As Cold As A Wagon Tire

The world flickers into black and white as my vision shakes. I'm on the ground, with dirt in my mouth, sputtering and attempting to breathe but only receiving more land in my lungs. Coughing, I roll over and look up, finding Edward staring down at me.

"I told you. Get ready. Be ready. We've already been through this, Wyatt. Shiver requires you to constantly be on edge. If you can't dodge an attack at any time, how do you expect your Ether to do it for you?"

Sucking in breaths of air, I reflect on the past day and all that Edward has been helping me with. Shiver, the Dzil invented by his father, Edmund, allows one to instantaneously move their body at any point or position at their optimum speed. Even from a handstand where you hold your weight with only a single finger, the entirety of your form can move without a frame of hesitation.

Edward said his father trained him for the skill all his life until eventually teaching him the final parts. Still, the most critical aspects are having keen senses and a body capable of evading danger at any moment. Once the body can do something, it is far easier for the mind and Ether to replicate it. Only when one's body is so on edge and used to the constant danger can the Ether follow.

And so, that is why this is happening. While I do other things, whether it is eating, training with Virgil, or working on my own Ether in concentration, Edward has been randomly attacking me to increase my awareness and danger sense.

"Expand your mind. Be aware of your surroundings more acutely. If you cannot react to an attack such as mine out of nowhere, you will never learn Shiver. I know you've managed Painsforge once, but Shiver is different. To master Painsforge, as you said, requires the perfect inner and outer conditions. To do so for Shiver requires you to be entirely at peace within death."

Edward holds his hand to me, the leather-gloved fist gripping mine and pulling me to my feet effortlessly. The Angel pats my shoulders as I speak up.

"I'm trying. It's just... I can't feel you coming at all."

The older man sighs and shakes his head. He looks left and right before focusing on me. His feet slide backward across the gravel field we stand on for effect.

"Wyatt... do you know why it is called Shiver? It is quite an odd name for a movement skill, no?"

His question seems partly rhetorical, but even still, I don't know the answer. Shrugging, I await a response that he promptly gives. Pointing to a distant graveyard, one only a block or so away, near Marshall's statue, he expresses the meaning of Shiver.

"It is named after a concept. The cold shiver of death. You've heard of this, yes?"

His words provoke a nod from me. I've felt it. The coldness before death forces one to shiver, not even from fear or despair but simply from the chill. It's the knowledge that if you don't stop something you will certainly die. I've felt it many times.

"Good. My father managed to find a way to overcome this instinctual response. Before he was a Hunter... few know this, but he was a miner, staying months at a time underground. Even under the Pale Lady's grasp during a cave-in, he could remain unfazed. But that is not a skill of Ether. That is merely... him."

Edward's eyes grow distant as if gazing at a faraway figure, one that he could never hope to reach, let alone touch. My heart grows heavy, and my pupils wet as the older man continues past a short pause.

"My father... time did him an injustice. I have half his talent and became an Angel. Even when I went to him to learn Shiver as a 6th Sigiled, my old man beat my ass to an inch of my life with half my Sigils. At the time, I thought he was seriously going to kill me, but... it was simply a rite of passage for the skill."

The Bloodied Beast draws his Claymore, the handle bladeless and unassuming until blood flows into it, spiraling into a sword of crimson. Edward steps back from me, leveling the sword at my face. I raise my eyebrows as he does so, my brain beginning to pick up on what he means.

"Shiver means to not just be unafraid of Death. It means to be unfazed by Death. You must be ready for her. Should she come to take you, a smile is your only reply. Only then can your Ether move on instinct without your guidance. It is a paradox. A mismatch of meanings that have no meaning."

Edward swings his blade lightly, leaving trails of blood in the air that hair as individual droplets that contort into spikes of red looming danger. Then, he places his Claymore into the dirt, finishing his speech to me.

"Edmund discovered a whole new form of Ether control, separate from the other nine. Instinctual Ether. To have your Ether move without thought. Shiver encapsulates it entirely, shifting your body before your mind even notices. At this point, slow attempts to bathe you with danger to provoke a sense of death will not work. I have heard much of your exploits, Wyatt. I've even heard of your once-deathly acts. I know you are a Graves and that you feel no fear. But are you willing to die for this skill?"

His question hangs in the air as I fast understand just how serious he is. Edward's eyes gaze at me with complete determination as if he's never been more sure of something in his life. I stay silent for a moment, gauging his meaning and his tone.

Standing like that, he is preparing for something, and if his words are an indication...

He wants to fight?

No. He wants to kill me. That is obvious. But he just said that he was only beaten to an inch of his life. Unless... it is different. Edward mentioned that we can't take the slow way. For me to develop this...

I can only do it difficultly and quickly. The painful way. The dying way.

Is this skill worth risking death? No... unless I manage to learn it, he will kill me. It seems so counterintuitive, but I know it's not. We can't be sure I can't realize it until I die, so he will push until I do.

