Raiden
dreamcatcher
The dark-haired trainee was excruciatingly exhausted by the end of the punishment imposed upon their class, and as the boys collectively filtered into the smaller cliques of their cabinmates, Hal had his sights set on one of the perpetrators from the scuffle at the mess hall. A similar familiarity seemed to rise in his chest for a moment as he approached the other boy from behind, planting a hand on his shoulder and trying to stop Leon in his tracks while the others entered their cabin.
“You held back, didn’t you?” Hal suddenly stammered from Leon’s flank, his head cocked to the side as he tried to keep his voice lower to avoid a potential discovery from the Instructor. His eyes watched for any sudden movements from the other boy, thinking back to the expression that painted Leon’s face during the struggle. “Back there, you could’ve snapped his arm like a twig. Don’t lie.”
Leon was taken aback by Hal. He paused a moment, offering him a smile of a nefarious nature. He let out a chuckle, set his head back and offered him a coy shrug. “Maybe.” He replied quietly. “He had a thick skull, maybe that means his bones would have stayed together. He’s lucky you and the bodyguard were there though, a snapped arm was the least of his worries.”
Leon’s predatory glare returned, retaining a smile. “You’ll find out, though.” He said, hopping towards his bunk.
“Huh?” Hal peered through the other boy with a vague expression as he considered Leon’s choice of words, following into the cabin after him. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
An exasperated sigh passed his lips, stopping in his tracks with his arms crossed together. “Whatever, but don’t think about losing to him or anyone else,” Hal announced from the center of the boy’s cabin, glaring past the collective glances upon the start of his declaration. “‘Cause I’m gonna beat you, first.”
He ignored the scattered gasps and gossip among some of the other trainees, his scowl dying down as Hal turned his back to Leon. Trotting towards his bunk, the crack of a smile curled over his lips. And don’t forget it.
✹ ✹ ✹
Upon instruction, Leon gathered with the other cadets as the close quarters combat training began. Leon did not seem interested in the lessons taught, nor the technique. He had his eyes peeled on Hal throughout it all. When Krause commanded everyone to find a sparring partner, Leon promptly approached Hal.
“Hey.” He abrupted. “Let’s be partners.”
Leon stood over the boy, holding the wooden knife in his hand. His posture communicated an abrasive adamance and stubbornness. The knife shifted from one hand to another, twirling it along his finger. His eye contact remained, like that of an eagle hovering over its prey.
Though Hal was of the opinion that training in hand-to-hand combat was next to useless in the midst of Titans, he figured that the effort was worth its sweat if it was another opportunity for him to impress Instructor Krause and the others. He’d made sure to pay close attention to the new concepts that were shown; it was going to be necessary if he wanted to show up everyone else during the next three years. It was only fitting that, after being given the choice of opponent, his first contender would be Leon, someone that he felt embroiled with in a sort of rivalry.
In the midst of the other miscellaneous sparring sections, Hal found it convenient that Leon approached him first, making it quite obvious to tell that the latter shared his sentiments to some degree. His eye glimpsed the wooden weapon before rising back up to his adversary, prepared to meet the leap with subtle defense. “You’re gonna need a bigger knife,” a smirk broke across his face as he cracked his neck by rolling his head.
Leon’s brow raised, turning his eyes toward the knife. He offered Hal a quick shrug and tossed it aside. He raised his fists to his chin, elbows out and his legs were beginning to bend. His hawk-like scowl from before returned and his lips turned to a smile.
“That’s fine.” His tone was taunting. Leon’s eyebrows began to curve towards his forehead as he embedded his left foot into the sand.
“First to call mercy?” He asked.
So it was going to be a true display of strength, after all. Hal actually preferred trading blows and fists in favor of the tedious disarming exercise; he could already feel oncoming of adrenaline rise up from his toes. It was the excitement of a worthy challenge, something that was disappointingly hard to come by within their class. Admittedly, he could only count enough of them on one hand, and the boy standing before him was one of them.
Even with the stark disadvantage in height and reach, Hal was more than confident that he would triumph over some boy from out in the boonies. “Sure, whatever,” he stated rather flatly and quickly as he rolled his eyes. He mirrored Leon’s stance and venom, opting to take the first action when his body sprung forward. Within distance, his hips steered straight as his right leg came upward for a straight kick, driving his boot towards the center of the other boy’s stomach.
Whether or not his introduction was deflected, Hal stuck to the offense, his left fist coming forward for two quick jabs.
Leon stayed quiet, his eyes narrowing and focusing on Hal. He kept his eyes peeled for his legs as Hal’s posture turned to one of attack. Leon was able to predict the kick going for his stomach, pivoting his left side to avoid it. This explosiveness kept Leon on guard, choosing to avoid the first jab by veering his body backward with his legs, keeping Hal in his own reach but using his height as leverage to stay out of his reach. As Hal closed in for another punch, Leon held his hands up to his chin and formed fists. He was caught off guard from the speed and Leon was forced to parry the second jab.
Leon’s teeth grinded in pain as bone met bone, using this opportunity where Hal’s guard was weakened to place a precise counter-jab over Hal’s arm with his right side. The blow was centered towards the side of the chin, but was placed with careful consideration of a counter attack. It was fast and used only his tricep to strike, rather than putting his entire body into it. Leon made sure to keep his feet well placed with his body posture and other hand ready for any counters.
Hal wasn’t totally surprised by the other boy’s intuition on his frontal kick, knowing that Leon wasn’t going to be a complete pushover; what had caught him unawares was the swiftness in counterattack. His stance staggered a bit, the strike knocking his head slightly upwards as he was quick to refocus, keeping his breathing even and his gaze forward. His eyes communicated approval in that short moment, letting out a snarl through gritted teeth and swinging his right arm low for a wide liver punch.
