"Oof."
Mark hit the floor hard, the impact rattling his bones. The air whooshed out from his lungs, leaving him sprawled on the ground like a discarded rag doll. For fuck's sake. He groaned, rolling onto his side and pushing himself up with shaky arms. Every muscle howled in agony, his body a patchwork of aches and bruises.
The room reeked of ozone and sweat, the faint scent of charred wood lingering where his lightning had singed the floorboards. Scorch marks streaked the walls, remnants of their earlier sparring sessions. Julian stood a few paces away, arms crossed, his posture relaxed as if the last hour had been nothing more than a light warm-up.
These daily battles had become a twisted kind of routine, a mix of punishment and addiction.
He knew he wasn't going to win, not yet, but he kept coming back for more, drawn to the challenge, the frustration, the sheer, exhilarating impossibility of it all- a constant reminder of how far he had to go.
It had been a week, a solid week of getting his ass handed to him, and the results were always the same – Julian, calm and untouchable, effortlessly deflecting every attack, while Mark ended up sprawled on the floor, wondering how the hell he'd let it happen again.
I fucking hate this. But he also loved it. He spent his days replaying the fights in his head, analyzing Julian's movements, strategizing, searching for a weakness, a crack in the his defenses.
He was making progress, albeit slowly. He could tell Julian was having to work a little harder now, his movements not quite as effortless, his expression not quite as bored. I'm getting there.
Julian stretched, his joints popping. "Alright, kid, let's call it a day."
"Wait," Mark said, wiping the blood from his split lip. I'm so close. "One more round."
I think I've almost got it. If I can just time my attacks, use his momentum against him…
He kept visualizing the scenario in his head, the way he could feint with his lightning, then use his speed to close the distance, to land a solid blow.
"Nah. Let's move on to something new."
"Just one more round," he insisted, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"What?" Julian raised an eyebrow. "You got a new strategy?"
Mark spat out a mouthful of blood, his hands crackling with sparks of lightning. He settled back into his fighting stance, his gaze fixed on Julian. If I can predict his next attack…
Julian shook his head, almost amused. "The answer isn't in your head, kid. It's in your gut. Your instincts. Your connection to your power."
Mark didn't lower his stance. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're still fighting yourself. Trying to control it, tame it. You're treating your power like a tool instead of an extension of yourself. That's why you're stuck."
"I'm not stuck."
"Sure you are. That's why you're thinking so hard about how to hit me instead of just doing it." Julian gestured vaguely at the scorched floor around them. "All this effort, all this energy—it's wasted because you don't trust yourself. You don't trust your power."
Mark groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "So what do you want me to do, exactly? Stop thinking? Just switch my brain off?"
"It's not about turning it off. It's about trusting what your body already knows. Your lightning, your speed, your strength—they're all extensions of you. Treat them like that, and you might start seeing results."
"And if I don't?"
"Then you'll keep getting your ass handed to you."
Mark let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, figured that much. Okay, fine. So what do we do now?"
"We start by breaking down the basics. You've got good technique. Your control is solid, your output impressive. But technique's just the foundation. If you want to be a real threat, you need more than that."
"More what?"
"Experience. Adaptability. A deeper understanding of the nature of your abilities. Raw power and fancy moves will only get you so far. You have to understand your abilities—their essence, their potential, their limits."
"Okay…" He still wasn't sure where Julian was going with this.
"Most people are trained from a young age," Julian continued, pacing slowly around him. "They're constantly sparring, battling, learning to adapt to different opponents, different fighting styles. You, on the other hand, you've mostly just trained with Lida. And while she's a formidable opponent, it's not the same as facing a mage, or a shifter, or… well, a crazy old me."
Mark thought about it. He has a point. Lida was strong, terrifyingly so, but she fought like a witch—her magic deliberate, rhythmic, almost methodical. He'd learned to anticipate her movements, the way her body shifted when she prepared a spell, how her voice changed when she chanted an incantation. She was a powerful teacher, but her style was predictable.
Julian was chaos in comparison, all raw precision and unpredictability. And against Elia or that Vora woman, it had been even worse. They hadn't given him time to think, let alone strategize, he'd been completely out of his depth.
"As I said you've got the basics down. Good spatial awareness, decent technique, impressive power output, even a surprising amount of control for a hybrid. But your adaptability… that's an issue."
