The boy wobbled to his feet, supporting his weight on the wooden sword he wielded.

He was a young boy, only fourteen years old, whose dark skin belied a hispanic heritage. Despite his age, his height and muscle structure could easily be mistaken for an adult’s. His wavy black hair was tied back into a bun, though it was beginning to come undone as this session of training went on. He coughed and hacked, but his instructor paid him no mind.

The boy’s instructor raised his chin with his own wooden sword, forcing the boy to look him in the eyes.

“You’ve got more to give than that, Emanuel. I know you do.”

The boy, Emanuel, shook his head as he wheezed.

“Yes, you do! You just aren’t trying nearly hard enough.”

“I’m trying, I really am! It’s not easy-”

“It’s not supposed to be easy!” The instructor exclaimed as he thrust forward, striking Emanuel in the throat and knocking him onto his back. “You are learning to battle with your life on the line!” 

The instructor raised his sword over his head, and Emanuel could only respond by covering his stomach with his arms, wheezing violently in an attempt to catch his breath.

“Wrong answer,” the instructor said as he brought down the wooden sword straight onto Emanuel’s left wrist, with a sickening crack. Emanuel rolled over onto his stomach, clutching his wrist in pain.

“You see that? How you rolled over? You should have done that, not try and block with your weak-ass arms. Roll over, and start moving. Get back on your feet, or even crawl if you need to.” The instructor knelt down next to Emanuel, and grabbed his wrist. “Heal it,” he said.

Emanuel nodded between pained breaths, and began to control his breathing. A dull blue glow traced its way from the right side of his chest to his wrist, and his entire forearm started to glow blue. Slowly, but surely, the pain in his arm went away, as he felt the bones realign and mend.

“Finally. Now we’re getting somewhere.” The instructor released Emanuel’s arm, and kicked over his sword. “Again,” he said. “You’ve got plenty left to give, I told you. We go until you can knock me down.”

Emanuel collapsed against the wall, working himself down into a sit on the cold floor. He wrenched open the bottle of water he’d been given, and drank it down as fast as he could.

“You’ll get sick if you keep drinking like that,” a voice called out. “There is such a thing as too much water, dear.”

Emanuel turned to see his personal tutor approaching him, carrying another bottle of water under one arm and a stack of papers under the other. She first handed him the water, and then the papers.

“Once you’ve caught your breath, I expect you to take a good look at those. Someone of your caliber ought to do better than a seventy-eight percent.” 

Emanuel did his best not to glare at the woman. “It’s a seventy-eight, right?” He spoke between heavy breaths. “That’s a C plus!”

“Just a C plus. You won’t make it long in Mavella at a C plus level.”

“But I don’t want to go to Mavella!”

“But you’ve been invited by the Family, and so you will be attending. It’s a miracle you were invited at all. The new head took over, and now our policy extends to all members of the Family, even those of you who are only half-related.” 

The tutor reached out to help Emanuel up. He refused at first, but she made it clear she would not be accepting no for an answer. He tossed his bottles of water, which were both now empty, to the ground and let her help him up. He attempted to pull his hand away, but was surprised by his tutor pulling him along with her down the hall.

“Now, since you have so much time to argue, that must mean you have time to spare to learn. Come on now, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

Emanuel dried himself off after his shower, and took a glance at the pile of schoolwork on his desk. He threw himself on his bed, and rolled over so he wouldn’t have to look at it. 

When Emanuel woke up the following morning, he marked another day off his calendar. His eyes wandered to the date three weeks from now: his Rank Exam date. Emanuel sighed to himself- each day his teachers cracked down on him even harder, and today would be no different. 

I should fake being sick today, Emanuel thought to himself. Or maybe break one of my arms. Anything to get out of classes for a day, even just half a day. I’m so sick of this. Orion this, Mavella that, live up to the family name… or what! Emanuel threw on his clothes in a huff. I don’t want to do any of this- I don’t want to be a Slayer! I’d rather be a- a- a… It doesn’t matter what I want to be, I just want to be doing not this!

“Emanuel, breakfast is ready!” His mother called up from downstairs.

“I’ll be down in a minute!” He shouted back. 

“You keep talking to your mother like that, you get to make your own breakfasts!” His dad shouted.

“...Whatever,” Emanuel mumbled to himself.

Three weeks passed in much the same manner: Breakfast, lessons, lunch, combat, dinner, study, sleep, and any catch-up work (and there was always catch-up work) had to come in between.

Emanuel dressed himself in the specially-tailored clothes his tutors had prepared for him. Tight, but not quite form-fitting, leather armor, studded on each shoulder with the constellation Orion. He reached out first for his training sword, but remembered what he’d be doing today, and for the first time in months reached for his real sword. He strapped down the heavy combat boots he’d been given, and walked out into his kitchen. 

His mother and father stood by the door, each holding a piece of chain armor: his father, the chest, and his mother, the cowl. The two took their time dressing him in his armor, against Emanuel’s wishes. He insisted that he could armor himself, but all three of them knew that wasn’t the reason they were doing this. Once fully clad in armor, Emanuel turned to face his parents. He was surprised, albeit mildly, to see tears in his mother’s eyes.

