Samson held onto the small dagger the best he could. The blade was heavy for its size, but his hands were almost too big for the grip. With his own blade, Maven sliced at him in a smooth motion. Samson dodged back and tried to poke the pointy end at the old man.
"I told you, get within reach," Mav said, barely leaning back to avoid the blade's tip. They were metal, but dulled down so that they were more blunt than anything. That didn't do much to dull the damage they inflicted. Samson had more than a few blade size bruises on his body. Mav strode forward, closing the distance in a second, and smacked Samson’s hand that held the dagger. Then his fist lit up with electricity, and he punched Samson in the gut.
Dropping to the ground, Samson’s leg muscles became numb, and he gritted his teeth to fight the pain. “Come on, Samson, I told you, your grip is the most important part,” Mav said. “The second you relax is the moment you lose your weapon.”
When Samson recovered from the electrical shock, he got back on his feet. “I grip it too hard. My hand is exhausted from holding onto it.”
“Which is normal. You have to hold it loosely and learn when to tighten your grip,” Mav said. “Come on. Let’s keep going.” Samson nodded and walked over to the dagger. Mav made a move for him, but Samson dodged out of the way. As he rolled, he grabbed the blade and pointed it at the old man, then turned it to the side to block another strike.
It had been over a week since they officially began working as the Arc Police Unit. On Monday, after their 'graduation', they spent a whole day downtown at the cop shop. Samson was normally nervous to be so close to so many officers, but for once, they didn't judge him by his skin color. No, the other officers hated him because he was an Arc.
Will and Katy had been oblivious to the looks so far, but the everyday officers hated them all. Once upon a time, police had their handy, dandy firearms at their sides. The Goons forbade the use of guns, leaving stun guns as the officers' primary form of protection. Which, in most cases, wasn’t enough to stop an Arc.
Samson and his friends, being Arcs, were already viewed as individuals who should be tolerated but not trusted. Their days split up into shifts where at least 2 people had to be ready to go out for a call at any time; Samson had already been called out for 3 different Arcs.
One was a young kid who could control water. He had somehow caused sprinklers to go off inside a jewelry store, then used that water to attack patrons. With water everywhere, the first officer on scene had tased him, which was enough to deal with the Arc. Samson and Katy showed up, and they were basically told they weren’t needed.
The other two calls had been mild, too. The only Arc that required their intervention was one capable of making objects vanish. He had broken into someone's house and was responsible for making all of their belongings disappear. Samson got ahold of him, and with Control he hadn’t worried about the Arc hurting him. They cuffed and tased the guy, transported him to a special Arc jail cell, and shooed Samson away.
He wasn’t too surprised by their reaction. A few months ago, Samson would have acted the same way. He didn't hate other Arcs; he was smart enough to fear them. Like others in their little group, he had seen some awful things during the Anarchist War. He and Santos hadn’t lived in the best neighborhood. Since they were alone, they relied on each other, but too many people took advantage of their vulnerability.
Samson pushed those thoughts away and refocused on Maven. The old man had been true to his word. Making himself available daily, Samson was sure to ask for help. Weapons were his main focus, but the old man required Samson to learn one before moving on to another. They started on daggers, but Samson wanted to move up to the sword.
The tattoo of two swords and a shield on his shoulder drew attention to the real thing. He was a fighter, and he wanted to prove it. Back when they hunted the Bloodhounds, Samson realized that he didn’t know the first thing about swords. The first Hound he found nearly gutted him when he tried to wack the beast with the blade. After that, he stuck to his fists and found a large, sharp rock. Maybe it was stupid of him or some romanticized notion, but once Mav told him that most Goons used real-life swords in fights, Samson wanted one.
The dull blade of Mav's knife struck loudly against Samson. It was hard to hold it with one hand, so Samson began punching and kicking him. The old man met the onslaught with his own fists and feet. Mav smiled wide as they pushed the blades away and began fighting for real.
“Good! Never just use your weapon,” Mav said. “Your body is the strongest weapon there is.”
Samson growled and slashed at the old man’s throat. Mav grabbed his wrist, and Samson attempted to kick him in the nuts. Mav blocked it easily, then did the same to Samson. Jumping back, he narrowly missed getting floored again, and they continued on. Slash, thrust, parry, feint—the old man had them moving all around the gym like some choreographed fight. Never still and always getting hit, Samson gave as good as he could.
When they took a break, Mav pointed out more issues. He wasn't sure how to hold the blade at the right angle or where to place his thumbs, but he was making progress overall. This, like everything else about the old man, made him feel uneasy.
