September 10th, 2030, 4:52 am

Something pokes my cheekbone, and I flare my nostrils. My eyes tear open and I see the razor edge of a sword within inches of my face. The blurred image before me untwists until I see the figure of a man standing over me.

"Let's get up, kid," MacTavish demands, nudging my shoulder with the bladepoint. "It's time to practice."

I press myself off the ground and brush the stone dust from my arms. "It's time to sleep, not practice," I groan.

"No, come on, get up. One more duel before morning. I know we practiced for a few hours but I need to make sure you got it down before I let you go."

With leaden legs, I rise to face the Colonel. I blink several times and let out an exaggerated yawn. "What time is it, anyway? I feel like I was only asleep for an hour."

He hands me the silver sword with the rubber grip. "A little before five. And you were asleep for an hour and a half, actually. You know, I said you could sleep on the living room couch upstairs, but you crashed against the wall, so I let you go. I figured I'd let you be independent."

"So, why are we up now? Just because you want to battle me or something? I thought you said I looked good."

He points to me with his sword, walking a safe distance away from my being. "I said you looked decent, not good. You need actual practice now, fighting an actual opponent. Me."

"I'm too tired to do this, Colonel," I whine, lowering my sword to my hip. "You look like shit yourself. Why can't we just sleep so we're not dead for the rest of the day?"

"Well, I'll say this: you're already dead."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

He gestures to my sword with a shrug. "You refused to sleep next to your sword. An intruder comes up to you as you're sleeping and threatens you, and you have no sword to protect yourself. If I was your enemy, you'd be dead by now."

"Don't tell me you actually sleep with a sword under your pillow." I expel a heavy sigh. "Isn't that an Imperial Guard thing, like officers sleep on their guns and shit?"

"No," he replies, twirling his sword at his side. "It's behind my nightstand. My gun is locked under my bed."

"Oh for fuck's sake." I streak my bandaged hand over my face, scraping against the gauze. I widen my eyes and shake my head. My left hand tightens around my sword. "So, what, are you going to attack me?"

"I was hoping you would come to me."

I lunge forward, throwing an overhead attack down onto him. My blade rattles against his, and I swing out on my left to catch him across his right, to no avail once again. I go on my backhand and try to hit him on his left side this time, but he blocks it. Nothing is going through, or even coming close.

He told me last night that fighting him would be a task, considering he's been dubbed the best sword fighter in the entire Empire. I'm not supposed to be landing any hits.

But damn, do I really want to.

I sustain my strength and go for a downward attack across his body like a sash. He impedes the diagonal, holding me in a stalemate. He presses me off and I stumble back. If I was fighting anyone else besides the Colonel, they would take this opportunity to dice me to bits. He taught me that I cannot let them counter, so I have to regain my footing fast.

The Colonel hovers over me as I pick myself up. "How about this time, you actually try to hit me? I promise you won't hurt me if that's what you're so scared of."

"I was trying," I protest, wiggling my shoulders to get the blood flowing in my arms. "But if you insist."

My leg thrusts forward with the sword that aims for his abdomen. He bends his lower back to dodge the jab. I throw another diagonal cut and reverse it to his opposite shoulder, and as expected, he catches both of them.

It's as if he can tell my next move.

After a few more attempts to land a hit, he simply extends his arm and the point of his sword grazes my dog tags. I draw my sword from over my head back to my hip. I control my breath and release my tense chest. I do not possess the spirit to look him in the eyes. The end of my blade scratches the stone floor.

"I said to try," he reiterates. "All of your moves are predictable. How about this: you've been hired by the Medo to kill me."

Hey, that's my job.

"I don't want to hurt you, Colonel. I mean, I'm trying my best to get a hit but you just block everything. You know I'm good enough to duel you but I won't be able to land anything because you're, you know, the best."

He tilts the hilt of his sword to overlook me, the point still nailed to the plates under my shirt. "I don't care if you're good enough. Being good enough doesn't matter against any enemy like this. You need to be the best. And if you want to be the best, you have to show me. Otherwise, I'm not going to believe you," MacTavish asserts, stern. "So, let me put this into simpler terms for you: kill me. And that's an order."

This guy is a psychopath. He wants me to kill him all for some kind of practice? I want to try and impress him but what if he underestimates me and I really do hurt him? How is that going to look; the kid who has just been accepted in the Imperial Guard kills Colonel MacTavish, the only person who has been on my side since the moment I was locked up in an interrogation chair. I'd be renounced of my OLC, then executed for sure.

All because the Colonel thought it would be the only way to prove myself.

I'll kill him for you if you want.

"You want me to kill you? Like, seriously?" I implore as my fingers around the sword's grip tremble. "What if something happens and-"

"Kill me, Slater. It's that easy. You have to deserve the right to land a hit, and if you can, I'll let you." He retracts his sword from my chest. "But you have to try."

