He waited with the familiar calm of his battle trance taking control. He wasn’t sure what this monster’s hunting patterns were going to be, so he had to be ready for anything. Would it fight similarly to a boar and try to charge through him, or would it stop to exchange blows like a crab, or would it keep its canine brain and rely on agility and guile to grab his leg to knock him off balance, or, if it thought it had opening, would it spring for his throat?

For him, the apparent time slowed slightly. Not in reality, just in his perception, as all of his focus narrowed on to the single outcome.

The creature exploded into action, choosing to attack in a method that was reminiscent of a wolf crossed with a boar. Without care for subtlety, it charged directly at him - and then leapt for his throat from almost three metres away.

The correct technique to block such a full-frontal assault was one of the forms that the figure had demonstrated to him: align the tip with the chest, and then thrust brutally forward with the butt of the spear braced with the help of his foot against the ground. That was what had been shown and what was needed now. Tom suspected it was not a coincidence. From his past lives, he knew that the forward momentum was essential for avoiding the spear slipping off the target or getting knocked aside by an errant paw. You could wait and allow the monster to impale itself, but such passivity was never as effective as the more active movement.

His battle trance let him respond effectively instantly, his body already moving before his conscious thought had caught up. He shifted the spear into position with a focus on getting both the tip and the butt into the right place, and then transitioning his weight forward with a half-lunge, the base of it braced by his foot.

The mind was willing and honed, but his body was horrifyingly slow; it felt like he was pushing through water instead of air.

His brain blared warnings of failure. The weapon was not aligned. He couldn’t get it in the right position fast enough, let alone impart sufficient forward momentum to ensure it penetrated rather than bounced off.

Instead of finding the lizard-dog’s chest, he struck the shoulder. For an instant, the tip caught, and he thought he might score a decent glancing blow - and then a single scale gave way and the weapon skittled away. Rather than being impaled, the dog-lizard was barely deflected from its original course.

From the moment the tip failed to find purchase, Tom was acting to mitigate the failure. He launched himself sideways into a desperate roll while dragging the spear closer so he wouldn’t lose it. The monster would go past him. He would get his feet reset and keep fighting.

Its snapping jaws missed.

He tucked his head in to roll, and his shoulder caught the ground. It was a jarring impact that converted his speed into an uncontrollable bounce.

Desperately, he attempted to rebalance himself, find his feet, point the spear.

Jaws clamped onto his shoulder!

Pain shot through him.

Then its momentum struck him. He was only halfway to standing, and that impact caused him to topple forward. Without hesitation, he discarded the spear, knowing the creature was too close for it to be useful. His hand went to his belt - and found empty air.

There was no knife waiting for him.

Grapple, he thought, changing his tactics instantly. Fighting against a monster his size and rank while unarmed was an impossible task, but likewise he refused to give up. He tried to roll forward to use the beast’s own momentum against it and flip it over him, to perform a simple judo throw where the physics would benefit him.

The teeth disengaged.

Internally, he cursed. It must have realised what he was doing and released its grip to protect itself. Instead of driving the monster into the ground in front of him Tom found himself losing both contact and sight of it, and having to tuck his head under him and rolling.

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His hands dug into the grass and pushed himself upright, and he looked at where he knew the monster was.

Too slow!

Way too slow.

It was already lunging at him, mouth open, teeth with red streaks of blood over them on full display. There was no time to dodge. He thrust his arm into its mouth to protect his neck and hold it off for a fraction longer.

It bit.

He heard the crunch of delicate bones in his wrists and fingers, and, of course, he felt the pain, but between the bite on his shoulder and adrenaline he could push through it. His arm was partially down its throat and their weights were kind of similar. He threw himself forward, pushing his arm that was only partially functioning deeper into it, hoping to obstruct its airways. He wanted to make it choke or struggle to breathe, creating a chance for something to go wrong, to force an opening. His chest struck its snout, his leg wrapped around its torso, and his working arm linked around its throat while his hand went for its eye.

His thumb was digging into its lid. For a moment he felt like he was doing nothing but that just encouraged him to push harder, he knew that eyeballs when they gave way did so suddenly. It was half choking on his arm and briefly he wondered if this was the opportunity he was searching for. If he could hold on for long enough… he tightened his legs.

It thrashed under him his hand slipped and then he was tossed sideways. His ruined arm left its mouth. He landed on his back and had the air blown out of him. Desperately, he rolled to his side and pushed himself upright. If he stood, he might be able to fight or do something. It was already lunging for him like the wador that ended him in his previous life. Open jaws lunging at his face, teeth on full display as it went for the kill. Bloody saliva trails linked the teeth.

It closed on him.

All he could see was the red of its mouth, its tongue and in the corners of his eyes, teeth, so many sharp teeth.

The mouth shut.

There was a moment of blackness.

The pain vanished, and, panting, he was suddenly on the floor of his old bedroom.

The angel with her inhuman features regarded him dispassionately.

Tom couldn’t even tell if she was judging him negatively or positively or couldn’t care less.

His heart was thudding in his chest. That had been terrifying.

The memory and parallels to his last death made him shudder.

“You didn’t give me a knife.” He accused her. “If I had a knife, I could have gutted it.” Tom wasn’t sure that was the case, but had no desire to admit that a knife might not have made a difference. It was possible that in this body, after failing with the spear, he could have done nothing to defeat it. He was helpless against something as weak as a poodle. He had fought and defeated creatures larger than a house, creatures that could have torn a tank apart with a single swipe of their tail, and now he was reduced to this. It was a reminder of how things had changed, and something to remain aware of.

“I didn’t know that a knife was part of your usual setup, and you didn’t ask.”

“Who doesn’t keep a knife on their belt?”

“Four-year-olds.”

Tom stopped his rant. That was actually a fantastic point. Then the anger returned.

“But you knew I wasn’t that young.” He forced himself to take a slow breath as he reminded himself of her vow. That was not done lightly. Sometimes pain was necessary, and he had been set up, but in the context of her oath there had to be a reason for that. “When fighting, I like to have a spear and four back-up knives,” he told her in an even voice. “two on my…”

“Wait.” She interrupted. “Just picture exactly what you want.”

Tom did as ordered and immediately felt the weight of the new additions. The weapons were in the exact spots he had imagined them. The handles and sheathes matched his imagination, right down to the dull black colouring. He drew the main knife. He glanced down, curiously. It had weight, and was wickedly sharp. Satisfied, he put it back and confirmed the others were just as good. In a fight, they would do the damage he expected.

“Do they need to be heavier, lighter, a different shape?”

He glared at her suspiciously. The knives were perfect, just like he had visualised.

“They’re fine. What’s next?”

His surroundings changed.

Once more, his feet were on the grass and the spear held firmly in his hands.

The monster this time was not hidden. It stood ten metres from him. Blood on its muzzle, a slight scratch on its shoulder and a bloodshot eye.

This was the same creature that had killed him earlier.

He wondered why the trial administrator had chosen this path rather than creating a new opponent. Was it to allow him to get revenge on it? Some people Tom knew would care about something silly like that. He didn’t. He couldn’t give a shit. This was combat practice, and nothing was personal.

He lowered his spear and got ready. In his mind he rehearsed the exact movements the figurine had made, and he spent three fate to help him duplicate it. This opportunity, the way the dog lizard had fought, the way it had leapt in a way for him to execute the movement perfectly… None of that was a coincidence, and he would use his fate to get the most out of it and trust the trial administrator to change the scenarios as he mastered each step.

With her help, the basic spear mastery was a lot closer than he had imagined.