Back in the facility Norok had been raised in, there were frequent brawls in the dining hall. Daimona in any sort of enclosed space with food was a danger alone, but the other temperamental menaces of the pink-haired test tube babies were not to be underestimated. His brothers and sisters-- if he could really even call them that, it wasn’t like he remembered most of them by name-- would fly off the handle all around him over the smallest of things, and suddenly a misplaced tangerine would lead to whole tables being reduced to puddles of iridescent sludge. Daimona never let these outbursts escalate without her. She always had to jump in with both fists ready to break whatever they came into contact with. “It’s rude of them to interrupt my meal,” she’d say about it triumphantly. “Plus, fighting builds character. Doesn’t matter how many I lose, so long as I win twice as many.”

  At the time, her mentality had sounded like insanity to Norok. But as Rik’s fist came flying into Norok’s face, crashing into his nose and sending every nerve in his body into overdrive, a sort of lightbulb flicked off in Norok’s brain, and suddenly he was struck stupid enough to understand why his siblings fought so often with their hands. They all knew how to take an absolutely brutal punch. Daimona wouldn’t have let Rik’s attack knock the wind out of her lungs. She wouldn’t have thrown a shaky, bullet-hole ridden hand over her painfully throbbing nose, wheezing through the now crooked nasal passage. And above all, Daimona certainly wouldn’t have shed a few uncontrollable tears over the sudden pain. But Norok wasn’t Daimona, and of course had to do all of it in front of the slightly hysterical Rik.

  “You,” Rik hissed, pointing accusingly at Norok. “You’re not getting away from me this time.”

  Norok tried to keep his eyes open, but the pain spreading from his nose was making it too hard to focus on even the simplest of actions. He could only manage to look at Rik through half-lidded eyes, his light eyelashes obscuring the rock mage’s swiftly approaching figure.

  Irina shoved past Norok, slicing down diagonally across Rik’s torso. The blade of the kindjal shattered against his chest, each shard of silver drilling through the fabric of his clothes and into the tanned flesh below. Rik screamed as Irina pulled the hilt back and summoned all of the submerged shards to her again. Rik backed away in agony, clutching at his wounds while Irina held her stance with a steely gaze. If he hadn’t seen Irina take this position before in the simulation chamber, Norok wouldn’t have noticed the weak tremble in her shoulders. From behind her, Norok could see the gruesome, bloody hole the black stone had left in her, blood dripping down both sides of her uniform. The surprise attack Rik had landed upon her must be taking its toll, Norok thought grimly. Even someone like Irina had to take a bad hit from time to time.

  “Tadpole,” Irina barked, a quiver in her tone. “We retreat. Now.”

  “No argument there,” Norok managed between desperate breaths. “Just let Rik know we’ll be on our way, I’m sure he won’t mind.”

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  As if on cue, Rik threw his arms down towards the ground, causing another eruption of the black rock spikes he had summoned before. Norok pointed towards Rik, wincing at the pain in his hand as he screamed, “Up!!”

  At first, Norok thought he hadn’t focused his mana enough into the command. Rik hadn’t flown where he wanted him. He hadn’t really been moved by the attack at all, much to Norok’s dismay. But then Norok noticed Rik’s boots. Gone were the military standard navy blue boot with the silver blade sigil plastered on either side, and in their place were a pair of gargantuan black stone boots, with an uneven, rocky surface.

  “You’re weighing yourself down,” Norok groaned loudly. Rik cocked his head, a smirk playing at the edges of his shaky lips. Norok narrowed his eyes, watching Rik take one slow step forward. “Those have to hurt.”

  “Whatever it takes,” Rik huffed, glaring at Norok with wide, unfocused eyes. “Whatever it takes to win.”

  Daimona’s old motto skirted through Norok’s thoughts: “Doesn’t matter how many I lose, just as long as I win twice as many.”

  What a stupid sentiment, he thought bitterly. And yet, with his nose a crater on his face and his hand blown straight through cleanly enough for him to see through the other side, Norok felt an undeniable warmth bubbling inside at the phrase.

  “Irina,” he said calmly, surprising himself with how easily the words left him. “Look behind Rik.”

  Her eyes shifted just behind, recognition settling in her low stare and reflecting in the kindjal’s faithful blade. “The traitor is gone.”

  “She must be on her way back to the flag,” Norok said. “If she catches up to the others, she’ll get in their way. Daimona shouldn’t have any problem with it, but the captain?”

  “Would roll over and die, like ball of mud,” Irina finished smugly.

  “Sure, yes, that,” Norok sighed. “One of us needs to go and get rid of her before that happens, while the other stays here with Rik.”

  “I understand,” Irina replied solemnly. “I will stay--”

  Norok cut her off. “No, you’re much faster than I am. You have to be the one to go.”

  Irina opened her mouth, a curious, inquisitive expression overtaking her normally icy facade. “You are sure?”

  “Go,” Norok ordered sternly. “I’ve got this.”

  Without another word, Irina sprinted off, dodging Rik’s spikes and disappearing into the woods behind him. Rik whirled around to grab her, but Norok charged at him and wrapped his arms around Rik’s vulnerable neck. Rik didn’t seem to feel the chokehold, laughing at Norok’s pitiful attempt instead.

  “You’re going to regret staying behind,” Rik boasted.

  Norok felt his adrenaline pound through him, his strength melding with his new resolve. If he was going to lose this, he was going to lose after making Rik suffer for the trouble. Through gritted teeth, Norok hissed, “So are you.”