Just as fast as I rocket up, I’m falling back down.

I manage to land in a squat and not break anything, but my legs feel limp, wobbly. Shit, that was my highest jump ever. I rack my brain, trying to recall what I saw through the window. The deck was empty. I think it was empty. Did they leave to stop my trial? I’m rooted in place. Caught between wanting to peer up to be sure no one saw me and bolting to the other side to deny I was even near the window.

The hair on the back of my neck tingles as the fog ripples with a disturbance. No time to think about that now. The heat from the Blaze radiates on my back, and the Flick is right in front of me. I’m trapped between the two.

The Flick demon holds still a few feet before me. My hands ache from the force of my grip as I take comfort in my blades. But I don’t dare make any other move.

The Blaze can’t release another fire breath for a few minutes, so I give my attention to the Flick. Its form vibrates in and out as it assesses me. I need a plan, fast.

The heat on my back increases as the Blaze closes in. My skin screams for me to move away. My heart begs my brain to think. And my eyes are stuck on the Flick’s dead orbs. A gurgling noise comes from it as if it’s trying to speak to me through its drooling maw. I turn sideways to give my back a break from the heat.

Taking a wide stance, legs shoulder width apart, I lift my arms up from my sides, pointing a blade at each demon. I spin my swords in one rotation. The pounding from the arena doors is replaced by the hum of a drill now. They’re close to getting those doors open.

My lungs feel raw and thin as the hot air intensifies, mixing with the putrid smell of sulfur and rot from the demons. With a slow exhale, I push all that I have from my center and let my powers run wild. A buzz of energy surges, and my head clears, sharpens. The flare of electric blue from my eyes reflects off my blade, the Flick’s movements stutter.

I can see every micro movement it makes now. How its thin gray skin actually becomes translucent when it moves. It blinks in and out so quickly, teleporting in place. Then it disappears and stays invisible for a few seconds, before reappearing a few feet to my right. It blinks around my position like this a few more times, but never advances. I watch carefully, studying it.

I notice the Flick turns its head in the direction it will blink to next. This happens faster than any normal warrior could detect and I’ve never been more grateful to be a freak than I am now. I’ll use its tell to stay ahead of it.

A popping sound from the electronic lock of the arena doors causes the Flick to still. I’m at the far end of the arena and can’t keep this stand-off much longer.

Heavy breaths and rapid heartbeats enter the arena, and the slight glow of the instructor’s goggles cut through the fog. If I can top out my speed, I can meet the Flick where it’ll appear next.

The sword facing the Blaze demon almost slips from my slick grip, thanks to the oppressive heat. Its fire breath will recharge soon. The instructors are getting close. I wish there was more fog to cover the moves I need to make to get out of this.

As if summoned, another wave of fog covers our position. I don’t have time to think about why that happened. None of us move as the rolling fog blankets us. As soon as I’m covered, I crouch, fueling my legs full of power, and launch toward the Flick. I soar above it, tuck into a forward spin, and land behind it, back-to-back. With a backward thrust of my blades, I pierce through its body and release my breath.

Spinning around, I pull out one blade. A wet sucking comes from the Flick’s spongy insides. The other blade I keep lodged in its chest, to stop it from teleporting.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

With my front to its back, I drag my free blade across its frail neck. Cold black demon ichor sprays out in front of us, then slows. The blurring form becomes solid, and I wait for it to go still before removing my weapons.

“Oren!”

Before I can answer, the ragged inhale of the Blaze demon comes from behind me. I release my blades, they clang on the ground, abandoned. I pull the Flick’s carcass against me, throw myself backward on the ground, and use the dead demon as a shield just as a stream of fire blasts over me.

The Flick’s flesh melts and runs like a hot river over my hands and uniform. I let out a strangled grunt through the pain.

“He’s over here!” someone says.

The fire breath stops as a thunder of boots surround the Blaze. With the cover of the fog, I slide from underneath the charred Flick and keep low to the ground. My hands and wrists are a pulsing, blistered mass, but those injuries are not enough.

The instructors yell out to one another as they herd the Blaze away. I reach down, grit my teeth through the pain of closing a hand around one of the Flick’s crispy clawed arms. The stretch of my oozing skin makes my vision fuzzy on the edges.

The Flick’s razor-sharp claws are still extended. I press the pointed tips into the top of my chest, piercing my uniform. I push them deep under my skin before dragging the claw down past my ribs. My teeth clench hard to keep from making a sound.

I drop the Flick from my shaky hands. Ribbons of blood rise to the surface of my chest, outlining the wound before gushing down to soak my uniform. This is an injury they’d expect a cadet to have after facing three demons alone.

I discarded my weapons back to the ether and drag myself to lean against the nearest wall while the instructors cage the Blaze demon.

My head falls heavy against the brick. I wince at the force of the impact. I don’t have the strength to do much else. I’ve never felt so weak, so empty. My chest gives only a slight twinge as my powers limp back to my center.

The instructors are almost on me. I drag the goggles down off my eyes and strain to lift my head off the wall to check my reflection in the lenses. My shoulders drop from my ears, seeing my regular pale silver eyes staring back at me.

“Oren.”

My eyelids are heavy as I search for the voice. The foggy atmosphere retreats from around me. It’s receding waves are slow and hypnotic, almost sentient as it wanders back down the tunnel, back to the wall gate, back to the home of nightmares and death.

I should feel the same natural repulsion others describe when in contact with the Mist’s fog. But I don’t. It’s welcoming to me. Maybe because the atmosphere has always symbolized freedom in the way it hides me from anyone’s sight.

I shiver against the cold brick wall. My body heat is fading. The fog’s pulsing ebb and flow moves slower as it reaches the tunnel doors. My breath and heart beat fall in sync with the rhythm, becoming sluggish, retreating.

I can barely make out the dark shapes of the instructors coming closer. Bodies move around me. Low mumbles and muffled staccato orders float by.

I’ve never been sick a day in my life, but the effort it takes to stay upright reminds me of an outbreak that swept through the academy. Rows and rows of pale, sweaty cadets unable to sit up filled the barracks for weeks.

My head rolls back against the wall, and I catch movement high above in the observation room. General Targe’s stiff stature is back lit against the window. Was he up there the entire time? Did he see the crazy jump I made? Wouldn’t that just be the pinnacle to his stellar career? To be the one to get rid of the last Oren.

If he saw that jump, how I can move like they do…I swallow hard and push thoughts of my newly increased powers and whose they resemble out of my mind. I have no idea what would happen if they discover my powers. Twisted nightmares of becoming a lab rat or executed on site fill my head. I’ve waited, held on too long and endured too much to not go home now. I can’t think about that now. I can’t focus on my thoughts at all. I’m so tired.

My eyes drop from Targe’s still form as weariness settles deep. My limbs are heavy, and this wall is the only thing holding me up. With each blink, my eyes stay closed longer and longer. The instructors crowd me now.

Blink

Sergeant Gray makes his way through to stand in front of me. His thin down-turned lips move, but no sound comes out.

Blink

I look back up at the observation window. Cole is speaking to his father, but the general is unmoved.

Blink

A hand touches my shoulder, and I roll my head towards it and see black.