Marked

Chapter 4

Dedicated to LadyAireen for her unwavering love and support! Love you dearie(:

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The training attire was unisex, and consisted of a full-body suit with inbuilt compartments to store gadgetry and weapons, as well as a black armor made of iron which covered the vital organs. There were also calf-skin boots which came with it—soft enough to run in, but strong and durable enough to resist any damage. It was completely black, save for a few silver buttons which caught and glinted in the light.

Entering the practice room with her blade in one hand, Sara marveled at how enormous and well-equipped it was. Not only was it well-lit, with sunlight streaming through, it was also easily twenty times the size of her own room, with all sorts of complicated obstacle courses, weapons and targets arranged not only on the floor, but on the ceiling as well.

Seeing Louis waving at her from the far end of the room, in a brightly-lit corner by the window, she moved there, sitting down on the floor beside him.

“About just now…” he started, hesitating, “it was insensitive of me to ask such things. Please forgive me.”

Feeling a little sorry about the guilty look on his face, Sara shrugged, smiling kindly. “It was not your fault. I’m alright now.”

“I’m glad you are,” he said awkwardly, rubbing a hand over the overnight stubble on his face, and shifting backwards uncomfortably to put more space between them.

She diverted her attention to Maxon, who was training by himself. Swinging to and from elastic cords, he wielded his sword furiously mid-flight; slicing targets—malleable tin models of real people, with a rubber covering to act as skin—to ribbons, then repeatedly stabbing them in the eye and the heart, cutting clean, flashing arcs through the air.

Jumping down from the cords and throwing the sword aside, he threw punches and kicks at the targets around him, while bending the bodies of the models to unsightly angles, the creaking sounds of their unoiled hinges making Sara wince.

It appeared as though he attacked with a blind fury; there was no purpose or direction to it, only recklessness, and it was quite different from his usual self. What alarmed her was neither his skill nor his strength, but rather, the way he fought, mindless anger taking control of his body.

Then he turned around to face another target, and, meeting his eyes for a split second, Sara was horrified by how much hatred there was, blazing in them. They burned with a deep, dark, unsaid vengeance. Spinning to his side, he unleashed it yet again with the next vicious thrust of his sword, without even missing the target’s eye by a hair’s breadth.

She frowned worriedly. “Does he fight like that every time?” she questioned.

“What do you mean?” Louis asked, raising his eyebrows.

“I mean…” She ran a hand through her messy ponytail, struggling to come up with the words for it. “Ah, it’s nothing, I suppose.”

Hearing a sudden ferocious swiping of Maxon’s sword was, in Sara’s opinion, a welcome distraction from the slightly awkward moment earlier.

“Over here, we all have to wait for our turn when someone’s practicing. At other times, when the practice room is free, we do spar with each other,” Louis said, changing the subject very abruptly, while keeping his eyes fixedly on Maxon.

He must have known, but did not want to speak of it, Sara thought. In that case, it probably was not in her place to ask.

“The equipment here is rather advanced. There are tin models that you can practice on,” he introduced, calmly pointing at their ghastly remains. “And among sets of obstacles and lots of other items, there are targets you can aim at, using weapons like steel bars, whips, and our selection of swords. Though I see, you already have your own.”