Story Goji's Writing Test Bench (Feedback Welcomed :D)

[GojiBean]

WARNING: The writing in this thread may be disturbing to some readers who are sensitive to extreme violence, physical/mental abuse, child abuse, etc. Reader discretion is advised.​

Test 1: Trauma​

At last. Success.

The young boy, no older than seven summers, collapsed to his knees as his lungs unleashed a barrage of protests against the lack of oxygen being taken in by his rapid, short breaths. His legs felt like jelly. His arms couldn't do much but dangle at his sides with his knuckles brushing the cold stone floor. And tiny red puddles gathered beneath his knees.

A tall, dark-skinned man donning all black robes stood beside him with his hands folded behind his back, and a stoic, stern glare aimed down at the boy from out of the corner of his eye from beneath his hood.

"Hmm... It wasn't perfect. But it was proper execution."

The child's head turned subtly in the man's direction. And his young, glowing red eyes locked onto the man's elbow.

"Well done, boy."

The man's elbow moved, and the child jolted sideways to the ground as he curled into a fetal position and shivered uncontrollably. The man knelt down and placed a hand softly on the boy's shoulder to which the boy responded with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

The man sighed, and the soft grip on his shoulder tightened considerably earning a wince and a yelp from the boy.

"I was praising your efforts, boy."

He tightened his grip yet again forcing the child to bite his lower lip to stop himself from screaming or whimpering.

"You flinched."

The child's eyes slammed shut in a fruitless effort to prevent the tears from forming and falling down his cheeks.

"How many times do I have to remind you never to show fear?!" He shrieked as he wrapped his hands around the boy's bicep, yanked him to his feet, and threw him against the nearby stone wall which he promptly bounced off of before falling to the ground like a lifeless mannequin.

"Fear is a weakness your enemies will exploit at the first opportunity! If you can't control your fear during training, how can I trust you to fulfil your duties in the field?!"

His thick black leather boot slammed into the boy's left side partially lifting him off the ground and spinning him a full 360 degrees before gravity returned him to a face down position.

"It's so simple!" He growled as he stepped on the child's left hand, crunching muscle and bone beneath his heel and grinding down as the boy finally opened his mouth screaming in agony.

"You must remain calm at all times! And your face must never betray what you feel inside!" He yelled, continuing to grind his foot on the boy's hand.

"Your duties in the field will be simple compared to what I'm putting you through now! So grow up, and stop being afraid of giving a lackluster performance!"

Through his screams and choked sobs, the boy grabbed the man's ankle in a desperate bid to lift it and free himself. But with his left side already burning from the kick, and the pain shooting through his hand and wrist from the boot bearing down on it, he couldn't get any leverage.

Keeping his foot on the boy's hand the man knelt down slowly. Suddenly, the child felt a searing pain cascading through his lower right side just above the iliac crest. With side eyes glancing over his shoulder, the boy saw a knife had been pressed into his flesh and was slowly being pushed deeper and deeper.

"Enough with your fear and this illusion of pain! Fight, boy! Free yourself this instant!"

With three major sources of pain vying for his attention, the boy could do little to respond but writhe and cry out in agony. Pushing harder, the man felt the tip of the blade touch the stone ground as a red puddle gathered beneath the boy's wound.

"Free yourself!!"

The boy's writhing continued for almost a full minute before he went still. His breathing had slowed to being almost unnoticeable. And his eyes were wide and devoid of life. The red glow emitted from his irises slowly died away leaving a dull, glossy finish across the cornea.

"Hmph."

The blade was pulled free, and his foot lifted from the boy's hand.

"Pathetic."

Wiping the blade against the boy's back, he sheathed his weapon and walked towards the exit of the chamber they'd been training in. And as he stopped at the entrance he glanced over his shoulder with a cold scowl.

What good is that creature if it can't give him the boost he needs to survive?

He sighed quietly and placed his hand on the door handle, but was stopped by a subtle hint of red light reflecting off the handle's metallic surface. The light in the boy's eyes had erupted to life with the red coloration in his irises swirling and churning like blood in a whirlpool. The boy slowly forced himself to his feet with his good hand holding the knife wound.

He turned around in quiet awe, and smiled.

Yes... That's the way.

The boy's mouth was drawn wide in a vicious toothy snarl. His pupils had become small cat-like slits. And the muscles around his mouth and brow wrinkled and contorted as he glared daggers at the man. Drawing back his hood, he took in a deep breath as he took in the sight of the boy's fighting spirit.

"That is perfection." He whispered.

"For this display, you'll receive no further punishment for your failure tonight. Go back to your chambers and rest, boy. Training resumes tomorrow at dawn, as always."

The man exited the chamber leaving the boy behind in the darkness. His eyes gave him more light than the cloudy night sky outside, and it was just barely enough for him to see as he made his way to the door and used his shoulder to slowly shove it open allowing him into the hallways of the mountain fortress. He limped through the halls holding his knife wound with his wounded hand resting on his good forearm. It trembled uncontrollably despite his efforts to get it to stop. Every man he passed in the halls looked at him like the scourge of the Earth, and a plague to be avoided. They whispered and taunted him on their way. But he paid them no mind... Because he knew what would happen if he looked their way.

Finally, his personal quarters. His sanctuary.

There was no furniture. And aside from the door there was only a small vent to the outside for clean airflow. Laying down on the stone close to the wall he scowled at his wounded hand. It was still trembling. His lips tightened and turned upwards, and tears gathered in his eyes once again as he opened his mouth and bit his hand. The chomp instantly sent a wave of pain and nausea through his body. But he would not let go. He bit until blood was drawn before finally releasing it.

It took a minute, but the free flow of blood began to recede. And from within the wound came a subtle red glow which numbed the pain and the trembling finally stopped. Still in agony, but satisfied with the stillness, he laid down his head and closed his eyes.

Tomorrow, it would begin all over again. The chase for the impossible. The chase for perfection. And the inevitably brutal punishment that awaited him when he failed, as he always did.

 

[GojiBean]

Test 2: Rebound​

Beneath the crescent moon, an icy wind seared the land below. Smoke rose from chimneys left and right, painting the skies like dark undulating rivers. And steam rose from the clay shingled rooftops against the chill of the air.

As the moon hid behind a stream of clouds, near the outskirts of the city, perched on the edge of a third story rooftop, a set of raven black locks waved gently in the breeze. Beneath them were two subtle stacks of steam rising into the air from a pair of glowing red irises which had locked on a specific window in the distance. A shadow walked by the window momentarily, illuminated only by candle light, before disappearing as the light was extinguished.

"Fifteen minutes." Came the voice of a man beside him whose face was hidden beneath a black hood.

"Go." He growled.

