“One!” Trainer Fisk shouted, starting the count.
Aram jumped back to his feet and rushed back into the circle. Kip met him at the edge, determined to keep him out.
“Two!”
Back kick. It was fast. So fast Kip was lucky to jump backward out of its reach, which also meant he was safe from the follow-up punch, which also meant Aram got into the circle with no problem.
And there goes my chance.
Aram was still in pain, though, Kip could tell. Unless he was faking it to lure Kip into some kind of trap. On the other hand, why would he need to lure Kip into a trap? He had his color, speed, strength, and a lot more training.
As Kip moved in closer, Aram lashed out. A lightning-fast pop to Kip’s nose. Too fast to stop. It wasn’t hard, but it stunned Kip. Then Aram was on top of him. Kip didn’t see the move that cut his feet out from under him, but he fell on his side, hard.
Kip had gotten halfway up when Aram hit him with a green luxin baton across the back.
“Come on, Breaker!” someone shouted.
Kip struggled up to his knees again. And grunted as another baton cracked across his back. But he didn’t go down.
He saw the thought cross Aram’s mind: he could crack that baton across Kip’s head and put him out. But a shot to the head might leave Kip an idiot, and that would get Aram barred from the Blackguard forever.
For once, the rules were helping Kip.
Not knowing what else to do, Aram slammed the baton into Kip’s back again. Harder.
Kip looked up at him and grinned. Don’t you know what I am?
I’m the fucking turtle-bear.
With a roar, Kip came to his feet as Aram was winding up for another swing. He caught Aram’s hand in his own and pushed against him. Aram kneed Kip hard in the gut, but that only meant the older boy was off balance as Kip locked a foot behind his.
Kip landed on top of the boy, but lost him almost immediately. Aram slid around and got under one of Kip’s arms and started battering his kidney with his fists. Kip tried to push off the ground, but somehow he couldn’t get any leverage anywhere. Green luxin imprisoned his hands.
“I’ve got you, Kip. You feel that freedom?” Aram whispered harshly in his ear. “I’m giving you just enough so they don’t call the fight. Just enough so I can punish you.”
Pain stabbed through him, making it hard to think, impossible to plan. Aram let him slip a little out of the grip and then corralled him again, grinning fiercely.
Hands manacled behind his back as he rolled onto his side, Kip used the pain like hammer blows hardening his will. He stared up at the crystals above them, bathing them in green light—and fired tiny pebbles as hard as he could at them.
A fist crashed across his jaw and he rolled heavily onto his back. Then something cracked and the green crystal overhead shattered, plunging them into darkness and showering them with crystal rain. Kip had not only shattered the green filter, but also the mirror behind it that turned the light toward the practice field. Cries of alarm went up from the crowd.
Kip was ready for the darkness—and Aram wasn’t. He lost his grip on the open green luxin he’d been using as Kip’s manacles. The manacles broke open and Kip slipped out of Aram’s grip and swung an elbow toward the boy’s head that struck a glancing blow.
Then Kip was on his feet. He relaxed his eyes into sub-red, and he could see. Aram was on his feet, staring this way and that.
Kip slugged him in the stomach and stepped back quickly. Aram turned, recovered, grunting. Kip slid to the left and punched the boy’s kidney.
Then, too soon, someone in the crowd cracked open a mag torch. No! Someone threw up a yellow flare. Kip tightened his eyes back to normal vision, and thought, Yellow, I can draft that if I’m—
But Aram’s first thought was martial rather than magical. He hit Kip in the nuts and tripped him.
Kip’s face bounced off the dirt, and then he was crushed by Aram’s weight as the boy jumped on top of him.
Aram pummeled both of Kip’s legs, hard punches right in the sweet spot in the middle of the thigh, rendering them useless.
Pain is nothing, pain is nothing, pain is nothing.
It didn’t matter what Kip told himself. This wasn’t pain; this was his body’s simple refusal to obey orders.
Think, Kip, think! One shot can end a fight.
One lucky shot. Orholam, please! Give me one lucky shot!
He flopped over onto his stomach. Even with the few grappling classes Kip had attended, he knew it was a stupid move. Your hands and legs—your weapons—go forward, not backward. Not well, anyway. He presented one elbow as what he hoped was a tempting target, and then convulsed his whole body, jerking his head backward as hard as he could, hoping to smash Aram’s face.