Julian stopped pacing, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You need to learn to read your opponent, to anticipate their moves, to adjust your strategy on the fly. The time it takes you to assess a situation, to understand your opponent's abilities… that's what'll get you killed in a real fight. And believe me, in this world, the fights get very real, very quickly."
He's right, Mark admitted silently. He thought of Ria, how effortlessly she had used her ice to control the battlefield when they fought Elia. She created openings, forced them to react to her rhythm. She's a natural.
"The associations understand this," Julian went on. "They have their young mages battling constantly. It's brutal, but it forces them to adapt, to learn, to survive. They learn to assess a situation, analyze their opponent's strengths and weaknesses, and adjust their tactics accordingly. That split-second decision, that instinctive reaction… that's what separates the survivors from the casualties."
"Okay, so what do we do?"
"We're going to push you out of your comfort zone."
"Comfort zone? Pretty sure I don't even have one."
"It took you a week to figure out how to even land a hit on me, kid," Julian said, his voice dry. "In a real fight, that's a death sentence."
"It's not like I'm going to be fighting guys like you every day," Mark grumbled. "Besides, you're not exactly a fair fight."
"True," Julian conceded, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. "But the world doesn't fight fair either."
"Fine." Mark folded his arms. "How do I get better? How do I 'understand' my abilities, or whatever?"
Julian sighed. "Are you seriously going to make me spell everything out for you, kid?"
"You keep talking about 'learning' and 'adapting,' but you haven't actually told me what I'm supposed to do."
"You still don't get it, do you?" Julian muttered under his breath. He paused, his gaze drifting to a point somewhere beyond the cluttered walls of basement. "You're with that Crescent girl, right?"
"Yeah, Ria," Mark frowned. "Why?"
"What do you know about ice magic?"
Is he giving me a pop quiz now? "It's… cold?"
Julian stared at him like he'd just failed kindergarten. "Seriously? 'Cold'? That's the best you can do?"
"Okay, okay," Mark said holding up his hands. "It's versatile. Good for offense and defense. You can create shields, projectiles, even… I don't know, freeze ground and make environment advantageous?"
"Exactly," Julian said, nodding. "Frost… it's one of the most elegant elements. Malleable, adaptable, powerful. It's good for practically everything." He paused, his gaze meeting Mark's. "Now, your lightning, it's great for offense, sure, but for defense? It's shit. Useless."
"Yeah, I've noticed."
"Just listen, dumbass….. Understanding the nature of an element, its strengths, its weaknesses, its potential—that's the key to wielding it effectively. It's not just about hitting harder or faster. It's about knowing what it can do and what it can't."
Mark nodded slowly, his mind drifting to Ria. The way she used her ice, the fluidity, the precision, the sheer raw power. She made it look easy, the way she used her ice to control every aspect of a fight. She wasn't just strong—she was precise, deliberate, always two steps ahead.
"She's a prime example," Julian said, as if reading his thoughts. "That Crescent girl comes from a long line of frost mages. Generations of knowledge passed down, each building on the last. They've refined their understanding of frost to a level most mages can't even comprehend."
Mark pictured her, remembered the way she'd commanded the battlefield during their sparring sessions. Frost and fury. It wasn't just raw talent; it was a legacy.
"You, on the other hand," Julian said, his tone turning sharper, "you have two distinct powers. You understand lightning—it's instinctual for you. You've used it your whole life, even if you didn't fully comprehend its nature. But Void?" He tilted his head. "What do you feel when you use it?"
Mark hesitated, his mind flashing to the moments he'd summoned blades or created barriers. He'd mostly used them defensively, instinctively, without really considering their nature, their potential.
It felt… right…. satisfying. Like snapping a puzzle piece into place. But that's not what he's asking, is it?
"I… don't know."
"Because you haven't used it enough," Julian said, rubbing his hands together. "You've barely scratched the surface of its potential."
"So I just need to use it more? That's it?" Seems too simple.
"Sometimes the solution lies in how you frame the problem, kid," Julian said, a knowing glint in his eye. "Reframing a problem can make it less daunting, more approachable. Yes, in theory, that is the solution. Use it more. But there's a deeper understanding we need to cultivate."
Julian suddenly bellowed, "Luna! Get over here!"
