Chapter 417: Taken Care Again by Summer
The sun was dropping already.
And I found myself in the Brighton Park with Marlon.
The Anti-Symbiote collar sat tight around my neck.
I hated the thing.
Even after nearly two weeks of training with it, I never got used to the feeling. The collar weakened the Symbiote inside me, making my body heavier and slower. My senses were still better than a normal person’s, but nowhere near what they were when I could use my abilities freely.
That was the point.
Marlon wanted me to learn how to fight without relying on Time Freeze or the Symbiote’s strength every time something went wrong.
"You are staring again, boy," Marlon said.
He stood several feet in front of me with his fists raised. His sleeves were rolled up, showing the old scars along his forearms. He had not bothered putting on any protection. He never did.
"I am thinking," I replied.
I had to think because these last hours I didn’t launch a proper attack against him.
"Thinking gets you punched."
He moved before I could answer.
Marlon’s left hand shot toward my face.
I leaned back just enough for his knuckles to pass in front of my nose, then stepped to the side as his right fist came toward my ribs. I blocked it with my forearm. The impact still hurt, but I did not let it push me off balance.
I went for his stomach.
Marlon turned his body, and my fist only caught the side of his waist. He tried to hook my leg with his foot, but I pulled back before he could sweep me.
"Better," he said.
He came at me again.
The first few days of training had been humiliating.
Marlon had thrown me around the Boardwalk like I was nothing. Every time I tried to punch him, he knew it was coming. Every time I moved too far forward, he used my own momentum against me. I had gotten used to fighting with speed, strength, weapons, and the Symbiote giving me an advantage over most people.
Against Marlon, none of it mattered.
He taught me how obvious I was.
How I raised my shoulder before throwing a punch. How my feet stayed planted too long when I was preparing to attack. How I watched people’s hands and forgot about their legs, their shoulders, their hips, and the space around us.
Now, though, I could see more than I used to.
Marlon stepped in with a low kick.
I moved my leg back, felt his boot scrape past my shin, and answered with a straight punch toward his chest. He knocked it aside, but I followed with an elbow aimed at his jaw.
Marlon ducked.
His fist came up toward my stomach.
I twisted away before it could land properly, grabbed his wrist, and tried to pull him forward.
He did not let me.
Marlon planted his foot, yanked his arm free, and drove his shoulder into my chest. I staggered back two steps. Before I could fully recover, he threw a punch toward my head.
I blocked it.
Then another.
I blocked that too.
My arms were already starting to ache.
"Good," Marlon said.
"Thanks," I breathed.
"Do not thank me yet."
His foot snapped toward my knee.
I jumped back, and he followed immediately. His fist came at my face, but I saw the movement in his shoulder before his arm fully extended. I slipped to the side and struck him in the ribs with my right hand.
The hit landed cleanly.
Marlon’s body shifted from the force, though he barely reacted to it.
I went for another punch.
He caught my wrist.
I expected him to twist it, so I stepped close instead, drove my knee upward, and forced him to release me before it could reach him properly.
Marlon moved away.
For the first time during the session, he gave me a real nod.
"Good," he said.
I wiped sweat from my forehead with the back of my wrist.
"That sounded almost like praise."
"Do not get excited. You are still terrible."
"Yeah, there it is."
Marlon’s mouth moved slightly, almost becoming a smile.
Then he raised his fists again.
"Again."
The next few minutes were worse.
Marlon picked up the speed.
His attacks came faster and with less warning. A strike toward my head became a low kick. A step backward became him moving around my side. Every time I thought I had found an opening, he was already somewhere else.
Still, I managed to keep up.
I dodged a jab, blocked a hook, and pushed his arm away before he could grab my collar. My lungs were burning. Sweat ran down my back beneath my shirt. The collar around my neck felt tighter with every breath.
Marlon swung at me.
I moved right.
He threw another strike, and I dropped low beneath it. I hit him in the side with my shoulder, trying to knock him off balance, then threw a short punch toward his stomach.
Marlon blocked it.
His knee came up fast.
I caught part of it against my thigh, but the impact nearly made my leg give out. I stumbled away, reset my stance, and raised my fists again.
Marlon watched me closely.
"You are relying less on your strength," he said.
"I do not have much of it with this thing on."
"Exactly."
He rushed me.
I braced myself.
Marlon’s left hand came toward my face.
I shifted to avoid it.
That was when I realized too late that he had not put his weight behind the punch.
It was a feint.
His other fist drove straight into my solar plexus.
The air vanished from my lungs.
I folded forward with a rough gasp, my body refusing to pull in another breath. Before I could recover, Marlon kicked toward my shoulder.
I got my arm up in time.
The kick slammed into my forearm instead of my shoulder, but the force still sent me rolling across the dirt. My elbow scraped against the ground. I stopped on one knee with one hand pressed against my stomach, trying to breathe through the pain.
For several seconds, nothing came in properly.
My chest jerked uselessly.
