With his comrades cheering him on, Noah’s confidence grew. “Take your sword,” he repeated, looking hungrily at Yiran.
Thewhyof it all wasn’t important. Yiran had no other choice. Tossing his jacket aside, he wrapped his fingers around the remaining sword. Shockingly, his action triggered a response. Warmth spread from his chest to his limbs, and the blade started to glow.The weapon was adapting to him, sending a current through his body the same way the ones in the Academy’s Simulator did. Had the Hybrids really figured out a way tobuild a Simulator and code a program that could be used by normies? But what would be the purpose of something like this?
A shout scattered his thoughts.
Sand flew at his face.
Yiran barely had time to turn his head away, but his feet moved instinctively. His lips curled. Noah’s little attack had given him valuable information.
It was an old-school tactic to kick sand or dust at your opponent to throw them off guard and screw with their vision. But the problem in this case was that Noah had yelledbeforewhat should have been a stealthy attack. An amateur mistake. Noah wasn’t a trained killer; he was a young boy manipulated into becoming a weapon, caught up in a bigger chess game where he was a sacrificial pawn.
Yiran shut down any sympathy. He couldn’t afford to care about anyone else, let alone an opponent who wanted to kill him. He could use the dummy sword without magic. That was all that mattered. Exhaling slowly, he blanked his mind and focused on one thing: surviving.
He smiled. “Time to dance, Nathan.”
Noah growled. “My name’s—”
Not wasting a moment, Yiran pounced before the words could leave the Hybrid’s mouth. But Noah’s reflexes were lightning. Trained or not, the boy was tenacious and agile, with a flair for spotting holes in his opponent’s defense. To Yiran’s dismay, he had boundless energy, springing to his feet immediately each time he went down. Back and forth they went, with neither giving an edge to the other.
The Hybrids continued to cheer. Amid the din, Yiran heard a sharp-pitched buzzing.
Sand spun, creating whirlpools that caught his leg and brought him down. Cursing, he scrambled up, only to hit his shoulder against a rock formation that sprouted out of nowhere. Pain radiated down his arm, and he cursed again. How many dirty tricks did the Hybrid leader have up his sleeve?
As Yiran parried Noah’s attacks, he kept an ear out for the buzzing, hoping to spot a pattern. But it came at the most random intervals. Each time, the arena reconfigured itself, creating new and unpredictable obstacles for the two fighters.
It didn’t take long for his injuries to add up. He’d tweaked his ankle, and his bicep was bleeding freely where Noah had sliced through his sleeve. Still, he felt himself coming into his own. Fights were psychological. Noah wanted to prove himself in front of his comrades and leader. He wanted to belong. It was a desire Yiran understood, and something he could exploit.
And if there was anything Song Yiran excelled at, it was being a dick.
He did everything he could to rile the boy up. A playful but painful jab here, a taunting kick there, all garnished with the most annoyingly charming smile and withering insults to embarrass Noah in front of his comrades.
As predicted, Noah’s frustration grew along with Yiran’s jibes and attacks. So did his mistakes. More gaps appeared in his defenses. More ins for Yiran. Noah’s transformation had given him enhanced physical abilities, but Yiran had mental fortitude honed by his time at Xingshan Academy and cunning that ran in his blood.
“You tired, Norbert?” he called out, ignoring the fact that they were both panting heavily.
Noah sneered. An ugly bruise was forming at his temple, and he was favoring his left leg after Yiran got a good blow to his right knee.
But Yiran wasn’t doing any better. His left shoulder was stiff from the early collision. The decreased mobility affected his dominant hand, and his strikes were less accurate. He recalibrated his next move as they circled each other.
“Ready to give up, Nelson?”
“My name’s Noah.”
“Whatever you say, Nick.”
“Noah—argh!” Stunned from a direct hit to his head, the Hybrid hunched over for a few moments.
No time to gloat. Yiran swung the blunt side of his blade at Noah’s head to knock him unconscious. But again, the Hybrid blocked it in time.
Yiran retreated. His grip was slippery from sweat and blood. He wiped his palms on his jeans, keeping a steady eye on Noah.
“You okay, Nelly-baby? Looking a little woozy to me. Is it time for a snuggle and a warm bottle of Mommy’s milk?” Spitting the blood pooling in his mouth, Yiran grinned wickedly. “Or did Mommy abandon you?”
Noah froze. Pain flashed in his young eyes.
Yiran’s words had struck home. It seemed they shared that same raw nerve.
Noah’s anguish morphed into rage, and he threw his sword to the ground.