His irises flashed brilliantly before leaving only a red streak behind as he darted across the city sky line from rooftop to rooftop on a mad sprint towards that window.

Two minutes later, he had arrived on the building just across the street. He checked left, eyes scanning over the rooftops and down through what was visible in the streets. Nothing. He checked right. Nothing. All clear.

Leaping forward, he grabbed the balcony ledge and tucked his legs back to avoid his feet striking the wall, instead opting to use his stomach to cushion the impact of his momentum before hoisting himself up silently to step down on the balcony floor. Of course, the window was locked. A quick test of the handle confirmed it. And there was no key hole on the outside. Likely a latch lock inside. No matter.

The next balcony had a window wide open. A quick leap, and a hop onto the window sill, and he was in.

It was a storage room. Go figure. Nobody in such an important political position as the Cre' Itian Senate would leave windows unlocked and open unless the room was secured another way. Still, this was a start. Making his way to the door he found it to be locked. And just like the windows, there was no key hole on this side. Putting his ear to the door, there were no signs of life on the other side. That confirmed, he glanced at the hinges of the door. Shielded, of course. A metal frame around the hinges prevented any seams from being accessed by tools designed to lift them out.

Fine.

He flipped a leather latch on the sheath of the dagger hanging from his right hip, and as he withdrew it a subtle green light illuminated his clothing as the translucent green blade was drawn up and across his body. With a single swipe, and not but a soft "clink" sound, the metal shielding sported a line right down the middle before falling away and into the palm of his free hand. He set them down on the floor, and repeated for the second hinge. With the shielding gone, he used his dagger to leverage the hinges until he was able to grip it with his hand to force it up and free. There was a little bit of a disturbance with this action, as there was no way to do it clean given how little room there was between the door and the door frame. But a soft knocking from the wood was better than other, much louder options.

With the door set aside, he carefully crept into the hallway and turned right towards the door of his prey. However, a male servant suddenly walked around the corner and stopped the instant they made eye contact.

The servant's mouth opened, and a "thunk" reverberated trough the hallway.

The servant's eyes rolled back into his skull, and nothing but a choked gasp escaped his lungs as that translucent green blade had pierced the back of his throat and stuck into the wall. His body went limp a moment later, and he was slowly lowered to the ground and laid on his side. And that's when he heard footsteps around the next corner over.

"Arthur? Is everything okay?" Came a female voice.

As she rounded the corner her eyes had only just taken in the image of Arthur lying on the floor with blood covering the wall and floor around him before a large hand snatched her throat and pressed her into the wall. The next thing she knew she was staring at two glowing red eyes and a vicious, feral snarl on the face of the one only known as the Red-Eyed Demon, the most feared assassin in the world. A choked squeak was all she could muster in her attempts to scream for help. A moment later she saw her vision turning sideways, and this was followed by a loud "Snap." Her body went limp in his hand, and she too was lowered to the ground and placed next to Arthur.

He checked the hallway from which she had come, and then checked the other direction towards where he had come from the storage room.

Clear.

Contrary to all the other doors he spied in the hallways, his target's door didn't have a key hole from this side. It was inside. Figures. Cowards always found ways to make it so only they had the means to lock or unlock their personal chambers. But if he wanted to play that way, then the time for subtlety was over.

With a single well-placed kick, the door shattered to pieces. His target, one Csargil Virmonte, was instantly awoken from his slumber and on his feet screaming after the meaning of this disturbance. But once he made eye contact with the Red-Eyed Demon, he froze.

"Y-... You!"

The Red-Eyed Demon remained silent and still about ten feet away. His face was neutral save for his eyes which were open wide, and his pupils were dilated so small it almost appeared as if he didn't have any.

"Wh-wh-why have you come here?!"

Silence.

"Answer me, Demon! Why have you-"

A heavy fist landed in his stomach and put him on his knees gasping for air.

H-how-... How did he close the gap so quickly? Csargil thought.

He'd barely had time to blink before he felt a foot land in his side, nearly shattering every rib caught in its wake and sending him sprawling to the floor in breathless agony. His side burned like nothing he'd felt before. And he could feel the shattered bones poking and stabbing muscle and flesh as he tried to breathe.

The Red-Eyed Demon walked forward, looming over Csargil like a dark mountain before kneeling beside him with his dagger out and hanging loosely by his fingertips just above Csargil's heart.

Try as he might Csargil couldn't speak or make any coherent sounds. The pain and lack of air in his lungs following those two blows was too great. And to make matters worse he was beginning to lose consciousness.

The Red-Eyed Demon let the dagger fall one inch before catching it in his fingertips. But the blade's tip had pierced Csargil's flesh just enough to catch between two of his still intact ribs. The sting forced Csargil to finally take in a much needed breath of air. But with the use of only two fingers against his throat, the Red-Eyed Demon immediately collapsed his throat preventing a proper exhalation, which also prevented a scream. The dagger was dropped momentarily and caught once again, falling another half inch into his flesh.

Csargil's arms wouldn't work. And the Red-Eyed Demon's position at his side prevented any chance of using his legs which were also having trouble responding to what he wanted them to do. If he could just flail one of them enough to kick the Demon off balance maybe he could force himself up and escape. Just one limb. Arm. Leg. Didn't matter. Just one bloody limb!

Move, dammit!

The Red-Eyed Demon's eyes flashed, and the knife was released with no attempt made to catch it. The weight of the blade carried it clean through the gap of his ribs, and in what felt like slow motion Csargil felt his heart being sliced in two clean halves before the dagger's tip landed on the reverse side of his body, sticking into the bone of a rib just beside the spinal cord.

It was over. He couldn't do anything now. But why was he still conscious? He'd been told that if something happened to your heart that you would die instantly. But evidently that wasn't the case. He was still alive. And he felt everything. The two broken halves of his heart still fighting to pump. Blood filling his chest cavity. His lungs ceasing to work. His muscles getting weaker every second. And, finally, he started blacking out again.

This time, the Demon made no attempt to keep him awake. Csargil was free to slip into eternal sleep. And as the dagger was withdrawn from the Senator's corpse a group of armed guards made their way into the room.

"No! Senator!" One of them screamed.

The others all surrounded the Demon, weapons pointed straight at him.

"Attack! Don't wait for him to ready himself!" Screamed another.

The Demon's eyes flashed, and a massive smear of blood streaked across the walls in a circular arc.

... Thirty seconds later, the Demon broke the window and let himself out onto the balcony. Inside the room behind him lay the guards, their bodies quite literally sliced to pieces and surrounding the corpse of their now former employer. With a single leap he was back on the rooftop across the street, and sprinting on his way back.

