The days went past, slow or fast, he was unsure. Stifling a yawn tugging at the corners of his lips he propped himself up against a wall, taking a moment to catch his breath.

  “All of this is one hell of a pain.” He gritted his teeth, shaking off the drowsiness pervading his senses. “Well, better off than hanging from a set of shackles, limbless,” he chided.

  Amidst the harsh regimen he was subjected to, he was relieved he could skip out on training with Nakta, who was just as cheery to slack off.

  Worst of all was that one time he’d caught me making strange hand gestures at a half-cooked chicken. Nearly deafened me with an earful.

  He trembled at the thought of spending any more time with Nakta than he had to, but his relationship with the other three assassins had evolved. Despite his earlier experience with ‘brawls,’ he didn’t have much to show against Marr in their spars. He wasn’t all that great with aim, when it came to sniping or gunfights, but Raen had praised him for his reckless usage of explosives and gunfire in setting up smoke screens. And last of all, surprisingly, his progression with swordplay was the most impressive. Juke had experimented with various blades to test out his preferred duelling style, settling on a mix of dual wield with two shorter blades, and switching it up with a katana.

  Standing ten strides apart, the two swordsmen circled each other over a soft patch of flat ground. Azrael hung a katana on his left flank and a pair of short swords on his right.

  Meanwhile, Juke wielded a pair of longswords, unsheathed and warmed up, awaiting their opponent. He idly swung both blades around, cracking his neck in anticipation.

  “Come at me.” He gestured at the redhead, holding one of his blades inverted and beckoning with his index finger.

  Unsheathing his katana, Azrael held the single-edged blade by his side, leaping into a running start. Covering the soft patch separating the duo, he swung his katana aiming for his opponent’s unguarded sternum.

  Juke effortlessly swung the blade in his left hand, swatting aside his apprentice’s blow as easily as he would a fly. “Polish up on the transition from build-up to execution,” he advised, switching up his grip to an inverse hold on his longsword before it whistled past the air.

  The redhead moved as quick as he could, a hiss rolling past his lips. His hand clutched his chest, where Juke’s blade had denuded a thin layer of flesh along Azrael’s sternum, tracing a thin trickle of crimson down his abs. Taking a tentative step back, he gritted his teeth, wiping the blood off his fresh wound.

  “You won’t bleed to death,” reassured Juke, closing the distance the redhead had taken. He channelled the chaotic symphony of his longswords, loosening a flurry of slashes at his apprentice.

  Sidestepping and parrying to the best of his ability, Azrael drew a short sword for assistance, his mind occupied with staying on his feet no matter what. He realised the symphony his opponent conducted was melodious, a tune that would have had his head if he gave in to its tempestuous allure. The clashing steels were a sweet sing-song melody that he couldn’t refuse, reeling him in. It held his intrigue, perhaps a slight bit more, than his interest in miasma at the moment.

  Shaking his head, Juke’s blade brushed past his ear, snapping his mind back into the fight before his head was skewered. He kept parrying away steel till the very last of moments, before steel could touch flesh.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Switching it up from attack to defence?” asked Juke, increasing the intensity of his blows. His blades picked up the pace, transforming from steel plumes to lines, weaving in and out of cognizance.

  Fat drops of sweat rolled off of Azrael’s forehead, as he sidestepped a wide swing aimed at his head.

  Sliding his blade over his torso, he deflected a slash to his ribs with his short sword.

  Metal clanged against metal, ramming into his chest. He wheezed out what breath remained in his lungs, as he was flung back. Using the momentum of the blow, Azrael threw himself further away, taking in shallow gasps.

  The rattle of clashing steels rang in his ears.

  Heaving and panting, the redhead’s tunic was drenched in perspiration. He held his pair of blades up, switching his hold till he mirrored his opponent’s style, gripping his short sword inversed.

  “Not bad, not bad at all,” said Juke. He stood his ground, deferring pursuit. “You’ve made more progress in nine months than most novices with a blade. Your prowess in swordplay is praiseworthy but have you figured out the nature of your miasma yet?”

  “Torn between the lessons amongst the three of you every day? Haven’t had a moment to catch my breath.”

  “Nakta should be guiding you on the basics of miasma.” Juke shrugged, unsurprised by his fellow assassin’s indifference. “What he does is his choice, though it won’t hurt him to mature a bit.” He looked away, momentarily, shaking his head. “Anyways, set aside your short sword. I want to test your prowess with the katana alone.” He sheathed one of his longswords, wielding his preferred blade in his right hand. “Come at me.”

  Heaving a sigh, Azrael leapt into a running start. Despite his hectic schedule, his lessons with Juke were the most exciting part of the day. Apart from his time at the kitchen. Still better than hanging with half as many limbs from shackles.

  *

  “I don’t see Nakta around as often.” Raen licked a sliver of cream from a forkful of pie.

  “He’s been more evasive than ever,” sighed Marr.

  “Apparently, been skipping out on the lessons he ought to be teaching.” Juke crinkled his brows, shaking his head. “Lad needs to take up more responsibility. At this rate, Azrael’s more mature than he is.” He bit into his own slice of pie, widening his eyes. “This is absolutely scrumptious.”

  “Why thank you.” The redhead emerged, taking a deep bow. He sat down, digging into his own slice of pie. “As you can see, one of my mentors, is not as keen on his duties, but I am not complaining. Not like I am concerned if I’ll be sticking around till the end of the year or anything.”

  “Nonsense.” Marr slammed a palm against his back, nearly throwing him face first into the pie. “I doubt any of us will be here at this rate.”

  “You need to brighten up your ways,” tutted Juke.

  “The point is,” interjected Raen. “You need someone to teach you the demonic arts? Shouldn’t be too hard, no? I mean if you just loosen your miasma and think of what you want it to do. It should work out, like the usual stuff.”

  “If it was as easy, Lilith wouldn’t have left him with us.” Marr slammed her fist against the redhead’s leg, urging a wince past creamy lips.

  “OUCH! What did you do that for!?” protested Azrael.

  “You’ve endured far worse, don’t sweat it.”

  “If there’s one thing Nakta’s got us beat with, it’s his ability to channel miasma.” Juke looked at his hand. “Even I cannot explain how I use it. Just that it comes to me, flowing like water would through a spring, bending to my will.”

  Azrael raised an eyebrow, biting into a pecan. I doubt mentioning death energy would make sense to any of them. From the sounds of it, even Nakta won’t be able to do much till I can summon my miasma. Which seems more instinctual for everyone here but me. I suppose there’s not much I can do for now than train and await whatever trial determines my fate.

  “Oy!” Marr grabbed him by the shoulder, shaking him from end to end. “Still alive? Abyzz to Azrael!”

  “You might have beaten him a little too black and blue, turning him into a punched drunk.” Raen waved her hand in front of the redhead’s face, fork sticking out her lips.

  “Just let the poor lad enjoy his time away from training. You two need to go back to picking on Nakta.”

  “His reactions are a lot more explosive than Azrael’s.” Raen plucked the fork from her lips, twirling over the crumbs clinging on to her plate. She looked like she was mulling over her options, torn between which younger assassin she wanted to mess with.

  “Easier to mess with a riled-up moron than this diamond in the rough.” Marr tapped a finger against her chin, lost in contemplation. “Or maybe a rock in the rough? Since we don’t even know what his miasma is.”

  “I am beginning to question if you all are even worthy of being mentors.” Juke slammed a palm against his face, loosening a heavy sigh.