Taboo Online

Arcane Thrust was tested against reinforced targets at the far end of the training hall.

Luke already knew how destructive it could be after using it inside the café, so the instructors focused on control rather than raw power. He practiced gathering the energy without releasing it, canceling the skill safely, and striking with only enough force to damage the target instead of punching through everything behind it.

On his first attempt, blue energy raced along the shaft and exploded through the reinforced dummy. The attack left a smoking hole in the protective wall.

Luke stared at the damage.

Mercer struck him across the shoulder.

"You lost control."

"I hit the target."

"You struck everything behind it too."

Luke looked at the hole again.

"Right."

"Again."

The replacement target survived his second attempt, though a crack spread through its center. By the fourth, Luke managed to leave a deep puncture without destroying the equipment behind it.

Mercer examined the damaged target before turning toward him.

"Better."

Luke blinked.

It was the first positive word White Pike had given him since their training began.

"Was that praise?"

Mercer pointed toward the next target.

"Do not become distracted."

Luke tightened his grip and returned to position, but a small smile still tugged at his mouth.

Quickstep proved even worse.

Mercer placed painted markers across the training floor and forced Luke to land inside them without stumbling, crossing his feet, or allowing the spear to drag him off balance.

Luke appeared outside the marked area on his first attempt and nearly tripped over the shaft.

"Again."

The second attempt sent him too far to the left.

"Again."

On the third, he landed inside the circle but immediately fell onto one knee.

"Again."

By the end of the drills, Luke hated that word almost as much as he hated Quickstep.

The ability had felt difficult enough inside Powerforge, where the system helped guide his body. In reality, each activation twisted his stomach and shifted the room around him so suddenly that his balance vanished before his feet touched the floor.

Mercer did not care.

"If you cannot control where you land, you cannot use it in battle."

"I know."

"Then stop landing in the wrong place."

Luke stared at him.

"That’s what I’m trying to do."

White Pike lifted his spear.

Luke immediately returned to the starting position.

By the fifth day, he could cross several yards and remain upright. His landings were still rough, but at least he no longer looked as though the ability had thrown him across the room.

Mercer made the exercise harder as soon as Luke improved.

He placed targets around the training hall and ordered Luke to use Quickstep while keeping the spear ready. Luke had to appear beside each marker, adjust his stance, and thrust before moving to the next.

The first attempt ended with the spear tip scraping across the floor. The second sent him into the wrong circle.

During the third, Luke landed correctly but raised the weapon too slowly. Mercer’s blunt spearhead touched his throat before he could attack.

"You are dead."

Luke looked down at the weapon resting against his neck.

"I only took one second."

"One second is enough."

Mercer withdrew the spear and returned to the center of the hall.

"Again."

Luke activated Quickstep.

The room lurched, and he appeared inside the nearest circle. Instead of fighting the momentum, he bent his knees and allowed his rear foot to slide half a step. The spear remained level in his hands.

He thrust.

The point struck the center of the target.

Luke pulled the weapon back and used Quickstep again. His second landing carried him slightly too far forward, but he shifted his weight and recovered before the spear dragged him down.

Another thrust struck the target.

By the fourth marker, his breathing had become uneven. Using multiple abilities in quick succession drained him faster than ordinary training, and the hollow feeling in his chest deepened with every activation.

Mercer still did not stop him.

Luke crossed the final distance and appeared inside the last circle. His left foot slipped beyond the painted line, but he forced himself back into position and thrust before losing balance.

The spear struck slightly off-center.

Silence filled the room while Luke remained in position, breathing heavily as sweat ran down his face.

Mercer walked past each target and examined the marks.

"You missed the center twice."

Luke lowered the spear.

"But I hit all of them."

"You missed the center twice," White Pike repeated.

Luke waited.

Mercer returned to him and gave a small nod.

"Acceptable."

That single word felt better than any compliment Luke had expected.

Fated Javelin remained off-limits.

Red Hound had already warned them that no one would test a linked skill requiring maximum partner resonance and a jointly accepted future without far stricter preparations. The researchers recorded everything Luke and Lauren remembered about its activation, but they made no attempt to reproduce it.

For now, Luke focused on the abilities he could use alone.

He absorbed everything he could. He watched Mercer’s hands, studied the way the older hero shifted his weight before attacking, and memorized the angle of every parry. Instead of copying the movements blindly, Luke began trying to understand why one technique flowed into the next.

Near the end of the week, that effort finally paid off.

Mercer stepped in with the same thrust that had struck Luke in the ribs dozens of times. Recognizing the shift in his hips, Luke moved half a step to the side instead of retreating.

His spear caught the incoming shaft.

The impact still jarred his arms, but Mercer’s spearhead passed beside him instead of slamming into his body.

For the first time, White Pike’s attack had missed.

Luke’s surprise nearly ruined the moment.

Mercer twisted his weapon, hooked Luke’s ankle, and dropped him onto the floor.

"You stopped watching."

Luke lay there for a second, staring at the ceiling before laughing breathlessly.

"But I blocked it."

Mercer looked down at him.

"Once."

It was not much, but Luke heard the difference in his voice.

By the end of each session, he usually sat on the floor with his back against the wall, breathing like a horse that had been run half to death. Mercer never offered him a hand. He only looked down at Luke, said, "Tomorrow," and left the room.

Luke remained there for another minute, staring at the spear across his lap.

His entire body hurt, and he still had more mistakes than victories. Even so, White Pike had failed to hit him once.

Tomorrow, Luke intended to make it happen again.