"Okay." Darryl heard Asta call out from somewhere above him. He stood on the small earthen platform he had shaped himself, trying not to wobble. "Since somebody thinks he's a genius and doesn't have the patience to master what he already knows, I guess I have no choice but to kick-start your most important training."
Darryl swallowed, resisting the urge to scratch at the black blindfold tied firmly over his eyes. He couldn't see a thing, and somehow, that made Asta's voice sound even worse. It wasn't coming from one direction. It was everywhere. Above him, behind him, beside him, like the captain was speaking from every corner of the field at once.
'He's probably moving super fast again. You can't fool me, Captain,' Darryl thought nervously.
Asta's voice echoed again. "Before we begin, why don't you, Darryl, explain to our lovely audience, the beautiful Miss Emilia, what Ki is. You know… the thing I explained to you three times this morning."
A drop of sweat slid beneath the blindfold and vanished. Darryl's mind scrambled, flipping through the memory like a messy notebook. He barely remembered the exact words Asta had used.
"Uhm… okay. Here I go." He lifted his chin. "Ki is the bodily energy people give off. From… from how they look, no, how they move. Their breathing. Their footsteps. Their scent. Even the tension in their muscles." As he spoke, the explanation settled into place, the memory becoming clearer. He straightened a little. "It's all of that together."
There was a pause.
Then Asta spoke again. "Huh. Not bad. And here I thought you weren't listening. I only said it once, not three times, and you still remembered." His voice grew suspicious. "You're starting to creep me out, kid."
Darryl couldn't help the grin that stretched across his face.
A firm hand suddenly landed on his shoulder, making him jump. "Feel that Ki," Asta said, his tone shifting back to serious instruction. "Sense it. Move according to what you perceive. And stop grinning, you look gross."
Darryl let out an exaggerated whine. "Captain!"
"With enough mastery, you can even sense natural objects, and eventually nature itself. But that's not what we're working on today."
The hand on Darryl's shoulder disappeared, and suddenly Asta was nowhere. Or everywhere. Darryl couldn't tell. The blindfold over his eyes felt twice as suffocating now.
"Today," Asta continued, voice drifting around him like a phantom, "we're going to introduce you to the feeling of Ki… by hitting you with rocks until you learn it. And you better learn it… or you'll die."
Darryl let out a strained chuckle. "C'mon, Captain, you're joking, right? That was a joke… right?"
Silence.
A deep, unfriendly silence.
"Righ-Oof!"
Something crashed into his stomach with brutal force. Pain exploded across his midsection, first a sharp punch of impact, then a heavy, settling ache that made his knees buckle.
"Hah..!" Darryl wheezed, clutching at his abdomen. "Th-that hurt. I… wasn't ready."
"Life doesn't work that way, kid," Asta's voice murmured, this time right in front of him.
"Gah!"
Pain erupted across Darryl's back as another stone struck him, knocking the air out of his lungs.
"It sure as hell didn't wait for me to be ready," Asta said, voice sharp. "And it's not going to wait for you. Use your senses, Darryl. All of them."
Darryl sucked in a slow, trembling breath. His body screamed at him to curl into a ball, to protect himself, but he forced his shoulders back instead. He couldn't defend what he couldn't sense. He had to try.
He heard a faint whistling from the left and instinctively darted right.
"Gah!" The rock slammed into his knee, sending a spike of agony up his leg.
"Not just your ears, Darryl!" Asta barked. "You have to feel it."
Darryl nodded quickly, straightening despite the throbbing pain spreading through his limbs. He braced himself, letting every sound, every shift of air, every subtle ripple wash over him.
"Gah!"
Another hit. His shoulder jerked back.
"Guh!"
A sharp strike against his ribs.
"Bwuh!"
A rock clipped his jaw, making stars sparkle behind his blindfold.
A hundred and twenty-eight rocks later, Darryl was shaking, his breath shallow and ragged as he fought to hold back tears. Every inch of his body throbbed; each bruise pulsed like a tiny heartbeat under his skin.
"I guess that's it for today, kid," Asta finally said. There was a faint hint of disappointment in his voice, barely there, but unmistakable.
"No. No… I can do it. I can do it, captain!" Darryl forced out, desperation leaking into every word.
"Nah," Asta replied. "You need rest. And besides, I'm all out of rocks to throw. We'll pick this up when you're back in shape. You're sporting some serious welts."
Darryl exhaled shakily and stepped off the earthen platform. "Yes, captain…" He raised a hand toward the blindfold and began to pull it loose.
And then, he suddenly felt the urge to move out of the way.
He ducked.
