Rieven jumped forwards, spinning anticlockwise as he stretched himself parallel to the floor, his hands stretched out in front of him, grasping the hilt of his kukri while his legs continued the plane of his body behind him. As he moved forwards, he rotated with the long axis formed between the point of his kukri and the point his heels met together. It made him look like he was performing an aggressive barrel-roll; not particularly useful in most fights but it was one of the kukri forms of the Omageth, and he needed to work through all fourteen of them before Ono returned or he’d never hear the end of it. His saving grace was that baby dragons, like all baby things, were akin to flame meditation; you never realised how much time you lost merely looking at the flame, and by the time you realised the time-sink, you couldn’t remember anything you had thought about as you gazed sightlessly into the flame. The upshot was that he had the time, so he might as well take it.
As he neared the floor of the Inner Domicile he twisted the kukri with his spin and then cut it wide to his right, allowing the momentum to pull the sword out of his shadow-foe. Tucking his head down and keeping the sword away from his body, he rolled onto his shoulders as he brought his legs in, springing up with axiom-reinforced legs when the balls of his feet touched the floor. As he launched upwards, he spread his legs wide in a scissor-kick, one before and one behind, knocking into the chins of two more shadow-foes. He descended away from his launch-point and hurled his kukri at the final shadow-foe, maintaining the axiomatic reinforcement of his blade even after it left his hands. He ended the move by jerking his left hand back as if he were pulling on a string. The kukri shot back into his hand, hilt-first, edge towards himself, and he rolled gently backwards and stood on his feet, breathing heavily.
Twenty-two minutes of cardio at sprinting rate or faster saw the first form completed. It looked silly to his combat-trained eye; more like something that would be performed in street-theatre or a holovid than on the battlefield. But the muscle-memory it built was incredibly useful when pushing his body to its limits. The Void Spectres used a form of fighting that relied heavily on fast movements powered by powerful, but brief, expenditures of energy, never being in one place for more time than it took to attack and move on. Frequently it resulted in an enemy wearing themselves out trying to keep the spectre in their line of sight while at the same time keeping an eye on the rest of the battlefield. The only trick was to augment the body with axiom at the correct moment, using the gathered momentum organically rather than continuously threading axiom as most soldiers did. This prevented axiom exhaustion and allowed the body to function long after it should have given up.
Break over, he began working through the remining thirteen forms of the Omageth. The more forms he completed, the more he blanked his mind and allowed it to reach a form of combat meditation the Omageth prescribed. His actions became intrinsic, almost instinctual as his will and his body combined on an almost spiritual level. To move was but to think, no pause between. This high level of combat perception was rare among the soldiers of the Operatic Empire, but it was standard issue for the Void Spectres. Even lieutenant Jonsey, with all his social ineptitude and fear of embarrassment was more than capable of beating the tar out of any six heavies in the Imperial Army.
They didn’t stand a chance, no matter the kit they brought with them. It was Rieven’s favourite part of being a Void Spectre, knowing that someone others would mock for timidity was someone who had proven they could kill with no weapon at the drop of a hat without wrinkling their clothes. The dichotomy of the situation amused him ceaselessly and allowed him to successfully endure endless soirees and balls amongst the central nobility.
It was a game he played with whomever he forced to attend with him: how would you kill that lord with this ice cube? Go! Points were awarded for originality and lethal effect. Surprisingly, Gahst beat him out seven times of ten in originality. She was inspired. It was a gift he was mildly envious of.
Two hundred thirty-seven minutes later he was barely standing upright in the centre of the chamber, breaths heaving rough through his ragged throat, his lungs working like a bellows. This, he thought through heaves, is so much worse than fighting Blind-eye. There I had the pain of trying to take the dragon’s eye into my axiomatic pattern, that was awful and limited my ability to function. This, however, is a deep weariness, deeper than bone, deeper than sinew and tissue. Without fighting over his axiomatic pattern he was able to go so much further than before, and it truly wrung him dry. This is the worst.
He allowed himself to take all of the next five minutes to simply stand there and breath. It was the best. Then he looked up at Grief and motioned for water. The marine came running over with a bottle and a hand towel. Rieven nodded in thanks and downed the water in seconds flat, then he wiped the towel down his face and neck before handing back both items to the marine. His breathing was beginning to slow and to calm as he threaded axiom through his laces gently, threading it through his body in soothing cycles. In and out, up and down, around and over, again and again until is heartbeat slowed and his breathing evened out.
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“It really should take a body longer to calm down after almost four and a half hours of high intensity calisthenics. Axiom is amazing,” he said to the two marines and to no one in particularly, “I love the feeling of it threading through my laces, and the power and energy it gives me. I’ve never felt a thrill like it. Axiom junkie, Ono says, but he’s a marine so he has no moral authority to make that judgement, eh Steeltoe?”
