Cross and Conflicts

CHAPTER XXXVIII: Forging Resilience

Kali, also known as Arnis or Eskrima, is a martial art from ancient Maharlika that emphasizes the use of sticks, knives, and other bladed weapons. It also includes empty-hand techniques and grappling. What sets Kali apart is its practicality and efficiency in real-world combat situations. Practitioners learn to use their environment and available resources to their advantage, making it a versatile and adaptable martial art. And this was what Noumenon had to learn about.

Cross knelt down, his face inches from hers, his blue eyes piercing into her soul.

"Pain is a part of this. You need to learn how to endure it, how to push past it. If you can't, forget learning how to attack."

Noumenon struggled to sit up, every movement a testament to her determination. The pain was overwhelming, but she forced herself to focus on his words. She knew he was right. The path she had chosen required her to be strong, both physically and mentally. There was no room for weakness.

He stood up and towered over her, while she pulled herself to her feet.

From the moment Cross first encountered Noumenon, his perspective of her was one of cautious interest and skepticism. The fragile and seemingly innocent novice who had begged for his help to kill her father was a stark contrast to the ruthless and dangerous world he inhabited. Her initial plea for assistance had caught him off guard, not because of its content, but because of the person making it. She seemed so out of place, a dove amidst vultures.

During their first meeting, he had regarded her as a naive and desperate woman, perhaps driven by grief and anger. Her plea to kill her father spoke of a deep-seated trauma, but also of a conviction that he found intriguing. Cross, a man who had seen the darkest sides of humanity, was not easily swayed by emotions, yet there was something in her eyes that hinted an unyielding soul.

Somehow, she mirrored a part of himself, and this was one of the reasons that made him bring her here.

"We'll continue," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You need to learn how to defend yourself, how to anticipate and counter. This isn't just about learning techniques. It's about where and when you're prepared to act without hesitation."

He handed her the training sticks again. "Now, try to hit me."

She gripped the training sticks tightly, her knuckles turning white. She channeled her pain and frustration into her movements, striking at Cross with everything she had. He effortlessly blocked her attacks, his movements fluid and precise. Each time she struck, he countered with a speed and efficiency that left her both in awe and horror.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

With each strike, his counters were merciless. Without warning, he launched another series of rapid attacks. His strikes were precise and relentless, targeting mostly her shoulders, ribs, and legs. The impacts were brutal, each one leaving her reeling.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

“Accck!”

As she stumbled on the floor again, gasping for breath, Cross's cold, emotionless voice cut through the haze of pain.

"This is the reality, nun. In a real fight, no one will show you any mercy. They won't give you time to recover. Learn to endure."

His words were harsh, but she understood the truth in them. She had chosen this path, and she had to be prepared for the harsh reality it entailed. She couldn't afford to be weak or hesitant. With a grim determination, she forced herself to sit up, every movement a testament to her resolve.

Cross watched her, his expression deadpan. He showed no sign of sympathy or remorse, his eyes as cold and calculating as ever.

"Get up," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Let’s continue."

Noumenon pulled herself to her feet, gripping the training sticks with renewed determination. She knew she couldn't afford to show any weakness. She had to prove to herself, and to him, that she could push past her limits.

"Now, try to hit me again," Cross instructed, his tone indifferent.

“Ghhh!”

She launched herself at him, her strikes fueled by a mixture of pain and determination. Each movement was more precise, more controlled. She focused on the rhythm of the strikes, the fluidity of the movements, and the necessity of staying relaxed.

However, Cross did not make it easy for her. His counters were swift and brutal, landing blows that left her reeling. She was beaten up badly, but she refused to back down. Every time she was knocked down, she forced herself to get back up, her resolve unwavering.

Despite her best efforts, her strikes often missed their mark, and her movements were still clumsy compared to his. She looked pathetic, struggling to keep up with his pace, but she refused to give in.

Noumenon's body was screaming in agony, but she refused to let it break her spirit. Her movements were increasingly desperate, fueled by a mixture of fear, anger, and determination. Her strikes were wild and erratic, each one a testament to her inner turmoil.

Thwack!

“Arrrgggh!”

Cross's stick met her shoulder with brutal force, sending her staggering back. She gritted her teeth, fighting through the pain and launching another attack.

Thwack! Thwack!

He countered effortlessly, his movements a blur of precision and speed. Noumenon's frustration grew with each failed attempt, but she couldn't afford to give up. She had to prove herself, to show that she was capable of enduring.