Five minutes. That's how long it took him to finish. Now it was just a matter of getting back so he and his overseer could return to the fortress.

However, a high pitched shriek caught his attention and he skidded to a halt on the shingled rooftops.

It was close.

Let nothing distract you.

He shook his head and resumed his sprint. But a second shriek, this time immediately cut off by something, forced him to stop once again. But why? Why was he stopping? And then, the realization. It was familiar. He'd heard it before. Or something just like it.

He had plenty of time. So, with a shift of his weight he sprinted towards the shriek. It took a minute or two of searching, but he finally found its source.

Down in a lonely alleyway below was a child dressed in nothing but rags, and laying on their back on the cold cobblestone street. Blood was pooling around their torso. And it seemed to be coming from their chest or stomach region.

The Demon leaped down into the alley to approach the child, and was surprised to find they were still alive. If only just. It was a girl. Her hair was splayed out in all directions beneath her, and soaked with blood. Her eyes were wide, filled with tears, and locked onto his. Her entire body was trembling. And she was emitting soft squeaks and sobs as she held her wounded chest.

He glanced down towards her hands, and the scar just below his heart began to burn.

His eyes went wide. That's where he'd heard the scream before. Or, rather... That was when he screamed just like this girl had. When he was stabbed by his own father as part of the ritual to summon this Demonic spirit which resided within his body, and which was responsible for making his eyes glow.

He let out a breath, and looked back at the child with soft eyes.

She was still crying and gripping her wound. And all that blood... She'd lost too much. There was nothing he could do for her now. He placed one hand on hers, and used his other hand to gently cradle her head. Her tears flowed more intensely, but she finally was able to take in a full breath.

"I'm scared." She whimpered.

The Red-Eyed Demon's entire chest began to tighten. But why? His face felt warmer too, which was new. And his breath was hitching. It was like his lungs were partially paralyzed. And he could feel tension throughout his body as he stared at his hand which was slowly being soaked with her blood.

Minutes passed.

It was truly amazing just how long a child could cling to life with a wound this severe. Not to mention this much lost blood. But finally, it was over. Her eyes had glazed over and grown cloudy. She let out one final exhale, accompanied by a tiny puff of steam. Her lungs deflated. Her stomach fell. And her hands went limp under his.

She was dead.

His eyes lost their light and hid beneath the shadow of his raven black bangs. His shoulders trembled slightly, and he slowly released her head and removed his hand from hers. Holding that hand up and examining the blood he felt his heart rate increase as his blood began to boil. And it was then that his ears caught the sound of a scratch on the cobblestone street nearby.

He lifted his head and looked over his shoulder, and he spied a man in rags with a makeshift knife made from a broken piece of stone, the tip of which was bloody, looking over at him.

"Oi! What're ya doin'?" He barked.

He remained still. Eyes locked on the shiv.

"Wut? That lil' punk tried ta steal my spot!" He said pointing the shiv at an old half-broken box next to them.

From the rotten stench and the traces of gummy, sticky substances inside, it was once a fruit crate. Now turned into a tiny half-assed shelter barely big enough for the girl. Let alone a grown man.

"If ya don't git away from my spot I'mma do the same ta you mate! Git!" He shouted, waving the shiv as he slowly inched closer.

The Demon slowly stood up and turned to face the man. His body language was relaxed. But his head was still hanging with his eyes hiding behind his bangs. The man lunged for him only to be stopped dead in his tracks by a fist to the jaw which completely shattered both joints causing what remained of the intact bone structure to dangle loosely with his tongue hanging out. The man screamed in pain, but was silenced by another fist slamming into his lower stomach, just above the groin. He doubled over, fell to his knees, and released his stomach contents into the street.

A minute later, the alley was covered in almost all ten pints of the man's blood. Clean lines had been opened along the length of his arms and legs, as well as one to the heart, and one on either side of his neck. His body was still intact. But he was splayed out in the dead center of the street and stripped bare for all to see.

As for his precious "spot," or rather his box, the girl's body had been carefully placed in it which sheltered her corpse from the rain which began to fall just moments after the Red-Eyed Demon disappeared into the darkness of the alley beyond the corner.

 

[GojiBean]

Test 3: Colliding Worlds​

He couldn't see, and it wasn't because of the bandana which he was using like a makeshift blindfold to hide his eyes from people. He could barely hear. His head was swimming. And his body felt like it was made of lead.

"Ge-... o-...e ta-...e!"

A voice. It was muddy. Like it was under water. And he could feel something happening. Pressure along his back and legs at random spots. And then, uniform. Was he lying on something? It didn't feel like stone or dirt.

"... Cle-... ose-... loth-..."

Something changed again. Movement around him. Particularly his torso. He could feel himself being subtly jerked around a bit, but suddenly his body felt cooler against the burning of the slash and stab wounds he'd received. Was someone removing his clothing? His tunic for sure was not there. Or, at least not covering his front. Cut up the middle, maybe?

He was jerked a little bit more around the left leg. He'd been stabbed with a spear in the left thigh just above and to the side of the left knee. And now his left leg felt cooler there too. At least around the wound. Must've cut his pants out of the way of it.

But who would do this? And why?

"Get m-... -nd give m-... ace, plea-..."

The voice. It was getting clearer. It wasn't any he recognized. So he wasn't back at the fortress like last time.

Then, he felt hands on him. They were small, and soft. Definitely not anyone from Te'i Sai. But who then?

They were feeling around the wounded areas and gently testing his body's response to the pressure. When they reached his ribs, they gently felt along the length before stopping the instant they realized some of them were broken from the fall he took. Three stories into a bunch of wooden crates in an alley will do that to them. But why stop when feeling? Te'i Sai always forcibly reset them if they were broken. What was this light touch and hesitation to interact with the broken bones?

He tried to speak, but it came out as little but a groan followed by a cough. Instantly, one of those small, soft hands came to rest on his clavicle.

"Please. Try not to move."

It was... A woman?

Te'i Sai didn't have any women in its ranks. So this confirmed absolutely he wasn't at the headquarters. But why not? If missions went wrong in the past they always came for him. How'd they not this time? Who did he have to kill for fucking up like this? Because someone did. And if it wasn't him doing the killing, it would be the Grandmaster whose methods were deliberately designed to last longer.

"It's all right, sir. Everything will be all right. You're in good hands."

Her voice. It was warm. Creamy. And laced with something he wasn't familiar with. Not like the voices of anyone he knew, which were all gruff and grim and filled with malice and contempt.

"You were stabbed six times, gashed twice, and have an arrow in your upper right shoulder. But don't worry. We're going to take good care of this for you, okay? Just relax."

