Morph [EDITING] || Wattys 2017 Winner

~EIGHT~

~amelie~

I'm sweating as I block yet another of Ryan's punches. I take short, sharp breaths and swing wildly back, narrowly missing his shoulder. He twists back.
"That was almost right," he says, gearing up for one more hit. I raise my arm and his fist slams into it, sending jarring rattles of pain through my body. I grit my teeth.
"It's a lot... easier... when you've done it... before!" I get out, clenching my fist and aiming for his face. He ducks and it flies over his head, and with one fluid movement he grabs my arm, twists it back, and throws me to the ground. I lie there staring at the ceiling, dazed.
Ryan purses his lips. "Amelie, how do you think I got this good?"
I frown up at him. "Someone showed you what to do instead of hurling you to the floor every couple of minutes?"
"No," he says, a small smile growing on his face. "I got the exact same treatment from my dad. It works. Trust me."
I heave myself off the floor and my muscles shriek as they're forced to move. "I really doubt that."

Ryan shakes his head in disbelief and I brush myself down, smoothing my rumpled clothes. This is the final day of my "training week", the week that Elian decided would be devoted to helping me with powers and self-defence. I've got my powers down - mostly - but I just can't wrap my head around hand-to-hand combat. I turn around and walk stiffly away, crossing the small room in a few steps. When I reach the pale bench on the other side, I grit my teeth and rip off my gloves, stuffing them in a matching black bag as my body makes its annoyance known. I turn and chuck it back to Ryan. His shoulders shake slightly as his arm shoots out to grab it. Indignant heat rises in my cheeks, and he sighs.

"Amelie, this... this sucks, but you need it. You haven't landed a single punch on me yet. And what do you think will happen when we take off the gloves and I start hitting you with full force? You're really going to appreciate Amber afterwards, let me tell you. It's kind of pathetic," Ryan says, raising his eyebrows. My annoyance gives way to anger and I sprint at him, not really sure why but willing to go with it. His eyes widen and he dives out of the way, but I catch his hand and we both go down. He hits me lightly, not wanting to hurt me. I lash out and connect with his jaw. He lets out a grunt and gives a return swing. Through my sudden anger I see his fist coming right for my face, and I twist out of the way and it hits empty air. I punch him again on the arm. He yanks it back out of the way and lands a hit on my leg. Shockwaves from the force ripple across me, but the pain doesn't even register. He pushes me off him and I go rolling across the mat. He jumps back to his feet, adopting a defensive stance, and I push myself up, all muscle pain forgotten. I take a breath and suddenly all the fight leaves me. It takes a couple of moments before I realise not only am I panting, but Ryan's breathing heavily too and holding his jaw. I see blood through his fingers.

"I am so, so sorry," I say, still in shock.
He shakes his head. "Yeah, we need to work on your control."
I give him a small grin. "Well, at least now we know I can actually hit with lots of force, right?"
Ryan lets out a disbelieving chuckle. "I don't think me bleeding had anything to do with your strength," he says, nodding at my arm.
"Huh?" I say, looking down. My eyes widen.

My hand isn't my hand anymore. I don't even think it could be called a hand. Instead of small, delicate fingers, now it's got thick slabs of muscle attached to a huge palm. It's curled into a tight fist, the knuckles going white, and it's completely out of proportion with my body. The only thing that lets me recognise it is the thin white line across it. I hold it up and stare at it, uncomprehending. Ryan comes over and taps it.

"Congrats. Looks like you don't need this training - you can just morph your hand into a massive rock and start swinging," he comments.
I turn to him. "You must be ecstatic then."
There's a moment of silence before I hear a faint snort come from Ryan. I glare at him.
"Sorry," he says, bending over and laughing.
I scowl. "What's so funny?"
"You're completely useless at fighting, but you have a gift that lets you bypass that. It's just ironic that it wasn't given to someone who could pair it with actual combat skills," he explains, forcing his face to return to its normal stoic line.