Boom!
The ground erupted beside him, the shockwave rattling his teeth. Dust exploded upward, showering him in grit. Darryl yanked off the blindfold, and froze.
A fresh crater had been gouged into the wall just inches from where his skull had been. A single rock sat in its center, still trembling from the force of impact.
"'Genius' doesn't even start to cover it," Asta said suddenly, standing beside him as if he'd materialized from thin air. Darryl had no idea when he'd moved.
"You went and learned it in a single day. And just yesterday you got your broom and started flying. You're pretty amazing, you know."
Darryl's eye twitched violently. "That would have killed me!"
Asta burst into loud, unapologetic laughter. "Well, at least we know your Ki sense works perfectly when your life is in serious danger!"
Darryl groaned, rubbing his face. "I want to be able to use it at will. Like you."
"You will…" Asta said, ruffling his hair with a firm, reassuring hand. "I know you will."
---
"Aaarrrggghhh!" Darryl screamed, both hands flying to his face as white-hot pain tore through his eyes. 'My eyes! My eyes! My eyes!'
He staggered backward, tripping over his own feet before crashing onto the ground. His short sword slipped from his grasp and clattered uselessly beside him.
"Damnit!" the older man from the Eighth Battalion barked somewhere ahead, followed by a heavy thud and a strained groan.
"Killick!" another voice cried out, thick with fear.
'The assassin… he's going to kill everyone!' Darryl's thoughts spiraled in panic as he writhed on the dirt, blind and helpless.
Instinct jolted through him, and he rolled aside just before forcing himself upright, hands still clamped to his burning eyes. 'I'm going to die. Everyone is going to die. Captain, please… save us. You said you'd be watching over us…'
He hesitated.
'That's right… Captain said he'd keep an eye on us. But he isn't here. Why? Is his battle worse than he expected? Is this a test? What am I supposed to do? I can't see. I… I'll never see again.'
Screams from the mages pierced the air, sharp and terrified. His chest tightened.
'Everyone is in danger. They're all going to die… Miss Emilia, she's hurt. She's going to die. Captain gave me one job, to protect everyone. And they're all going to die.'
A sudden spike of dread stabbed through his senses.
Darryl didn't have time to think.
He flipped backward, rolling across the ground as his hands finally tore away from his face, reacting to a threat he couldn't see but could feel closing in.
(At least we know your Ki sense works perfectly when your life is in danger.)
(I want to be able to use it at will, like you.)
(You will… I know you will.)
"Stop!" Darryl shouted.
The word ripped out of him, and the room fell into an unnatural silence.
Then he felt faint pricks at the edges of his mind, like distant sparks. Scattered points of light pulsed around him.
"Stop, assassin!" he barked again.
He focused on the lights hard, and immediately felt one shift, darting closer. Darryl threw himself to the right, a thin burn slicing across his cheek as a dagger skimmed past.
The prick of light swelled slightly as he concentrated. 'Still blurry…'
It lunged at him again.
In an instant, the light stretched, rushing toward him like a spear. Time thickened, slowing to syrup around Darryl.
Mana swirled inside his chest.
Energy surged outward, racing down his legs and into the ground. Unseen waves of magic rippled across the floor, spreading forward like a shockwave. They washed through the entire room, passing beneath every foot and boot, climbing up the ankles and legs of everyone standing.
The assassin was no exception. The wave raced up his body, into the arm holding the dagger now aimed directly at Darryl's heart.
Darryl pivoted aside just as the blade thrust forward. The assassin's momentum carried him through empty air, slipping past where Darryl had stood an instant before.
Darryl turned toward him, slow and deliberate, blood trailing from his sliced eyelids and dripping down his cheeks like crimson tears.
The assassin skid to a halt, boots scraping against stone as he twisted sharply, clearly shocked that his strike had missed. Darryl felt the prick of that light shift again, sharpening, narrowing with the promise of danger.
He didn't need eyes to know the man was glaring at him.
In fact, he didn't need eyes at all.
He could see the assassin's outline, clearer than sight, sharper than memory. He knew exactly how far the man was from him, how many steps he needed to close the distance, even the man's weight just from the pressure he applied to the stone floor.
Anything connected to the earth appeared to him vividly, etched into a mental landscape of shifting vibrations and echoes. And that wasn't counting the other sense blooming inside him, the scattered sparks of Ki filling the room. Every frightened breath. Every trembling heartbeat. Every flicker of life.
Combined together, and Darryl was seeing the world from a whole new perspective.
