Page 19 of Red Demon
That fall was every bit of six meters, but my modded Chaeten bones were hard to break. The world seemed to slow as the sun glinted off Galen’s polished blade. I closed my fingers around the hilt just as my body met his, twisting midair like a predator to keep from crushing myself. I rolled on impact, the blade flashing above my head. Galen yelped in alarm, staying down as I pulled into a crouch.
I scrambled away, swinging as the others dove for me, adrenaline pumping through my veins. A startled shout rose behind me, and before I could blink, a pair of hands clamped onto my shoulders, pinning me to the earth. I twisted and fought to maintain my blade.
I’d learned to outwrestle all my older brothers. It was a bit of an obsession for years, with Mal the undefeated champion for far too long. I’d bested Iden by the time I started school. At twelve, I got my first win on Oren, taking Mal just as I turned fourteen. I escaped Meragc’s grip, dodging back.
But three attackers at once with no holds barred was new. A dark arm found its way around my throat, Ruan. I lacked the leverage to roll her off as broad-chested Plato fell onto me too. I grew dizzy, fighting for my next breath with Plato’s face near mine. Handsome guy.
Just as my vision started to tunnel from lack of oxygen, I found my opening, relaxing into Ruan’s grip, then shifting, throwing her off balance. I took a breath, struggling free—
A voice boomed, “Let him go!” Asher.
I was already up, sword still in hand. Heavier than sticks back home, but I’d like to think I held it in a way to prove I wasn’t completely useless.
I blinked, the air thick with sweat and steel. Galen stood above me, his face a hard facade. Behind him, Ruan, Meragc and Plato stood with weapons ready.
“There’s a knife on your belt.” Galen’s voice rumbled through my chest. “You could have killed me.”
“Yeah? You said you couldn’t hire someone who might kill you in your sleep. I could have killed you wide-awake, in front of your friends here. But I didn’t, did I?” I laughed, a breathy, ragged sound.
Heavy silence descended. The militia exchanged uneasy glances, some with amusement, others with trepidation. I analyzed Asher’s face, etched with a mixture of bewilderment and what I hoped was respect.
“No, you didn’t.” Galen stared at me, his gaze boring into my soul.
I let the sword fall and crossed my arms in front of my chest to show deference.
“I told you, Dad,” Asher said.
“Who the fuck is this guy?” Ruan mumbled, sheathing her blade.
“Please trust me. Give me a job. And—” I almost forgot to show my countermove, the best attack for form four. I swept, pretended to parry, to thrust the invisible blade in the gap. “Let me train with you.”
I didn’t know what to do with the silence. I scanned the militia’s faces, trying not to let my desperation show. Those movements were smoother in my head, but I hoped the incredulous gazes I got from most of them meant it wasn’t terrible.
“Why would a Chaeten-ka boy want to train alongside Asri?” Galen rubbed his side where my knee had pummeled him.
Ka. Human, not a demon in his eyes, so that was a start. I knew what I wanted to say, but I just couldn’t get it out in front of everyone. “Why not?” I held my head high.
Galen uncrossed his arms. “Well, that’s certainly the worst way I’ve ever seen a boy try to make friends.”
“Did it work?”
Galen grimaced and stepped closer. “Pick up the blade.”
I did, eyes wide. A glimpse of Asher’s grin kept my arm steady.
“You have good balance, but your grip is wrong. And you should lead with the tip of the blade next time.” Galen made a slow arc. I tried to copy it.
“May I?” Galen gestured.
I tried to surrender the hilt, but he gripped my arm, signaling for me to keep it. Galen led my arm back in a low rotation, guiding my center of motion to the tip, not halfway on the blade where I thought it felt strongest. He adjusted my grip on the hilt on the way back.
Galen nodded, then clapped my back when I’d done it right. “You’re young. Where are your parents?”
I shook my head.
“Raised in one of those Chaeten academies then? Never met your mother?”
“No,” I whispered. “She’s just dead.”
