CHAPTER 14 — BETWEEN THE STRIKES

  Group Delta stands in line.

  Five units. Still. Silent.

  They face the combat ring.

  Unit 14 is small. Fast. Yellow hair cut short. Crystal eyes that do not blink often. Ten years old. She watches everything.

  Unit 17 stands beside her. Tall for his age. Shoulders bruised yellow and blue. Jaw tight. Anger held like breath. Twelve.

  Unit 16 limps slightly. Light blue hair falls into his blue eyes. His lips move without sound. Numbers. Always numbers. Eleven.

  Units 5 and 6 stand together. Twins. Same height. Same posture. Same timing. Compared to the others, they have brown skin, coiled black hair almost hides their eyes. Unit 5’s eyes are hazel brown. Unit 6’s almond brown. That is the only difference. Both eleven.

  Unit 7 stands at the end.

  Aden.

  Not the strongest. Not the fastest.

  Dull-grey eyes. Black hair. Ten.

  He looks at the ring.

  Steel panels rise from the floor. Rotate. Lock. The sound is heavy. Final. The arena seals into a perfect circle.

  The floor hums underfoot.

  Krail steps forward.

  “Fight what is in front of you,” he says. His voice fills the space without echo. “Feel nothing. Want nothing. Win by not dying.”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  He lifts his hand. Points at Aden.

  “Unit Fourteen, fight Unit Seven.”

  Unit 14 steps forward, silent, fast, expression blank.

  Her foot placement is exact. Heel. Toe. Center.

  Her shoulders settle. Her spine aligns.

  Breath smooth. Even.

  Aden stands opposite her.

  His arms hang wrong.

  Feet misaligned.

  Weight shifted half a beat late.

  The floor hums faintly beneath him. He feels it through the soles of his feet. A vibration that never stops.

  He does not know how to fight.

  The distance between them closes.

  Unit 14 charges.

  No hesitation.

  Elbow to the jaw, knee to the ribs, a shove.

  Aden hits the floor again.

  The impact knocks sound out of the room. For a fraction, there is only pressure.

  Pain bursts like static, sharp, fragmented. Not one place. Everywhere.

  The floor is cold against his back.

  The vents exhale above.

  Not loud.

  Consistent.

  Air brushes his face. Cool. Dry.

  Aden’s fingers twitch.

  The sensation comes first. Contact. Texture. Resistance.

  He rolls slightly. Palms press down.

  He pushes himself upright.

  Too slow.

  Unit 14 swings again,fast.

  Her arm cuts down through the space he occupies.

  Aden’s foot slips.

  The surface offers less grip than expected. The shift pulls him sideways.

  His head tilts, barely an inch.

  The strike cuts air where his face should have been.

  Wind snaps past his cheek.

  Unit 14 freezes.

  Her balance locks mid-motion. Muscles hold. Eyes sharpen.

  She has never missed.

  The pause lasts less than a breath.

  Another attack, elbow, knee, spin.

  The sequence compresses. Efficient. Lethal.

  Aden stumbles, almost falls, then adjusts.

  Tiny shifts. Ankles. Spine. Breath.

  The pain in his ribs flares, then dulls. Background noise.

  Not skill.

  Timing.

  He moves when the space opens. Not before. Not after.

  Each movement arrives exactly between hers.

  Her elbow passes where his jaw was.

  Her knee strikes empty air.

  Her spin meets nothing solid.

  Aden’s shoulder brushes her arm. Light. Accidental.

  The ring seems to narrow. The air thickens.

  Krail narrows his eyes.

  Unit 14 recovers faster this time. Her breathing changes. Sharper.

  She strikes again.

  Aden leans. The floor hum shifts pitch.

  “Too close,” flickers through him, gone before it settles.

  He steps where her foot is not.

  Her attack collapses inward. Momentum breaks.

  UNIT 14 (whispering)

  “…How?”

  The sound barely exists.

  Aden looks at her.

  Expression blank, but something has assembled behind his gaze.

  Alignment. Not intention.

  The vents exhale again.

  Aden steps back.

  A refusal.

  A deviation.