“Striking drills are pretty common in karate, as I recall,” Griffin said. “I’d like to get a look at your form, so let’s do some basic drills. Start with punches. Wide stance, fighting stance, whatever’s comfortable for you.”

“It’s been a while, so I might be a bit awkward,” Aaron warned.

Awkward turned out to be a bit of a generous word for it.

Aaron hadn’t done any basic drills in almost a decade, so it felt incredibly strange to move into a formal training stance, especially when he was doing it by himself. He was even wearing shoes and street clothes, which made it feel extra double weird.

Still, this wasn’t training for a hypothetical mugging or shoving match gone bad; it was preparation for life-or-death fights that were basically going to be inevitable in his new life. There was nothing for it but to do it, so he spread his feet to just about shoulder width, bent his knees slightly, and pulled his fists back to his sides.

Start simple, he told himself. Remember the form, how to strike. Straight arm, straight wrist, hit with the first two knuckles. You can do this.

Aaron went through the most simple punching drill he remembered. A punch aimed for the chin, then for the solar plexus, then the groin, with a small, sharp exhalation on each strike. He did one hand then the other before moving down to the next level. Chin chin, gut gut, nut nut.

He could practically hear his old sensei counting out in Japanese and, when he finished the first drill, he had the strongest urge to drop back to the neutral stance and throw out a front kick.

Had that been a part of this drill? he wondered.

He repeated the drill four more times, leaving out the kick. There would be plenty of time for kicks later. Plus, Aaron was really unsure if that was actually part of the drill or just something his brain was inventing to screw with him. Some people would say your brain can’t work against you because it is you, but those people and their healthy, normal psyches could eat the entirety of Aaron’s ass.

For his next drill, Aaron adjusted his stance. It was a little more narrow and his right foot was slightly further back and taking most of his weight. Once he brought his hands up into a relaxed guard, he was in the most basic sparring position he knew.

He did five more straight punches from this position. He took the time on each strike to properly feel his way around the movement of his shoulder and hip, how his weight shifted between his legs to give each punch more power. This position was where he was most comfortable. After his five dominant crosses, he flipped his stance and repeated them with the left hand.

In the minute or so it had taken to run through those simple drills, Albert had made his way over to the big jungle gym, where Kiara was already in the pipeworks and waiting for him. The small man didn’t break stride, he just dove in like an otter hitting a stream. He flitted around the pipes like an eel as Kiara started to pursue him.

“Alright, let’s see some kicks,” Griffin said, drawing Aaron’s focus back to the task at hand.

Aaron repeated the same process he had used with punches - a neutral, front-facing stance for five snap kicks with each foot, then into a fighting stance for five more on each side. After those, he added a series of downward sidekicks and waist-high roundhouses. His roundhouse with the left leg was very uncoordinated, but he’d never been much of a kicker anyways.

“Can you do an axe or hook kick?” Griffin asked.

“Never kick above your own waist unless you’re in a tournament or shooting a movie,” Aaron said. “I can’t remember who told me that, but it’s a solid policy.”

Griffin grinned and nodded. “Okay, so you learned street fighting karate, not tournament karate.”

Over in the Jungle, Albert had climbed nearly to the top of the complicated structure and was saying something to Kiara. She didn’t seem to be in a listening mood, however, and kept lunging to grab at his ankles. He kept just out of her reach by swinging and twisting away through the narrow metal frames.

“Let’s do a little sparring,” Griffin said. “Full contact, full speed; the bands will make sure we don’t hurt each other.”

They took positions on the starting lines, facing each other. Aaron bowed slightly at the waist and Griffin copied him a moment later, then they each took a fighting stance. Aaron settled into the simple posture he’d been using for the drills, while Griffin adopted something more suitable to boxing.

Aaron took a couple hesitant steps forward, angling his movement slightly toward Griffin’s flank. Griffin’s body swayed gently from side to side, his shoulders occasionally dipping to feign a punch, and he kept himself oriented on Aaron, but his feet stayed fairly stationary on the mat. That struck Aaron as odd.

On his next step, Aaron didn’t adjust his footing smoothly but hopped forward, lifting his leading foot as if he were going to kick. Griffin barely reacted, merely exaggerating his near-stationary bobbing and weaving.

Is he screwing around? Aaron wondered. Maybe I can test whether he’s being serious by breaking my kicking rule.

With a few light punches, Aaron moved himself into a position with a good angle for a high kick. Griffin continued not to engage so, as soon as he was there, Aaron tossed a big roundhouse right at Griffin’s head. All Griffin did was raise his guard a bit higher to tank the blow and respond by tapping Aaron in the chest with a light jab.

Aaron stepped back and lowered his hands slightly.

“Are you screwing with me or something?”

“What do you mean?” Griffin asked.