Hal’s approval garnered a small smile from Leon, nodding his head in response. Leon had not fatigued at all yet, so when Hal went for his liver, Leon was apt to pick up the danger. He pivoted his body to the side, using his long arms to close a fist towards his stomach. Like before, it was simply fast, propelled by his arm with as little body as he could. His elbow curled upwards into the blow, trying to embed his knuckle into Hal’s gut.
The shorter boy felt a bit of air swing up from his lungs upon the connection of Leon’s elbow to his stomach, taking the blow with grace as his instincts demanded him to toss away the Instructor’s principles. Damn, he’s fast, too. A strange feeling welled up within his chest that he couldn’t possibly explain; it was familiar, yet unfamiliar, all at once. The thrill of a challenge? Whatever it was, he could feel his spirit roar emphatically, wanting to release itself through the force of his body.
“Good, good,” Hal murmured, springing from his partially-hunched state and turning his body away from Leon. Wheeling in a circle, his left elbow was extended outward, aiming higher for Leon’s head as his forearm also extended out for a back fist.
“Getting tired yet?” Leon taunted with his guard still solid.
He kept his eyes peeled, that hawk-like gaze never leaving him. As Hal began to move forwards, a new smile hit the tall lad. It was not predatory like before, but it was quaint, relaxed and repressed. Leon did not recognize it but he felt something nostalgic urge him in the fight.
Hal’s backpunch slid against his parry, the edge of his forearm striking his forehead. Leon’s eyes squeezed in pain. For once, his posture had broken slightly. Leon’s stance, that was once coiled like a snake, had spread wings and enveloped. In a split second, Leon had recovered his body, reeling in a strike from below, centred right into the side of Hal’s face. It was not aimless, Leon was sure to slide it underneath the arm that had just struck him. Unlike before, he completely leaned into the blow. His shoulders arced and his chest committed the punch into Hal's stomach.
It was ferocity that Leon had not revealed in the fight yet and it even seemed to don a look of bewilderment from Leon. He had not felt this sort of energy in a while. The kerfuffle with Jericho had provoked it but this meager, seemingly pointless exchange of blows had completely bust open something--enjoyment.
Even though his counterattack looked to have some effect, Leon still seemed to have the upper hand over him. As Hal finished the full revolution of his body, he found himself wheeling directly into the other boy’s fist; this time, the strike felt full and true, so strong that it sent him stumbling backwards from the close combat, threatening to capsize him. Dust flung from around his boots as he was reduced to a kneel, trying to catch his breath and coughing from the polluted atmosphere.
“Tired of playin’ around,” Hal bit back as his form took off from his knelt state, charging right back towards Leon and rearing his right arm back for a heavy punch. Just as he closed in on the other boy, his body shifted in a split second, gathering enough momentum to launch himself into the air off of his left foot. His right knee bent upward, aiming for Leon’s upper chest.
Leon had a look of pride donned across his face from his successful counter. He held his fist with glee and his faint smile was now rapturous. Leon did not reply to Hal with words, rather offering him a taunt, edging him forward with an open palm. His guard, for once, fell and drew a fishing line to be attacked.
When Hal began to approach him, the feeling of pleasure turned into revelation. It beguiled Leon enough to let his guard down even further, to the point where he was almost asking to get pummeled. It was not a contingency of fear or giving in, but rather intrigue and a demand to understand what was so nostalgic. His eyes spelled a look of familiarity, a nudge coming from a forgotten past. Leon’s smile changed, no longer pride nor pleasure but one of warmth.
When Hal’s attack finally closed in, Leon did his best to resist the propelled knee at his chest. It was to no avail. Leon would feel the air being punctured out his body as his chest contracted towards his torso from the momentum. The air shot out of him like a balloon and his body had begun to deflate as his soles jolted inches off the ground.
Leon tried to issue a war cry but all that came out was a pained grunt. In a final act of desperation, Leon hammered his forehead down towards the top of Hal’s skull-- whether it hit or not, Leon keeled to the floor, sprawling out onto his back in an act of exhaustion. He spent a few moments catching his breath and apart from labored breathing, Leon was completely dead silent. When Leon finally caught his breath, he did not utter anything. Leon had no words of remorse or frustration nor any excuses or cries. He simply laughed.
Hal had finally managed to connect a solid strike to his opponent, though it would not go unpunished as he was met with one final repercussion. His eyes went wide when the taller boy’s head deliberately collided with his own, sending him back down from his brief elevation as his back met the ground. The clouds in the sky seemed to shift and multiply while his eyes blinked rapidly in an effort to refocus, his breathing slowing down as the view reminded him of that day.
His right hand came up to trace the contour of his face for a moment before coming back to reality, the white noise of the sparring trainees overpowering the ringing within his ears. “Oof,” Hal simply complained as he rubbed the top of his aching head, rolling over onto one side to see that his pocket watch had fallen out of his uniform jacket.
Clutching the watch within his palm as he rose from the ground, Hal blew and wiped the dirt from his personal trinket, relieved to see that no damage was done to its exterior and interior. He trotted over to the other boy, looking over him for any considerable injuries as he heard laughter come from Leon. Strange guy, laughing after all of this. Rolling his eyes, Hal extended his left hand down for his fellow soldier to take, checking the time on his watch before stuffing it back into his coat pocket.
“Oi, get off your ass,” Hal’s expression was one of displeasure, though one could tell that when his mouth curled up to scoff, it was holding back the same bit of laughter. “You think we’re done, Leon?”
Leon’s eyes made for the pocket watch and gazed as Hal concerned over it. His laughter stopped and his hands reached for a necklace that was around his neck. Leon could simply sigh as he was helped to the ground. He dusted his clothing, straightened his posture and offered Hal a smirk.
“Did you hear me call mercy?”
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