A moment later, Luna emerged from the shadows, dragging an enormous two-handed sword behind her. The metal scraped loudly against the concrete, the sound grating and jarring.
She struggled under its weight, her small frame straining with the effort. She flashed Mark a fanged grin and shoved the sword toward him before retreating back into the shadows.
That kid is definitely weird. Mark stared at the sword. "What the hell am I supposed to do with this?"
"Your first task is to create a replica. Using Void."
Mark hefted the sword, its weight surprising him. It was a simple design, a double-edged blade with a plain crossguard and a leather-wrapped hilt.
"What's the point of this?" he asked, frowning.
"Control, kid, control. Right now, you summon blades and barriers instinctively. It's like a reflex. But to truly master it, you need precision. Deliberation. You need to go beyond reacting and start creating. This exercise will force you to focus your intent, to mold your power exactly as you want it."
Mark nodded slowly, turning the sword over in his hands, studying its shape, its weight, its balance. I've never tried to replicate something exactly before. It's always been more about… feeling the energy, letting it flow, seeing what happens.
He pictured his Void blades, their jagged edges and raw energy, and realized how far he was from anything resembling precision.
This is going to suck.
"So, I should use this as a reference?"
"Yes. Study it. Memorize it. And then remold it."
"Okay," Mark said, a hint of amusement in his voice. He's a strange dude. But he must know his stuff.
"Now," Julian said, clapping his hands together, "begin. And remember, kid, I want an exact replica. Down to the last detail. The size, the shape, the weight, the balance. Everything. No shortcuts. No half-measures. Only then can we move on to the next phase."
Mark closed his eyes, drawing in a steady breath. He pictured the sword in his mind, its every detail etched into his memory. Slowly, he reached for the Void, that familiar, humming reservoir beneath his skin.
* * *
Mark trudged home, feeling like a zombie. Every step felt heavier than the last, his legs threatening to buckle beneath him. This is bullshit. He was exhausted, frustrated, and his body again ached from head to toe. Julian had spent the entire day pushing him, testing his limits, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to meet the old bastard's exacting standards.
He'd thought it would be simple—shape the Void, focus, boom.Sword. But no.
"The angle of the crossguard is off."
"The hilt is too thick. The balance is wrong."
He'd managed to create something that looked like a sword, but it was never exact. Never right.
Too sharp, too blunt, too long, too short. It's just a fucking sword!
"Try again, Mark. Focus. Precision. Details matter."
Easy for you to say, you asshole.
He totally underestimated the focus, how freaking precise he had to be to replicate an object perfectly using Void. He was used to letting the void flow, shaping it instinctively, not meticulously recreating every goddamn detail.
The more he tried, the more frustrated he became, his muscles tensing, his breathing ragged. The size and power of his Void constructs depended on the amount of energy he poured into them, a delicate balancing act he'd honed over years of practice.
But mimicking a physical object, capturing its every nuance, was proving to be a whole new level of difficult.
He hated feeling incompetent, hated not being able to master a new skill quickly. He was a fast learner—always had been—but this? This felt impossible. It was like his power was mocking him, refusing to obey, his control slipping through his fingers like grains of sand.
And Julian's constant critiques, his subtle jabs and sarcastic comments, only fueled Mark's frustration.
By the time he walked through the front door, he was ready to punch something. Preferably Julian's smug face.
"Hey, what's wrong?" Ria's voice cut through his storm of frustration. She was perched on the couch, laptop on her knees, her head tilting as she studied him. "You look horrible."
"Thanks," he muttered, flopping onto the couch beside her. He let out a long sigh, slumping back into the cushions.
"Just got my ass handed to me. Again."
"Julian?"
"Who else?" He rubbed his temples, recounting the day's disaster. The sparring, the endless critiques.
She listened patiently, letting him vent. When he finally stopped, she nudged him gently with her elbow, a small smile on her lips. "Mark, you've only been training for a week."
"And?"
"And these things take time," she said gently. "You're not going to master anything overnight. Julian wouldn't be wasting his time on you if he didn't think you had potential."
"Maybe," he grumbled, rubbing his sore jaw. "It's just so frustrating. I've been wanting to learn more about my powers for so long, and now that I have the chance, I'm just… fumbling around like an damn idiot. I hate feeling like this. Like I'm failing."