Edward seems to notice my indecision and comments on it while resting his hands on the hilt of this longsword of crimson embedded into the dirt.

"I do not want to kill you, Wyatt. But I also know just how valuable this skill is and how dangerous it is to acquire. If you do not want it, tell me. We can back down. Shiver is not meant for all people in this world. In fact, I'd wager the number who could manage Instinctual Ether alone would be in the tens among the billions of creatures alive."

I shift my gaze to the ground, thinking of the long-dead man. Edmund was that talented, huh? Such a shame he only managed to contract a Sigil so late in life.

But... I'm his last student, right? Who else is there to carry on his legacy? Of course, there is Edward. But I heard it from the man himself. He's ready to die, if not itching for it. He's been prepared for a long time. Sure, he might not reach that point for a while. But it will come. And then, there will be no one. No one to remember Edmund or his skills.

I can't have that.

It's stupid. It's idiotic. Hell, it's suicidal. I told myself I'd stop doing this shit, but every time... something rolls back to the old man. I have to learn this, even if not to pass it on, but simply to prove to Edmund that I was worth it.

A single Dzil won't be enough for what is to come, not that I even have Painsforge mastered. However, this near-death or actual death experience may change that. And this Instinctual Ether will be a potent ability to add to my belt.

Sighing, partially for my stupidity and for the old man, I reach into my pocket and pull out a vial of blood. I watch Edward's eyes widen as I step toward him, past the bloodied spikes hanging in the air and hand him the Philiam.

"Let's do this. Wouldn't want to disappoint the old man, would we?"

Edward smiles so widely at my words I worry he'll cry. With his grin, he slides the Philiam into a pocket on his vest and addresses me one last time.

"You dare to stand amongst the top, Wyatt. It is only a matter of time. Should you survive this, I will wait for you atop the peak. I cannot wait to see what you become. You may fight back. Hell, I encourage you to fight with all you have. But it will not matter. When death touches you, you feel overwhelmed, you feel useless, you feel weak, let your Ether flow without guidance. See where it goes and follow. If you are gifted, you will live. If you are not... well, I respect the will you have to do such a thing."

There is no point in waiting. It is useless. Shiver and Instinctual Ether are not something that grows more effortless with gained power or skill. They are simply something earned through run-ins with Death. I've had plenty of which, but none bestowed me such a boon. Not that I knew one existed.

My heart pounds in my chest as I face Edmund across the training ground, the weight of his intent heavy in the air. With a heaviness to his movement, he hauls his Claymore from the dirt, preparing to kill me. This isn't like regular training with others. His crimson blade gleams in the sunlight, a river of flowing blood captured within the confines of steel.

As we begin, there's a grim determination in his eyes, a cold fire that tells me this fight is different. He's not just testing my skills; he's pushing me to the brink and then kicking me off it. It all starts with a bang.

The hundreds of bloodied spikes fling themselves at me, and I force my Ether into motion, pumping my legs with Breakneck and Arbalest to dodge the bloody stalactites. The impacts come fast and fierce, each one meant to land a fatal blow. When they fly past my evasive form, divots appear in the dirt and cave the floor inward. I wish to respond in kind, to fight back and deal some damage as I should in a battle, but I can't.

He's too fast.

In a moment, after the spikes of blood slam past me, throwing debris into the air, Edward is upon me. I leap backward, avoiding his first swing, but a half dozen droplets of blood follow his blade, stabbing into Adumbral. My coat dents inward and is nearly pierced by the sharp daggers, knocking me further back from the impact as the wind in my lungs is exhaled from the force.

My mind rapidly thinks as I search for Edward, endeavoring to find where he will strike from next.

I've faced death before, stared it in the face on countless occasions. But this... this is different. It's not about not wanting to die, but about embracing it, about accepting it as an inevitability so much that you let your Ether move on its own. The lesson he's attempting to beat into me is clear. It's not enough to simply avoid death; I must be willing to meet it head-on, to embrace it as a part of life. And when my body and mind accept it, my Ether will move on its own to guard my life. Then, I can manage Instinctual Ether.

This is something I can only do while the Bloody Palm is hibernating. I know that now. Otherwise, it would join to keep us alive. In fact, that might be why I haven't already learned this. I'm not calling myself a genius of Ether, but with all my near-deaths, or actual deaths like when Lily brought me back, I'd wager I could do it otherwise.

The clash of steel against flesh reverberates through the air as he forms beside me through the rubble and slashes a massive gash down the back of my leg. Seething in pain, I pivot toward him, only to meet a bouquet of bloody hail into my face. I raise my arm with Adumbral protecting me to block out the attack, receiving a lashing strike down my back as he cuts through Adumbral. Thankfully, the Bulwark is easy to stitch back together. However, every injury inflicted on it lessens its lifespan.

