Timothy barreled forward.
Niko danced forward, feinting left, then right. He lashed out with a foot. Timothy shoved it down, hard. A sharp knife of pain spiked into Niko’s foot. He backed away.
Timothy struck, throwing punches, each blurring with energy. If Niko tried to block them, he might end up with a broken arm. Timothy wasn’t pulling punches, not a single one. Instead, Niko dodged them, but didn’t attack.
Timothy turned his head to the side and hurled more energy at him. This time, Niko could see ram horns forming in the energy. He leaned away, letting the energy roar past him.
There was no way he was going to win. He wanted to land at least one punch, though, so he could walk away with some dignity. Getting close to Timothy was going to be rough. He had the first Studies of Sanguine, definitely, which confirmed Niko’s suspicions that he was a Venus Belt. Ram Strength. Ram Speed. And Head Butt.
Niko sprinted forward, igniting Twin Damage and letting Timothy see exactly what he was doing. The Sanguine Artist was fast enough to block his real fist and one of his prana hands, but the third fist drove home into Timothy’s face.
It wasn’t nearly good enough to do much damage.
Timothy reared back and clocked Niko in the face. He was sent down to the clean tiles, his hand striking the smooth surface.
Timothy wiped at his nose. No blood. There wouldn’t be. The Sanguine had prana coursing through his entire body, toughening every cell.
Niko, though, felt the salty warmth spill down his top lip and into his mouth. He stood, turned, and spit it onto the pavement beside the tiles.
Marjory called out, “Timothy wins!”
“How’d I do?” Niko asked.
Everyone burst out laughing. Timothy sobered first. “Okay, who wants to critique Niko K.?”
All their hands shot up.
The gate creaked open. Barton Hennessey himself entered. He was going to hear every word as the critique group tore Niko apart.
The Critique
BARTON HENNESSEY WALKED over to stand with the others.
Niko lifted his shirt to wipe away more blood. He didn’t have a broken nose. The flow had ebbed. However, he was exposing his flabby gut to everyone, including the Battle Artist agent. He dropped his shirt.
Barton grinned. Tall, thin, he was impeccably dressed in black pants and a maroon shirt, the sleeves rolled up. Sandy brown hair, perfectly trimmed as if cut by diamonds, swept back from a face with a pointed nose and small eyes. “You guys sure don’t take it easy on the newbs.”
Niko spoke first. “Mr. Hennessey, if I’m not bleeding, I’m not having fun. They’re fine. They were about to help me out.”
Timothy had his hands behind his head. His face was unmarked. It was like Niko had never even socked him at all. “I’ll go first. You didn’t know what Studies I’ve mastered. You were going to let me come at you, thinking I’m a First Study Sanguine. Wrong approach. You can’t assume anything. A good Artist will force assumptions on you. Our second rule here is don’t be stupid.”
Marjory marched forward. “Our first rule is technique equals victory. You don’t even have the basics. That’s why you’re bleeding. So, I’m guessing you’re a First Study Quintessence, Mercury Belt, with a weak prana. If you’re going to spar with us, you are going to have to improve. Or, I’m sorry, I won’t fight you. I don’t want to kill anyone. In my honest opinion, you’re not ready.”
There was only one correct response, and that was to thank them. He wanted to argue with her, to justify himself, to protest that he was just getting back into the Arts. He couldn’t. Simple as that.
“Thank you,” Niko said.
Both Timothy and Marjory went around and around, offering advice on improving his technique.
You must breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. Breath control. Body control. Knees bent, not rigid.
You must visualize the energy flowing through your body, to every cell.
Feel your prana in your fingertips and toenails.
Imagine your bones are made of lightning.
You must hold onto your prana tightly, but not too tightly.
It was like being stabbed, slowly, with a very rusty dagger.
He glanced at Barton.
The agent laughed. “Don’t look at me. They’re your critique group. Andrew J. Coffey recommended you, but he won’t be here to defend you. That’s not why I’m here either. But what do you think, Henry?”
Shame went through Niko. Shame, humiliation, that terrible knife, carving into his dreams.