“I was wide open before, during, and after that big, stupid kick,” Aaron replied. “But you barely did anything. If you just want to see my form, I’m sure there’s a heavy bag or some pads around here somewhere.”

Kiara’s voice cut across the Dome before Griffin could respond, drawing their attention. “Stop running, you slippery little weasel!”

She was in the midst of vaulting and diving through one gap after another over in the Jungle. Albert continued to treat it like a game of tag or hide and seek. He seemed to be intent on staying out of her reach and avoiding a direct engagement.

“You’re right, I was sandbagging,” Griffin said. “But I had my reasons. I wanted to stay threatening without engaging to get an idea of your sense of a fight and whether you’d get overconfident or reckless. In fairness, you were reckless with that big roundhouse, but it was because you’d seen through my deception and wanted to test it. It’s not a risk I’d encourage in live combat, though I can’t really knock your reasoning to do it in this situation.”

“So, are we going to do this or do you want to keep playing grab-ass?”

Griffin rolled his neck, then his shoulders. “We’re going to do this.”

They returned to their starting lines and bowed again. When Griffin came in this time, he was lower, his shoulders more forward, and his hands loose and open — Aaron recognized it as a wrestler’s stance.

They circled each other a few seconds before Griffin shot forward, lunging for Aaron’s legs. Aaron tried to sprawl out, but Griffin got an arm around his waist and one hand on the back of a thigh. Aaron had only a fraction of a second to reply or he’d be on his back with Griffin on top of him.

Going with the momentum of the lunge rather than fighting it, Aaron grabbed onto Griffin’s shoulders and pulled his knee up to get a foot on Griffin’s hip or waist. As soon as his ass touched the floor, Aaron rolled backwards and pulled as hard as he could while fully extending his leg. Griffin lost his grip, sailing clear over Aaron and flipping in midair to land flat on his back.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

Aaron wanted to crow over the successful throw, to chastise himself for not attempting a guillotine choke, and to take a second to remember what the heck that throw was even called. Alas, he could hear Griffin rolling to his feet almost as soon as he hit the floor, so he had to get back up, too.

No push kicks to keep him away unless he’s coming in very high, Aaron told himself. In fact, no kicks that aren’t a sure thing. That’s a good way to get your ass gator rolled into a leg lock.

“Good throw,” Griffin said, squaring himself back up to Aaron.

The big drakus regarded Aaron with a more measured look now, and approached in a more circular fashion with feints instead of looking for immediate openings. When they engaged again, Aaron could barely hold him off and had to use the threat of quick strikes to maintain any kind of breathing room. They wound up on the floor, scrabbling and vying for advantage, almost immediately.

Griffin was fast, repositioning himself and trying to latch onto different holds constantly. It was all Aaron could do to keep himself from getting completely wrapped up and he never really managed to get himself into a position for any meaningful strikes. Trying to counter grapple was an exercise in futility; the big man was just too experienced.

A loud clang from the center of the Dome caused both of them to pause in their struggle, turning their attention once more to the Jungle. Albert had finally stopped moving. He was standing with one arm draped over a pipe and rubbing a hand over his nose and forehead.

Griffin couldn’t quite stop himself from laughing, a snort of air escaping his nostrils. “I think he went face first into that pipe.”

“Watch his feet,” Aaron said, his eyes darting around the complicated metal frame looking for what he knew had to be there.

Sure enough, barely a second later a small, pale hand shot up and latched onto Albert’s ankle. He barely had time to curse before Kiara had pulled herself directly beneath him and grabbed onto the other leg. Then she yanked on him like she was trying to break a wishbone.

Although Chuck Taylor’s might be famous for being stylish and comfortable, they were not famous for their grip. Especially not on a slick surface like a small, round metal pipe. Albert’s feet slipped off the frame and then gravity lent Kiara a helping hand. He fell, hard, onto the pipe he’d been standing on. His mouth and eyes formed near-perfect Os that made his face resemble nothing so much as a bowling ball that was quickly turning burgundy.

Aaron and Griffin both winced involuntarily at Albert’s drop, their grips on each other tightening as their bodies tensed in sympathetic agony.

Kiara dropped off her own pipe, still holding onto Albert’s ankles, and swung from him like a trapeze. She propelled herself onto the floor outside the Jungle and brushed her hands off with a satisfied smirk. Slowly, Albert tilted to the side and began to fall through the pipeworks like a poorly-designed game of Plinko.

“You were right about the nards,” Aaron told Griffin.

“Unfortunately so.”

Kiara sauntered over to their mat, looking like the cat that caught the canary. She eyed them up and put her hands on her hips.

“How’s it going over here? You boys look like you’re on your third date.”

“Just doing some grappling,” Griffin said.