"You're not failing…. You're learning. Big difference."
"I know, I know," he groaned. "It's just…"
He knew she was right—of course she was—but it didn't help. The frustration still sat heavy in his chest, gnawing at him. He hated not being good at something. Hated feeling like he was falling behind.
Ria sighed, closing her laptop and setting it aside. "Come on."
"What?"
She stood, grabbing his hand and tugging him to his feet. "I know what will take your mind off things."
"Ria—"
"Shh," she interrupted, dragging him upstairs with surprising aggressiveness.
They reached the bedroom, and she pushed him gently toward the bed. "Strip. Lie on your stomach."
"Uh… what?"
"Just do it," she said, rolling her eyes.
Still confused but too tired to argue, Mark stripped down to his boxers and flopped onto the bed, face buried in the pillows. He heard her rummaging in the closet, the faint rustle of fabric and the clinking of something metallic. What is she up to?
As his body sank into the mattress, his mind drifted back to the sword. The weight of it, the balance, the way the light caught the blade's edge. He could almost feel it in his hand, solid and real. He just needed to figure out how to make the Void match it, to capture its essence. But how?
Another damn sigh escaped him, frustration bubbling. His muscles were wound tight as a coil, thoughts careening like bumper cars in his mind.
His mind raced, restless and searching for answers.
And then Ria emerged from the closet, and every coherent thought in his head vanished.
Holy shit.
She was wearing a silky black nightgown, the thin straps barely holding up the soft fabric that clung to her curves like a second skin. It was short, barely covering her ass, and the lace trim along the hem and neckline added a touch of elegance to the otherwise pure sexiness of the outfit.…. It was pure sex on legs.
Mark couldn't tear his gaze away as she walked towards him, the silk swaying against her body, highlighting every curve, every dip, every delicious inch of her.
"Like what you see?" Ria asked, a playful smirk on her lips.
"Very much," he growled, his eyes tracing the outline of her body beneath the silk. He reached for her, his hands itching to touch her, but she playfully swatted them away.
"Not yet," she said, her voice a low purr. "Just relax. And let me take care of you first."
She grabbed a bottle of oil from his nightstand - when did she even put that there?- and poured a generous amount into her hands, rubbing them together. The scent of lavender and something warm and musky filled the air.
Ria climbed onto the bed, straddling him, her warm thighs pressing against his lower back, her weight a comforting pressure.
Her hands, slick with oil, pressed into his skin, her fingers kneading the tight muscles of his back.
He closed his eyes, surrendering to her touch, the scent of the oil, the warmth of her body, the rhythmic pressure of her hands, a soothing balm. It was like a sweet escape from all the crap that went down that day, melting into the soft bed like butter on a hot pan.
"Feeling better, baby?" She whispered, her breath warm against his ear.
"Your hands are pure magic."
"Glad you appreciate my expertise," she chuckled, her fingers digging into a particularly stubborn knot in his shoulder.
The flimsy nightie did little to conceal the heat of her body, her ass pressing against his lower back, a delicious distraction.
"More than your hands…. I love how you feel against me."
"Of course you do," she giggled, wiggling her hips playfully.
Her hands moved lower, working the length of his back, her fingers digging into the tight muscles.
"These things take time, Mark," she said, her voice soft and soothing. "You can't rush the process."
"I know, I know. But it's so frustrating. I feel like I should be further along by now."
"I get it," she said, her touch never faltering. "Believe me, I've been there. Learning to control your powers is hard enough, but as a hybrid? It's a whole other level. There's so much to learn, so much to figure out. It can feel… overwhelming."
"I highly doubt you ever felt overwhelmed by anything, Ria."
"You'd be surprised," Ria said, laughing softly. "When I was younger, I couldn't even create a snowflake. I struggled for years, and trust me, in Crescent, that's a big deal."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah, everyone expected me to be some sort of prodigy," she said, her voice quieting. "My mom was Crescent's pride and joy. People started whispering—saying I wasn't really her daughter, that maybe I was a mistake, or… you know, adopted from a dumpster or something."
"That's awful."
"Yeah, it was rough," Ria admitted, her voice softening. "I felt so alone, so discouraged. Like I was a failure."
"Why couldn't you do it though?"
