PROVING GROUND

Will's armored boots thudded against the concrete floor as he approached the training hall. His mech suit rattled with every step; his hasty reassembly was barely passable as he rushed to make it just in time.

Stepping into the hall, he saw Damian standing in the middle of the ring, his arms folded in front of him. Will scowled and quickly approached the ring, ready to complain about the rush job—but he was stopped in his tracks when he felt the dangerous aura emanating from Damian. His field poured off of him, his signature on full display as it filled the ring. Twin blades rested on his hip, clinking softly, eager to be drawn.

Will gulped, a step away from entering, hesitating to go in.

"What's wrong? Not coming forward?" Damian asked.

"Not while you look like you want to bite my head off," Will replied warily.

"You'll be in the field soon," Damian's voice was flat. "The people you'll face are older, stronger, smarter, and a hell of a lot more experienced."

Will swallowed, his heart racing.

"So are you gonna just stand there, or show me that you're ready to fight them?" Damian challenged.

Letting out a nervous breath, Will stepped into the ring. The mech's servos whirred in his ear as he walked. The suit was sleeker than before—Will had discarded most of the protective plating for speed. Now it hugged him close, more like an exosuit than a mech. He moved in and stood facing Damian.

Damian's stance was loose, with many openings, but none felt real. All feints to draw him in. They stared at each other for a tense moment—Damian giving him an appraising look, while Will remained tense and jittery. Finally, giving up on capitalizing on an opening, Will lunged forward.

He was immediately hit with a wall of field that sent his teeth chattering. Gasping, he flailed as the hall seemed to spin. He somehow made a fist, his training kicking in, and threw it toward Damian, who deflected it with a lazy flick of his wrist.

Will gritted his teeth and channeled his own field, wrapping it tightly around him. The field generators weren't fully up to the task of filtering out the enemy field as the mech struggled to give him proper coverage without drawing on extra power.

Will adjusted his footing and came at Damian again. His fist came in fast, sending a flurry of blows—right, left, an uppercut—all of which his cousin nonchalantly redirected without moving an inch from his position.

The constant field pouring off his cousin strengthened, and Will clenched his teeth as it seeped into his mech. He would need a lot better calibration next time. Will moved in close and feinted a low hook, which Damian countered, only to be faced with a haymaker.

A small smile tugged at Damian's lips, and the pressure from his field suddenly shifted, throwing Will's balance off as he overextended. Will stumbled forward—too slow to dodge Damian's follow-up, and a solid punch landed in his mid-section, the same feinted blow Will had set up. The mech buckled as if slammed by a truck, and Will was sent hurtling three meters across the ring, clattering to the solid concrete floor.

"You'll have to do a lot better than that," Damian laughed.

Groaning, Will climbed to his feet, unsteady and wobbly for a long moment as he caught his breath, the punch knocking the wind out of him. Glancing up, he saw Damian still standing there, judging, assessing, his field radiating off him, prickling Will's senses even from this distance.

Gritting his teeth, Will pushed his field to his feet, propelling himself forward. Each pulse to his legs pushed off the floor, and Will burst forth with renewed speed. Damian raised an eyebrow as he watched him dart in and out of his field range, baiting for an opening.

"Now when did you pick that up?" he asked, drawing one of his swords from its scabbard.

Will's heart skipped a beat as Damian lined one of the twin blades in his direction. Despite his reservations, Will charged forward. A sharp clang rang out as metal fist hit tempered steel. The blade rang with a crisp ting as it redirected the blow. Will sped faster, pushing himself, and sent another punch—but the blade still found his fist. A series of clangs rang out as Damian blocked every punch, kick, and elbow. A thin layer of field coated the blade, encasing it in a protective field, and the only metal chipping away was from Will's metal fingers.

"You've got to be kidding," Will exclaimed, frustrated.

Damian grinned, and there was a low thrum as his signature burst forth once more. The field grew in strength and size, and Will felt his skin tingle as something terror-inducing rose out of the subspace. It wasn't overwhelming like Lawson's, but something sharp and cutting that left you teetering on the abyss.

Will felt his own field pour out in response, clashing against the sharp, oppressive weight of Damian's aura.

"Signature modulation," Damian said simply. "You've been doing it unconsciously all this time—but now, it's time you learned to control it."

Will let out a shaky breath and grabbed hold of his field. A pulse starting from his feet surged up his legs, through his torso, and into his fist—which he sent flying toward Damian.

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The fist met blade with a boom, and for the first time, the sword was blown back, forcing Damian to take a single step backward. Sensing the change in tempo, Will burst forth, trying to catch his cousin off guard—but the sword snaked its way back in an instant. Damian aligned the blade almost parallel to his eyes—and the weapon vanished from sight.

"Shit!" Will panicked as the blade came for his head and he had to dive out of the way.

"Any more bright ideas?" Damian chuckled.

Will batted aside Damian's probing strikes and found himself panting from the exertion. His reserves were dipping low from the constant pressure. Damian was forcing him to keep burning through his energy just to counter the signature—and soon, he'd run out.

"At this rate, you won't even last five minutes," Damian chided, bringing his sword in a shallow arc. Will had to lean back, scrambling to get away. Half-formed images flickered at the edges of his vision, and Will felt his shard draw him into the mental world once again.

Damian paused, seeing Will's sudden sluggishness. "Is it back?"

"Yes!" Will gasped.

Tendrils of shadow were reaching out to him from a great distance, and he had to cycle his field, scattering the threads before they could connect.

