Reg 2

Fuck Theokoles...

You though as you chewed hungrily though the flesh of not long dead rabbit, clawed fingers curled though its skin and bones as you did. Your anger welled once more at the thought of the evil bastard of a trainer.

Fuck him with a long sharp pointy stick... Fuck it; fuck him with a nice rusted curvy iron pole.

Training with the bastard had been some of the most intense times which you’d ever spent in your life, his bloody grin always waiting with another task, another embarrassment, and another way of getting right under your skin.

You’d presented a challenge at first; unflappable unless sent to the absolute most useless extreme, irreverent, competent, and strong.

Or so you’d thought.

You’d never imagined a cruelly inventive imagination such as his, a darkly malignant mind which plotted and pitted cruelty and professionalism together so perfectly as to satisfy every sadistic impulse while advancing his own cause and your skills. You’d never believed someone could find your ever weakness and slide the knife in so effectively, attacking your emotionally and physically all at once, and pushing you to the very edge of your extremes.

More than once you’d found yourself lost in madness as he challenged and broke you down, pushing your limits beyond the pale as he beat you back, again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again.

You’d thought yourself relentless, he’d proven more.

At every turn and on every level you found him breaking you down, pushing your limits to their very edge as he worked you over. It wasn’t to say that you’d needed much in the way of the physical, and yet somehow you found yourself pushed even to the edges of that.

You’d spent many of your tired, drained nights cursing his name as you fell into the grips of sleep, plotting plots as to how you could strangle the life out of the wily old lizard with your bare claws.

At least... at first.

After the first few weeks, you’d found something strange. You were getting stronger, faster, more coordinated. Your instincts more refined, better than they’d been even on the many fields of battle across which you’d participated. Few times in your life could you remember being driven so very hard.

Soon the embarrassments stopped being thus, and the little things which he did to get under your skin started to not matter, no instead you’d begun to focus well past that, your mind sharpened with every brutal cruelty, as you adapted and strengthened.

He had brought you low, but you would drag yourself back from the edge.

And now your claws were sharper than they’d ever been.

“Don’t lag on your defense just cause your skin’s a bit thick, Parry, pull back, don’t ignore your sides.” A harsh shout came from your side even as another blow landed, shattering the ground beside you. “Come on! Move like you’ve got a little life to ya! Or you won’t be getting to keep it.”

You ignored him, shifting with the Halberd in hand as you narrowly defended yet another heavy blow.

Fucking Theokoles would find another way to be a dick even after you’d started passing all of his bloody tests with flying colours. Narrowly you dodged a flickering tongue as it tried to impale your face.

You really don’t know where gotten the idea to use the dammed things, but you’d been fighting some interesting creatures from the beginning of the morning. Three bloody hell toads, dangerous pack-hunting predatory beast which resembled a cross between huge dogs and frogs, you weren’t quite sure where he’d found the dammed things, but between the toad beasts trying to murder you and the other main attraction, a smallish young Troll, you were starting to suspect that the evil bastard actually wanted you dead.

You could only barely keep up with the dammed things by using the troll against the toads and vise verci. For creatures as fragile as they were, the shooting tongue was ridiculously powerful, punching holes in the ground where ever you managed to dodge, and almost ripping out a chunk of your arm the one time you’d allowed yourself to be hit.