Her strikes became more frantic, her desperation palpable. She swung the sticks wildly, her form deteriorating with each passing moment. Cross's expression remained cold and emotionless, his eyes never leaving her as he continued to batter her defenses.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

Each blow landed with punishing accuracy, leaving her gasping for breath. Her vision blurred, and she could feel herself teetering on the edge of consciousness. But she couldn't stop. She had to keep fighting.

His voice cut through the haze of pain.

"Is this all you've got?" he taunted, his tone icy. "You begged for my help, and this is how you’ll be? Pathetic."

She channeled her pain and frustration into a renewed effort, launching herself at him with every ounce of strength she had left.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

Cross's counters were relentless, his strikes merciless. She was battered and bruised, her body on the brink of collapse. But she refused to give up. She couldn't afford to show any weakness.

Her movements grew increasingly desperate, her strikes more frantic and uncontrolled. She looked like a cornered animal, lashing out with everything she had left. He watched her with a mixture of disdain and curiosity, his expression unreadable.

In a final, desperate attempt, Noumenon swung her stick at his head. He blocked it effortlessly, his counterattack swift and brutal.

Thwack! The blow to her ribs was devastating, sending her crashing to the floor.

She lay there, gasping for breath, her body trembling with exhaustion. Cross stood over her, his expression cold and emotionless.

"You're not ready," he said, his tone final. "Get up."

Noumenon forced herself to her feet, her body screaming in protest. She refused to lose grip of the training sticks. She had to keep going. She couldn't afford to show any weakness.

"Again," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

She took a deep breath, centering herself. She focused on the principles of Kali—the fluidity, the precision, the adaptability. She needed to be like water, to flow around his attacks and find the path of least resistance.

With renewed determination, she launched herself at Cross once more, her movements more controlled and deliberate. She struck at him with a series of quick, fluid motions, each one aiming to find a weakness in his defense.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

Cross countered her attacks effortlessly, his movements a blur of precision and speed.

But Noumenon refused to give up. She focused on her breathing, on the rhythm of her movements. She visualized herself as water, flowing around his attacks and finding the perfect moment to strike.

Cross's expression remained unreadable, but she could sense a flicker of something in his eyes. Was it pity? Or perhaps a recognition of her determination?

She pressed on, her strikes becoming more precise, more controlled. She used the environment to her advantage, ducking behind pillars and using the training mats for cover. She created obstacles, forcing him to navigate around them and disrupting his rhythm.

With each exchange, she grew more attuned to his movements. She began to anticipate his attacks, adjusting her stance and grip to better counter his strikes. Her strikes, though still clumsy, were becoming more calculated, more deliberate.

He pushed her harder and harder, his attacks relentless. But she refused to back down.

Finally, in a moment of clarity, she saw an opening. She feigned a stumble, making it look as though she had lost her balance. Cross moved in to take advantage, but she was ready. She spun on her heel, using the momentum to deliver a powerful strike to his ribs.

Thwack!

Cross was momentarily stunned. Seizing the opportunity, she followed up with a swift blow to his wrist, forcing him to release his training stick.

For a moment, there was silence. Cross looked at her, his expression inscrutable. They both then stood still.

“I did it!” She almost jumped.

Noumenon relished the moment, a small but significant victory amid her grueling predicament. She had managed to land a blow on Cross, and the taste of success filled her with a sense of accomplishment. Her chest heaved with exertion, and despite the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm her, she felt a flicker of pride.

As the realization of what she had achieved washed over her, tears began to well up in her eyes. They weren't tears of pain or frustration, but tears of pure joy and relief. She had pushed herself to her limits and had emerged with a hard-won triumph. Her tears rolled down her cheeks, mingling with the sweat that dripped from her brow.

The sting of her bruises and the ache of her muscles faded into the background as she allowed herself this moment of unguarded emotion. She had done it. She had proven to herself that she was capable of enduring, of fighting, of overcoming the seemingly insurmountable challenges before her.

The vigilante’s indifferent gaze remained fixed on her, his expression unchanged. But for Noumenon, this moment was everything.

As the adrenaline began to wane, the full extent of her injuries became apparent. Her body screamed in protest, every muscle aching, every bruise throbbing with pain. The room seemed to sway around her, and her vision blurred as a wave of dizziness washed over her.

She fought to stay conscious, to remain standing. But her body had reached its limit. Despite her best efforts, she felt herself teetering on the edge of collapse. Her legs gave way, and she crumpled to the floor, her vision fading to black.

The last thing she saw before darkness claimed her was Cross's cold, emotionless eyes staring down at her, his expression unchanged. Then everything went dark.