Henry tilted his head, walked out, and walked around Niko. “I agree with what everyone has said, except for Marjory. I think Niko is ready. He went all in on that last punch. He has spirit. Hell, he’s here. We’ll see if he comes back. Marjory is right. He needs to cycle his prana, reinforce his sharira, or this could all end up in the hospital. Or the morgue.” Henry stopped in front of Niko. “I can see in your eyes you’re serious. I like that.”
It was clear Henry was going to be the easy one in the group. He returned to the loading dock.
“Thank you,” Niko said.
Diana came forward, shaking her head and frowning. “He’s quick. But there wasn’t much defense. When Timothy went after him with the punches, he didn’t try and raise his hands to protect himself. That’s pretty basic. I was surprised.”
Again, Niko wanted to argue that if he’d tried to block the punches, Timothy would’ve broken his arms. And here she was, saying his skills were basic, when she had trouble with the Scale Sword she’d manifested.
“Thank you,” was all he said.
Diana retreated back to the wall.
Seo-yun was next. “Yes, there was the mistake at first, when Timothy used his Third Study Head Butt. But what worries me more was his kick. It was a quick movement, and he didn’t try it again. I hope he’s not a fighter that tries one thing and then gives up on it. He should’ve tried his kick again. As for his Twin Damage, he tried to hide it, but failed.”
Seo-yun was off on everything. Niko knew his kicks were his weakest attack. Trying it again? No. Timothy would’ve snapped off his foot. His only hope had been the Twin Damage, which worked well enough to knock Timothy back. It hadn’t failed.
Niko held his tongue. “Thank you.”
“Do you have anything to add?” Timothy asked.
Barton was the next to walk out. Like Henry, he glided around Niko while he spoke. “The first rule of the Battle Arts? Technique is everything. If your technique is flawless, you will win battles. If you win battles, you’ll get fans. And with fans, you’ll get representation. With representation, you’ll get contracts. Everything else is flash. Flash without substance is nothing.”
“Thank you,” Niko whispered.
The agent wasn’t done. “Perfect technique draws the least amount of prana for the greatest effect. Breathing, visualization, feeling the power are all critical. The best Artists that fight for me can punch through a brick wall and use less than a percentage point of prana to do it.”
Barton stepped in front of Niko. “You like the grandstand play. Against Stan, your little display at the end was all about flash. That final punch you threw at Timothy, nothing but flash. That will win you some fair-weather fans, yes, but you can’t build a career on that. Technique is everything. When I scouted you in high school, you were on your way. In a few more years, if you listen to Timothy and the others, you might be ready for something more than events like”—he paused to laugh—“MudCon.”
Marjory grunted and shook her head, disgusted.
Barton spun away from Niko. He walked across the tiles. “But I can’t say who belongs and who doesn’t. This is your critique group. I’m just here to help out when I can. Like tonight. I’m actually here to talk to you, Seo-yun. You’re going to have to choose. No one, in the history of the LBA, has ever won at the Grand Tournament as a dual-classed cusp. You’re going to have to choose. Or leave the group.”
The s
potlight went from Niko to Seo-yun. She withered. “But I’ve made such progress. I’ve mastered the Sunfire First and Second Studies, and the Second Study in Gravitas. I can show you.”
Timothy took over. “Sorry, Seo-yun, we’ve been warning you. It’s not viable, not in this day and age. The corporations are looking to field teams, a full Zodiac, and when you’re a cusp, you don’t fit in. You don’t have to stay with us. There are other critique groups. We just want what’s best for you and your career.”
“I’ll have to think about it,” Seo-yun said softly.
Niko had known all of his life that being a cusp was a handicap, and that you had to choose one or the other. You couldn’t find an agency or a corporation that would back you if you tried to be a true cusp. He was glad he’d stuck with Quintessence. While Luna was powerful, it required perfect technique. With other Battle Signs, you could get by on shoddy prana usage and fight effectively. Not so with Luna. At lower levels, you could do the simple Studies, but as you advanced, the way narrowed.
