Chapter 33: "A Date with Destiny... and a Punchable Face"
In which I challenge my childhood bully, question my own ethics, and accidentally endorse a very dumb philosophy.
Night in Havenbrook was peaceful.
Stars blinked quietly above.
Wind whispered through the trees.
Most of the city was asleep—
except for four teenagers who were about to have the most exhausting nap of their lives.
Because training in Asterion's mental world?
Yeah.
That was a thing now.
I opened my eyes—
or, well, my mind's eyes—
and found myself beside a pond nestled beneath a mountain range that looked like something straight out of a fantasy travel brochure.
Crystal-clear water.
Cherry-blossom trees.
Glowing fish the size of Labradors.
You know.
Normal brain stuff.
Lena appeared beside me, rubbing her temples like she'd somehow developed a mental headache from being mentally teleported to a mental mountain.
"This is..."
She looked around.
"...shockingly nice."
"Right?"
I grinned.
"It's like a spa."
A pause.
"An ancient-cultivator murder spa."
That's when Asterion appeared on a rock overlooking the pond, looking like the world's most overqualified camp counselor.
"Welcome to training."
That slight smile appeared.
The one that could mean either:
You're going to learn something valuable.
Or:
You're going to deeply regret waking up today.
Behind him—
THUD.
The ground cracked.
Rian Vale landed in a crouch.
He rose with the biggest, friendliest grin I'd ever seen on someone who was almost certainly about to beat me unconscious several hundred times.
"Excellent!"
Rian clapped his hands.
"Five hours!"
Lena blinked.
"Five hours of what?"
Rian's grin somehow got wider.
"Sparring."
I winced.
Lena looked at Asterion.
"Please tell me he's joking."
Asterion folded his arms.
"He isn't."
Rian pointed dramatically toward the mountains.
"We shall fight until neither of you can remember what standing comfortably feels like!"
Lena stared.
I leaned toward her.
"Rian is the cheerful one."
"This is the cheerful one?"
"Kael is worse."
The training rules were simple.
And horrifying.
Five hours of continuous mental sparring.
Pain would be simulated.
Injuries would reset.
Real bodies?
Completely safe.
Mental dignity?
Apparently not covered.
We could also recreate equipment we currently knew how to use.
Armor?
Sure.
Rifles?
Yep.
Nets?
Absolutely.
The only thing Asterion didn't permit?
"Excuses."
He sat cross-legged on the rock.
"We don't need those."
Lena immediately raised a hand like she was in class.
"Five hours of simulated pain still sounds psychologically questionable."
"Then you'll have five hours to study your response to it."
She stared at him.
"That was the most therapist-hostile answer you could've given."
Asterion smiled.
"You wanted to train."
"I am reconsidering."
"No."
Lena sighed.
Then nodded.
"Fine. If the injuries aren't real, extended repetition could accelerate adaptation."
I leaned toward her.
"She says that now."
Lena looked at me.
"Wait until hour three when your legs attempt collective bargaining."
Round One began.
Rian disappeared.
Not literally.
He was just suddenly moving so fast that my brain temporarily filed him under:
Problem for Future Evan.
"LENA—"
Too late.
Rian appeared between us.
I barely activated my mental copy of the Mercer armor before a kick launched me across the pond.
I hit the water.
Hard.
Lena raised the Ghost Rifle.
Fired.
Rian twisted aside.
She fired again.
He slipped past it.
Then caught the barrel.
"Good weapon!"
He pulled.
Lena stumbled forward.
"Poor distance!"
Then he flipped her over his shoulder.
She hit the ground.
A net fired from her gauntlet.
Rian actually got tangled.
For approximately half a second.
"Oh!"
He looked down.
"Clever!"
Then he tore free, spun the net around once, and somehow used it to launch me into a tree.
I don't even know how.
By the end of hour one...
Lena and I were lying face-down in the grass.
Mentally exhausted.
Spiritually offended.
"I feel like I've been hit by a truck made entirely of enthusiasm," I groaned.
Beside me, Lena didn't move.
"I study psychology."
A pause.
"This qualifies as trauma."
Rian bounced lightly on his feet.
"That was excellent!"
We both groaned.
"Again!"
I swear I saw my life flash before my eyes.
It wasn't even the cool stuff.
Just falling off my bike when I was seven and that one time I almost choked on a marshmallow.
By hour three...
Lena stopped complaining.
That was when she became dangerous.
She started studying Rian.
Not his individual attacks.
His habits.
He liked entering from an angle after forcing distance.
He tended to shift weight left before using certain spinning attacks.