Coughing out rising blood in my lungs from the recent slash, I fight back, only to get my ass repeatedly handed to me. We dance across the training ground, with no one to watch this killing. Though, I'm sure that is on purpose. I'd feel much more secure if there were others here to stop him—probably why he had Virgil leave. I can feel his intent with every strike, the deadly goal behind each swing of his blade. I endeavor to dodge, parry, and counter, but he is simply too fast. Too unpredictable.

One moment he is before me. The next, he is behind me. The fact he can Shiver in any direction at any time is the most dangerous part. No matter what I do to strike back, he lands another gash upon my form. And without Blodwyn awake, the wounds quickly build up. I have to go deeper, tap into something primal within me.

My heart races, and I feel a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins as I force my Ether even further. Slowly, gradually, I dye the dirt red as he forces me against the wall of the building behind me. My whole body rapidly shakes of pain and agony, of exhaustion and fatigue despite the paltry minute we've been fighting.

Strugglers Gasp, Strugglers Defiance, and all my other skills hardly help. I'm only alive at this point from Marshall's training, his constant repetition on how to take less lethal wounds and how to move more efficiently.

But underneath the adrenaline and rising pain, there's a growing fire within my chest as I tap my back against the brick behind me. Painsforge is knocking. How could I feel helpless if I don't use it all?

Gritting my teeth, I force that pain out as my whole form trembles with dripping blood. It's a bit easier than the first time, but not all that much. My vision shakes and flickers as Edward's foot crashes into the dirt only feet from me. His hands grip his blade as he prepares to swing at me once more, the entire show a feint as he can do it instantly at any moment.

My heart beats with a roaring fire, the anvil within forging a terrible power that surges through my body, shaking every muscle in my body as Ether flows haphazardly. Abruptly, my vision sharpens, revealing Edward as he slices the Claymore for my neck.

Standing from my kneeled crouch, I pivot and slide under his swing, the dirt collapsing from my force. And then, I finally genuinely counterattack for the first time. Might swells inside my muscles with each tumultuous beat of my heart that rings throughout the air. A lengthened Hone blooms along my fingers as I swing for Edward.

Expecting for him to dodge, I rotate and sway my arm behind me as well. And my prediction proves fruitful as the man vanishes from the previous location and appears behind me, only to take the Honed hand to the chest.

It seems Shiver does have at least one weakness. It's bad against those who can predict it. But Edward's chest, cut open nearly a full inch, rapidly regenerates and closes. It seems the weakness is not much of one for Edward.

And after taking my hit, he retaliates with one of his own. Edward's Claymore swings down for my skull as if without weight, seeking to split it in half. Grunting, I raise my hand and catch it, feeling a mountain of pressure bearing down on me as the blade sinks deeply into my wrist. But Painforge beats my heart once more, turning pain into power. Edward's Angelic significance is held back by me, but he has many other tools at his disposal.

Blood falls from his Claymore as we stand locked. And the droplets, after hanging into the air, shoot into my flesh, piercing through Adumbral dozens of times at this proximity.

Agony rips through me as I barely hold onto the powerful downswing of Edward as the bloody spikes make it all ten times worse. Each impact sends waves of pain cascading through my body, and I grit my teeth against the agony. I feel warmth trickling down my skin as my blood mixes with the malicious spikes. My muscles strain against the weight of the attack, and I can feel the impact reverberating through my bones.

I'm immediately driven to the brink of collapse, my strength faltering as Edward quickly overwhelms me. His only wound was instantly healed. Meanwhile, mine now threatens to kill me. Every breath is a struggle, every minute movement a battle against the pain that threatens to consume me. My vision blurs at the edges, and I can feel consciousness slipping through my grasp.

But I refuse to let go. Another heartbeat, this one a dozen times more energizing than the last, flows through me with rampant and unbridled power. I deftly tighten my grip on the swordsman's arm, channeling every ounce of determination left within me. The spikes of pain pulse through me, but I hang on, desperately clinging to life. My mind races, searching for a way out, a strategy to turn the tide.

Having only one idea without the Bloody Palm to bail me out, I sink to my knees, diverting the blade into the ground beside me as more and more bloodied spikes form around me. Once I do, I quickly kick away and roll in the opposite direction from Edward, but the moment I do, a sharp pain sings its way up my right leg.

Looking down, I find his Claymore entering the back of my leg and exiting the front as I crawl away on my chest.

The hurt ripples as he yanks the blade out and swings it for my back. I kick myself forward with my other leg, only partially dodging the blade as it slices through Adumbral again, leaving another massive gash on my back. And finally, I feel a coolness enter my body as my legs go numb.

He got my spine there.

A shiver swells within my needs, but I force it down and twist to look at Edward as he draws his blade back again. Remembering his words, I smile at him, blood slipping through my teeth and onto my chin.