moved closer to her, and only at this distance did she realize just how big he was. Nine feet tall, easily, with a wingspan to match and a frame like an alpha rondor. His thick, ropy muscles bulged beneath his skin suit and the “Ek” emblem on his chest must have been thirty inches across.
He lunged again, a more measured strike this time. Faora moved to parry it and found herself sucking the punch straight to her chest, his massive bulk easily powering through her defense. He followed effortlessly, grabbing her upper arm and pulling her across the mat, tossing her to the floor and out of the circle. She jumped up with a small hiss and glanced to Bey-An, who nodded.
She shot back in, this time dipping past a heavy right cross and sending a few sharp blows into the massive fighter’s solar plexus. He felt them – he must have felt them – but despite the precision of her attack, he simply stepped forward, putting his long leg behind her and dropped her straight to the floor, following up with a hard knee into her ribs. Faora groaned in shock and pain, everything going white for a moment. At least one of those ribs is broken, she thought.
He stood, stepped back. Waited. Faora struggled to sit up.
“Get your ass up, girl,” Bey-An roared. “I thought you were the best. Get in there and prove it!”
She jumped up, biting back a gasp as those broken ribs shifted in her soft tissue. Hands came up and she darted in again, only to meet a hard, bony elbow straight to her jaw. She stumbled backwards, reeling, and found herself floating as the tank of a man wrapped her up in his tree trunk arms and tossed her back, slamming her into the ground. Right into those broken ribs. There was no doubt in her mind it was intentional.
She stood. Somehow, she stood. He was too damn big, Faora thought. So much mass. The tremendous Nam-Ek came at her again, slowly, inexorably forward. He threw one punch, two, that Faora sidestepped and parried. She followed with a sharp knee to his inner thigh and an elbow to his lower ribs, then threw herself into his gut shoulder-first. He went off-balance, just for a moment – long enough for her to step in closer and send a knifehand into his throat. It was a potentially lethal move; one she would never previously have dared use in training.
Her fingertips hit home, jabbing into Nam-Ek’s windpipe. She heard him choke, gag. Despite the deadly blow, however, he snapped her arm up in his broad hand, lifted her straight off the ground, and smashed his other elbow into her wrenched-up shoulder.
She screamed. Toughing it out was over. She couldn’t hold it back any longer. When he let go, she hit the ground in a lump, her teeth clenched as she panted heavily, cold sweat on her brow. In her agony, she was vaguely aware of Nam-Ek striding off the mat and taking a seat separate from the other cadets. The entire encounter had lasted only a minute; he’d not made a single sound.
Weakly, Faora turned her head to look at Bey-An. Her face was flushed, the young cadet humiliated. Her instructor, though, was smiling. Proud. Of her.
“Like I said, Faora. One of the best. This is your new sparring partner, by the way.” he grinned.
“Now get your ass to medical.”