He deliberately created openings just to see whether we'd recognize them.
Basically?
Combat psychology.
Which was exactly Lena's kind of nonsense.
She managed to bait him.
Rian rushed.
Lena stepped aside.
Her energy blade caught his shoulder.
He froze.
Looked at the mark.
Then at her.
His eyes lit up.
"Wonderful!"
Lena's expression changed.
"Oh no."
Rian grabbed her hands and spun her around once like they were dancing.
"Excellent adaptation!"
"PUT ME DOWN."
"You noticed the pattern!"
"RIAN."
Then he threw her into a tree.
CRASH.
"You inspire me!"
I fired a net while he was distracted.
It wrapped around his legs.
"NOW!"
Lena came flying out of the tree line.
We tackled him together.
Teamwork.
Lena later called it:
"coordinated exploitation of attention."
I called it:
"desperate flailing."
Both descriptions were accurate.
Let's establish one fact.
Learning to fight is hard.
Now imagine your mental avatar is temporarily being guided by an ancient cultivator with nearly a thousand years of experience...
while your opponent is Kael Veyr.
Blindfolded.
Calm.
Perfect posture.
And somehow still radiating disappointment.
Yeah.
Welcome to:
Training: Asterion Style™.
While Lena and I were busy getting high-speed launched around the mountains by Rian...
Mara and Toby were experiencing something slightly different.
Asterion stood behind them.
"You'll feel the simulated impact."
Toby turned.
"That's bad."
"The damage will reset."
"Still bad."
Mara narrowed her eyes.
"How realistic is the pain?"
Asterion considered.
"Realistic enough that you'll remember the mistake."
"...That's not comforting."
"It isn't meant to be."
Across the training field, Kael stood waiting.
Blindfolded.
Practice sword at his side.
Completely motionless.
Toby looked at him.
Then at Asterion.
"He looks worse than Rian."
"He is less enthusiastic."
"That's not what I said."
Asterion ignored him.
"You're starting with repetition."
Mara crossed her arms.
"How much repetition?"
"One thousand rounds."
Silence.
Toby slowly turned.
"Did he say thousand?"
"Yes."
Mara stared at Asterion.
"One. Thousand."
"Correct."
"Against him?"
Kael remained completely still.
Asterion nodded.
"For the first rounds, I will guide your mental forms."
Toby raised a finger.
"Define guide."
"You observe."
Asterion tapped two fingers against Toby's forehead.
"I move."
Toby's eyes widened.
"Oh no."
Then Asterion touched Mara's forehead.
"Learn."
Round One: Mara versus Kael.
Mara's mental body launched forward with the grace of someone who had spent several lifetimes practicing martial arts.
Her actual consciousness?
Screaming.
I AM NOT DOING THIS.
She pivoted.
Roundhouse kick.
Kael leaned back.
She followed with two punches, a low sweep, and a perfectly timed energy grenade.
Kael spun.
Light flashed around him.
The blast curved away.
Mara's mental jaw dropped.
Kael's practice sword immediately came toward her ribs.
Asterion moved her.
Cartwheel.
Turn.
Landing.
Counterstrike.
"This is so weird," Mara muttered from the passenger seat of her own mental body.
Asterion's voice answered calmly.
"Pay attention."
Round Two: Toby versus Kael.
Toby's mental body entered a defensive stance.
"Uh..."
His eyes widened.
"I don't know how to do this."
"You will."
A drone lifted overhead.
Toby's body threw a smoke bomb.
Kael disappeared into it.
"THAT SEEMS BAD."
The drone fired suppressive pulses.
Toby dropped low.
Sweep.
Nothing.
Kael was already behind him.
Toby backflipped.
His mind was essentially mashing imaginary controller buttons and praying.
"This is like playing a fighting game with my soul!"
"Focus."
Rounds continued.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Smoke.
Drones.
Rifles.
Whips.
Hand-to-hand.
Footwork.
Falls.
Recovery.
Mara's strikes became cleaner as she watched.
Toby slowly learned how drone movement could force opponents into predictable paths.
Asterion wasn't magically making them masters.
He was showing them correct movement.
Over.
And over.
And over.
Giving their minds patterns to recognize before they had to reproduce them themselves.
Somewhere around Round 486...
Mara moved.
On her own.
Kael struck.
She shifted aside.
No guidance.
No Asterion.
Just instinct.
Her eyes widened.
"I did that."
Asterion's approval came immediately.
"Yes."
Mara grinned.
"I actually dodged that."
"Again."
Her smile vanished.
"Can we celebrate first?"
"Round 487."
"I hate this place."
