Gifts

It turned out that whether to report to Master Makhos was a pointless question—the angel had left the base just yesterday on a business known only to him, as Levana said.

Jagger commanded everyone to go to the training area before Zemin could even voice the suggestion. Everybody was eager to see if Zemin TRULY was feeling himself as well as he showed it.

"Before you start training, put on this, kid. What? Go on. I spent too much on it for you to refuse!"

With these words, Danis shoved the parcel in his hands at Zemin. It was, he discovered, a black catsuit made from elastic, but thick fabric and enhanced with an extra framework of something steel-like. He knew catsuits like these—they were made to be worn under one's uniform for additional protection. They were elastic enough to not affect one's speed.

<Match found in database: protective suit model SS-Light-A. Can protect from direct contact with temperatures -40 to +200 degrees Celsius, withstand piercing and slicing attacks up grade D diminish impact damage by a half of grade. Helmet isn't part that model.>

Zemin's eyes widened. "Danis, are you really just giving it to me?"

"It's not just him! All of us contributed," Adia said. "Put it on, Zemin!"

"What, right here?"

Citri giggled. "Why not?"

"Stop that, Esquires! You will have enough time to joke around after we are done here! Everybody, pair up. For now—just hand-to-hand combat. Zemin, you will be against me. Put on that suit in the shed, then get your sword."

"Yes, sir. And thank you all for the suit."

"That's how you should've started it, kiddo."

The catsuit fit like a glove. The fabric was breathable enough for Zemin to not sweat in it, even with his uniform on top of it. It put some lightness in Zemin's otherwise mechanical steps.

The first spar on fists against Jagger showed that Zemin was still not well.

His jumbled sets of memories kept pulling him in different directions. Every combat veteran had his own fighting style, and while Zemin decided which movement was the best, he already missed the opponent's attack.

If not for the catsuit, Zemin would've ended up bruised black and blue in the first hour of the training session.

By the end of the second hour, he was faster and faster in choosing and using the most fitting move.

"It's like I'm fighting against a completely different person. Or even several at once," Jagger said afterward, wiping sweat off his brow. "The thing you did with Master Makhos—whatever it was, it was incredible. Although, considering the side-effects, I'd prefer you didn't repeat it."

Zemin frowned. Until now, the thought didn't appear in his head, but, since the first trial was a success, could he use the Memory Injector again? Would Master Makhos want him to?

Zemin clenched his fists.

'Next time, it will be easier to get through the memories. And I already feel the new knowledge in me—I just need to adapt to using it in practice. But there won't be enough time until the next mission, and with him away, I can't even ask about it.'

Knowledge of new Psionic techniques was also on the back of Zemin's mind. Most memories used only one Psionic discipline that Zemin didn't know—Purgation. It was certainly intentional.

It was a discipline that allowed its users to directly purge demonic essence. Unlike other Psionic disciplines, it was hard to use for anything else, but against demons, it was the deadliest.

There was no way for Zemin to practice using it without a demon in sight.

***

The gifts didn't end with the catsuit. Late that evening, when Zemin was almost about to go to bed, he got a knock on his door.

"Citri?" he recognized her aura and her light steps. "Come in."

She half-walked, half-danced inside, gently closing the door behind her.

From the first glance, Zemin could tell that this was not a usual visit.

Citri was smiling too mischievously. Her hair looked too shiny and still slightly wet, as if she just came out of a shower and didn't dry it completely. And instead of the Esquire uniform, she was wearing a short pink dress with a skirt made of frills and a cut low enough to show a valley between her breasts.

With an effort of will, Zemin pulled his eyes away from there and to Citri's sparkling blue eyes.

Was he understanding things right? A logical part of his brain told him it would probably be better and less complicated in the long run to politely ask Citri to leave.

"Did you want something, Citri?" Zemin's mouth asked instead.

"Yeah! Look at this dress—do you think it's pretty?"

Citri twirled around, and the skirt of her dress rode almost up to her waist from the movement. It showed off her long and toned legs, making Zemin notice she wasn't wearing any shoes.

He frowned.

"Don't your feet get cold, Citri? It can get chilly here after the sun sets."

Citri froze mid-movement, then giggled and stepped closer to Zemin with a smirk.

"You are almost always so serious, Zemin. Serious, polite, and, of course—handsome. Like a knight-in-training… Weren't they called esquires, just like us? Want to help a lady? Warm my feet up, maybe?" she wiggled her toes. "Something else?"

Zemin tilted his head to the side. This felt sudden, but as he thought more about it…

For how long Citri had called him 'pretty' and 'handsome'? Was she smiling at everyone as brightly as at him? Memories in Zemin's head refused to appear in the right order.

At Zemin's pause, Citri's smile dimmed.

"I just want to have some fun, especially now that we are about to be sent out again… And who will die next time?" she admitted. "You and I—won't that be a blessing to just… relax?"

Even the logical part of Zemin's brain wasn't about to argue.

"Of course." He smiled at her. "And I'm always happy to help, Citri. I know a bit about how to warm up girls…"