Donare Donum: The Gift Giver's Chronicle

Class was probably the best it had been for a long time.

Hobbs had us doing unarmed combat training again, for some inane reason. I typically did poorly in unarmed combat, due to the physical differences between me and many of my peers. Weapons training tended to even those odds, as physical prowess was relatively less important for that.

But this class was totally different.

It took me a bit to get used to the changes that had gone on in my body but after a good bit of warming up I started to absolutely dominate the competition.

I still wasn’t as fast as the Agility Gifted or as strong as the Strength Gifted. But I was balanced. Which was honestly better than being specialized, in some ways. It’s hard to say, of course, but I would guess that my overall abilities were solidly above average in the class. This, combined with my past training and skills, meant that I had a very good morning.

I had just finished my fourth victory of the morning, a long and grinding fight against a large boy with the Gift of Endurance, when I caught sight of Hobbs watching me. His face had narrowed into a pensive frown that left me nervous.

We locked eyes and I saw that glare deepen before a light seemed to come on in his eyes, the frown shifting into a grin that did not reach his eyes:

“All right, kids.” He said, clapping his hands once to get our attention, “It's been a while so why don’t we do some cross-training?”

That prompted a good deal of murmuring from the whole class, as people stopped what they were doing in surprise. I felt an ominous premonition, though I wasn’t sure why. Cross class training, where we merged two different classes and fought it out with peers we didn’t usually train with, was always popular. It provided variety and gave us an opportunity to learn new tricks, if the opposition was good enough. But this smelled wrong.

We filed out of the room, following Hobbs down the winding hallways of the gym. We passed a variety of different classes, most of them people around our age, and I heard Nills behind me, murmuring something to the boy behind him:

“I wonder where Hobbs is taking us. This doesn’t seem to be planned. What teacher is going to have their kids do short notice cross-training?”

I was privately thinking the same thing, though I was starting to get a strong suspicion I knew the answer to that.

Soon, I knew my worst suspicions to be confirmed. We stopped and filed into an empty room twice the size of our normal room, and Hobbs told us to stay put. He left and returned while chatting with a figure I knew well. His golden hair and piercing blue eyes were set over a grin that was leonine, even when simply amused. His build was large, to the point that he was almost the size of my father. To complete the menacing look, his forehead was decorated with an X shaped scar and when his eyes fell on me his grin sharpened further. David Aurelius was a dangerous man and he carried himself like he knew it.

Behind him filed in his students, one of whom was the spitting image of the instructor, sans the scars. Samuel’s eyes blazed with rage when he saw me, but he looked from me to his father and quickly mastered his anger, replacing it with a cold smile.

Hobbs gave the classes some time to get acquainted with one another, which was mostly some stiff introductions between me and some of the people I didn’t already know. At some point, Julia had walked up next to me, gazing at me with concern. My face had practically turned to wood, and I was trying not to meet her eyes:

“You okay, Steve? You look like someone just stabbed you in the chest.”

I winced, “I’m fine. I just have a bad feeling about this cross training.”

She looked from me to the other class, then back to me with confusion:

“Why is that? You’ve been having a great morning! Some of those guys look tough but losing isn’t the end of the world in practice matches. Worst comes to worst; the teachers stop the match before things get too ugly.”

Julia was mostly uninterested in village politics. An admirable trait in my eyes, and a luxury too. She knew my position, and that people liked to give me a hard time over it, but that’s about it. I usually kept a lot of my difficulties to myself, but I was starting to question that decision. Not that she could do much now anyways.

Hobbs started listing off our match pairings, though I knew mine already:

“Argentum and Aurelius, take the center ring.”

There were eight rings in the cross-training center besides the normal four. However, instead of being laid out symmetrically, they were laid out in what was nearly a three-by-three cube layout, with three rings in the back and center of the room and two nearer to the door, giving the spectators room to watch and move. The center ring was especially large and often reserved for the best fighters of the two classes.

