Flynn’s life had always been just about as far from normal as one could imagine. From the day he could walk, his father had trained him to follow in his footsteps as an assassin. He’d been conditioned to believe that killing for money and ideals was a perfectly acceptable thing.

Around ten years old, he had begun realizing that he didn’t necessarily agree with that. His sister, who was already 15 by that point, did not share his sentiment. She had been exactly the kind of child that her father wanted to raise. He had cut off ties from most of his family after becoming an adult, though he had still kept regular contact with his sister.

Flynn did not have confidence in winning this fight against his sister. She had spent her entire life training, while by the time the system came around it had been over a decade since Flynn had done any serious combat training. In direct hand to hand combat against her, he knew he would lose more often than not.

Things were different now though. This was not hand to hand combat. Flynn had a sword, and his sister had daggers. A large part of their training had been in the use of firearms, but that was pretty much useless now. The guns that Blair could make weren’t strong enough to be better than a powerful attack with a sword or spell.

The fight had already been pretty even so far. The two of them were the same level and had nearly the same exact stat total. They each had put a lot of practice into using their respective weapons, and their armor had been upgraded shortly before the tournament. Hell, even their evaluation scores were only about 50 points apart. On paper, this was a very balanced fight.

Flynn knew the other half of the story though. He had been eyeing the poison bottles at his sister’s side during the entire fight, wondering why she wasn’t using them. His sword danced through the air, the sound of metal impacting metal reverberating through the arena as their weapons met several times every second.

Flynn activated one of his skills, and his sword began to feel lighter as it started moving faster. Fionna responded in kind as her weapons began swinging faster. The two of them matched each other perfectly, not a single attack managing to make it past the other’s blades.

Flynn activated several more skills, trying to get something to slip past his sister’s guard. A few attacks did manage to leave cuts in her armor, but each of those strikes was paid for in blood as he felt her daggers dig into his skin.

The sensation felt almost nostalgic. He remembered days where he would spar with his father and end up with a few bruises on his arms where the wooden weapons his father used had managed to hit him. Back then, Flynn had also used daggers as opposed to the sword he used now.

He frowned as he continued blocking and counter attacking. It felt like so many years had been wasted learning to properly fight with daggers and his fists, only for him now to use a sword. It felt like it was too late to make the switch though, as most of his skills required him to specifically be wielding a sword of some kind.

“Having trouble keeping up?” Fionna asks him, speeding up her attacks once more. Her daggers leave more scratches on his armor as most of the attacks fail to cut all the way through the thick leather.

“Not at all.” Flynn responds, redoubling his efforts to get in a good hit. In a gamble, Flynn decides to activate one of his more straining skills. His speed increases once more as he begins swinging his sword far faster. The daggers Fionna wields are no longer sufficient to parry these attacks, and she takes multiple wounds across her body as she fails to back up in time.

Her eyes flick to Flynn's feet, noticing that he had ever so slightly overextended. Her leg whips towards his ankle, managing to hit it hard enough to make his foot slip and cause him to slow down briefly. She uses this time to make a bit more space.

Her daggers glow green briefly, and a few of the wounds on Flynn’s body begin to burn. There isn’t much additional damage done by the skill, but the pain is quite intense. He too backs up, and there is a moment of peace as they both stare at the other.

“Why don’t you use those?” Flynn asks, pointing his sword to the bottles of poison at Fionna’s hips.

She looks down at them, then back at him. “Well, I don’t want this to be too one sided.”

“That sounds like an insult.”

“Well, why don’t you prove me wrong then.” She taunts. “Come and show me that I have to use everything I have if I want to beat you.”

The words cut deep. Deeper than her daggers have so far. Flynn remembered the days where his father would beckon him to ‘just try harder’ or to ‘come show me what you can do’. It was a time he would rather not think back on much, but now his mind couldn’t come off of it.

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When Flynn raised his sword to fight now, it felt like it wasn’t just his sister he was fighting. Their father died several years ago, but before that he had taught her everything he knew. In his mind, this was his chance to finally get back at him for the years of being a terrible parent.

He ran forward, his sword once more dancing through the air. The screech of metal on metal was loud and painful on the ears, but he ignored it. Even as his wounds began throbbing in pain, he ignored it. His mind was racing, faster than his body could keep up with. Using two hands for a single weapon just felt so limiting, so unnatural to him.

