“Me, a Deepvein alumni? Gods among mortals, I hope not. Although, that would explain a few things; mostly why I volunteered to sacrifice all of my childhood memories to the Mind Twister diplomats a few years back. I tell you, that school… it’s very impressive, so absurdly good at what they do that over half of students survive their first year of delving. What’s less impressive is the casualty rate of the students during their first year of training…” - Arrick the Skinless, resuming an interview after their showdown with the late master assassin Kosech.

Skador K’soon - a fraction of a second after Jensen said ‘Fight!’

It happened so fast I missed it; despite the warmth of the day, I can’t help but feel like my cold blood must have been somehow running chilled and sluggish. Vreem’s hands are like a vice around my neck, unnaturally hard nails piercing my scales ever so slightly. A drop of blood runs down his hand, along his arm, staining his armor red.

“A drop of blood. You concede.”

Vreem’s voice is a strained wheeze, but I don’t hear any fear or pain in it. Slowly, almost dreading what the warmth soaking into my gauntlets is telling me, I look down.

My spear has pierced right through his chest, his lungs specifically from the sound of his voice, and his blood is soaking my hands. Even as I watch, I can see bleeding slow; in the scant seconds that it takes two very concerned staff to sprint their way to us the bleeding has stopped entirely. Ashtrunk is readying some kind of spell as they sprint at us like an avatar of death, and I can smell the power rolling off of it. But just as the wrathful elf reaches us, Vreem steps back and turns towards them- almost taking my spear with him until I tighten my grip on it.

“Healer Ashtrunk, I am neither crippled, maimed or dying. There is no need for you to step in; I am a biomancer specialised in self-repair and enhancement.”

As if to prove their words, I see a piece of their lung- ripped out their back by my barbed spear- pull itself back into his body like some kind of horrific slug. It is at this moment that Jensen finally arrives, putting a hand onto Ashtrunk’s shoulder as the healer stands as still as a statue, half-outstretched hand still glowing with magical power- although whether it’s to heal Vreem or to ‘turn my blood acidic’, I hope to never find out.

“I take the blame for this, Ashtrunk. I should have warned you about Vreem’s… abilities beforehand. Vreem is not dying. Your oath is not at risk.”

Jensen’s voice is even and calm, the same tone one would use while trying to calm a wild animal. Ashtrunk says nothing, but their hateful snarl recedes into a cold glare and their hand stops glowing as they dispel whatever magic they’d prepared. They stalk back to their position in the middle of the arena, to maintain their grim watch.

Then Jensen turns to Vreem, and he looks not angry, but disappointed.

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“What in the Abyss was that Vreem? You almost got me! What kind of plan revolves around taking needless damage?”

“The effective and consistent kind, sir.”

Jensen turns to me, and now I can see he’s angry.

“Skador, was it? Why don’t you go and help one of your Triad members?”

Vreem POV

The naga slithers away, moving towards where Mark is batting aside icicles and approaching a panicked human holding a wizard’s staff. I look back to Jensen as they glare at me.

“Vreem, I think you fundamentally misunderstand the purpose of these duels. Tell me what you think the objective of this sparring is.”

The answer is so obvious, I answer without even thinking.

“To defeat your opponent.”

“WRONG!” Jensen shouts angrily.

“The objective is to emulate a battle in the Beneath. What you just did is one of the gravest sins a brawler can commit in the tunnels- get tied down. Suppose that Skador was some beast of the Beneath, and you impaled yourself on its claws in order to cut it’s throat. You are obviously resilient enough to survive such a thing, and the monster is now dead- tell me what’s wrong with this situation.”

“I… I don’t see anything wrong with it. The enemy is defeated, you are alive. Is that not the best outcome possible?”

“Are you sure about that? And what about the second creature that you didn’t see, or some opportunistic stalker taking a chance and ripping a chunk out of your backline? They die, and then you do too. What if you get blindsided by another beast, and you can’t dodge because you’re fucking impaled? You die, and then the rest of your team dies. You sacrificed your most valuable asset as a brawler, your mobility, in order to win a fight that your backline will win for you if you just buy them time to line up a shot. If you keep doing it, you will fail this class and hold your entire Triad back by a year.”

And then while I’m still processing his ultimatum, as my lungs finish putting themselves back together, Jensen’s grim fury turns into a bloodthirsty grin and a gnarled wooden staff appears in his hands.

“But I like you Vreem, so I’m not going to let that happen. No, I’m going to teach you to use technique and skill to overcome an opponent who is stronger,” and his staff begins to shimmer iridescent, before that shimmer spreads to his arms. “Faster,” and the shimmer spreads to the rest of his body. “And better equipped than you.” and as a helmet, shaped like a grinning caricature of himself, appears over his head. “After all, I’m a…” he strikes his palm with his staff hard enough that the sound makes students across the arena flinch. “Kinetic teacher, and I suspect you’ll be a kinetic learner soon enough.”

And so, with the crunch of my knees being swept out from under me hard enough to pulverise the bone, my true training begins.