She removed her hands for a moment, and he heard something squelch. Something wet and squishy. A moment later, one of her hands came to rest on part of his stomach which wasn't wounded, and a cold, wet sensation touched the lowest of the stab wounds just above his belt line. She'd coated her fingers with something. Water? No. It was too viscous. A cream? Whatever it was, it sent a chill up his spine and made the wound burn.

"This'll sting for just a minute. But I promise it will pa-h-hey! Wait!"

He'd had enough. This was ridiculous. It was time for him to return to headquarters.

"Jessica! Everyone! Help me sedate him!"

Before he could do more than push himself up onto his hands he was forced back down onto the bed and restrained by leathery straps around his wrist and ankles. Oddly though, it was as if they went out of their way to do so in as gentle a manner as possible. At headquarters, if it was time for the Grandmaster to punish him for whatever the wretch felt he'd done wrong, he'd just be thrown to the ground and pinned by knees, elbows, or boots. So what was all this? It didn't make sense.

"I'm sorry, sir. But you're in no condition to be moving around. Much less trying to stand. Please, just relax. Everything will be okay. I promise."

Again with the apologies and the promise that everything will be "okay." Whatever that meant.

"Drink this. It'll help relax you and dull the pain."

A cup was held to his lips. Fuck that. He bit the edge of the cup and shattered it, spilling the liquid onto his chest and neck area, as well as the hands of the one who'd tried to pour it for him.

"Sir! Please! Everything will be okay. Please, drink this."

He growled with a snarl and tried to fight the restraints. But it hurt. The slashes and stabs burned. And the arrow in his shoulder felt like it had not only severed some muscles, but pinched some as well. He couldn't maintain the flexing of his muscles against the restraints, and had to release the tension and take a deep breath. But even that hurt. His lungs were pressing on the broken ribs which poked and scraped against them. Try as he might, he couldn't free himself from this nonsense.

I have to get back! He thought.

Then, a hiss slithered through his mind.

... Kill...

He grit his teeth on reflex, trying to block it out.

... KILL...

He grunted against his urge to shout at it. That voice. That ugly, gravelly, hoarse voice. It always urged him on like this. Death and destruction were all it cared about. And it pestered him to satisfy its lust for them constantly. Every hour. Every minute. Every second of every day it was there in the back of his mind. He'd learned how to tune it out. But with everything happening and confusing him right now, he'd lost his grip.

Push it back.

... Kill them!... It would be simple!

He hissed a breath in through his teeth as the woman and people around her tried to get him to drink that stuff again.

Push it back.

...They'll die eventually...

Push it back.

...What's the harm in helping them along? The Grandmaster said so himself that this was our duty...

Push it back... Push it back...

The whisper faded, all the while protesting his resistance. But finally, it was gone. His mouth opened for but a moment to take a relaxed breath, and the liquid poured into his mouth and down his throat. He coughed, turning his head to try and force it out. But it was no use. One of them was strong enough to keep his head straight, and they managed to pour enough down his throat that he knew whatever it was laced with would take effect soon.

"There. Everything will be all right, sir. Please trust me."

Trust her? After all this, she wanted him to trust her? Bringing him here against his will. Forcing him down onto whatever surface he was on. Some kind of torture table, no doubt. Strapping him down so he couldn't escape. It was the Grandmaster's punishments all over again. It was just a different hand now.

He growled and tried once again to free himself. The restraints began to grown and stretch as he pushed harder and harder. But hands fell on his knees and elbows which broke his leverage. But he wouldn't give up. He wouldn't allow them to torture him like this. But even if he couldn't escape, he wouldn't talk. He wasn't allowed to speak anyway. And if other Te'i Sai operatives couldn't get him to talk, good luck. And do your worst, lady.

Minutes passed with continued fruitless struggling until he started feeling groggy. His muscles relaxed, and his head fell into something soft. Some kind of... animal? Maybe? It cushioned his head. But it didn't-... Wait.

When he was little, and before all the insanity of this Demonic spirit being part of him, he remembered something feeling like this. It was... When? Morning? No. Evening. He used to lay down in something at night, and his mom would cover him with a big cloth square or something. His head was on something just like this. What was it called again? He hated not knowing.

"What is this?"

He stiffened.

... He spoke. He wasn't supposed to speak! The Grandmaster forbade it! If he found out the next torture session from the Grandmaster would be ten times worse than normal!

His lips slammed shut, and rolled back into his mouth.

"What's what, sir?"

He turned his head away from the sound of her voice.

"Ah. You must be wondering where you are, right?"

Silence. But she... laughed? It wasn't like the laughs of the people he sometimes saw in the streets below him when moving across rooftops. It was a bit shorter. Less from her belly and more from her chest or throat. What did they call it? A chuckle? Something like that.

"You're at the Almna Apothecary and Clinic, sir. I'm its owner, Lorraine. You're seriously wounded right now, and my staff and I are going to help you. We just need you to relax so we can apply our medicines and sew the wounds shut so they don't get infected."

"Help?" What kind of crap was that? Nobody helped him. He didn't need it. He'd always managed to recover from his injuries on his own before. It took time, obviously. But he did. No matter how many of his bones the Grandmaster broke, he healed eventually. No matter how many times he got cut in training, they closed eventually. No matter what was done to him, he'd recovered and come back stronger and better than before. But this woman thought she could "help" him?

"Tch."

That was all she'd get out of him. This "help" was torture. He was certain. She could dress it however she wanted. He knew better. But his body wouldn't let him resist anymore. It was relaxing against his will. Not that he'd be able to stop then thanks to the restraints.

But then... That cold sensation was back, along with the sting that happened when the squishy cream stuff touched the wound. But that first one. It wasn't burning anymore. It hadn't been that long since she put it on him, had it? Or did he lose track of how long it'd been? Either way, there were multiple pairs of hands applying that stuff all over to the various wounds he'd received. They'd burn for a minute, and then the pain would go away. Just what was this? Some kind of occult sorcery like the kind to summon this Demonic spirit?

"We're going to let this soak in for a bit, and then we'll sew the cuts. Okay?"

He didn't answer.

True to her word, they started poking him with needles after a bit. And he could feel the string or whatever looping through the holes they poked. And it made his skin crawl. This was what they called "help?" But... The pain was gone. The pokes stung for a sec. But that was about it. The rest of his body felt fine, minus the fatigue from all that happened before he was brought here. But that was nothing new.

They removed the arrow and repeated the paste stuff and sewing once it soaked in. Afterwards, he felt that woman's hands touch his chest again.

"A few of your ribs need to be reset, sir. Try to relax. I'll let you know when I'm about to set them so you can brace yourself, okay?"

"Hmph."

Her fingertips felt around his ribs until they came to the first in need of setting. It was the fourth rib, just an inch away from the breastbone.