I coughed, sucking in a thin breath that hurt worse than it helped.
Marlon did not come after me.
When I finally looked up, he had lowered his hands and was staring at the darkening sky.
"That was a good session," Marlon said.
I stayed on the ground, still trying to get my lungs working again.
"Really," I said sarcastically.
"You are progressing at a frightening speed, boy."
His voice had that same dry tone he always used, making it hard to know whether he was actually impressed or preparing to insult me again.
Then he looked down at me.
"Which is unfortunate. In another month, I might have had to start treating you as a threat."
"My arm is killing me."
"Good. That means you blocked poorly instead of taking it on your shoulder."
"You could have just said that."
"I just did."
I scoffed and looked around.
"Summer isn’t here?" I asked.
Marlon’s eyes moved back to me.
The look on his face changed right away.
"Why are you looking for my daughter?" he asked.
"Well, she is usually here watching us—"
"And taking care of you," Marlon cut in. "Do you not have any shame? You need a girl to take care of your every need now?"
I almost laughed.
Summer usually brought me a towel and water after training. If I had gotten scraped up badly enough, she cleaned the cuts or wrapped whatever needed wrapping. I was not going to pretend I hated it. After Marlon spent hours throwing me into the ground and kicking the air out of me, having Summer show up with water was honestly one of the best parts of training.
But there was no way I was saying that to Marlon.
"Right," I said. "I am ashamed."
"Good."
He gave me one last look before turning away.
"Clean yourself properly. You do not want to walk into Shannon’s birthday looking like a dead body that got dragged through the street."
Then he started walking off toward the Boardwalk.
"As always, very kind," I muttered.
Marlon did not turn around.
I stayed where I was for a while, lying flat on the ground with my arms spread out beside me. The dirt was warm beneath my back. Above me, the sky had started changing color, and a few thin clouds had turned orange near their edges.
My chest still hurt from the strike to the solar plexus.
I slowly reached up and unfastened the Anti-Symbiote collar.
The moment it came off, the pressure around my neck disappeared.
So did the heaviness dragging through my body.
I let out a long breath and closed my eyes for a second.
Damn.
The difference was still insane. The collar made everything harder: running, reacting, recovering, even breathing after a hard hit. Without it, the soreness in my arms and ribs did not disappear completely, but my body started recovering almost right away.
Compared to the first days of training, I was handling it better now. I did not collapse every time Marlon pushed me past my limits. I could react faster even with the collar on, and I was beginning to understand how to move without immediately depending on the Symbiote.
I was getting stronger.
I was also getting better at controlling the Symbiote itself.
That part bothered me more.
The closer I got to it, the more naturally it answered me. My body reacted before I even thought about using it sometimes. After what had happened with Maribel earlier, I was not sure whether being more in sync with it was a good thing.
"Got yourself beaten again by my dad."
I turned my head toward the voice.
Summer was walking toward me from the Boardwalk, carrying a small bag in one hand and a towel draped over the other arm.
"You are here," I said, smiling when I saw her. "I was waiting for you."
Summer stopped for a brief second and looked down at me.
Then she continued walking.
"I feel like I am spoiling you too much," she said with a sigh.
"It was your idea to come treat me after your dad beats me up during training."
"Yes," she replied. "Mostly because I felt bad for you."
I pushed myself up into a sitting position.
My shoulder complained immediately. I rolled it carefully, then looked up at her.
"And I am grateful for that."
Summer crouched in front of me and handed me the towel.
I wiped the sweat from my face and neck before placing it around my shoulders. It smelled faintly of soap, which was surprisingly nice after spending the last hour covered in dirt and sweat.
She handed me a bottle of water next.
I took it and drank several large gulps.
The water was warm from being carried around, but I did not care. My throat felt dry enough that I could have emptied the whole bottle at once.
Then I felt Summer’s fingers touch my arm.
I nearly choked.
She had leaned closer and was carefully rubbing around one of the bruises forming along my forearm.
"Once again, you are injured everywhere," she said.
I looked down.
Since I had trained in a tank top, the marks were easy to see. Dirt covered my arms and shoulders. There was a scrape near my elbow from where I had rolled across the ground, and a dark bruise had started forming where I blocked Marlon’s kick.
"The usual," I replied.
"Doesn’t it hurt?" Summer asked. "With how many injuries you get from my father?"
"I am getting used to it." I took another drink of water. "And I am not a normal human, remember?"
"Right."
Summer sighed, though she still looked unhappy about it.
She opened the bag and pulled out a small bottle of alcohol, cloth, and a few other medical supplies. Most of the injuries would heal quickly with the Symbiote helping my body recover. The cut on my elbow would probably be gone by tomorrow, and the bruise would not last much longer than that.
Still, I was not going to refuse Summer’s help.
She poured a little alcohol onto the cloth and reached for my arm again.
"This might sting," she said.
"Really?"
Summer rolled her eyes and pressed the cloth against the scrape near my elbow harder than she should have clearly.