5 Fight

I look down at my recently soaked shirt and ragged pants—clothing sticking to my skin only the way that dried seawater allows. I look back at the pair of them. They look murderous and I stifle a laugh at what this would look like from the outside. Two enormous monsters just standing in front of a teenager and the teenager taunting them. Only on our island is that believable. I see the rage in their eyes and scramble for a final bluff before they attack.

"Do you really think I haven't been ready for your ambush? You haven't been out of the classroom so long as to forget the lessons on the growth of power. I'm sure you've felt it yourself, the ebb and flow of energies. Giving you strength, unlocking skills you never knew you had." This is a familiar lesson, that an ability isn't a stagnant thing. In some instances it grows weaker, towards the end of a lifespan or with sickness—this change always leaves the user grasping at what once was. In youth the power grows, changes, mutates. That's the reason the Final Lesson takes place after a Chosen has reached their eighteenth year. After that time it is universally accepted that abilities are unchanging unless to weaken.

Joss and Boulder don't even flinch but creep closer, backing me up as I try to keep the same distance between us that we started with. I realize they are intentionally edging me further and further from the stream.

"For example." I keep backing up, trying not to trip on the bushes as I weave through tree trunks. "Do you know how much water is contained within the human body? Even a body covered in rocks?" I let them think about it for a second then suddenly raise my hands, palms outward towards them. Then I yell to seal the act, a crazed look in my eyes.

Lito always taught me to choose the fight and in case you can't choose the fight, at least choose the moment you have to engage your enemy. I grimace; he certainly can't say I didn't choose this moment. And it sure isn't going to be pretty.

They flinch at me this time. Their faces are identical masks of shock as they involuntarily halt their advance, just waiting to be killed in what one would imagine is a horribly painful death. It takes them a couple seconds to realize the water isn't being sucked from their cells. It takes even less time for their horror to turn to rage. Those are the final seconds I need. I'm finally ready.

As I was stalling, I had been siphoning the water out of my clothes and onto the skin of my torso—the most easily accessible and hidden place I could think of. I'm lucky, if I had siphoned the water out of my clothing back on the beach then I would have been left with barely enough to fit in the palm of my hand. I have so much of it now that I had been worried the two brutes would notice I was growing love handles at an alarming rate.

It helps that my clothing is specially designed by a Craftsman to absorb and store water. Mother purchased it as a birthday present last year and even 'dry' it holds a couple hundred milliliters. Since I was recently all but submerged, the microsponges were saturated and I have as much water as I can hope for, being so far from a source. My only complaint is that it takes so long to suck it out of the pores.

I see the twin faces of rage turn into something else and I let the water slide up my shoulders and down my arms, coating my hands.

Both of them attack at the same time.

I'm expecting it, just as I expect Joss to aim high, for my throat and Boulder to lower his shoulder to tackle me to to ground.

I duck low, letting Joss soar over me so I can focus on Boulder.

He's much slower than Joss and has time to correct his angle so he's now barreling at me, looking more like his namesake than a man. I cast the water at him.

There are many different forms, or spells, as I like to call them, that I could have used. I could have made the water cover his body, creating a minuscule film to freeze him in place. I could have also used it to encircle his throat, making a lead rope and securing him to a tree. What I decide to do is more ruthless.

As his body moves towards me, I use the water to create a solid block that I throw straight at his face as he leans in. If all it had was the momentum from my throw then the stuff would do little more than slow him down. My particular gift is so much more than that. As I cast it, I use all the strength of my power to harden it to a strength that rivals diamonds. I also force it away from me faster than the bolt from a crossbow.

I throw every ounce of water I have at him except for a thin tendril connecting it to my hand. The block of water connects with Boulder's face with a sickening 'crack' and the momentum causes his head to snap backwards. The stone covering his flesh splits and I see blood slip between the cracks before I duck away from his lumbering body.

I'm fairly sure I knocked him out but that doesn't stop his momentum. I duck away to try and avoid his body but there's just so much mass to it. He still bowls me over, smashing into my left shoulder so hard that I feel a 'pop' and a flash of white-hot heat wash over my face. I grimace when I realize my shoulder is at least dislocated, possibly broken as well. I don't have time to think about it as I grit my teeth, spin around, and pull the water into a shield because I know what's coming next.

Joss attacks with the ferocity only an animal can muster, clawing at the barrier and trying to dive over or around it. I use all my concentration either keeping the barrier together or moving it to block my flank when he bounds around me, trying to slash my back before I can throw the water between us.

I'm losing ground. Each time he chips at the solid block of water, I lose a few shards that I can't recover. The second my focus is gone will be the second his claws will ravage my body. I have to make this stop.

"Don't do this Joss. I'll spear you through the heart if I have to." I feel sick, realizing that's the only way for me to survive. Joss may have his ferocity but I was trained by the most skillful fighter on the island and have finally found an opening in his attack.

He can't hear me, that much is obvious. There's a glassy look in his eyes that tells me only the animal's home and he's out for blood.

He and I had been friends once. There were so few children on the island that all of us would play together at least some of the time and I remember when he was a kind, goofy boy just two years older than me. That was before he grew bitter about our legacies. Me, the functional prince of the island with a mother who rules over the others and a father who loves me. He the bastard child of a denying father and a disgraced mother.

Right slash. Left kick. Right backhand. Pivot to jump and slash over my head.

Each blow a cadence, a rhythm that flows through each strike. Not in perfect order but smooth enough and sure enough for me to know which will come next. Just like Lito taught me.

One, one, two and three. The song Joss's body sings for this occasion. And what his body is built for. I know exactly what I have to do and I know I have to do it quick because Boulder is beginning to stir.

On his next jump I don't move my shield to block him but dodge away instead, reforming the water into a meter-long spear with a razor-tip. I'll only have one shot at this and with my shield down I'm aware of how vulnerable I am to his obsidian claws and the immense strength behind them.

I lunge for his throat.