Private Steeltoe was already looking at him steadily when he replied, “Couldn’t say, sir. On the one hand you make a fantastic point. On the other hand, Sarn’t is standing over there and I would never dream of contradicting him in any way, for my peace of mind and body you see. Truth is truth, both spoken and unspoken.”
Rieven turned and saw that Ono had indeed joined them. “How are you Ono? The baby dragons finally let you go, I see?”
Ono glared at him, “They let me go hours ago, pup. You just didn’t notice me standing here.”
“False.” Rieven would bet his soul that was not true. The third tenet of the Omageth was zone perception. Ono had just walked in. “False,” he repeated, “you just don’t want to admit you lost five hours to baby dragon watching. No shame old man,” he said as Ono snorted, “at least it wasn’t those absurd cat holovids central nerds swear calms them down. You’re good, no judgement here buddy.”
Ono walked up to him and pushed him, knocking him flat on the ground. He growled, “Maybe, sir, you can think better on your ass than your feet. A wise man would have known and said nothing.” Rieven could see the corners of his lips fighting a losing battle with a smile. He had him.
“Very well, Ono, please accept my apologies for speaking truth where your direct reports could hear. It won’t happen again,” he said with a smile.
“See that it doesn’t.” Ono laughed and held a hand out to Rieven and helped him stand. “What was your time?”
“Two hundred fifty-nine minutes even, Ono. I’m getting better, but still too slow. I need to shave off another thirty minutes or cut out the breaks between forms. It will give me something to work on these next three years.”
“You’d better not take three more years to master the Fourteen Forms of the Omageth.” His voice took on an instructive tone as he continued, “The first path in complete combat awareness is mastery of will over form. To truly know one’s form and to be its master in all ways. Only then can one advance onto the second path, axiomatic integration. We’ll get you there, boy, but you must master yourself. It’s not surprising you haven’t gotten any faster yet, you’re still digesting changes to your axiomatic pattern, plus whatever’s going on with that black box hovering over your shoulder. Sure looked mighty strange seeing you work that last form with that thing moving around like that.”
“Thank you, Master Ono. I appreciate your words.” He bowed formally, right hand fisted into his left over his centre. “You have been instructing me in the Omageth for thirteen years. Perhaps this year, the fourteenth, will be the one that sees the mastery.” He spoke in seriousness now; it would not do to be flippant or commanding with Ono when he was acting as his martial master. Honesty and respect were what was needed now if he was to improve. His reward for his efforts was a ninety-minute review of his weaknesses along with pointers to consider as he progressed along the first path.
It truly was a reward, as Ono had refused all disciples save for Rieven, even the imperial princes were refused plainly without flowery language. He wasn’t sure what Ono saw in him, but he was sure grateful for it. There wasn’t considered to be a conflict of interest because they both headed different branches in the Operatic military, and were never in combat together. Ono’s coming to Medusean Gambit had been a fluke, a one-off. He’d wanted to review Rieven’s forms on their return to Homeworld and so came along, citing his whim as the operating reason.
The two marines on duty soaked in the words Ono had for him. It wasn’t meant for them, but there was plenty they could learn even so. Their axiom meditation this evening would no doubt prove fruitful. Rieven closed his eyes, breathed in deeply through his nose, held the breath and then released it through his mouth in a slow pull. It was cleansing. He opened his eyes and smiled at Ono. “Thank you again, my friend.”
“Think nothing of it,” he said as he clapped Rieven on the shoulder. I’ll wait here with my report while you shower and change. No need to be uncomfortable while we go over the business of the navy.”
Rieven nodded in thanks and jogged off to a small room off to the side of his sleeping quarters that had been converted to hold a shower. As the hot water ran over his body he allowed his mind to wander. Consolidate my gains. That’s what I need to do. I need to get a handle on these new eyes, their wider peripheral is throwing me out of my combat meditation. I need to stop finding it strange that I can see so much. If I can grow used to them, then I can slip into that meditative state more easily with less axiomatic feedback. Time will tell. Time and experience. I’ll review the forms daily until it is not longer a concern. Then on to the next thing.”
He stepped into the dryer and allowed the vibrations to shift all the water off his body. It wasn’t until he was dressing in a clean uniform that he was struck by a thought: What did Ono have to report? Nothing had come his way that was urgent. The only thing Ono would be aware of that he didn’t know was the baby dragons. Rieven hurried his movements, his body was tired and clumsy after running the forms, but he was tired of waiting and incredibly curious to know what Ono had to say.
He returned to find the marines chatting, exchanging money. Looks like I was the subject of a bet again, he thought. The day they don’t wager money on stupid is the day marines wise up and farm. He snorted. “Gentlemen, please tell me what news you have to report.”
Ono’s face lost its relaxed visage and his business face came forward. “Sir, it’s the baby dragons. Your Adjunct recognised them. There are twenty-three of them. Fourteen are his brothers by blood, and the remaining nine are officially imperial princes and princesses. We’ve got royalty and nobility in the hold, sir.”