Fortunately, people born as Cancers, June 21–July 22, could find work in a variety of fields, since their power was all about prana evaluation and manipulation. A lot of Luna Artists turned into Arena Masters or Assistants. There was also plenty of work for them in the medical industry.
Niko didn’t like the tension in the parking lot, nor how pinched his insides felt. It all felt wrong.
Barton put his hands on his hips. “I’m sure you’ll make the right decision, Seo-yun. For now, why don’t you spar next? Let’s see if you can keep your mind sharp when we’ve just dropped an atomic bomb on you.”
That felt unfair. Seo-yun might have great concentration, yet it would be hard to fight now that her whole career was in jeopardy. The truth was, if she walked away, Barton would remember her, and everyone knew, agents talked, corporations talked, and the Battle Arts was a small, tight community, especially at the professional level.
Barton grinned. “I’ll give you a minute to collect yourself. I think the rest of you need to vote to see if you want to keep Niko. He’s a First Study Mercury Belt. He used to be a Mars Belt, back in high school, but he had some sort of injury. Then he bailed.”
“Why did you bail?” Timothy asked.
Henry shook his head, blinking. “He doesn’t have to say. It’s not about the past. It’s about the eternal now.”
Niko took in a deep breath to relax his twisted guts. “I don’t mind. My family owns an electronics repair business in Apricot. They needed me.” He left out his accident and all the family drama. Pete’s trouble with responsibility. Aleksy abandoning them.
“So what changed now?” Marjory asked.
“This is my dream,” Niko said. “What else should I be doing with my life? Selling shoes?” It was something Teddy had once told him, in high school, when Niko had been worried about throwing his life away on a stupid dream.
He expected laughter. No laughter. They must only giggle when he was bleeding on the ground. That was fine. He’d show them he was serious. And if they voted him out? He’d find other people to train with.
Henry nodded. “That’s why we’re all here. The dream. I vote he stays.”
Mamo Kowalczyk’s words floated through Niko’s mind. A dream is a wonderful, terrible thing.
Marjory hissed out her disgust. “No, not him. There’s about a hundred other people I could name right now that are better. They deserve the privilege of this critique group.”
Ouch.
“Let’s give him another chance. Maybe we can do six months’ probation?” Diana suggested.
“That’s a yes,” Timothy shot back. “Seo-yun?”
“Am I even still in the group?” she asked.
“If you want to be. You’ll just have to focus on one sign. Come on,” Barton said. For not being a part of the group, he sure did wield a lot of control.
“Then I vote he stays.” She gave him a soft look, the first one. “We cusps have to stick together.”
That made Niko grin. This all felt impossibly terrible. He’d lost count of the yeses and nos.
Timothy shrugged. “Marjory and I are outvoted. I wouldn’t keep him. So, Niko, you have a tough climb ahead of you. We’re not going to make it easy on you.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” Barton said. “The next BCBA Quarterly Con is in three months. I think he can stay until then, and he should fight there, against one of you. If Niko wins, he stays. If he loses, I’ll rep the Artist who beats him.”
Niko couldn’t imagine fighting at such a big event as the BCBA after just getting back into the game. And he’d be fighting for his career there.
Henry widened his eyes. “Wow. Niko, he just signed your death warrant. Even I’d smack you down, and I like you.”
A realization hit Niko. Barton hadn’t signed anyone in the Premiers Critique Group. Niko didn’t know the history of the critique group, but he’d call Teddy and they could do a little research. The competition among them had just ratcheted up a notch.
And Niko’s head had been placed firmly on the chopping block.
Seo-yun fought next, sparring against Henry. Both were SunFires, which meant there was a lot of flaming fists, and both moved in bursts of fiery speed. First and Second Studies, surely. Niko could see Seo-yun struggling because she was used to adding a Gravitas Second Study to her repertoire. Now, she didn’t dare to use Gravitas. Both were Venus Belts.
Henry got some distance and hurled a Burning Lance, but Seo-yun was fast enough to dodge it. She kept things close, after that, until she leapt, filled her foot with burning prana, and landed her foot against Henry’s head. He staggered and went down on one knee.