"From now on, you'll be fighting two battles during combat," Damian stated. "Lose focus on one, and the other will overwhelm you. So don't lose focus."

Damian brought his blade forward, and Will clumsily deflected it with his metal forearm. It didn't stop there—the blade came for him again and again in a flurry of blows. Will kept up a razor-thin pace, dodging and deflecting while severing any connections made toward his shard.

Will sent another field-empowered punch toward Damian, but this time his cousin wasn't so forgiving. Redirecting the blow, Damian grabbed him by the arm and slammed him to the floor.

Will wheezed, the air knocked out of him. The slam was so violent it even managed to break the shadowy threads reaching for his shard.

"Again," Damian ordered.

Coughing, Will struggled to his feet. Cycling through his dwindling reserves, he forced his field around him.

"Brute force isn't going to cut it," Damian said flatly. "You need to learn finesse and proper signature control. Don't block when you can parry. Don't parry when you can dodge. With your low reserve levels, every drop of energy matters."

Will shifted his stance, centering himself, bringing his turbulent field under control. Damian gave an approving nod and raised his blade.

The two clashed once again, and Will fought desperately, eking out every advantage he could from his dwindling reserves. The visions returned again, and Will fell into a rhythm—deflecting both Damian's blade and the threads of shadow. The flow state, however, didn't last long, and he was slammed to the floor again and again.

By the tenth attempt, he noticed the visions behaving oddly. They flickered in a bizarre fashion, almost like a lucid dream. Before he could process what he was seeing, a fist caught him in the jaw, and Will was sent crashing to the floor once more.

Groaning, he tried to get up—but couldn't find the energy to lift himself.

"Good," Damian said finally. "Take five."

Will stopped trying to rise and slumped to the floor, exhausted.

"Deep breaths. Exhale fully," Damian instructed. "Breathe from your diaphragm, not your chest." He sat down beside Will, his twin blades clinking softly against the floor.

"You really should be sitting up to breathe properly," Damian observed.

Will just groaned from the floor, unwilling to move.

"Suit yourself," Damian chuckled.

Will glanced at his cousin, who was being uncharacteristically charitable. Usually, he'd be needling him at a time like this. In fact, this might be the first time he'd gotten a proper lesson from Damian.

It had been a while. Long ago, it was another sibling who had taught him.

"Hold your fist like this, kiddo," came a soft voice.

Old memories burst forth unbidden. Annie took his small hands in hers and corrected his form. The two of them stood in their old training room, adjusting their breathing. Their form identical—together, they punched out.

The sound of their fists cracking the air pulled Will out of his reverie, snapping him back to the training hall.

"Damian…" Will called out, his voice hoarse.

"Hm?" His cousin turned to him.

"The Bishop… do you think it's really her?"

Will watched Damian's expression shift.

"Will," Damian sighed. "We've discussed this."

"Yes, but—"

Damian shook his head. "The girl I knew would never do the things she did. Not in a million years."

He looked up at the ceiling, reminiscing along forgotten memories. "Adamant, stubborn, and headstrong—even when we were kids. She always knew the right thing. She was a goddamn fashion student who did martial arts for fun. But did that stop her from fighting on Final October? No. It was the right thing to do, after all."

"The Revenant killed thousands of civilians, and now… it might be millions more. This is not her." Damian turned to Will. "Not a chance in hell. You have to believe that."

Will's breath came hard, tight in his chest.

Damian patted his shoulder. "You still don't want to let it go. That's fine. If you want the truth, then all you've got to do is catch her, right?"

Will's eyes widened. Was it really that simple? Catching Damian's eye, he nodded. The older cousin removed his hand from Will's shoulder, and he sat up, his mind racing. All he had to do was catch her.

"How soon will we finish the search?" he asked.

"Ah, so you heard about that," Damian scowled.

"Becca said you're running out of territories to search."

Damian pulled out his slate and opened a map of the Undercity. The screen displayed territories they had already searched, marked in red—an ever-expanding spread radiating from their base.

"There are only a few more viable locations we can look into, but…"

"You're not holding out much hope," Will finished.

"There are still their subsidiaries that we can investigate," Damian said. "A lot of smaller factions allied with the Hand could be a cover for them."

"I'm not so sure. I somehow get the feeling we're missing something here," Will muttered. "Have you gotten any hits on a matching signature pattern near their territories?"

"No…" Damian said slowly. "We've got nothing."

A grim silence settled between them. Will rubbed his face.

"I'm not going to lie to you—we're running out of time," Damian said.

"I hate all this waiting and not knowing," Will muttered. "How much time do we have?"

"Hard to say." Damian steepled his fingers. "Knowing the Revenant, the date will have to be significant. Symbolic."

A soft ping sounded, and Damian rummaged through his pockets. He pulled out his slate and checked the notifications—his eyebrows shot up.

"What is it?" Will asked.

Damian tapped the screen and played a live news feed.

A golden temple reflected sunlight from a high mountain peak. Descending the steps was a group of priests in orange robes. Leading them was an old woman. A small smile played on her face as the All Mother glanced directly at the camera at the foot of the mountain.

Will's eyes went wide. He glanced at the bold text running beneath the feed.

Breaking – Hallucia Descends. The temple sends a representative to the General Assembly meeting for the first time in a decade. Possible swing in Senate vote.

"Oh shit," Will muttered.

"I think we just found the date," Damian finished grimly.

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