8 Potential
Sen's body slightly tensed, a cold dread settling in his stomach. "Everyone?" he echoed, the rain blurring the lines on Salack's weathered face. The weight of the situation pressed down on him, the gravity of Salack's offer sinking in.
This wasn't just about exploring the Earth and having fun anymore. This was about choosing a side in a brutal world—a world where the enemy could be anyone.
"Think carefully, boy" Salack rumbled, his voice low and steady. "There's no turning back once you decide to start fighting. You'll crave the feeling of war."
Sen gripped the hilt of the sword tighter, the rough surface biting into his palm, a newfound determination within him.
He thought of the faces he knew back on the dropship – Clarke's ability to care for anyone, Octavia's fierce loyalty, and even Jasper's easy smile.
Did he betray them by even considering Salack's offer? Or was this a chance to learn more about this strange world, to understand the Grounders beyond the guise of barbarity?
A fierce silence overwhelmed the world, with Sen's mind wandering through every scenario.
"I'll fight," he finally declared, his voice resolute. "But not blindly. You'll have to teach me your ways, your fighting style. Also, I'll choose 5 people from the drop ship to keep alive."
"5 is a bit much, kid. Try 3."
"Sounds good," Sen said, agreeing instantly. Truthfully, he just overshot it by saying 5 so that Salack couldn't drop the number too low.
A slow maniacal smile spread across Salack's face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "That's the spirit, boy!" Salack chuckled, a deep rumble that echoed in Sen's chest. "Now let's see what you're made of, Sky Boy."
Salack stood opposite him, his stance deceptively casual. In his hand, he held a similarly roughly made sword, its previously sharp blade worn down from countless battles.
"Forget everything you think you know about fighting," Salack boomed, his voice cutting through the rain. "Here, there are no fancy flourishes, no intricate footwork. Only raw power, speed, and…" with a lightning-fast movement, Salack lunged forward, his wooden blade blurring towards Sen's chest, "cunningness."
Caught off guard, Sen barely managed to raise his sword in time to block the blow. The impact sent a jolt of pain through his arms, the unfamiliar weight of the weapon threatening to pull him off balance.
"Slow, child! Slower than a wounded deer!" Salack roared, launching another attack. This time, Sen anticipated the movement, deflecting the blow with a clang. He attempted a counterattack, but his swing was clumsy and easily parried.
Salack rained down blows, relentless and unforgiving. Sen, on the defensive, struggled to keep up. He stumbled back, his foot slipping in the mud. He braced himself for the final blow, but it never came. Salack stood a hair's breadth away, his chest heaving, a hint of grudging respect in his eyes.
"Not bad for a Sky Person who just learned how to walk," he rasped, his voice heavy with exertion. "But remember, hesitation is death. You fight like a scared rabbit, not a warrior."
Sen ignored the throbbing pain in his arms and legs. He understood. This wasn't a civilized duel; it was a brutal contest of survival. He needed to adapt, to shed his fighting style and embrace this new, harsher way of combat.
He needed to be ruthless.
Brutal.
He needed to lose his reservations.
"Again," he commanded, his voice surprisingly steady despite his ragged breaths.
Salack grinned, a glint of approval returning to his eyes. "Good. If you had given up, I might've just severed one of your fingers. This time, pay attention to your surroundings. Like you said, you aren't planning on dying in the mud. It's not just your weakness, but your enemy's as well."
The following hours blurred into a grueling test of endurance. The rain continued its relentless assault, soaking Sen to the bone and turning the clearing into a muddy battlefield.
Salack pushed Sen to his limits, forcing him to adapt to the unfamiliar terrain and weapon. Sen fell countless times, the muddy ground offering no mercy no matter how much he payed attention to it.
Each time he hit the slick earth, the pain would shoot through his already bruised and battered body, but he'd rise again, fueled by a desperate will to survive and a growing sense of defiance. He didn't want to lose to Salack.
Salack wasn't just a teacher, he was a relentless drill sergeant. His booming voice echoed through the downpour, a mix of harsh criticism and sharp instructions.
"Keep your center low, boy! Use the mud to your advantage, not your enemy's!" he'd bellow, following up with a series of attacks aimed at exploiting Sen's weaknesses.
Sen learned quickly. He began anticipating Salack's movements, his own attacks becoming more fluid and precise.
He discovered that the mud, while treacherous, could also be used for leverage. A well-placed kick could send his opponent sprawling, while a sudden change in direction could throw them off balance.
He learned the art of deception, using feints and misdirection to create openings.
As the pitch black sky slowly brightened up, a sense of accomplishment, however small, bloomed within Sen. His muscles screamed in protest, his lungs burned with each ragged breath, but he was no longer the clumsy Sky Person who had first stepped onto the muddy clearing. He was a fighter, a survivor in training.
Finally, with the last of the darkness fading, Salack called a halt to the training. Sen collapsed onto the muddy ground, his body spent from fighting all night.
