Baldur hit the boy, and he could tell it hurt. Dragonboy’s eyes went wide, but his pupils went small, and Baldur felt a spike of satisfaction.

You liked that one, did you? I’ve a feeling you’ll like this much better!

[Anvil Fist!]

All of Baldur’s immense weight rushed to his clublike knuckles, each big as the skull of a rat. Fearsome Laws of Breaking wreathed the bones. This close, this fast, there was no time to get out the way. No time to block with a Technique. It was impressive the boy even got his arms down to block! Bare arms, not a sheen of qi on them.

Baldur’s fist landed.

There was not, to his surprise and disappointment, a snapping of bone like chopsticks. But the dragonkin did gasp. He was sent flying off his feet, tumbling awkwardly, finding his footing, stumbling thrice before he screeched to a sorry halt.

Not laughing now, are you?

But Baldur was smug for all of two seconds. The boy looked up, panting, and he was grinning. He was laughing. He looked positively thrilled.

“Excellent!” cried dragonboy. And then he ran at Baldur.

At Baldur. Not away. No—he came at Baldur like a child who’d slipped their parents’ grasp and was now making a mad dash for the candy store.

Where was the shock? The fright? Was he a masochist?

All the scripts in Baldur’s head, so carefully laid out, were flung aside. The actors had gone rogue. The boy was meant to be at least in stage two of the despair cycle. Baldur was meant to be well on his way to that orgasmic release, the breaking. Seemed now like he hadn’t even started on it!

Fine. Baldur grinned back. Grinned, even though each time he laid eyes on that smiling face annoyance spiked hot in him. Have it your way, you little shit. It didn’t really matter. It’d only make the breaking sweeter!

The boy’s feet flashed. A shock of heat and law, like a tiny cannon’s blast. And then a blur—FAST!—a fist! He’d socked Baldur in the stomach! Baldur was so surprised he didn’t register it at first, just saw the kid leaping back. His clumsy counter whiffed wide.

The little shit actually punched me!

And it fucking hurt!

Like he’d been clobbered by a panlong. Dragon boy was far stronger than he looked, which pissed Baldur off even more. Which he hadn’t thought was possible.

But he put on a smile like a stone wall, like he was the fucking Buddha. He laughed, patted the spot on his stomach in a big show. It was meant to show it didn’t hurt, but he instantly regretted it. His stomach gasped in protest.

“Nicely done,” He wheezed. “I almost felt that one. Like a mosquito bite, it was.”

“Really?” The boy nodded thoughtfully. “Thanks for the feedback! It’s so hard to calibrate these things. I’ll put some more force into it.”

Before Baldur could untangle what that all meant the boy was on him again. That same flash of light and it was like he’d been shot straight out of a cannon, but this time Baldur was ready. He countered head-on. The boy’s eyes went wide—flash of light—his fists caught air. Then he jerked, hissing as his side exploded in pain. Fuck! He pawed clumsily at the side, a flash of light again and suddenly his back flared white-hot. Cringing, whirling, he tried reaching to get ahold of the slippery little fucker but his head whipped the other way. His cheek! He’d been punched in the face! He slapped at the air, knew it’d catch nothing even as he threw it. The boy was gone. Ten strides away, eyeing him curiously.

Baldur huffed. It didn’t hurt. Of course it didn’t fucking hurt, not really. Just stung a little. Nothing the boy threw could hurt him. Didn’t hurt at all, he thought, shifting his weight to the left, away from the side the little bastard had tapped, then hunching away from the twinge where the boy tapped his back. Annoying little shit—annoying, that’s all dragonboy was! But dragonboy stood there smiling. Like he’d actually fucking accomplished something!

Baldur spat. Then he froze. On the ground, a smidge of red in the liquid. Blood.

Baldur screeched. He lunged.

***

The troll had gone feral, wild, animal instinct, swinging for Dorian’s head so hard it was like he meant to take it clean off Dorian’s shoulders and shoot it into the stars. Dorian laughed, wild and free. He struck once, ducked a punch, struck again—

—a giant fist rammed into his stomach. His eyes bulged, lightning cracking up his skull. Suddenly he was sliding off a wall, hunched over ten strides from the beast.

Bloodlusted, an angry troll was no joke. Dorian had nearly gone out just then.

He laughed again, louder, blood hot with fighting spirit. Instantly he leapt back in. He ripped two fists to the stomach—the troll gasped at that—then there a blast of smoldering gray qi, which Dorian dodged, ripped a third fist to that same spot and saw the shadow of an arm fall across him. A wide swipe. He ducked—

His head exploded with light. Dizzy, reeling, he found himself flat on the ground. It’d headbutted him! It was no mere brute, even mad as it was. That’d been a trap, well-laid, executed with furious intensity.

A true challenge!

Lying on the ground, Dorian grinned like an idiot.

On sheer instinct he rolled, which saved his head from being stomped like a burst melon. Then he was on his feet and boosting away. He really was getting the hang of the steps now…

[Level up!]

[Sunshine Steps]

Lv. 0->1

They’d barely gone two dozen exchanges but he’d needed to push his steps each one, ricocheting directions, adjusting intensities. Exactly the kind of intensity Technique training needed! A life-or-death battle, simulated. It was what made the Spirit Pavilion the best place for Technique training in the Multiverse.

***

The little shit would not stay down.

Baldur screeched. He leapt. There was a flurry of punches and paws, thrusts and slashes, and he felt like he was fighting a whirlwind. He’d throw ten times and land one solid punch, eat a half-dozen hard stings, to hurt that boy once. But he just kept getting back up. It boggled Baldur’s mind.

Why won’t you fucking break!?

