"(y/n), don't do this!" He holds his hands in front of him and starts backing away. He's scared, just like he should be. "Join me, please?" He pleads, his voice honest and sincere.
"Tempting, but it's a no." I simply reply, before shooting him squar...
Ravi lets me choose a knife this time, and I choose my favourite—the Fixation Bowie. He chooses his all-time favourite, the SOG Seal Knife, which is fine by me. But other than that he had a Magnumby Boker Ziel, a five-piece thirteen point twenty five throwing knife set in his right pocket, which was not fine by me.
I hate Throwing Knifes. I like throwing them, but having them thrown at you is a totally different experience. I mean, you never know when one might get stuck on your thigh. And they hurt like hell—which should not be that much of a surprise, of course.
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At first glance, these beautiful stainless-steel throwers look a bit like scalpels. In fact, they have the accuracy and razor sharpness of surgical tools. If there is ever a way to combine the art of brain surgery and knife throwing, you can be sure that you will be using these Throwing Knives. Weighing in at fourteen ounces, these knives are also some heavy hitters.
"Less than five cuts." he calls my goal before we get started, like always.
"Okay." I accept with a curt nod. Less than five cuts. This may sound easy to some, but with Ravi as your training instructor, trust me when I say, it's borderline mission impossible.
I take a deep breath and slowly exhale. "Ready?" he asks.
I nod. "Go ahead."
As soon as I say that, he pulls out a knife from his pocket and throws it at me. I bend backwards and manage to avoid it in time—it whizzes past just a few centimetres above my forehead. Woah, that was close.
"Good one." He praises me. Yeah, right. Had I been only a second late, I would have ended up with a knife in between my eyes by now, and not to mention dead. Moron.
"Uh-uh-uh, language." he reminds me, smirking.
Wait—did I just say that out loud? Oh right, he's a Reader.
"Okay, now try avoiding two at once." He says, pulling out two more.
Jesus Christ.
Φ
By now I have four cuts in total: one on my right shoulder; one on my left arm; another just below left my elbow; and one on my right knee. It's safe to say that I have surpassed my goal.
He had thrown all five knives—three of them individually and the other two at once—and I managed to avoid three, while I got hit by the other two. Then we had a one-on-one and I ended up getting two more cuts, while I couldn't even manage to get as much as a single scratch on him.