"Deep breath, sir."

He ignored her.

Her fingers pressed and pulled at the far side of the bone until he felt it snap back into place. It sent a wave of pain through his chest, and his lungs seized for a brief instant from the sudden shock. But he barely reacted to it outside of a single half-strained inhale, followed by a long exhale through his nose.

"Perfect. We've got two more to do, sir. Then we'll be finished for today."

Today?

"Deep breath."

She set the other two, and then covered him with something soft. Some kind of cloth? But it was too big to be a shirt. Was it like that big square thing his mom used to cover him with?

"Try to get some sleep, sir. Your body really needs some good rest to help you recover from injuries this severe."

She gave him a soft pat on his good shoulder before he heard them all moving away. And that seemed to be the end of it. They didn't take off the restraints, so he wasn't going anywhere. And he was tired. And this surface wasn't exactly uncomfortable. It was better than stone, which is what he usually slept on.

So maybe it was safe to rest here. At least for now.

And so he did... But it wasn't exactly a peaceful respite since sleep was the one time he couldn't tune out that wretched whisper in the back of his mind.

 

[Azo]

This is pretty good man. You made an amazing job at showing the extremely harsh and cruel living conditions of the protagonist. The action scene was well structured and intense, and the tortured inner world of the protagonist is perfectly portrayed. Some parts made me genuinely uncomfortable, for instance when you describe how the senator's heart struggles in an attempt to keep pumping blood despite being cut in half, that shit sent shivers down my spine, I swear. That, if anything, is the clear sign of an skillful writer.

The only thing that bothers me (And this is just a subjective, personal opinion) is that the protagonist seems a bit, well, you know... undefeatable (He does, after all, kill, with a single blow, an entire group of well equipped, trained guards). When a character makes practically no mistakes and is just apparently "perfect", it is hard for the reader (Or at least for some readers) to sympathize with a said character. Another issue is the following: If the red demon is capable of killing in one blow an entire group of guards, what is the point of the stealth sequence? After all, he could just break through the first window he finds, literally destroy the guards and finish the job by killing the senator. In fact that way may have been even quicker! I guess he could be trying, for whatever reason, to prevent the public from knowing he was the responsible, which would be understandable, but such a thing has not been implied yet in the story (I think, do correct should I be wrong).

Now, having said that, it is true that in the third chapter it is implied that the red demon did make some kind of mistake, and there are even reasons to think that this may be a relatively common occurrence ("...If missions went wrong in the past they always came for him..."). This would solve the "problem" I exposed in the previous paragraph, but I think it would be great to know exactly what happened for these missions to go wrong, that is, to know if the red demon had some kind of weakness and the nature of said weakness. It might be the fact that he still suffers from the emotional sequels of the childhood traumas caused by what he had to endure in his early years of training (As implied by the little girl incident in chapter two) or, even better, it might be that sometimes he loses control over the demon's blood lust and in the middle of a mission he begins to behave in a reckless and risky way, driven by blind bloodthirstiness. I understand that the red demon's training was clearly designed to wipe out every single trace of weakness, but, is such a thing even possible? And, more importantly, what appeal has a character with absolutely no flaws whatsoever? This is one of my main criticisms for "The name of the wind" by Patrick Rothfuss. The protagonist is just too perfect, to the point that it is hard to empathize with him.

This [having a weakness] would create or produce some interesting inner conflict for the character and make it easier for the reader to sympathize with him. Of course, it seems like the seeds of inner conflict have already been sown in chapter three, so it might not be necessary in that regard. I just think that having some kind of weakness would remove this veil of apparent invincibility and would also set a clear obstacle for the character to overcome.

All this analysis gave me an idea, which you may consider, good sir, as a humble proposal. Discard it if you so will. A new character could be introduced, some kid of bounty hunter, hired by powerful figures and interest groups to put a definite end once and for all to the feared red demon. Said character would then investigate the demon, eventually learning about his weakness and trying to exploit it. Through the lenses of this character the reader would obtain access to more information about the red demon, but from an external perspective. It would also introduce an antagonist to the story, who may eventually be "redeemed" once he or she learns about the cruel upbringing of the demon and the real nature of his circumstances.

Please, remember I say all of this with the outmost humbleness, and no ill will whatsoever. I acknowledge you are a far better writer than I will ever be, good sir, I am fully aware of it, and these words are just a respectful and modest analysis which I thought you might find somewhat useful in some way.

That would be it. Take care and keep up with the good work.

 

[GojiBean]

This is pretty good man. You made an amazing job at showing the extremely harsh and cruel living conditions of the protagonist. The action scene was well structured and intense, and the tortured inner world of the protagonist is perfectly portrayed. Some parts made me genuinely uncomfortable, for instance when you describe how the senator's heart struggles in an attempt to keep pumping blood despite being cut in half, that shit sent shivers down my spine, I swear. That, if anything, is the clear sign of an skillful writer.

The only thing that bothers me (And this is just a subjective, personal opinion) is that the protagonist seems a bit, well, you know... undefeatable (He does, after all, kill, with a single blow, an entire group of well equipped, trained guards). When a character makes practically no mistakes and is just apparently "perfect", it is hard for the reader (Or at least for some readers) to sympathize with a said character. Another issue is the following: If the red demon is capable of killing in one blow an entire group of guards, what is the point of the stealth sequence? After all, he could just break through the first window he finds, literally destroy the guards and finish the job by killing the senator. In fact that way may have been even quicker! I guess he could be trying, for whatever reason, to prevent the public from knowing he was the responsible, which would be understandable, but such a thing has not been implied yet in the story (I think, do correct should I be wrong).

Now, having said that, it is true that in the third chapter it is implied that the red demon did make some kind of mistake, and there are even reasons to think that this may be a relatively common occurrence ("...If missions went wrong in the past they always came for him..."). This would solve the "problem" I exposed in the previous paragraph, but I think it would be great to know exactly what happened for these missions to go wrong, that is, to know if the red demon had some kind of weakness and the nature of said weakness. It might be the fact that he still suffers from the emotional sequels of the childhood traumas caused by what he had to endure in his early years of training (As implied by the little girl incident in chapter two) or, even better, it might be that sometimes he loses control over the demon's blood lust and in the middle of a mission he begins to behave in a reckless and risky way, driven by blind bloodthirstiness. I understand that the red demon's training was clearly designed to wipe out every single trace of weakness, but, is such a thing even possible? And, more importantly, what appeal has a character with absolutely no flaws whatsoever? This is one of my main criticisms for "The name of the wind" by Patrick Rothfuss. The protagonist is just too perfect, to the point that it is hard to empathize with him.