Kiara scowled, but her smile came back quickly enough. “I didn’t get the impression Aaron was a grappler. It’s good to have a solid ground game, but if this is an assessment shouldn’t you go back to starting positions if you wind up rolling around on the floor?”

“That’s… a very good point,” Griffin admitted. “I guess I got caught up. If we wind up on the floor or one of us establishes a solid lock or choke, we’ll break and go back to neutral positions.”

Griffin released Aaron and scooched away. Aaron let him go, as well, and they went back to the starting lines. They adopted their fighting stances again.

This time, Griffin was much more aggressive right from the start. He countered Aaron into throws, locks, and chokes enough times consecutively that even Albert managed to hobble over and join Kiara in watching them.

It was getting… frustrating.

Aaron wasn’t mad — he didn’t get mad. Well, okay, he did, as it turned out, get really, really mad. But he wasn’t anywhere near that point. He was definitely frustrated.

He couldn’t manage to accomplish much more than the occasional elbow or knee as Griffin closed the distance and wrapped him up over and over. There was a difference in size and reach, which worked against Aaron, but the real obstacle was that Griffin was used to fighting full out. He was much faster to find or create openings then capitalize on them.

What can I work to my advantage here? Aaron wondered as they faced off in the center of the mat again. Maybe I’m thinking about this wrong, too much like who I was and not who I’m becoming.

He started to form an idea, but it was very risky. His biggest concern wasn’t whether he could pull it off — although that was an issue — but whether the dampening bands worked as well as he’d been told. So far, neither he or Griffin had used any particular degree of superhuman strength; Aaron was about to change that.

When Griffin came at him next, Aaron moved forward as if he were trying for his own takedown on the big man’s legs. Griffin reacted by dropping his haunches, throwing his feet back, and wrapping his arms around Aaron’s torso. But Aaron had got a hand around one of Griffin’s thighs and that was enough to make his move.

Aaron focused on the power he had as a drakus, not just the power in his muscles, and pushed through Griffin. He pulled the big man’s leg in tight against his own body and stood up. Griffin was forced backward and fell onto his back on the mat. Before Griffin could reposition himself or start to get up, Aaron grabbed his ankle and began to swing him around like a club.

Wham! He slammed Griffin into the mat.

Wham! He slammed him down again, on his other side.

He was only going to slam Griffin one or two more times, but he wanted to strut a little first.

“We have an Aaron!” he shouted.

Before his celebration could find its way to less relevant movie references, Aaron found himself hoisted off the ground. He did at least one complete flip in the air and crashed onto the mat before he’d even started to register what happened.

“Do it again!” Albert coughed from the sidelines, pulling out his phone. “I wanna get a video of that!”

Aaron rolled back onto his feet, still confused. Griffin had rolled all the way off the edge of the mat and was standing back up, as well, brushing himself off with his hands.

“What the hell just happened?” Aaron asked.

Griffin held up a hand to stop Albert from responding. “It was faster than you’re used to and you were distracted, but take a second to see if you can piece together what went down.”

“Okay,” Aaron said, rubbing his neck.

He could start there actually, with his neck. It was a little tender and sore when it hadn’t been sore at all a few seconds earlier. So something had happened with his neck. That… didn’t exactly narrow it down, but it wasn’t the only thing he knew. He also knew that his feet had been yanked out from under him and that he’d flipped ass over teakettle. And, now that he was thinking about it, he had also flipped in the same direction he’d been swinging Griffin.

Putting all of that together painted a picture that, if Aaron hadn’t bench pressed over half a ton barely an hour earlier, he wouldn’t have been able to believe.

“I think you grabbed onto me,” he said slowly, feeling the idea out. “Then my own strength pulled me into a flip.”

Griffin clapped his hands together once, loudly. “Right in one!”

“It was hilarious,” Albert wheezed, though it was unclear if it was from laughter or his inevitably swollen genitals.

Griffin went on. “The thing you have to remember about fighting with praeternatural strength is that it can be turned against you if your opponent has anywhere close to the same degree of strength.”

“Or magic that can otherwise account for the difference,” Kiara added.

“Good point,” Griffin agreed. “In my case, I curled down into a ball and grabbed onto you as best as I could. When you swung me over your head as hard as you could, so long as I kept my grip and stayed close to you, you would pull yourself off your own feet. Which you did.”

Albert put a hand on Aaron’s shoulder and leaned against him. “Strength isn’t an anchor, it’s a chain. You still weigh roughly as much as a person of your size and build. Unless you can hold onto something, you’re no harder to pick up than you were a week ago.”

“So if someone hits me I’m going to go flying?”

“Sometimes,” Griffin said. “But most attacks don’t have solely, or even predominantly, upward momentum. Decent footing and your own strength will usually help you maintain your position.”

Kiara stepped onto the mat. “I think we’ve done some good work so far but we’re on a bit of a tight schedule. How about we move on to weapons training?”