He took one hand off of his sword, letting it rest by his side for a moment. He activated one of his skills, a special ranked skill that allowed him to grow his weapon to get off a powerful attack. He strained himself as he instead shrunk his sword slightly, making it small enough to wield with just one hand. Another sword appeared in his other hand, having been pulled from the storage ring on his finger.

That sword too shrunk down to a manageable size. Before ever having swung the swords, he felt back in his element. His muscle memory from over a decade ago was barely there, but still very much sat in the back of his mind. His sister’s eyes widened in surprise, but then narrowed in excitement.

“Looks like you are finally going back to your roots.” She says, twirling her daggers. The two of them ran at each other again. Flynn’s increase in speed had worn off by this point, and he was already feeling the slight exhaustion that came from using it. It was not enough to slow him down, but it very slightly fogged his mind.

The skill activated again, his speed increasing once more as his rustiness was slowly being shaken off. He’d spent thousands of hours fighting against his father, and he could see the echoes of his fighting style in the way Fionna moved. She really did take after him.

She leans down slightly, having seen an opening in Flynn’s defense. She lunges forward, knocking away one of his swords as her dagger flew straight for his stomach.

This was a move that his father had pulled many times, and was often what ended their sparring sessions once he doubled over in pain. Flynn was prepared this time. His sister taking after their father so much was a bit of a disadvantage, as he knew a lot of his tendencies in the fight.

He had made that opening on purpose. He’d baited out this lunging attack, and he was already poised to dodge the attack. He pushed off the ground and moved to the side, his sword being brought down in a reverse grip to stab straight through his sister’s back. The sword that had been knocked away came back and also stabbed through her.

Flynn looked down at his opponent. His eyes hardened as he stared down at the eyes of his father. No, the eyes of his sister. The fog lifted from his mind as he remembered who this fight was truly against.

Fionna rips herself away from the swords through her, leaving a deep gash through her torso. Blood spilled out, but she quickly pulled something from a storage ring to pack the wound. It was green leaves of some kind that slowed the bleeding.

“Not bad.” His sister says. “Looks like I can’t take this lightly.”

Her dagger quickly cuts through a string at her hip, the bottles falling to the ground and breaking. She quickly pulls a mask up to her face, covering her mouth and nose. A pair of goggles appears on her face, covering her eyes.

Flynn watches as the cloud of poison around them rapidly begins to grow. The speed boost was wearing off again, the exhaustion of using the skill now far worse. The gas began to fill the area all around them, and he was losing sight of his opponent.

He smiled slightly as he stood there. For a moment, he had almost forgotten who he was fighting. He had won against his father, but that is not who he was fighting. The last he saw of his sister was her nodding to him as the poison fog fully obscured her.

Yes, while he may have won against his father, he was fighting somebody that had long ago surpassed that man. How could he possibly know that? Well, that is because his sister is the one who had killed him.

“I guess I still have a bit more catching up to do.” He mutters, and only a second later a dagger sinks into his throat.

__________

I look down at the cloud of poison in the arena. It had fully engulfed both Flynn and his sister, and even with mana sight I could not see through it. For about 30 seconds the fog hung over the arena. I was about to ask the King if he could see anything, but the cloud began to disperse.

As the fog thinned enough to see the fighters, I realized that Flynn had lost the fight. He lay on the ground riddled in cuts and stab wounds. Each one was clearly irritated by the poison in the air, with some of the cuts having turned various shades of black and green. Only a few seconds after catching sight of them, the fight ended. They were teleported back and neither had changed in rank. Both of their scores had gone up though, with the difference in their scores still being just 50 points.

“Good fight.” I say to Flynn. “You got pretty close to beating her with that last attack of yours. A bit more practice and you could very well win the next sparring session between the two of you.”

“Maybe.” Flynn nods, staring off into space. “Hey, what will you do if you lose your last fight?”

The question catches me off guard for a moment, but I respond honestly. “Then I would train hard enough to be able to win it the next time. Having something like that to work towards is a great motivator for me.”

Flynn seems to think for a moment, but doesn’t say anything.

“I’m guessing you are a bit bummed about the loss?” I guess.

“No, not exactly. Actually, I am starting to get motivated again. I want to grow stronger without the help of anybody else. I was taught to fight the way I do, but I want to make a fighting style of my own.”

“That’s a good goal.” I say. “You really think it’ll be that easy though? I mean, having somebody teach you a thing or two could do wonders for your technique.”

“I think it will be better if I do it myself.” Flynn says, finally looking at me. “I’ll pave my own path to the top. If I don’t quite get there, then I’ll at least know what I am really capable of.”