The lizard-dog glared at him. There was a recognition in its eyes. It remembered the previous fight, and probably the taste of his blood.

It scampered toward him with that alien and unnatural movement sequence. Tom weighed its actions clinically. The gait, the low spread-out legs would once have disgusted him, but his decades of experience meant he could ignore its alien nature and read its emotions through each step. There was a note of caution in its actions. This time it moved with its stomach closer to the ground, and with smaller steps that would let it react faster to anything he did. It watched him suspiciously, and, in this state, there was no way it would do something as stupid as leap at him.

Thankfully, it was a low-ranking monster, and he was certain that its base instincts would soon crush the memories of its previous encounter. It was not like it had lost last time. Instead, it had only suffered a couple of scratches. As it got closer, he could see the rising bloodlust in its eyes, as well as the fact that its steps were faster and longer. It was succumbing to its nature. He was a sapient, and it was a monster. No matter what lessons it tried to cling to, no matter how it strived to suppress the hunger, it was going to fail. The desire to kill a sapient would overwhelm everything else.

It sped up.

Tom shifted seamlessly into his battle trance.

Time seemed to slow down slightly. Everything became crisper, every detail captured and processed. He was aware of its rippling muscles, the thrum of explosive potential, and this time he understood the base patterns that the species naturally resorted to. It would go for the throat, Tom realised, and shifted the position of his spear. He moved it from resting into a more aggressive stance. If it repeated its previous pattern, the change would give him a tenth of an extra second to respond.

Unless it goes for your ankles, a traitorous internal voice reminded him.

If it did that, then he would be screwed.

It accelerated, charging at him, and then leapt. Its mouth was open, with strings of bloody saliva leaking out the sides, presumably forced out by the wind pressure.

This time, he was positioned perfectly. In the cocoon of focus, it was easy to wait until it was fully committed before he reacted, and, when it was hopelessly hunched and ready to spring, he executed the spear form. The tip didn’t need to move as far, and he transitioned into a forward thrust with the butt of the spear skimming the grass, his foot following behind it to brace it when the collision occurred.

The collision happened almost too fast for him to follow visually, but he felt everything. First the tip digging in, slicing through skin, and then the resistance of a couple of centimetres of muscle before it struck bone. There was a series of vibrations followed by the spear jerking in his hand as the force of the impact was transferred through the wooden shaft. His braced body was insufficient to hold the weapon in position, but the butt end was pushed hard into the ground, which, combined with his foot jammed against it, absorbed most of the power. It was messy. The fingers on his right hand slipped. The kick of the shaft forced his leg back an inch, but, overall, he held it steady and the bone gave way.

He stared at the lizard-dog. It had come to a halt, suspended in the air with the spear a good foot into its chest. If its anatomy was anything like that of most animals on earth, it was dead.

It was barking on the end of the weapon, its teeth snapping, but black blood was pouring out. Tom couldn’t hold it up like this. The weight of gravity was too much, and even if it weighed significantly less than him, the length of the spear created such leverage that a creature weighing even a quarter of him would have caused problems. Experience from other battles told him to lean into the inevitable. He sped up its descent, so it struck the ground far harder than it would have if it was just a matter of gravity, and he used the collision to twist the spear to widen the wound. Then he yanked his weapon clear.

Instinctively, he danced two steps backward and moved into the rest position which would let him respond if it survived. A low-probability event, but more than possible. He knew nothing about the monster. It could have multiple hearts or a different anatomy that would have meant he had missed striking anything vital.

Blood poured out of the gaping wound in such quantities that he relaxed slightly. Remove the blood, and you would kill most things no matter how many hearts it might or might not have had. Life fled from the eyes and he knew the fight was over.

A second later, the trial confirmed the same by making the carcass vanish in a sprinkling of lights.

“Easy,” he whispered.

Another lizard dog appeared on the far side of the clearing. This one had more black stripes and was slimmer than the first. It oriented on him and started to scamper toward him. He recognised that its every action was more fluid than that of the last. His breath hitched as he realised that this, in turn, had to mean that it was faster, even if it wasn’t using that pace yet. There were also no signs of the caution that had been visible in the second fight. From the start, it charged recklessly.

