Read From Ashes to Alpha :: cruel training(2/2)

The air in the abandoned factory was thick with the scent of rust and sweat, the dim light casting long shadows across the cracked concrete floor.

My muscles screamed in protest with every move, but I couldn’t stop. Amelia’s silver whip cracked through the air like a serpent’s hiss, each strike a brutal reminder of my inadequacy.

This is a new day of training. It's really torture.

I dodged to the left, my breath ragged, but the next lash came too fast. The tip of the whip grazed my shoulder, searing pain shooting through my body. I stumbled but managed to stay on my feet.

“Pathetic,” Amelia sneered, her voice cutting through the silence. “Is that all you’ve got, James?”

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. “I’m not done yet,” I growled, my voice low but steady.

She smirked, her icy blue eyes glinting with amusement. “Let’s see if you can survive this.”

The whip came at me again, faster this time. I barely managed to roll to the side, the metal tip grazing the ground inches from my face. My heart pounded in my chest, but I forced myself to focus.

One more dodge, one more chance.

I lunged forward, trying to close the distance between us, but Amelia was too quick. Her boot connected with my chest, sending me sprawling onto the cold floor. Before I could react, she was on top of me, the whip pressed against my throat.

“Is this it?” she whispered, her breath hot against my ear. “This is all you’re capable of?”

I stared up at her, my vision blurry but my resolve unwavering. “I’ll prove it to you,” I said, my voice hoarse but firm. “I’m not a failure.”

For a moment, her expression softened, a flicker of something—curiosity, maybe—crossing her features. Then it was gone, replaced by her usual cold mask. She released the whip and stood, towering over me.

“Keep trying, then,” she said, her tone dismissive. “But don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

I pushed myself up, my body screaming in protest. “I don’t want easy,” I replied, meeting her gaze head-on. “I want to earn it.”

She studied me for a long moment, then turned away, her whip coiled at her side. “We’ll see,” she said, her voice trailing off as she walked toward the factory’s exit.

I watched her go, my chest heaving, but my determination stronger than ever. She might think I’m a failure now, but I’ll show her. I’ll prove that I’m more than just her dog.

The air was thick with the scent of rust and damp concrete, the abandoned factory looming like a forgotten giant. My back burned with the sting of fresh wounds, each one a testament to Amelia’s relentless training.

Sweat dripped down my temples, and my breath came in ragged gasps, but I stood my ground in the center of the training area. My senses were on high alert, every nerve in my body screaming for focus.

Amelia circled me like a predator, her silver whip glinting in the dim light. Her scent—a mix of sweat and something wild, like the forest after a storm—hit me first.

Then came the faint sound of her breathing, steady and controlled. I could almost feel her movements before she made them.

She struck. The whip cracked through the air, but I was already moving. My body twisted, and I dodged just in time, the silver tip grazing the air where I’d been standing. My heart pounded, but a small surge of pride flickered in my chest. I was getting faster.

“Not bad,” Amelia said, her voice low and measured. She didn’t pause, didn’t give me a moment to breathe. Another strike came, then another, each one faster and more precise than the last. But I was ready. My senses were sharp, my reflexes honed. I ducked, sidestepped, and twisted, avoiding every attack.

Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment, I thought I saw something—surprise? Approval? It was gone as quickly as it appeared.

She didn’t stop, though. The whip became a blur, a deadly dance of silver and shadow. But I matched her, step for step, my body moving almost of its own accord.

Finally, she stopped. The whip hung loosely at her side, and she tilted her head, studying me with those piercing eyes. “You’ve got the basics of ‘Moonlit Perception’ down,” she said, her tone softer than usual.

“You’re learning to use your senses, to anticipate rather than react.”

I wiped the sweat from my brow, my chest heaving. “So, what’s next?” I asked, trying to keep the eagerness out of my voice.

Amelia smirked, a rare expression on her usually stern face. “Next,” she said, “we move beyond the basics. You’ve got potential, James. But potential isn’t enough. You need to master this.”

I nodded, my pulse quickening. The air around us seemed to shift, the tension easing just slightly. The factory felt less like a prison and more like a sanctuary, a place where I could push myself to my limits.