He hit him again—again—again—

His legs wobbled, sporting fresh bruises. Again—again—again—

His sides felt like they they’d been torched by Hellfire.

Again—

BREAK! BREAK, DAMN YOU!

His head felt cottony. Blurry. Sluggish. He thrust out two fists, halfhearted, his arms big dumb sacks, muscles in them limp, spent. Stitched together by hot seams of pain. The boy had hit him. A lot. So maybe it stung. A little. But that was all, little bee-stings. He wasn’t hurt—just—a little woozy—

They disengaged, both panting for their lives. Both staring at each other. Both sore and polka-dotted with welts.

The boy grinned. The sight had Baldur frothing at the mouth.

Was it his imagination, or had the boy got even faster?

“Try cycling your qi up your wrist before you punch,” said the boy. “What?” gasped Baldur.

“Just a tip,” said the boy. “You’ll throw much harder that way! It primes the punch, you see. Oh! And you’ve got to stop swinging wildly every time I hit you! It just leaves you open to be hit with more counters…” The boy paused, for he must’ve seen the look on Baldur’s face.

“What? You did ask—”

“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!” screeched Baldur, and pounced.

***

[Level up!]

[Sunshine Steps]

Lv. 1-> 2

Dorian never wanted this fight to end.

He couldn’t have asked for a better sparring partner! It was clearer and clearer with each bruising exchange. The troll was just clever enough to keep him on his toes, just powerful enough to force him to his limits. Dorian hung just at the edge of his abilities, riding it like the crest of a wave, that glorious sliver of existence where all true growth happened.

And crucially, this troll was only just clever enough, and just powerful enough. It was neither clever nor smart enough to actually win.

Despite Dorian’s best wishes the fight was ending. The troll’s punches were slowing. Its form grew sloppy. One of its eyes was swollen shut, leaking like a rotten plum.

****

They broke apart for the second time, both panting desperately.

Then a realization struck Bladder like a club over the head.

“Have you… used no techniques this whole time?!”

“Just the movement one!” his enemy had on a smile that made Baldur want to strangle him. More than he did already. “It’s new, you see. I’m trying to level it.”

He’s using me as a training dummy?!

It was a miracle Baldur’s heart didn’t burst there and then.

Baldur couldn’t see. He couldn’t think. That wooziness in his head was thickening, all soupy and misty. He was held upright only by his sheer rage.

Then the world went black.

***

Baldur lay there, twitching, on the floor of the training room.

Then he leapt up and caved in a wall with a punch. “FUCK!” He screeched.

A servant nervously poked his head in. “Is—is everything alright, your highness?”

“FUCK OFF!” He didn’t need to be told twice.

Baldur lay there heaving, taking deep breaths like father always said to do. To calm him down. If anything it made him even madder. “FUCK!”

That lucky little bastard. He was damned lucky Baldur had taken him lightly, so he could sneak in his little cheap shots. Which got Baldur mad, and a damned lucky thing for him too, since when Baldur got mad and let his temper get the better of him he was a tenth the fighter he really was! That hadn’t been him in there, not really. That little dragonboy bastard—he wasn’t even that good! He was just janky and wild and weird. He got away with so much stupid fucking wyrmshit Baldur’s nose was bleeding just thinking about it! If only Baldur had been slightly less mad, would’ve thought a little more, he wouldn’t have let that shit slide. Would’ve ended that smug little fucker in ten exchanges! Less!

His smugness. That was the worst thing. Somewhere out there in the Multiverse dragonboy was patting himself on the back, thinking just what a clever boy he’d been, how well he’d done to beat up that weak dumb troll Baldur.

Thinking how much better than Baldur he was—didn’t even need to use a real Technique, he’d think! Probably he’d tell all his friends and they’d go, “wow! You’re so strong, dragonboy! What a dumb weak dickless mouth-breather that troll was!” Probably dragonboy would tell it to his kids, and he’d laugh at him, and they’d laugh too at him, and soon everyone would know, and Baldur couldn’t show his fucking face in his own palace ‘cause his servants would be snickering. Some random idiot in the Spirit Pavilion beat Baldur Devilhand? Really? Guess he wasn’t really all that, huh? So-called ranked 13th God in the Multiverse? First of his generation? Guess that was all talk! Who knows? Maybe I’m stronger than him! Maybe everyone is! Maybe we should all go point and laugh at weak little Baldur! Maybe we should make today national shit-on-Baldur day, so everyone can join in on the fun!

Baldur’s head was about to explode.

“FUCK!”

Another wall came down.

He leapt to his feet.

“Spirit of the Pavilion!”

“Yes?”

“Offer that—dragonboy—Offer him a rematch! Now! Same offer he gave me—no—double it! Triple it!”

Baldur swore right there and then. This was not over. This would never be over. Not until he beat that little fucker. No—not until he beat him ten times. Twenty. A hundred times, beat him till he fucking begged for it to stop!

***

[Level up!]

[Sunshine Steps]

Lv. 2->3

And that was the last of it.

How sad.

Dorian could’ve searched a hundred times and not found a training match that perfectly useful. At least he’d squeezed three levels out of it. But who knew? If that’d kept going—if they fought again—how many more could he have gotten? Imagine if he could fight that beautiful troll twice in a life-or-death bout—thrice, even, or more. His Sunshine steps might hit Intermediate!

They’d already ratcheted up his speed a shocking amount. At Intermediate, level five, he’d outpace nearly everyone he fought. At Mastery, level ten, in terms of pure burst speed he might be one of the quickest Gods—even Empyreans—in the Multiverse.

Alas…

…

[Incoming bout request!]

…Oh?