Lumai's Mind

Chapter 32: Montage

"Elbows in!"

"Feet apart!"

"Don't look away!"

"Stop playing with the swords!"

"Hands up!"

"Be bouncy, knees bent!"

"Hey!"

Raymond Moss was ruthless in training, but I was insufferable. I wouldn't sit still, wouldn't obey, couldn't be patient. I wanted all the knowledge and skill instantly so I could obtain my revenge.

"Stop!" He finally screamed at me. "You're not getting anywhere. You aren't going to immediately be amazing at everything so actually listen to you can learn and become amazing at it."

"Fine. Let's go, you and me," I challenged, rolling my shoulders. He stared at me in disbelief, starting a monologue about how I haven't learnt anything to spar with. So I punched him.

Instantly, he blocked it with muscle memory reflexes and pulled his punch as he gave me a stomach jab. I jumped back, got into a fighting stance, one hand ready to guard my stomach the other ready for my face.

"Adjust your feet, slightly wider than hip width but not so you're unstable. Lower you centre of gravity." He then put me on the defence, instructing me on how to adjust while doing so.

I began to get frustrated, noticing this Ray made us switch. Instructing my punches, giving me notes on how to notice openings and flaws. He let me punch him a few times to judge my strength –and my theory of him trying to keep me engaged– but also blocked a fair few.

"Enough."

I was getting tired. I was sweaty and exhausted but he seemed fine. Great, even. I was angry. He was bossing me around, calling the shots, letting me get hits in. He was mocking me.

Somewhere I knew he was just sussing out the best way to help me learn, stop me from straying. But that was a meek, pitiful observation quickly overshadowed by rage.

"No."

"It won't take one day to be the best assassin in the world. It will take years of practice, training experience. You won't achieve that by burning out. Tomorrow you'll be better."

"Tomorrow imma whoop your ass!"

"We'll see."

I stormed off to my new room and practiced some drills until I could barely lift my arms. The bed creaked and groaned beneath me as I collapsed on it and Tarnyx curled up at my side. That night physical exhaustion and a full stomach lulled me into one of the comfiest sleeps I'd had in a while.

"Get up!"

My eyes snapped open as soon as the door handle had turned, but I didn't move even as the blankets were yanked off me and Tarnyx started begging me just so he could leave. I tried to act like I was a stubborn lazy teenager but really my muscles were dead and I felt anxious from my nightmare.

"I will drag you out of this room."

"Fuck off."

Ray kept giving me pointers in everything. Absolutely everything. When I ran, he'd instruct me on speed, efficiency, damn stealth. I do not run like a boulder chasing Indiana Jones. We would alternate days between sparing and an average physical, on Saturdays I had a rest day and he told me Wednesday would be 'magic training' day once I had patience, reliability and strength, however, I was instructed on 'magic control' on some Wednesday afternoons for safety reasons.