I took up my place opposite my rival, meeting his eyes and being given a grin that was almost friendly. He held out his hand to shake, while keeping that stupid smile plastered on his face. I took it, feeling the eyes of the rest of the class firmly planted on the both of us. There were other fighters exchanging greetings around us, of course, but they seemed to be watching us out of the corners of their eyes as well.

I took a deep breath and tried to stave off the bone crushing force of Samuel’s handshake, an immense desire to wipe that smug look off his face welling up within me.

“We’ll see how long that attitude lasts, my friend.” I murmur, giving him a grim smile of my own. His only retort is a dangerous glint in his eye and a mouthed word, “Payback”, before letting go and moving back to his side of the dueling circle. I also step back, and we both take our fighting stances.

“Ready?” calls Hobbs. All the Fighters give mechanical nods.

“Begin.”

Aurelius rocketed forward, but I was prepared for a quick start. I step to his left, anticipating a right hook. It’s a feint. Instead, he quickly balances himself while using his momentum to throw out a devastating windmill kick. I feel the kick pass over my head, the wind of its passing ruffling my hair. I had already crouched before he even moved, and, from that position, I strike out his right leg. He dances out of the way, but I am already on him, coming out of the crouch hard and driving my fist into his stomach.

He makes an “O” face at that, and I move as if to follow the jab with a right hook of my own, but I quickly duck his left-handed counter and follow that counter with a right jab of my own. I aim for his stomach again, but he manages to move back in time to avoid most of the force of my blow. He tries a front kick with his right, nearly shattering my sternum, but I twist out of the way and into a successful lower body blow. He grunts and immediately jumps backward, putting some distance between us.

After that, Aurelius got more cautious, holding his guard, and throwing out jabs, alongside the occasional front kick. I bob and weave as well as I can, striking back when I can find the smallest of vulnerabilities. My knuckles are throbbing at the endless abuse, but I can see the bruises starting to accumulate on him.

Slowly, he becomes noticeably more sluggish, his punches and kicks turning from skull-shattering threats to hits not much stronger than mine. I am tiring as well but I know an opportunity when I see one.

I pour on the pressure, mixing it up with a kick directly to his right knee, which clips it, causing him to wince. He starts to give ground and I follow in a rush of adrenaline-fueled attacks. He tries to disrupt me with a roundhouse kick, but I easily avoid it by jumping back and immediately re-engage with a jab to the face. I follow that up with a kick to his midriff, which he dodges, but I am starting to grin.

He is bleeding, now, and giving even more ground. He steps back awkwardly on his right and I whip out a roundhouse kick to his exposed side…and suddenly I see the floor rushing up at my face. I panic and manage to get my forearms in front to block but the impact still rattles me. I’m too stunned to move as I feel myself get grabbed in the back and turned over. Spikes of pain rush through my face and my head snaps back onto the earthen floor.

My thoughts are immediately garbled and confused but one general idea stuck out amidst it all. What had happened? Immediately, the past couple of milliseconds snap into reality. I had thrown that roundhouse kick and, quick as a snake, my opponent grabbed my leg mid-kick and swept my leg out from right under me. The rest was history. I had been baited.

No sooner did the thought flow through my mind than did I feel another crack of his fist hitting my face. He was straddling me now and, even in my haze, I managed to get my hands up in a block to fend off another hit. He, of course, easily forces both of my arms aside and headbutts my nose. I can feel the cartilage crumple and the stars that were bouncing around my eyes start to multiply.

“Why haven’t they called the match yet?” I wonder, dimly, as I take another blow to the temple. But I realize exactly why before I even answer the question. It’s Hobbs’ job to call the match. Or David Aurelius’. The two people who had orchestrated this from the very beginning.

Vaguely, I can see Samuel winding up for a finishing blow, and I wonder if I am going to die. I can also hear some shouting in the distance, but before I can discern what it is or watch Aurelius kill me, I pass out.