'Emilia's okay!' he cheered internally, relief washing through him. Her heartbeat, was steady, unlike the prisoners, whose frantic pulses hammered against the floor. He forced himself not to dwell on the difference.
He had no time.
The assassin drew Darryl's attention again, a short man, but built lean and tightly corded with muscle. Thirteen blades on him. Two longer than the others. Liquid in the left pouch, probably poison. A weighted chain around his ankle.
Darryl swallowed. 'I want to scream… but if I try to talk again, I'll cry or puke.'
He took a step back... And the assassin moved instantly.
A blur of killing intent crashed toward him, but Darryl was already reacting. His back hand whipped upward, slapping the dagger-wielding arm aside as he pivoted cleanly out of the way.
The assassin expected that.
A second blade snapped forward, jutting from a hidden sheath on his wrist.
But Darryl already knew. He'd felt the tension coil in the man's arm before it even moved. He dipped his head, letting the blade whistle harmlessly above him, then twisted his body and brought his heel down sharply onto the assassin's knee, just as the man tried to drive it into Darryl's gut.
All of it happened in under two seconds.
Darryl shifted his weight, bracing himself against the leg still pressing on the assassin's knee. Pulses danced across his skin like heat, guiding him.
The assassin murmured something under his breath but Darryl both heard and felt his words. "What the fuck?"
The assassin leaped backwards, and Darryl didn't pursue, his closed eyes following him.
Suddenly the air changed, as the assassin seemed to take a deep breath. Then he looked directly at Darryl while tilting his head. The air charged with lethal intention.
---
The chamber fell into a heavy silence as the two figures regarded one another, each waiting for the other to move first.
The assassin broke the stillness.
He leaned forward and exploded into a sprint, crossing the distance in three sharp steps before launching himself into the air. His dagger shot out in a straight, calculated thrust aimed directly for Darryl's heart.
Darryl slid one foot back and arched his upper body just enough for the blade to whistle past his chest. Before the assassin even landed, Darryl stepped to the side, letting the man surge past him.
But the assassin flowed with the momentum, spinning sharply. One of the longer daggers flashed into his hand as he whipped it backward in a wide, cutting arc.
Darryl shifted again, barely a movement, his body slipping out of reach as if he knew the strike was coming long before it began. A second glint of metal followed as a short dagger flew toward his head, but Darryl simply tilted his head and felt the blade rush past his cheek.
Now dual-wielding his two longest daggers, the assassin lunged.
He became a flurry of motion, arms slashing up, down, across, stabbing forward with ruthless precision. Even his legs joined the assault, knees and kicks fired off between attacks to break Darryl's balance.
Yet Darryl avoided every strike with minimal effort. A small step back here. A lean to the side there. His movements were almost lazy and efficient, unhurried, as if he anticipated each attack before it began.
The assassin slashed again, and Darryl raised his forearm, catching the man's wrist and redirecting the blade harmlessly away.
The assassin used the contact to twist, spinning into a sudden high kick meant for Darryl's head.
A sharp gust brushed Darryl's face as the leg missed him by inches, he had already moved, slipping out of range like he'd simply stepped out of someone's shadow.
The assassin landed lightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he lunged again with a straight stab.
This time, Darryl didn't retreat.
He caught the assassin's wrist, pushed it downward decisively, and then drove his shoulder forward in a powerful, controlled check that sent the assassin stumbling back.
The assassin's movements grew more impatient. He snapped out a kick, then another, then a third in rapid succession.
Darryl dipped under the first, slid aside from the second, and stepped back just far enough for the third to cut through empty air.
Then the assassin shifted. He dropped into a low sprinting stance, muscles coiling, posture tightening.
And in the next instant, he was gone.
He burst forward in a razor-straight line, speed blurring his outline into nothing more than a streak of motion.
But Darryl had already moved.
It was subtle, so subtle it almost looked like coincidence, but he had stepped aside before the assassin even lunged, already knowing the exact moment the man's muscles would fire.
The assassin didn't slow. He hit the wall feet-first, rebounded in an instant, shot upward to the ceiling, pushed off again, and then struck the wall behind Darryl. He was so fast that even the spectators didn't realize he had ever left the first wall.
And Darryl… was still facing that first wall.
Still looking the wrong direction.
The assassin lunged for Darryl's exposed back, dagger drawn for a lethal strike.
And then to the assassin, his hand suddenly grew ten times bigger as it filled the assassin's vision.
Only one person saw what truly happened.
Emilia, still lying on the ground, watched with wide, disbelieving eyes as Darryl suddenly pivoted halfway around. His arm stretched out in a smooth, almost lazy motion, then wrapped around the assassin's wrist mid-thrust, coiling around the arm that held the dagger and in the same breath, clamped firmly over the assassin's face.