“You’ll do great, mijo,” his mother choked out.

“Of course he will,” his dad retorted, “he’s your boy. He’s an Orion.”

Emanuel did his best not to wince at those words, and chose instead to hug his parents both. 

“Do your best,” his mother said, clasping his hands one last time.

“Make us proud,” his dad said before sucking up a wad of snot he’d been doing his best to hold in. His dad looked up, took a deep breath, and returned to his usual composure. “I know you will,” he finished.

“Thanks,” Emanuel smiled, and walked out the door.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

It was a short, but fairly awkward bus ride down to the facility where his exam would take place. It wasn’t more than a couple stops away, but that was plenty of time for people to shoot funny looks at the boy wearing chainmail. 

If only it was ren faire season, Emanuel lamented to himself.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped off the bus, and out into the Rank Exam facility. It was a massive building, similar in size and construction to that of a stadium- as a matter of fact, this particular facility was a stadium, that was repurposed after the local team moved. Emanuel went inside, where he met with his two instructors. The three of them exchanged pleasantries, and made their way to check in.

“Antonio and Maria Orion,” his combat instructor said, “here to check in Emanuel Martinez-Orion. Also checking in as his proctors.” The two instructors placed their ID cards onto the checkstand, and gestured for Emanuel to do the same.

“I… was I supposed to receive an ID?”

“...Did nobody give you one? Are you sure you didn’t leave it at home?” Antonio looked at Maria, and a look of panic crossed his face.

“Positive. Never seen an ID like that in my life.”

“That’s impossible,” Antonio replied. “They sent you one when you passed your one-star exam.”

Emanuel’s eye twitched. “I haven’t passed my one-star exam. That’s why I’m here isn’t it? To take my one-star exam???”

Maria tapped Antonio on his shoulder. She took him aside, and whispered something to him. 

“Ah, of course,” Antonio said as they returned. “I’d forgotten, since most Orions have their one-star by the time they’re twelve.”

“Don’t tell me you two have been training me at a two-star level this whole time,” Emanuel said dejectedly. “Isn’t the two-star exam, like, twice as bad as the one-star?”

“You’ll thank us later,” Maria said. Emanuel did his best not to roll his eyes. He failed.

Emanuel walked out into the arena. As one would expect, it was a spacious and plain room, tiled white on the floor and across the walls. Dull red splatters and gray dust on the walls and floor disrupted this white, evidence of a halfhearted attempt to clean spilled blood and to wipe up ash.

Emanuel took note of the three other people in this room; his two instructors, and one  he’d never met before. Antonio reached into a cooler, and pulled out a hospital-grade blood bag. Emanuel attempted to read the description on this bag, but given it was nearly ten meters away he failed to discern any information.

“Now preparing fifty milliliters of tiger blood,” Antonio announced. “Emanuel Martinez-Orion, two-star rank exam to begin in thirty, twenty-nine-”

Emanuel’s eyes went wide. “Wait- hold on, two-star? What do you mean?!”

“You’ll do just fine!” Maria shouted as Antonio continued to count down. “You’re an Orion, after all.”

Emanuel shot them both a look of pure hatred. “You. Mother. Fuckers.”

As Antonio reached the single digits, withdrawing a knife, Emanuel realized it was futile to talk back now. He prepared himself as best he could- there was a real possibility he could die today.

“Zero,” Antonio said as he sliced the bag open and poured its contents onto the floor. It pooled onto the ground, and the three adults in the room stepped backwards until they reached the wall.

The blood receded, congealing at its center into some pulsing mass. A tiger’s arm burst from the crimson mound, then another, then another, and another… and Emanuel beheld a monstrosity: eight tiger arms, arranged like the spokes on a wheel, no head or tail to discern the way it was facing. Just a mass of ferocious and bloodthirsty killing weapons. A monster born from blood: a Feeder.

All their lives, the people of Ministille live fearing these Feeders, and by extension the shedding of blood: violence is avoided, meat is slaughtered sparingly, first aid is given the highest priority, and anywhere blood is frequently shed is policed by the Slayers. The anti-Feeder force, who risk their lives daily, was what Emanuel was now being conscripted into joining, and what he was now risking his life over.

A blue, flame-like light crackled to life in Emanuel’s upper right chest. This light spread and trailed down both of his arms, eventually enveloping his entire upper body. The tiger-arm monster seemed to take a moment to understand its surroundings, identify what around it was made of blood and what wasn’t. Emanuel struck the ground by his feet, leaving a flickering blue flame in the crack.

The tiger turned- though that isn’t exactly right to say, as all it did was change which of its arms it held up in the air in a mockery of a head- towards Emanuel, and sauntered back and forth in place. It hunkered down, not unlike the way a cat would pounce, and leapt through the air at a shocking speed. Emanuel did his best to dodge out of the way, but the Feeder stretched out its arms midair, and caught his left arm with the edges of its claws. While not a deep wound, for his armor did its best to protect him, Emanuel was bleeding now.