"I have no clue. I just couldn't seem to connect with my element, no matter how hard I tried. I practiced every day, studied every book, every theory, but nothing seemed to work."
"But you eventually figured it out, right?"
"Yeah, I did," she said, a quiet pride in her voice. "But it took time… a lot of work. And eventually, it clicked. I stopped overthinking. Stopped trying to force it. And slowly, I found my way. And… now…" her voice took a playful tone. "Now I can freeze your balls off with a flick of my wrist."
Mark snorted, shaking his head. "Thanks for the warning."
She chuckled, her fingers working their way back up his spine. "Seriously, though. Patience is the key. Mastering anything takes time. You've got to trust the process."
Her words stuck with him. He wanted to argue, to tell her she didn't understand the weight he felt, but he couldn't deny the truth in what she was saying.
"It's not just about techniques," Ria continued, her tone soft and steady. "Or controlling your output. It's about understanding the flow of ether, how it interacts with your will. It's about balance—pushing yourself but knowing when to pull back. That kind of understanding? It doesn't come overnight. Patience is very essential for any mage."
He sighed, her words settling uncomfortably in his chest. "But what if I'm never ready? What if I'm just not… good enough?"
"You are good enough, Mark. You just don't see it yet. You're still growing. You just need time. Trust the process. Trust yourself," she said, her voice soft and reassuring as her fingers continued to work their magic on his back. "I know the frustration is eating you up. But you can't force it. It's like trying to force a flower to bloom. You can water it, nurture it, give it sunlight, but you can't make it bloom before it's ready. You can't just yank on the petals and expect it to open. You have to be patient. Give it time. And trust that it will bloom, eventually, in its own time, to reach its full potential."
Her words worked their magic on him, easing the frustration and self-doubt that had been creeping up inside.
She climbed off his back and moved to his feet. Her fingers got to work on his tired muscles, kneading away the day's strain. With a mischievous grin, she tugged off his boxers, her hands continuing their slow, sensual massage, working their way up his thighs, her fingers lingering on the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, then lower, playfully cupping his balls, making him groan
He was so relaxed he almost drifted off, despite his cock practically throbbing through the mattress.
"Turn over," she murmured, patting his butt playfully.
Mark rolled onto his back, his arms resting behind his head, a contented sigh escaping his lips.
She peeled off her nightgown, letting it drop carelessly to the floor before grabbing the oil bottle. Pouring a good dollop into her palms, she worked it in with a lazy rub, then started kneading her own skin. Her fingers danced over her breasts, belly, hips, and thighs in a slow rhythm. Bathed in the gentle glow of the room, her skin shimmered under the oil's touch. Her breasts caught the light, looking even more inviting now that they were slick with that sweet-smelling oil.
Mark's cock pulsed against his stomach, hard and heavy, as if eager to join the party.
Ria climbed onto the bed, crawling towards him, her oily breasts sliding against his thighs, grazing his erection, sending shivers of anticipation through him. She settled on top of him, her body hot and slick against his, her weight a delicious pressure.
She began to massage his chest, her hands moving in slow, circular motions, her hips grinding against him.
Mark kept his hands behind his head, totally giving in to the exquisite sensations. She worked him over with every inch of her– hands, breasts, hips –easing out every damn knot in his body. Her touch was a mix of tender and demanding, moving like liquid silk.
His head cleared as he zeroed in on her skin against his, catching whiffs of her intoxicating scent mingling with the soft sway of her oiled breasts.
Ria leaned down, her breasts pressing into his, her hair tickling his face, her warm breath caressing his skin. She rocked against him, her movements slow and sensual, her breasts massaging his chest, the delicious friction sending shivers of pleasure through him. It was like she was using her breasts to massage him, the soft flesh molding and kneading, the nipples brushing against his skin.
He reached up, casually tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "You always know what I need."
"That's because I pay attention," she replied, her fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw. "And because I care." She paused, locking eyes with him. "Don't let that self-doubt get to you, Mark. You're stronger than you think. And I'm here for you, every step of the way."
Mark pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her, their bodies slick with oil. She's right.
All the frustration, the anger, the fear, it all faded into the background as he held her, the warmth of her body a comforting anchor in the storm of his emotions. Sure, he still had loads of questions and uncertainties to tackle, but in that moment, with Ria by his side, a serene sense of homecoming washed over him like a long-lost wave.