This [having a weakness] would create or produce some interesting inner conflict for the character and make it easier for the reader to sympathize with him. Of course, it seems like the seeds of inner conflict have already been sown in chapter three, so it might not be necessary in that regard. I just think that having some kind of weakness would remove this veil of apparent invincibility and would also set a clear obstacle for the character to overcome.

All this analysis gave me an idea, which you may consider, good sir, as a humble proposal. Discard it if you so will. A new character could be introduced, some kid of bounty hunter, hired by powerful figures and interest groups to put a definite end once and for all to the feared red demon. Said character would then investigate the demon, eventually learning about his weakness and trying to exploit it. Through the lenses of this character the reader would obtain access to more information about the red demon, but from an external perspective. It would also introduce an antagonist to the story, who may eventually be "redeemed" once he or she learns about the cruel upbringing of the demon and the real nature of his circumstances.

Please, remember I say all of this with the outmost humbleness, and no ill will whatsoever. I acknowledge you are a far better writer than I will ever be, good sir, I am fully aware of it, and these words are just a respectful and modest analysis which I thought you might find somewhat useful in some way.

That would be it. Take care and keep up with the good work.

Morning!

I just woke up, so apologies if my reply meanders or ceases to make sense at any point.

After review, I have to agree 100% that the brutal dispatching of the guards all but completely delegitimizes the stealth sequence. That part wasn't meant to be taken as a one-shot killed everyone kind of thing. But I admit I did a rather poor job of making that clear. And I think I know why.

I recall not having a clear idea in mind for what came between the Senator's death and the discovery of the girl in the alley. So I believe that lack of clarity resulted in the haphazard description of the guard fight, if it could be called that. And I'll make a more concerted effort in the next scene I plan to write since it happens to feature two distinct series of events as well.

So, please let that serve as a warning to always have a clear plan of action for linking events if there are multiple being covered in single chapter/scene!

I know it's serving as a lesson learned for me in this case. Lol!

Looking back at the scene, I believe the better way to write it would be for the Red-Eyed Demon to flee the moment he heard the guards approaching so he was gone before they entered the room. While he is a ruthless and brutally efficient fighter, he's not invincible, as proven in scene three when he's badly wounded throughout from a fight which clearly didn't go his way. Rather than leaving it as a poorly constructed cut-away moment like a bad tease in film, I should have just gotten him out of there.

The only thing I have to disagree with you on is the idea that the character is "perfect," or anywhere close, simply because he is capable of one-shot killing an enemy in isolated circumstances.

The reason I voice this opposition to the idea that his perceived physical prowess makes him "perfect," and I'm also hoping that this explanation is educational (is that vain of me?), is that character weaknesses are almost always of the mind instead of the body. Physical prowess, whether seemingly invincible or not, do not a "perfect" character make.

Take Saitama from One Punch Man. He's literally designed to be a parody of the "invincible protagonist" trope. But he has his weaknesses too. He's financially down on his luck and has been shown to be rather greedy. He's constantly bored, and doesn't take things as seriously as he should which has resulted in collateral damage time and again both before and during his battles with dangerous enemies. He's obsessively competitive, as shown when he couldn't stand losing to King in video games. And he's rather blunt with opinions, whether they're right or wrong, such as when he first met Tatsumaki and called her a "kid" simply because she's petite (she's older than him).

Another classic trope example would be the poor shy boy who has trouble confessing to his crush because every time he gets close his feet freeze, his tongue gets tied, or he blurts out random stuff that gives her the wrong impression of his intentions. This comes from his weakness which is the fear of rejection, which can be simplified to fear. He's afraid of her and the thought that she won't like him. There's a disconnect between what he envisions being possible with her when they're at a distance, and what he thinks is possible when he gets close and has a chance to make that first thought a reality. The body responds to the brain. Everything from the first thought of "now's my chance to talk to her" to the moment he actually does that and stops in front of her with the girl smiling and greeting him is the result of him playing a mental game of chess with his weakness. And the moment he freezes or says something that gives the wrong impression is the moment he loses that game, and she ends up chuckling at whatever he did say, calling him "so funny," and then leaving with her friends to go study or get a bite after school.

- End of hopefully educational moment -

In conclusion, the Red-Eyed Demon can most certainly be hurt. But again, I did a poor job of relaying that until scene three where he's already severely injured from the start with no explanation as to how it happened. In hindsight I should have done at least a brief flashback recap of the circumstances of the injuries so the reader would understand how his physical prowess can be defeated, which would then give a more complete sense of context of what to expect from him. And for the guard sequence, I should either have made him flee or made it clear that his prior one-shots were only because he had the drop on those hapless servants. And that fully alert and battle-ready enemies would not be dispatched nearly as quickly unless they lacked any sense of genuine combat skill. But if they're serving a Senator as personal guards in his home, they should be at least able to threaten his safety. If not his life.

Thanks so much for reading and leaving feedback! I appreciate it, and hope to hear more as I add more scenes in the future to this test bench thread!

Cheers!

 

[Azo]

Morning!

I just woke up, so apologies if my reply meanders or ceases to make sense at any point.

After review, I have to agree 100% that the brutal dispatching of the guards all but completely delegitimizes the stealth sequence. That part wasn't meant to be taken as a one-shot killed everyone kind of thing. But I admit I did a rather poor job of making that clear. And I think I know why.

I recall not having a clear idea in mind for what came between the Senator's death and the discovery of the girl in the alley. So I believe that lack of clarity resulted in the haphazard description of the guard fight, if it could be called that. And I'll make a more concerted effort in the next scene I plan to write since it happens to feature two distinct series of events as well.

So, please let that serve as a warning to always have a clear plan of action for linking events if there are multiple being covered in single chapter/scene!

I know it's serving as a lesson learned for me in this case. Lol!

Looking back at the scene, I believe the better way to write it would be for the Red-Eyed Demon to flee the moment he heard the guards approaching so he was gone before they entered the room. While he is a ruthless and brutally efficient fighter, he's not invincible, as proven in scene three when he's badly wounded throughout from a fight which clearly didn't go his way. Rather than leaving it as a poorly constructed cut-away moment like a bad tease in film, I should have just gotten him out of there.

The only thing I have to disagree with you on is the idea that the character is "perfect," or anywhere close, simply because he is capable of one-shot killing an enemy in isolated circumstances.

The reason I voice this opposition to the idea that his perceived physical prowess makes him "perfect," and I'm also hoping that this explanation is educational (is that vain of me?), is that character weaknesses are almost always of the mind instead of the body. Physical prowess, whether seemingly invincible or not, do not a "perfect" character make.