Samson Daniels never knew his real father, or any father for that matter. His mother, Rosita Rodriquez, had been the only parent he knew. She had said once that his father’s name was Daniels, but Samson never knew for sure. He didn’t have a first name for the guy or any information on whether he was alive. Rose said that they had been friends once, and that was all he got. After a while, he stopped asking.
Despite what women in similar situations as his mother did, Rose never really had guys around. She worked to provide for Samson and Santos. Always sure that bills were paid and they had money to survive. Sometimes she disappeared for weeks, but she made sure they had enough. Samson’s main source of understanding what it meant to be a man was through TV. During the Anarchist War, there were a few men who were good examples, but none proved to be worth anything. Those men had only stuck around for their own profit. Using Samson and his strength to gain more than Samson received in return.
These facts had been moving through his mind for the last few weeks. When he first started training with the others, Samson really only wanted to learn how to control his ability better. Despite the relatively weak output of most of the others, Samson's power was excessively strong. During the war and afterward, he had inadvertently hurt a lot of people when he couldn’t control it. The brothers had not disclosed this fact to anyone, but Maven discovered it after probing Samson's mind during their initial encounter.
Having earned the name Bloodlust Samson in their old neighborhood, Samson wasn’t sure he would ever get control of his power. Samson was able to maintain his strength without going overboard thanks to Maven's guidance. Everything the old man taught was useful. Always talking, never taking a break, the old man had quickly become the only true father figure in Samson’s life.
Not that Samson would ever admit that, though. He was 20 years old. Needing a father was beyond him. Needing anyone was beyond him. All he cared about was his brother. Making sure Santos survived was and always would be his main concern. But sometimes Samson let himself imagine what it was like to not always be the man of the house. How his life could have been different if his mother hadn’t flaked on whoever knocked her up with Samson and Santos.
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Shaking his head, he pushed the dark thoughts away as Mav finished the lesson. “What do you want to practice next?” Maven asked with a smile.
“Uh, when do I get to use a sword?” He asked with a grin.
“Soon,” Mav said. “You have to work up to that. Despite how they look, daggers and swords are completely different beasts. Demonstrate to me your ability to use and defend against a dagger, and we will proceed accordingly."
A thought struck Samson as he studied the old man. “Who taught you to use a sword?” Samson asked.
“I…” Mav stopped, pondering for a moment. Questions about the old man’s past were usually met with simple deflections like, that doesn’t matter or mind your business. This time, he actually answered. “I learned a lot through trial and error when I was younger. Back in the day, guns were your biggest concern. But once you realize that as long as they aren’t pointing at you, they aren’t dangerous, then-”
“What? As long as they aren’t pointing at you? What does that mean?” Samson asked with a frown. He had encountered a significant number of guns in the past, yet they continued to frighten him.
“I mean, if you’re faster than the shooter, you just move faster than they can point the barrel at you,” Mav said with a smile. "After I trained to be fast enough to dodge the barrel, I found myself facing off against real strong people who didn't use guns. These individuals were so strong that even bullets didn't seem to bother them. Melee weapons were their go-to. After more than a few close calls, I searched for a trainer."
“Jeez,” Samson said, trying to picture it. “Can we work on that? Training to outrun guns?”
“Sure,” Mav said with a smile. His pointer finger pointed straight out like a barrel, and his thumb pointed up like a gun's hammer. “Want to dodge some zaps?” Samson gulped, but nodded, stepping back a pace from him. “Farther away.”
“Huh?” Samson inquired as he walked backwards in the gym.
“Guns are most dangerous further away. Imagine facing a gun as if you were fighting Katy. What do you do when you go against her?” Mav asked.
“Uh, try to get close,” Samson said once he was a good 30 feet away from Mav.
“Good. Katy can call wind to attack you. Distance doesn’t matter to her; the attack itself is invisible to you. Bullets are the same but more focused. They project a small chunk of metal at you faster than you can see. That small chunk has the strength to pierce your skin and kill you instantly if it hits the right spot. So remember that-” Mav shot a thin bolt of electricity from his fingertip.
This attack was not instantaneous, but rather, it was slower. Instead of hitting him before he could react, the bolt took a full second to reach him, allowing him to dodge slightly and make it hit his shoulder. Samson experienced instant pain, a sensation he was accustomed to. As his shoulder became numb, all he did was grit his teeth, moving in a serpentine fashion toward the old man.