By Round 1000, Mara and Toby collapsed beside the pond.
Mentally exhausted.
Spiritually offended.
Toby stared at the stars.
"I think Kael is going to appear in my nightmares."
Kael stood several feet away.
Still blindfolded.
Still somehow judging him.
Mara slowly raised one hand.
"I think..."
She stared at her fingers.
"...I know how to field-strip the rifle now."
Toby turned his head.
"I think I learned how to coordinate drone fire while falling down stairs."
Asterion stood on a nearby rock.
"You've taken the first step."
Neither responded.
"Next time, you'll control yourselves from the beginning."
Mara weakly raised her hand.
"Do we get food?"
"No."
Toby looked horrified.
Asterion's mouth twitched.
"You'll get stronger."
Toby fell backward.
"That is not better than snacks."
Asterion disappeared.
Toby pointed at the empty air.
"He knows it's not better than snacks."
Back in the real world, Mara and Toby woke up groaning.
Mara immediately grabbed her phone.
Mara: Evan. Asterion made us fight Kael for one thousand rounds.
A second message arrived.
Mara: I can now somersault away from a sword strike in my dreams.
Then Toby:
Toby: I'm 78% sure I'm afraid of blindfolded people now.
I stared at my screen.
Then typed:
Evan: Welcome to the club.
And that was how two previously ordinary teenagers officially entered Level One of:
Please Stop Letting Supernatural Things Kill Us Training.
So here's the thing nobody tells you about recovering from years of being bullied.
Sometimes it looks like therapy.
Sometimes it looks like setting boundaries.
And sometimes...
apparently...
it looks like challenging your childhood bully to punch you in the face.
I'm not saying that's the best solution.
I'm saying it was the solution I felt extremely qualified for after five simulated hours of being turned into landscaping by Rian Vale.
My real body wasn't injured.
Thank God.
But my brain remembered enough of last night's training that my ego had achieved dangerous levels of confidence.
Enter:
Operation Beat Down Derek.
I walked into the kitchen.
Walked.
With my normal human legs.
Because contrary to what my increasingly weird life suggested, I still couldn't fly.
Lena was already there, pouring cereal and looking suspiciously well-rested for someone who had spent half the night mentally sparring an insane space-combat specialist.
She looked at me.
Then narrowed her eyes.
"Alright."
Spoon paused halfway to her mouth.
"Tell me."
"Tell you what?"
"You have that expression."
"What expression?"
"The one you get before doing something morally questionable but emotionally satisfying."
"I don't have an expression like that."
Lena pointed at me with her spoon.
"You absolutely do."
She took a bite.
"It's your I'm going to punch Derek Holt in the face expression."
I stared.
"...Okay."
She nodded.
"So I was right."
I sat down.
"Maybe."
Lena sighed.
"Evan."
Here came Psychology Sister.
"I'm not saying you shouldn't stand up for yourself."
"Good."
"But if this is revenge—"
"It's not."
She stared.
I reconsidered.
"Okay."
I held up two fingers.
"It's maybe fifteen percent revenge."
"Evan."
"But mostly catharsis!"
She closed her eyes.
"Reclaiming dignity."
"Lena—"
"Via controlled violence."
Her eyes opened.
"Did Asterion put you up to this?"
"Actually..."
I pointed toward the other side of the room.
"...he's right there."
Asterion sat in a chair, calmly drinking tea he'd apparently made while neither of us was paying attention.
He glanced up.
"Don't involve me."
"See?"
I pointed.
"This was entirely his idea," Asterion told Lena.
"Thank you!"
I smiled.
Then realized—
"Wait."
That sounded worse.
Asterion continued.
"Facing something from your past can be useful."
Lena frowned.
"That is not the same as encouraging him to fight."
"I didn't."
Asterion took another sip.
"He already decided."
I crossed my arms triumphantly.
Lena looked between us.
"Wonderful. Two idiots."
Asterion raised an eyebrow.
"I haven't done anything."
"You're supervising the idiot."
"Unfortunately."
"HEY."
Lena ignored me.
"So what's the plan?"
"I'm challenging Derek to a fair fight."
Her expression remained skeptical.
"Gym class."
"Rules?"
"Yes."
"No armor?"
"No armor."
"No weapons?"
"No weapons."
"No Asterion secretly moving your body?"
Asterion answered before I could.
"No."
Lena nodded.
That seemed to matter.
"Just me and Derek."
I leaned back.
"No equipment. No tricks."
She watched me for a moment.
"You honestly think this will help?"
I hesitated.
Then nodded.
"Yeah."