He lay there, gasping for air, the rain washing a mixture of sweat and mud off his face. Despite the exhaustion, a quiet pride resonated within him. He had survived, and he had learned. He could feel himself progressing, not just in strength, but in a fundamental switch in the way he fought.
Salack stood above him, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. He extended a hand down to Sen, pulling him to his feet. "Not bad, Sky Person," he rumbled.
Sen wiped the mud from his eyes, looking up at Salack. "I know."
Salack chuckled, a deep rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through Sen's chest. "Don't get cocky, boy. You've only just begun. Tomorrow, we'll start with hand-to-hand combat. No fancy weapons, just pure strength and technique."
Sen met Salack's gaze, a flicker of determination burning in his eyes. Fighting with weapons was foreign to him, but fighting with his hands? He knew he excelled at that.
The next day dawned grey and overcast, the rain having finally subsided, leaving behind a world shrouded in a foggy mist. Sen awoke with a groan, his body stiff and sore from the previous night's training. But the pain was overshadowed by a newfound hunger, a desire to learn more about this brutal fighting style.
For a brief moment, he thought to make it even more brutal; he wanted to be a good enough fighter for nobody to be able to contest him, but he knew he didn't have the skill to do that, so he shook it from his mind.
He emerged from the hut to find Salack already waiting for him in the clearing. Seeing the clearing during the day and when it wasn't raining made it look like a completely different area, but he didn't think much about it.
The older Grounder was bare-chested, revealing a canvas of scars that spoke of countless battles fought and won. In his hand, he held a worn leather strap.
"Today, boy," Salack began, his voice a low growl, "we'll be focusing on close-quarters combat. Forget swords, they'll be of little use in a tight space. Here, it's all about raw power, speed, and knowing how to exploit your opponent's weaknesses."
Salack circled Sen slowly, his eyes narrowed, assessing. Then, with a lightning-fast movement, he lunged forward.
Sen, caught off guard, barely managed to raise his arms in a feeble block. The impact sent him stumbling back, the power in Salack's strike knocking the breath from his lungs.
"Slow, Sky Person!" Salack bellowed, his voice a harsh instructor's bark. "My mother was a better warrior than you!"
Shame burned in Sen's throat, fueling his determination. He gritted his teeth and charged forward, mimicking Salack's attack. But his attack was almost instantly neutralized by Salack as he simply lunged backwards, leaving Sen's reach.
Salack then jumped forward and responded with a flurry of blows, a relentless storm of punches and kicks that sent Sen reeling. Each blow was a brutal lesson – a jab to the solar plexus that brought him to his knees, followed by a side-kick that sent him sprawling in the dirt.
As Sen lay there, gasping for air, the taste of mud thick on his tongue, he realized something crucial. He couldn't fight Salack head-on.
The Grounder veteran possessed years of experience, honed in the fires of countless battles. Sen needed a different approach, something more akin to his own fighting style.
He had been copying Salack's attacks thinking his movements would be more efficient, but he was quickly proven wrong. He regretted not using his own tactics from the start.
Drawing on this experience, Sen adopted this new strategy. He moved with a newfound fluidity, his body low to the ground, slipping under Salack's attacks with surprising ease. He started utilizing unorthodox strikes – an elbow to the ribs, a knee to the groin – tactics born from the desperation of trying to survive on the Ark with both of his parents dead.
The tide began to turn. Frustration flickered in Salack's eyes as Sen's unorthodox approach disrupted his rhythm. Sen landed a glancing blow on Salack's jaw, the first time he'd managed to connect. A flicker of grudging respect replaced the initial disdain in Salack's gaze.
'Who would've thought,' Salack thought as a wide grin etched itself on his face.
Suddenly, as Salack was about to attack, Sen unexpectedly gripped onto the mud below him and threw it onto Salack's face, then raising his leg up into the air and kicking the side of Salack's face, and the old man fell to the ground.
"Shit, sorry, that was dirty," Sen apologized, and just as he was about to help Salack up from the ground, Salack stood up, wiping the mud off of his face.
"Hahahaha! That was smart! Dirty? There is no dirty when you're fighting for your life. From now on, fight however dirty you want; no holding back, boy."
For the first time in a while, Sen smiled.
The training session continued for hours, a brutal ballet of attack and counter-attack. Slowly, Sen began to anticipate Salack's movements, his own attacks becoming faster and more precise. He learned to exploit Salack's openings, to use his own momentum against him.
The pain was constant, a dull ache that throbbed throughout his body, but Sen pushed on, fueled by a newfound sense of purpose.
By the time the last rays of sunlight dipped below the horizon, both Sen and Salack were exhausted, their bodies covered in a sheen of sweat and dirt. Sen slumped against a nearby tree, his lungs burning, but a spark of pride flickered in his eyes. He had not only survived, but he had adapted. He had begun to craft his own fighting style, one that blended Grounder brutality with unorthodox agility.
Salack stood before him, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Sky Person," he rasped, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "You may just be a genius fighter. Even I can see your improvements, and we've only fought twice, though it was all night and all day. Not a Grounder yet, but perhaps something more… interesting."