“Good,” Mav said, moving backward. “My goal is to maintain this distance at all times. Watch the barrel-” Mav shot another bolt. Samson dodge-rolled away and was missed. “Power-up, Samson. Where do you need more strength?”
Samson began to pull at his ardor and manipulated it to go to his legs. Already in Control with his ardor circulating through his body, it was simple to awaken it to attach to his muscles. A burning sensation moved through Samson’s muscles as he bulked up. With increased strength assailing him, he moved faster as he focused the ardor on his feet, allowing him to spring forward more quickly.
Speed was 20% upper-body strength. Manipulating more ardor into his arms and chest, Samson forgot his aches and pains. He had been training for hours that day, and his normal body was full of strain. Now that he had increased his strength, Samson felt like a new man. Power flowed through his entire body. As his muscles grew in size, his own frame began to get larger, changing his center of gravity and how he moved as he tried to close the distance to the old man.
Another bolt shot him in the foot, but Samson ignored it completely. This wasn’t a game of tag. Each shot was a bullet; each hit was a loss for him. He suppressed his anger at his current loss and concentrated on achieving his goal. His eyes were always moving to where the barrel of Mav’s finger was pointing; he didn’t stay in place but always moved.
The old man missed Samson twice in a row. Samson ignored it, always pushing for more strength throughout his body. His muscles felt like they were on fire. His ardor made him rapidly grow to 7 feet tall. As his weight increased, loud footfalls echoed in the gym. Muscles expanded out as they increased in volume.
This was just one of the numerous problems he faced with his powers. As he grew, he gained weight. His muscles began to bulk up, but he didn't feel any stress on his skin. Instead, as his bones lengthened, he experienced a simple burn, and he pushed that fire everywhere. Maven had mentioned that Arcs possessing his power were known as Riots. It was easy to see why that was the case, as he felt the heat throughout his body. The only way to stop him was to let his power burn itself out.
Sweat was dripping down his body. Samson felt like he could do this. His eyes focused on the fingertip, and he used every muscle he could to keep moving. Without shoes on, his feet gripped the smooth, clear coating of the floor as he twisted this way and that way, narrowly missing the painful bullet. He forgot everything as he moved.
There was no Maven; only a man pointed a gun at him. No one judged him based on his past. There was no fear in people’s eyes when they heard his name. Just him and his natural-born ability. No worries in the world could touch him as he made his body stronger. The ultimate game of dodgeball was being played, and Samson ate all of it up.
Even before the APU, he had loved testing his physical limits. Finding abandoned weights and gym equipment had been fairly simple after the Anarchist War. Once they were able to secure work and food, Samson focused on becoming stronger. His ability had awakened during the war, and he knew that this power could set them apart and potentially elevate them from the bottom of the food chain.
For years, Samson had trained. He really thought he was strong. No one had been able to beat him in a fight in a long time, and Samson reveled in it. That was until he met Maven, at least. That was when he saw true power.
Mav changed tactics. Mav fired three shots consecutively from his finger, causing Samson to dodge the first one, feign movement in one direction, and then turn back around. The final two shots struck him directly in the chest, resulting in his downfall. Instantly, the fire around his body began to get out of hand. For the first time, Samson realized he was relying on his power for too long. He could lose control of his power if he kept going. Pulling the ardor back, his body began to shrink as he made his mind relax.
“Ouch,” Mav said as he put his finger away and walked the few paces over. “Your pattern was fairly easy to see. Next, let’s work on truly random move-” Mav stopped as an announcement came out over the intercom.
“Hey, uh, old man? Can you come to the office?” Katy’s voice asked over the PA system.
Mav frowned but walked out of the gym without saying another word. Samson continued to sit there, catching his breath as his body finished shrinking. His body was once again overwhelmed with exhaustion, even more so than before. His legs were practically on fire with the pain, and he chastised himself for allowing his power to lead him to such a state. Though he didn’t feel it when he was using his power, his exhaustion from powering up and using the increased strength typically added to his current exhaustion.
This had always been a pain; at least that’s what he assumed. Mav explained that the increased exhaustion would help his own muscle growth, allowing him to become stronger faster. Because Samson had a brother who could heal him, the pain was never around for long.
Pushing off his knees, Samson stood and headed off to go lift some weights. His thoughts on what to work out next he was stopped in his tracks as Mav announced over the PA, “Everyone to the front office. We have an Arc call that will require all of you.”
“That’s…new,” he mumbled as he headed toward the front office.