All of it done without Darryl ever fully turning.
All of it done while he was still looking the wrong way.
With a low grunt, Darryl twisted at the waist and hauled the assassin into a full-body spin. Momentum whipped the man off his feet, and Darryl brought him crashing down with such force that the stone floor fractured beneath the impact.
Before the dust even settled, the ground beneath them softened like clay. The assassin sank waist-deep in an instant, then chest-deep, until only his head remained above the surface. The stone hardened again with a dull crack.
The assassin was trapped. Completely immobilized.
The chamber remained utterly silent. From the first step of their standoff to the moment the assassin was pinned, barely thirty seconds had passed.
Darryl's knees buckled beneath him, and he collapsed onto his backside. His breaths came uneven and shaky, his chest rising and falling in trembling waves.
One of the prisoners finally dared to look around. Seeing no more threats, he scrambled to his feet and bolted for the exit. That single movement broke whatever trance the others were in. One by one, they rushed past Darryl and Emilia in a panicked wave, fleeing into the hallway beyond.
Darryl didn't even have the strength to call after them. He simply exhaled, long and exhausted, then let himself fall flat onto his back.
Only then did he notice it, the faint point of light still standing a few feet away.
Through his earth sense, he felt the outline: a girl, slightly taller than him, standing perfectly still. Watching.
Slowly, Darryl pushed himself upright and turned in her direction so she would know he was facing her. The girl stepped back a little, a subtle shift that told him she was nervous.
"Hi," he said softly.
"Hi," she replied, equally unsure.
"Darryl." Emilia's voice called from behind him. He turned to see her struggling to stand, her body unsteady but determined. "Are you… alright? What happened to the assassin?"
"Emilia!" he shouted, rushing forward and pulling her into a tight embrace. Relief washed through him in heavy waves. "You're okay. You're okay." He repeated the words over and over, as if saying them enough would make them true. "The assassin… he's defeated. I beat him."
She wrapped her arms around him, her own trembling evident. "You did? That's… amazing. And seriously creepy. I think Asta might be right about you."
"Not you too," Darryl laughed, though his voice cracked slightly as tears streamed freely down his face. "And it's Captain, not Asta."
"No way," she said firmly, pulling back just enough to look at him. "I'm sorry I couldn't help you in the fight."
Darryl shook his head, pressing a hand gently against her shoulder. "No… it's alright. I'm just glad you're okay."
Her eyes widened, fear and concern flashing across her face. "Darryl… your eyes."
He swallowed hard, trying to push past the pain that still burned behind his eyelids. "It's… it's fine. I'll be okay. I… I won without them, so I… I…" His voice broke completely as fresh tears streamed down his cheeks. "I'll never see again."
"Darryl…" Emilia stepped closer, her voice soft but resolute. "There is a way… I can heal your eyes. I've kept it for myself in case I was ever injured, but… for you, I can do it now. If we act soon."
He shook his head weakly. "Emilia… you don't have to..."
"Let me do this. Please," she interrupted, kneeling in front of him. Her hands hovered over his face, steady and sure despite the tension. "I wasn't able to help in the fight, so let me help you now. It's going to be very painful. Are you ready?"
Darryl exhaled shakily, trying to steady himself. "Yeah… I'm ready. Thank you… Emilia."
"No problem," Emilia said softly, opening her palm to reveal a small, glimmering bubble. Inside it floated a sigil, something that would make even the most hardened veterans in Noxus blanch in disgust.
She raised the bubble slowly and rested it gently on Darryl's left eye.
A sharp spasm ran through his body as pain ripped across his face. His limbs shook uncontrollably, every muscle tensing as if his body were resisting the magic.
Emilia didn't flinch. She used the moment to bring forth another bubble, identical in shape and glow, and carefully placed it on his right eye.
Darryl's trembling intensified, his body quivering violently against her hands. Emilia held him firmly, her voice steady and calm. "It's alright, Darryl. You're alright. I'm here. Emilia's here."
Gradually, the spasms subsided. His body sagged against hers as she gently guided him forward, placing a reassuring hand on his back.
His eyes itched uncontrollably. Against his better judgment, he rubbed them, and as he did, a sudden, heavy presence slammed into his senses from deeper within the building.
It was unmistakable. The weight of the aura was immense, unmistakably his captain.
Darryl opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the lingering sting. One eye glimmered green, the other red, a vivid testament to the lingering effects of Emilia's sigil.
He barely managed a whisper, voice thick with awe and relief. "Captain…"