The Feeder entered a melee with Emanuel. It reared up on three of its arms, and brought down the other five in a cascade of blows, one after the other, each swiping and clawing at Emanuel, who could only block each strike and do his best to absorb the force of the impact with his right arm. He blocked and deflected and blocked and parried and blocked, searching for an opening to break out of this stalemate. Parry, block, deflect- it was all he could do, he had no time to think, much less to heal.

At last, the beast showed an opening and attempted to bring all five of its claws down on him at once. Emanuel dodged to the side, and spun around. With a brilliant flash of blue, he cleaved right through the core of the Feeder, sending ash scattering across the floor.

The Feeder did not recoil- it was unsure if they even felt pain- but instead hunkered down. Emanuel made the mistake of thinking he had gained an upper hand, and slowed down to heal. In that moment, the beast flung itself at him with all its force yet again. Emanuel reacted quickly, pointing his blade out while crossing his right arm over his chest to block the force of the attack. The Feeder impaled itself on his blade, and though a geyser of ash burst from both sides of it it seemed utterly unfazed.

Emanuel dug in his heels as it pushed him, and blue light shrouded his entire body. He crouched down, and with astonishing strength that went as far as to impress his instructors- though they’d never admit it- lifted the Feeder over his head, and slammed it down into the ground.

Emanuel hopped onto the Feeder, and red light crackled across his upper body as he prepared to plunge his sword straight into. But then, four of the Feeder’s arms raised up, and dug their claws into his legs.

Emanuel shook the ringing from his head as the red cleared from his vision. He blinked rapidly, attempting to push the redness away faster, and lifted his trembling arms up to wipe his vision. He looked down at his maimed legs and the pooling blood around them, and rubbed the back of his head. He looked back at the red stain on the wall, and at the blood scattered about the Feeder that was now preoccupied with rolling about in it like catnip, and an idea popped into his head- possibly the last one he’d have.

Emanuel made a flicking motion with his hand, and a ball of blue light threw itself against the red stain on the wall. He crawled over to where his sword lay, not more than two meters from where he fell, and picked up his sword. 

The Feeder soaked up the last of the blood it had been rolling around in, turning its attention to Emanuel. The sword burst into blue flames, and suddenly a line drew itself from the red stain on the wall to the blue light he’d struck into the ground previously. 

“Canis Minor,” Emanuel said, rising to a crouch, supported by his sword.

At once, from between the two lights, an apparition of a wolf rose, its fur colored like that of a nebula. The wolf immediately lunged for the Feeder, which responded by thrashing about with renewed vigor.

The two battled for a time, the wolf dancing around the Feeder with astonishing agility, the two exchanging blows every so often. Emanuel knew this spirit would not defeat the Feeder- but that wasn’t its job. Emanuel focused the last of his power down to his legs, and felt relief as his bones and sinews knit back together. 

The body of the wolf hurled against the wall, and it limped back up. Emanuel wobbled at first as he stood up as well, but found his footing and returned to a fighting stance. The two charged at the Feeder, the wolf biting at its arms as Emanuel leapt onto its back once more. The Feeder attempted once more to throw him off, but each time it did the wolf would bite at the arms it used to support itself and cause it to lose balance.

Emanuel stabbed into the Feeder, again and again, doing as best he could without his magic to strengthen his blows. His blade found purchase in the spaces between arms, and with great effort wedged his blade between right into one of them.

The wolf took its chance, as the Feeder attempted to grab hold of Emanuel once more, and threw itself into one of its arms, fully knocking it over onto its side. Emanuel, as he and the Feeder toppled, grabbed hold of his sword. With one last flicker of dull red light, he mustered all his strength and let out a roar, pushing his blade through and slicing the Feeder clean in two.

Emanuel tumbled over to where he had lain previously, coughing and wheezing. He rolled over, and was shocked to see himself- a malformed, hideous mockery of himself. He took a deep breath, and slapped it, crushing it into a pile of ash.

Emanuel laid where he were for a while, doing his best to control his bleeding. He had nothing left to heal with- all he could do is apply pressure. He was snapped back to reality by a sudden round of applause from his proctors. He looked around, remembering where he was and what was going on.

Antonio helped Emanuel to his feet, and threw Emanuel’s arm over his shoulder. 

“Congratulations,” Antonio said. “You’ve passed your practical. Let’s get you patched up before your written.”

“I can’t believe you fuckers did this to me,” Emanuel wheezed.

“Relax, we knew you could handle that.”

“Could I? I almost died!”

“No, you would’ve lived.”

“There’s three proctors here for a reason,” Maria chimed in. “If you were ever in real danger, the three of us would have stepped in and stopped the Feeder. The only danger you were in was the danger of failing.”

Emanuel shook his head. “I almost lost both my legs. You sure you couldn’t have stepped in?”

“Of course not,” Antonio laughed. “You had that covered. You’re an Orion, after all.”