Take Saitama from One Punch Man. He's literally designed to be a parody of the "invincible protagonist" trope. But he has his weaknesses too. He's financially down on his luck and has been shown to be rather greedy. He's constantly bored, and doesn't take things as seriously as he should which has resulted in collateral damage time and again both before and during his battles with dangerous enemies. He's obsessively competitive, as shown when he couldn't stand losing to King in video games. And he's rather blunt with opinions, whether they're right or wrong, such as when he first met Tatsumaki and called her a "kid" simply because she's petite (she's older than him).

Another classic trope example would be the poor shy boy who has trouble confessing to his crush because every time he gets close his feet freeze, his tongue gets tied, or he blurts out random stuff that gives her the wrong impression of his intentions. This comes from his weakness which is the fear of rejection, which can be simplified to fear. He's afraid of her and the thought that she won't like him. There's a disconnect between what he envisions being possible with her when they're at a distance, and what he thinks is possible when he gets close and has a chance to make that first thought a reality. The body responds to the brain. Everything from the first thought of "now's my chance to talk to her" to the moment he actually does that and stops in front of her with the girl smiling and greeting him is the result of him playing a mental game of chess with his weakness. And the moment he freezes or says something that gives the wrong impression is the moment he loses that game, and she ends up chuckling at whatever he did say, calling him "so funny," and then leaving with her friends to go study or get a bite after school.

- End of hopefully educational moment -

In conclusion, the Red-Eyed Demon can most certainly be hurt. But again, I did a poor job of relaying that until scene three where he's already severely injured from the start with no explanation as to how it happened. In hindsight I should have done at least a brief flashback recap of the circumstances of the injuries so the reader would understand how his physical prowess can be defeated, which would then give a more complete sense of context of what to expect from him. And for the guard sequence, I should either have made him flee or made it clear that his prior one-shots were only because he had the drop on those hapless servants. And that fully alert and battle-ready enemies would not be dispatched nearly as quickly unless they lacked any sense of genuine combat skill. But if they're serving a Senator as personal guards in his home, they should be at least able to threaten his safety. If not his life.

Thanks so much for reading and leaving feedback! I appreciate it, and hope to hear more as I add more scenes in the future to this test bench thread!

Cheers!

Having the Red Demon leave instead of fighting would be a brilliant move indeed. The third chapter would then make completely clear, beyond any reasonable doubt, that he is a rounded up character, with both strengths and flaws.

You are certainly right when pointing out that weaknesses do not need to be related at all with a physical trait. However I did not intend to emphasize the physical prowess of the character, but other virtues/skills demonstrated in the second chapter (Such as a strategic thinking, flexibility, dexterity and intuition), which the Red Demon, I think, seems to be endowed with. This is perfectly fine, of course, not in vain has he gone through arduous training since childhood. I was just concerned that, he being so powerful, it could give the impression that he is not exposed to a real risk at all, but now I see that this concern of mine was not necessary.

Thank you very much for your attention, I look forward for further scenes!

 

[GojiBean]

Test 3: Never Enough​

"Grandmaster," he said whilst taking a knee. "Forgive my impertinence. But I have to ask why you treat the boy so. He's still-"

"He's still what, Master Rikard? Too young?"

"... Yes, Grandmaster."

"One is never too young to learn, Master Rikard. You're still a student yourself, despite your rank. Are you not?"

"Yes, sir. However, this boy's only six or seven years old. But you're holding him to the same standards you would a full grown man. It's unreasonable and-"

"Mind yourself, Master Rikard. I'll decide what's 'reasonable' with the boy. Remember, he's not exactly your average child."

"I mean no disrespect, Grandmaster. But I fail to see how his eyes translate to-"

"Master Rikard?"

"Yes, Grandmaster?"

"Have I ever given you reason not to trust my judgement in the past?"

"N-no, sir."

"And have I ever deliberately pushed you or anyone else within this organization farther than you were capable of going?"

"No, sir."

"Then why are you so intent on overanalyzing the boy's situation? He's clearly capable of reaching the heights I'm pushing him towards. The fact he always gets up, no matter how harsh his punishment when he fails, is proof enough in my eyes."

"Sir."

"Do you understand now, Master Rikard? I'm pushing this boy because he can take it. I know where his limits lie. And I know how deeply he digs to stay on his feet, despite my methods pushing time and again to knock him down."

"Yes, sir."

"Any more questions, Master Rikard?"

"No, Grandmaster. Forgive me."

"Forgiven. Now, be off with you. I believe you're scheduled for a mission soon to Triveila, are you not?"

"Yes, sir."

The Grandmaster gave a wave of his hand, and Master Rikard left the room closing the double doors behind him with a deep frown indented in his face. He was approached by a young man, no older than fifteen, who tapped his shoulder and leaned in to whisper...

"Any luck?"

He shook his head, earning a sigh of resignation from the lad as they walked the halls and stopped on the balcony overlooking the Master's training floor. The boy in question, eyes aglow in crimson light, was sparring, if one could call it that, with a Master Assassin on one of the elevated match rings. His left eye was halfway swollen shut. His left arm was clearly dislocated at the shoulder. And with legs so wobbly the softest whisper could sweep them out from under him, it was a miracle he was still on his feet.

All around on balconies overlooking the chamber were other Assassins of various ranks cheering the spectacle as the boy was sent flying with a single well-placed kick to the stomach. With no ropes or posts to keep the participants in bounds, he slid right off and fell the full six feet to the stone floor. A small dust cloud floated up and around him before settling, and the boy didn't get up. The Master Assassin stood tall in the center of the ring and encouraged the growing cheers from those in the attendance. And Master Rikard's white-knuckled grip on the balcony ledge, coupled with the clenched jaw left his opinion in no uncertain terms to the lad at his side who backed away a few steps.

The lad leaned over the side and gasped as he saw the child trying to stand again.

"How can he possibly-"

Master Rikard spun on his heel, breaking the lad's train of thought, and stormed down the halls at a blistering pace. It was everything the Fledgling could do to keep up as they found themselves entering the chamber as the Master Assassin knelt at the edge of the ring to look down and taunt the child who was on his thoroughly trembling hands and knees.

"Not bad, kid. You can take a beating. That's for sure."

The crowd erupted in laughter as Master Rikard knelt down beside the boy.

"Oh, look. Here's his guardian angel come to save the day again."

Master Rikard kept his eyes on the boy. He was struggling to breathe following that blow. A few of his lower ribs were clearly broken. And his left arm, out of its socket, was not helping to hold him up as he fought to stand. He reached out for the boy, but stopped short of actually making contact. If he did anything to assist the child, he knew what was waiting for him.

"Go ahead, Rikard. Help him up. He clearly needs it." The Master Assassin mocked.

"One more word out of you, Master Aelon, and you'll end up in the same condition as the boy." Rikard growled.