Tom performed the same movements, but its slight boost of speed meant his spear tip moved slower and hit off centre. It was still impaled, and he slammed it into the ground and snapped the weapon back. The black blood from the wound was a dripping rather than the flood that had preceeded his last kill. He retreated a couple of steps while keeping his spear at the ready as the creature struggled to force itself to its feet. He realised it was crippled. The gaping wound in its front shoulder had disabled the leg underneath it. Try as it might, it could not move properly, and Tom was not about to give it a chance to adjust to its new three-legged reality. Two careful stabs from a safe distance killed it.

Another appeared - this one heavier, scarred, and older. More laboriously than the first, it leapt at him. He had a ridiculous amount of time and landed the killing blow, despite tripping slightly as he thrust his leg forward.

A fourth was dropped in to kill him. It was closest to the first in appearance and he spent a couple of fate to help him perfect the thrust. It died to a single blow, but apparently it was not enough.

A fifth materialised. A drop of sweat in his eye caused him to blink at the wrong moment. The spear thrust was a glancing blow and then before he could recover it was against his chest. He got one knife in his hand, but strength-wise he was to outmatched and he didn’t even manage to stab it before it tore fatally at his throat.

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He appeared back in his old bedroom. Energy flooded through him, stress markers released by the repeated fights were purged, and his breathing was restored. The angel gave him a very human thumbs up and, with no words spoken, he was sent back into the clearing.

The battles blended together. Most of those, he won. Some fights, despite their victorious outcome, left him so wounded that it would be pointless to push him into another engagement. When these ended, he was immediately teleported to the bedroom. He knew she could have healed him in the clearing, but she wanted to give him a mental break as well.

He appreciated the thought.

The lizard-dog, one of the slimmer varieties, lunged at him and he effortlessly pivoted, thrust, impaled it, and then cast it down to the ground. After killing over twenty of them, he recognised a mortal blow when it was landed. He shifted back into the resting position, focusing on recovering his breath while he waited for it to bleed out.

It vanished in the usual flurry of sparks, and he lifted his eyes to meet that of the next opponent. Four eyes instead of two met his stare.

Confusion flowed through him, but only momentarily. Two opponents meant the challenge had been upgraded. The fights had not been getting easier, but the form he was trying to perfect he had to admit had began to flow smoothly. The monsters gave him no time to think. While they had materialised together, they immediately split apart like wolves would have to attack from multiple sides. Even with a spear in his hands, Tom was a four-year-old. He knew how impossible battling two opponents at once was likely to be, especially while he was blind to their tactics.

Nevertheless, he trusted the trial administrator, given both her actions and her oath. Little things about her approach impressed him. For example, the way she gave him a moment to compose himself after each faux death, but made sure the waiting wasn’t so long that he would dwell upon it. If she had changed the scenario, it was probably because she thought he had mastered that single form. He wondered if she could tell explicitly or if she had let him make multiple kills that were perfect according to her senses and was trusting the redundancy was sufficient.

They were circling him, and he knew that, if given a chance, they would attack from his blind spot. With two, he should be able to prevent being blindsided, but if they struck from his front and back, with this body he would be in trouble.

As they spread out, he watched for a mistake to exploit.

The one to his left blinked and Tom sprung forward, charging the monster to his right in an attempt to create chaos. They had almost encircled him, so his actions would leave his back exposed. Theoretically, he wanted to kill the one he was charging or, failing that, get its body between him and the second, but practically he knew that wasn’t going to work. There would only be an instant before the other reacted and charged him from behind, but sprinting decisively at one of them bought Tom a couple of metres.

His knowledge of how they fought one on one would not help him here. They were pack animals, and with another of their kind being here, the strategy they employed was likely to be completely different.

As he had feared, the lizard-dog he was charging down did not launch itself at him. Instead, it dodged backwards to give its companion an opportunity to attack his undefended back.