My hands tightened slightly.
"I'm not afraid of Derek anymore."
That part was true.
"But sometimes..."
I looked away.
"My body still reacts like I am."
Lena's expression softened.
"If he walks toward me too fast, I tense up."
I shrugged.
"Years of lockers, shoulder checks, getting humiliated..."
I looked down.
"It's like my brain moved on before the rest of me did."
There was silence.
"I want to prove to myself that he doesn't control that anymore."
Lena studied me.
Then reached over.
Messed up my hair.
Exactly like I was five.
"Fine."
I slapped her hand away.
"Stop that."
"But if he gives you a concussion..."
She smiled.
"I'm making you wear the I Did a Dumb Thing helmet for a week."
I stared.
"We have one of those?"
"Dad made it."
Of course he did.
Here's another weird thing about unresolved childhood trauma.
Sometimes it makes you stand in the middle of a sidewalk and challenge a guy to a fight while he's still riding a bicycle.
Derek Holt—
future gym coach, probable competitive boxer, and full-time human protein advertisement—
was pedaling toward school with two of his friends behind him.
He was sweaty.
Focused.
Wearing a weighted backpack.
Basically radiating the kind of early-morning madness that only comes from doing one hundred push-ups before breakfast and enjoying it.
Mara and Toby were a few steps behind me.
And I?
I stepped straight into Derek's path.
He braked.
Hard.
The rear tire slid sideways.
One foot hit the pavement.
He looked at me.
"Derek."
My heart beat faster.
Old instinct.
Ignore it.
"I'm challenging you to a fight during gym."
Silence.
I expected laughter.
An insult.
Maybe:
Finally decided you want another beating, Mercer?
Instead...
Derek grinned.
Not cruelly.
Not mockingly.
Genuinely.
His eyes lit up.
"Oh."
He nodded once.
"You finally get it."
Then he pushed off.
And rode away.
I remained standing there.
Processing.
Toby stepped up beside me.
"Okay."
He watched Derek disappear.
"But you are going to kick his butt, right?"
"That's the plan."
Mara folded her arms.
"Good."
Then:
"I want you to knock out enough teeth that we can use them as D&D dice."
I slowly looked at her.
"That's horrifyingly specific."
"Three years of cafeteria humiliation."
She started counting.
"Locker superglued shut."
Another finger.
"My bag thrown into a trash can."
Another.
"He deserves at least one molar."
Toby nodded thoughtfully.
"That's fair."
"No."
I looked between them.
"No collecting teeth."
Mara shrugged.
"You're no fun."
But honestly?
They had a point.
Derek hadn't just bullied me.
He'd become part of the school's entire ecosystem of cruelty.
Backpack wedgies.
Hallway shoulder checks.
Taking people's food.
Turning lunch tables into territory.
Beating him in a fair fight wouldn't just be personal.
Everyone would see it.
And that...
made me uncomfortable.
"He said I finally get it," I muttered.
Mara looked at me.
"Like this was what he wanted."
"You mean his caveman philosophy about strength?"
"Yeah."
She shrugged.
"Don't analyze it too hard. That's like trying to understand a hammer."
"But what if he's right?"
Both stopped.
I rubbed the back of my neck.
"I mean..."
I frowned.
"If I beat him now, doesn't that basically prove his whole stupid argument?"
Toby tilted his head.
"That bullying makes people stronger?"
"Exactly."
I looked toward where Derek had disappeared.
"He tormented me because he thought I was weak."
My stomach twisted.
"Then I get stronger and challenge him."
A pause.
"That's basically his dream ending."
Toby considered that.
Then shrugged.
"Something bad happening to you can make you stronger."
Mara immediately looked at him.
"Careful."
"I'm not saying it should happen."
He raised both hands.
"I'm saying people survive terrible things and sometimes come out stronger."
Mara poked my arm.
"And you didn't get stronger because Derek bullied you."
She looked directly at me.
"You got stronger despite him."
That landed.
"Because you trained."
Another poke.
"Because Toby and I had your back."
Another.
"Because Asterion taught you."
Then:
"Because you chose to stop running."
Toby nodded.
"And because apparently getting beaten up repeatedly in imaginary mountain ranges builds character."
I smiled.
They were right.
I hadn't climbed some twisted ladder made of abuse and suffering.
Derek hadn't built me.
He hadn't fixed me.
He wasn't secretly responsible for whatever I became.
I'd climbed out because people helped me.
Because I worked.
Because I finally started choosing what I wanted to become.
Friends.
Guidance.
Training.
And, apparently...
an unreasonable number of supernatural rifles.