Oooh's from the crowd, as well as Master Aelon himself, echoed around the room.

"What's that Rikard? I couldn't hear you over all this noise."

The child's mouth was clenched so tightly it may as well have been a bear trap. Tears were dripping to the ground, and well disguised amongst the sweat which dripped around them. Had the boy's hair not been long enough to hide his face while hunched like this, and if the Grandmaster had seen those tears falling, the boy would be in for a much worse punishment than this so-called sparring match.

"Come on, Rikard. You had something to say. So get up and say it."

"It's Master Rikard. And I'm not his guardian angel. I'm his Overseer." He said as he stood and looked up at Master Aelon, who made the 'can't hear you' gesture.

Master Rikard sighed and climbed up into the ring, earning cheers from the crowd who all leaned in closer in the balconies, and for those in the room gathered closer to the ring to observe up close. The two Masters squared off, and Master Aelon's face contorted into a deep frown.

"You honestly think that little abomination deserves any pity, Rikard?"

"Master Rikard."

"Whatever. If the Grandmaster didn't approve of this, he'd put a stop to it. Are you going to openly defy the Grandmaster about our treatment and training methods?"

"No."

"Then why'd you climb into the ring with me?"

"To give you a dose of humility."

"Ha! Fine. We're the same rank, Rikard. Humble me if you can."

"Master Rikard."

A gong was struck, and Master Aelon slid towards Master Rikard with a feint jab that turned in mid-strike to a hook punch. The move caught Master Rikard off guard as it glanced off the edge of his chin, forcing him a step back, and earning more Ooh's from the crowd as Master Aelon backed away with a sneer.

"What was that about humbling me? You can't even see through a simple feint."

Master Rikard responded by adjusting his stance slightly.

"Ho? What's this? An angled horse riding stance with a slightly straightened back leg? Come on Rikard. Show me something worth the effort."

"Master Rikard."

"Tch."

Master Aelon slid forward and used a similar feint with his back hand, mimicking a punch which twisted mid-strike into an uppercut aimed at Master Rikard's lowest rib. However, instead of contacting and breaking the most vulnerable exposed rib, Master Aelon's fist was met with Master Rikard's elbow, breaking his middle and ring fingers at the first joint. Biting back a shriek of pain Master Aelon shook his hand and grit his teeth through that arguably trademark sneer of his. But Master Rikard gave him no time to bluster as he slid forward and then stepped fully into Master Aelon's center line with his knee mere inches from the man's groin.

A tuck of the hand, and a sharp jab forward, and his right hand, flexed in a spear-hand strike position, struck Master Aelon's chest just below the solar plexus before dragging it down to just below the naval, knocking the wind from his lungs in the process and forcing him back several steps. Master Aelon coughed to clear his airways, and grunted as he regained his stance, forcing himself to maintain two closed fists through the pain of his broken hand.

Master Rikard, however, stood up straight and put his hands behind his back.

"Your left hand is broken. And you failed to defend your centerline. Had this been real combat my blade would have opened your stomach, and spilled your intestines. This match is over."

"This isn't real combat Rikard. It's a match. And I'm still able to continue."

Master Rikard turned and let himself drop out of the ring to the floor next tot the boy who'd managed to make it to his feet and was glaring up silently at Master Aelon, who had come to kneel over the edge again.

"Get back up here Rikard. We're not done."

"The dead don't speak, Master Aelon."

"This wasn't real combat you fucking loser! I won't accept a win by default since you walked off!"

"One of the first things we learn here is that we train for real combat. Treat sparring as life and death struggles, or don't bother. Those were the Grandmasters words to us. Or don't you remember?"

Silence, even from the spectators.

"Another rule you've conveniently forgotten: we do not mistreat our own. Sparring with him is no different from sparring with me. The first to land a killing strike is the winner. End of story."

Continued silence.

"If you wish to boast about your rank, make sure your mindset and attitude properly reflect your position, Master Aelon."

Master Rikard glanced to the boy, who'd since made it to his feet, and his blood ran cold. The dark, murderous glare from a boy so young, coupled with the glowing red eyes and the slow, steady breathing reminded him of numerous situations in the past where other assassins had been driven to their deaths by attacking out of rage. If the boy didn't get a handle on his anger then all of this training would be for nothing. Emotional control was a difficult enough task for adults, let alone in such a hostile world as that which they lived in as Assassins.

"Come, boy. Your training is over for today."

The child followed him in silence back to his chambers, which was nothing but an empty stone box with a door to the hallway, and watched in silence and a long sigh as the boy sat down in a meditative position with his back to him.

"Someday your body will catch up with the intensity of the Grandmaster's regimen. And all of this pain and humiliation will end. Mark my words."

"Why can't I die?" The boy whispered in a hoarse voice.

"Pardon?"

"If I die, I won't have to catch up."

Master Rikard's felt his heart sink to his heels as he swallowed the lump in his throat.

"I'm sorry, boy. Truly, I am. But you shouldn't wish for death."

"Why?"

"Death is supposed to come when you're old and have white hair, after you've had a chance to live a full life. I know all of this training hurts. And I know the Grandmaster refuses to make it stop. But believe me. There will come a day when the pain stops because you'll be strong enough to make it stop."

"You promise?" The boy squeaked.

"I made it stop. And if I can do it, so can you. But you mustn't allow the Grandmaster to see you in pain. The more he sees weakness, the more pain he inflicts. He means to dull your body to it. But that's just not how it works. My wife's a doctor, so I would know more than him."

"Why can't he die?"

Master Rikard checked left and right before rushing inside and closing the door behind him.

"You must never speak that way again, boy. If anyone other than me heard that they'd report it to the Grandmaster immediately. If they did, the pain you know now would seem like nothing but a paper cut compared to what he'd do to you. Please, abandon that thought."

"He told me I have to kill. I need to kill. If I don't kill, he'll make the pain keep going. But if I kill him, he can't hurt me anymore. Right?"

"No, boy. Killing the Grandmaster wouldn't end your pain. Master Korvaiis would simply take his place, and then it would start all over again. Only this time it would be much worse since it's no secret Master Korvaiis actively despises you. Everyone would likely be encouraged to behave like Master Aelon did today. Do you want that?"

"No." He whimpered, shoulders beginning to tremble.

"Then lock away your pain, boy. Lock it away, and let no one find or see it ever again. The sooner you banish pain from your mind, the better off you'll be."

"... Okay."

"Get some rest, boy."

He popped the boy's shoulder back in place, and gave it a small massage before standing and stopping at the door.

"If anyone asks, you popped it back in yourself using the wall."

The boy nodded, and Master Rikard left the room as a silent tear fell down the boy's face to his lap.