Different plans and options went through his head, and his mind remembered the moves the figurine had showed him. That was where he had to draw inspiration from. The point of these fights was to gain the mastery of spear, not to kill the dog-lizards. Even as he puzzled over strategy, his battle instincts took over, and he copied one of the forms he had witnessed.

He spun, focusing on his footwork as he did so, reversed his forward momentum, and completed a one eighty-degree turn. He was thrusting at the second lizard dog before he had finished the spin, because he knew it would be descending on him.

His eyes widened.

It was already launching at him, and he lacked the perfect balance and body positioning to cause it to impale itself. He adjusted on the fly and sought to knock it aside while keeping the option to hurt it if the opportunity occurred. Tom calculated angles and had the choice of throat or side. With a GOD’s shield protecting him, he went for the high-risk reward strike. His spear tip flashed for its throat. He struck where he aimed, but without the momentum or force he was after. The weapon dug in, but probably not deep enough. His pirouette and the slight impact of the tip against its throat allowed him to avoid its snapping jaws and then he continued the spin to face the other threat.

It was coming hard and low, and there was no avoiding it.

He twisted and spun his weapon so its teeth closed on the wooden shaft instead of his leg. He staggered and yanked the spear away from it. Thankfully, it let go.

The other one was already leaping at him. He wanted to use the spear to hold it off, but if he tried, it would be too slow, and the monster, despite his best efforts, would crash into his chest.

That was death.

He collapsed at the knees to allow it to fly over him while he grabbed his knives. Pain exploded as the second creature seized his ankle. It pulled back sharply, making him overbalance and fall flat rather than rising to his feet as planned. The attributes his four-year-old body granted were a joke. He attempted to sit up and slash the knife at the creature that was dragging, but each tug overwhelmed the effectiveness of his abdominal muscles.

The battle was over. The other lizard-dog was about to reengage, and, when it did, he would die.

“I quit,” he yelled.

Nothing happened.

The second one seized his shoulder. He thrust at it with the weapon in hand on the other side. The blade skipped over the scales. With both of them pulling on him, he lacked leverage to fight effectively.

The one on his leg let go. He drew the pained limb back and prepared for the follow-up attack he knew was coming. His dagger was held facing up above his belly. Unfortunately, the monster scampered up his body rather than leaping straight onto his throat. There was no chance to impale it, and its mouth knocked his weapon aside.

Desperately, he focused on repositioning the knife to stab it from the side.

He felt pain on his neck, a flood of warmth down his chest. He was being killed again, but there was no stopping it, so he focused on revenge. The dagger dug into his opponent’s body and struck a rib. Mentally, he cursed and tried to thrust again. The strength wasn’t there. This time, the blade was deflected by the scales.

The pain vanished.

Panting, he reappeared back in the bedroom. The trial administrator was studying him with a detached expression. His body reacted to her presence. The released adrenaline was drained away, his heart rate slowed, and the heaving breaths became unnecessary between one breath and the next.

She gave an almost imperceptible nod, approval on her face.

Suddenly, he was back in the clearing. Two of the lizard dogs were across from him. Both had red blood on their muzzles; one also sported a scratch on its shoulder and a slight limp in its hind leg.

“No,” he yelled. “Let’s talk first.”

They were spreading out to flank him. He moved, taking quick steps backwards to buy himself thinking time.

How could he kill them this time? He asked himself.

There was a blink, and once more he stood in his old bedroom. The angel was staring at him:

“Sorry, I thought you only wanted to quit the losing battle. You got punished by one of the conditions of the trial. Unfortunately, I’m barred from acting once you’re in combat. That includes pulling you out or destroying your opponents.”

Tom absorbed that and didn’t care. As far as random rules went, that was one of the ones that he expected. She looked terrified at how he was going to respond. He had definitely screwed this up. She shouldn’t be having that reaction, and it told him how poorly he had treated her. He scratched his head ruefully:

“Is there somewhere more comfortable we can go?” he asked. “I think we need to talk person to person.”