I cycle air through me and squeeze the rubber grip at my side. "Okay," I comply with a quivering lip.

He hunkers down and holds his sword out in front of him. The silver gleams with the light bulb above us. "Ready when you are."

I leap ahead and send a chop from the ceiling to the floor. He parries my attempt, and I swerve from him. My next four swings slash across his chest in a diagonal fashion, two forehand and two backhand cuts. He rejects each one in quick succession.

Dude, you really suck at this. If the guy tells you to kill him, you kill him. Stop holding back and land a really good one already.

"I'm trying!" I grunt aloud. I continue the flurry of sword swings, but he blocks all of them. None of my jabs so much as reach past his elbows. Nothing works, no matter how hard I fight.

"Well try harder!" Colonel MacTavish growls, shoving me away from him. "I said to kill me, not cower in fear. If you want to take down this beast, you need to be willing to kill it. How will I know you have that capability if you don't show it?"

I flex my arm, defending my position before him. "I'm fucking trying!"

"Then show me!"

In a triumphant roar, I jump forward, swinging the blade in a frenzy. He shrugs off my low shots and delivers my high ones skyward. I press on, intermixing stabs and side-cuts, all of which he presumes as nothing.

My skill isn't working, but maybe my speed will. My youth can outlast his old ass. There is no way I am more tired than he is; he hasn't slept in two days. I need to be persistent.

I present a flurry of strikes to him. All but the last one are parried with a defensive push. My arm burns as I lift my sword over my head, and it's not an ache, but a fire. I slash upward from his right leg to his heart. His reaction dwindles to a low effort deflection.

His teeth grit against each other as I witness the tightening of his fighting arm. "Calm down, okay? If you fight angry, you might make a mistake."

Don't listen to him; keep going. He made you angry, and he'll pay the price for it. I'll make sure of that.

I spring into action once more, waving the sword over his body. He averts every other attack and eludes the rest. He stares right through me with bolted eyes as I continue to mercilessly strike.

"Slater, wait," he pleads, shoving off my attacks. "Calm down!"

I start wide and swing inward as he reaches for my collar with his free hand. My sword catches his face, and red spritzes from his cheek. His hand grasps my shirt and he throws his sword onto the floor. The metal blade clangs against the stone before it is still.

"Stop it!" He suspends his face a foot from mine, and I watch the blood trickle from the slit under his eye. "Drop your sword."

"I thought you said to kill you! That's what you wanted me to do, right?"

The Colonel grips my left wrist and yanks it in front of me. My sword jolts up with it, seduced by mystifying black wisps and storm clouds. The darkness circles the blade, encapsulating it in a strange power. Black vines curl from my sword up my arm to my mark as it bleeds onyx steam. The silver of the razor edges hides under the shadowy void. I toss my sword on the ground. The mist follows it and my M bleeds out until my skin is dry.

   MacTavish lets me go. "I did say that. But you need to control yourself and fight with discipline. I don't know what the hell that was, but my guess is it could be dangerous to us if used incorrectly."

I exhale and inhale with hardened lungs. Something crawls up my throat my lips moisten on their own. I throw my hand over my mouth turn away from the ground between us. Sour liquid throttles from my stomach and onto the floor beside my feet. I cough, only for more to discharge from within.

"Jesus, are you okay?" The Colonel grabs a lock of my borrowed t-shirt and pulls me up straight. The blood from his cheek still cascades along his nostrils, dripping over his lips now. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I-I don't know," I utter, wiping my mouth with my bandaged hand. "I'm sorry about your face, the floor, and I," I pause as my gaze drifts past him. My vision blurs and the corners of my eyes dampen. "I'm just so sorry for this. All of this. I should've never come here."

He frowns, patting my shoulder. "It's okay. Nothing is going the way we planned it. Don't beat yourself up over something you can't control, whatever the hell that was." He stares at the floor, slathered in stomach acid.

"I'm just so sorry," I repeat as I try to distinguish his figure in the mist before my eyes. "I'm sorry I made you do this. I'm sorry I put you through this, I'm sorry-"

"Okay, okay, I get it. It's fine."

I blink, and tears flood down my cheeks. "Colonel, I'm-"

"Listen, kid, it's over. It happened." He crosses his hands and pulls them away in a chopping motion. "I'm going to head upstairs and get clean and changed; we're leaving in fifteen minutes. Your wet clothes are out on the rack in the mudroom, they should be dry by now. Be ready to leave when I am."

I nod, sweeping tears from my face. "Okay."

The Colonel skips steps on the way upstairs. I cannot express how I feel at the moment. Not out of embarrassment, but out of pure confusion. The emotion within me does not have a name.

"Are you fucking happy, Grayson? I know you fucking did this. Now the Colonel thinks I'm a freak."

No response. Just the blood twirling through my head and my stomach twisting.