Marjory called it. Seo-yun won.
Her victory was amazing, especially after the news she’d been given. The Korean woman was tough, mentally, but she was also an amazing fighter. Ironically, however, with a Second Study Gravitas, she could’ve ended the fight far sooner.
Could Niko blame them for forcing her to choose? Barton Hennessey was watching them spar, had offered to represent one of them, and seemed very interested in all their careers. It was their best shot at getting a contract with a corporation.
Niko thought of the deal the agent had made with them. If Niko won, he’d get to stay in the critique group. He wouldn’t get the offer for representation. That was fine. Niko knew you had to pay your dues, you had to work the system, and it took years to get anywhere. Yes, he was getting older, but if his technique was flawless, he’d get more powerful, no matter how old.
Battle Artists, the true Artists, only got better with age, relying less on their sharira for attacks and translating their prana into pure power.
The Pranad said, Wisdom requires wrinkles.
Leaning against the wall, watching, Niko had a sobering thought. What if he fought Seo-yun in three months? If she didn’t use her Gravitas Study, she’d only have her Sunfire First and Second Study. If he could level, they’d be at the same belt. With Wochick’s vapes, and maybe with some additional tinctures, he might be able to regain his Mars Belt in three months. That was probably a fantasy. Even if he did, he’d be a Mars Belt against a Venus Belt. Odds were, his technique would only improve a little. Enough not to die, maybe.
Yet, beating her would make him feel bad. She’d voted to keep him.
Niko sighed. He was living in the future again. It was all lies. Only that moment mattered.
He glanced at Barton. The agent had said a cusp had never won at the LBA Grand Tournament. That wasn’t the truth. Just the other day, Niko and Teddy had talked about Franklin Wash, a Jupiter Belt cusp who fought in the 1930s.
Why would Barton Hennessey say such a thing if it were a lie?
The Midnight Conversation
NIKO COATED INTO THE alley behind the Fix-It Shoppe and locked up his bike. His legs were shaky, he was dizzy, and beyond exhausted. He’d cycled a bit more of the drode on the train into Apricot despite how tired he was. Yet, he had to cycle again before he went to bed. The ide
a of another Duodecim made him cringe.
It was nearly midnight.
Teddy came out of the back of the Punjab Conveniently and threw a bag into the dumpster. He was careful to quietly lift and close the lid, not banging like he usually did, since it was so late. A cold mist hung in the alley, helping with the smell. It was more foggy than garbage-y.
Niko was surprised. “Teddy, what are you doing?”
Teddy paused at the door. “Old Man Singh called me in to work the late shift. I was already hanging out, waiting for you to get back, and I figured I might as well get paid.”
“What if you’d gotten a call for the Fix-It?”
Teddy stuck a thumb over his shoulder. “I have to cover the front. Come around and let’s talk. And yeah, if I’d gotten a call, it might have complicated things, but it’s been quiet. Besides, worst-case scenario, I call you and they have to wait.”
Niko let slip a frustrated grunt. “You’re going Pete on me. And we can’t have that.”
“Ouch.” Teddy touched his chest. “Why must you be so hurtful?” He ducked back into the convenience store.
Niko met him at the front. Teddy sat on a high stool behind the cash register, perched there, sipping on a sixty-four-ounce soda. That would be Diet Mountain Dew, keeping him awake, because he’d be captaining the store until after two.
Niko took up his position, leaning across the counter, between the plastic jar of beef sticks, a stand selling vapes, and a tip jar on the other side. It was 7-Eleven chic, fluorescent lights, antiseptic scents, and the whiff of coolant from the fridges. It was the fine bouquet of packaged, processed foods, with a hint of danger because the Punjab had been robbed recently.
Teddy was trying to recover from Niko’s barbed words. “Comparing me to Pete is cruel and unusual. Yes, I might have had a lapse of judgement, but don’t get mean.”
Niko shook his head and coughed out a single laugh. “It’s fine. Wednesday nights should be pretty chill. And Pete is around.”
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