27. Ruthless
Chapter twenty-seven
Ruthless
Zander is unusually ruthless during our next lesson.
He isn’t holding anything back, and I can’t help but wonder if he is upset about Oberon’s absence.
Or was he holding back because of him? Whatever the reason, I am getting my ass handed to me, barely able to keep up, despite the countless sparring sessions we have shared.
Zander is a force of nature, stealth, speed, and raw determination run deep in his every move, his body honed into a weapon, every curve and edge a testament to his years of training.
My muscles scream for relief as he closes the distance, bringing his fist down with a strike that I can hardly deflect. I raise my hands in mock surrender, knowing I can’t take another blow.
Zander halts, his swift attack coming to a sudden stop. “What is it?” His tone is flat, unamused.
“I can’t keep up,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.
He studies me for a moment, arms crossed, his gaze unwavering as he takes in my exhaustion. “I have to push you,” he replies, his voice lacking any hint of sympathy.
“I know, but this is too far,” I protest, my breath ragged as I steady myself.
For a brief moment, his cold demeanor softens, as if something in me has reached him. His eyes flicker, and I see the glint of something buried beneath his hard exterior, a shadow of pain.
He takes a step back, his posture shifting as he seems to wrestle with the weight of unspoken thoughts.
“You think I don’t know what it feels like?
” Zander’s voice drops low, quieter now, but still edged with that same intensity.
“When I was younger, I couldn’t protect the one person I cared about.
My sister . . .” His voice cracks ever so slightly, but he quickly recovers.
“She was taken and hurt. Worse than hurt.”
I can hear the rawness in his words, the hurt he has buried for so long. His face is taut with the memory, the pain that still grips him all these years later.
“I swore I would never be weak again,” he continues, his gaze hardening once more, but I see the flicker of something deeper.
“I couldn’t save her, and it nearly destroyed me.
That’s why I train like I do, why I push you like this.
I wish I had someone who would have pushed me.
Someone who would’ve been there, telling me it wasn’t enough.
I didn’t have that . . . but now I do. And you do too. ”
Zander’s voice grows more intense, the weight of his words sinking in. “I can’t protect everyone, but if you’re ever in a position where you’re alone, without anyone to rely on . . . then it’s my job to make sure you never feel the way I did. To make sure you don’t fail, not like I did.”
The last sentence hangs in the air between us, thick with the weight of his promise.
I can see the quiet resolve in his eyes, and I realize that, for all his toughness, there is a vulnerability in him that runs deeper than any weapon.
It is the part of him that will never let anyone he cares about fall, even if it means pushing them to the edge of their endurance.
I swallow, not knowing how to respond. Thank the gods for Ash, who has a talent for appearing out of nowhere. He must have sensed the tension between us and stepped in, like always.
“Come on, Zander, you’re killing the poor girl,” he teases with that familiar smirk. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” His green eyes gleaming, daring Zander to take the bait.
Zander lets out a dark chuckle, clearly amused by Ash’s challenge. “You think you can take me, Ash?” he asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm and amusement.
Ash’s grin widens. “For you, Zander, I won’t even use my magic,” his voice light, but the challenge in his tone unmistakable.
Zander’s smile curls into something sharper, more dangerous. “You’d better use everything in your arsenal if you think you can take me down,” he replies, something close to excitement filling his voice.
The two of them square up, the air between them fueled with anticipation. I take a few cautious steps back, giving them plenty of space.
My heart is racing, watching these two powerful males prepare for hand-to-hand combat. Ash trained me with my magic, but I have never seen him in a one-on-one fight like this.
Zander is a force to be reckoned with, with stealth, speed, and a lifetime of experience. But Ash, with his manipulation of gravity . . . how can Zander stand a chance?
The fight erupts in an instant, a blur of movement.
Zander is a trained killer, his every step calculated, his strikes lethal and precise.
His fists come at Ash with the speed of a striking viper, each punch a deadly promise.
Zander moves like a wraith, never still and always on the attack.
His agility is unmatched, and the raw power in his movements shakes the air around them.
Ash, on the other hand, is calm, almost too calm.
His green eyes never leave Zander’s, a playful smirk still tugging at the corner of his lips, even as he dodges and parries.
He is quick, but his movements are less about strength and more about evasion.
The way he moves is fluid, graceful, almost effortless.
Zander’s strikes are fast, but Ash is faster, his body always one step ahead. He doesn’t need to use magic, not yet.
As the fight drags on, the tension thickens.
Zander is relentless, his strikes beginning to land with more precision.
With every punch, every kick, Ash is pushed further back.
I can see his breath coming in ragged gasps now, his smirk slipping, replaced by the faintest flicker of strain in his eyes.
Zander’s assault is unforgiving, and it is clear Ash is reaching his limits. Zander closes the distance, his eyes wild with the thrill of the fight, his arms moving in a blur. Ash is forced to take another step back, his foot sliding slightly in the loose dirt.
Zander lunges again, and this time, Ash doesn’t have time to react.
Then, in a sudden shift of energy, Ash’s hand moves almost imperceptibly, a soft exhale of magic slipping from his control. A wisp of power wraps around Zander like an invisible force, suddenly making his own weight too much to bear.
Zander freezes mid-strike, his body locking in place, unable to move even an inch. The magic is subtle but effective. Ash is using the very force of gravity against him, shifting the balance of the world around them just enough to stop Zander in his tracks.
For a moment, time seems to stretch as Zander struggles against the unseen weight, his breath coming out in strained gasps.
It doesn’t last. Zander’s trained body and willpower kick in, and with a growl of frustration, he pushes against the force.
Within a split second, he regains control, his muscles straining as he fights off the magic and tears back toward Ash.
Before Ash can react, Zander is upon him again, quicker than before, relentless in his pursuit. The fight is back on, the air crackling with tension, neither of them willing to give in easily.
Ash, despite the toll it is taking, finds a burst of energy and manages to land a few solid strikes on Zander, one to his ribs, another to his jaw that makes Zander stumble back, momentarily dazed.
It is enough to rattle him, enough to make him pause just for a fraction of a second, but it isn’t enough to stop him.
Zander’s eyes narrow, and with a fierce growl, he closes the gap again.
Ash’s breath is shallow, his movements quicker now, but the strain is evident.
His hand twitches again, summoning just a whisper of his magic.
The air around Zander shifts, the ground beneath him heavy.
Zander’s eyes flare with defiance as he clenches his jaw, his willpower a wall against the magic.
He grits his teeth and forces himself forward, his feet digging into the ground with the strength of a male who refuses to be controlled.
Ash’s magic sputters, unable to hold Zander in place for long. Zander wills himself out of the force, his determination shining through the blue in his eyes like a relentless tide. He lunges forward with a force that sends Ash stumbling backward, the powerful strike enough to rattle Ash’s frame.
Both men are gasping now, their bodies battered and bruised from head to toe.
Their chests heave with the effort, and the blood and sweat that coat their skin speak of the intensity of the battle.
Ash’s smile has faded, replaced by the strain of exhaustion, but there is no fear in his eyes. Only respect.
And maybe, just a flicker of admiration.
Zander takes a step back, wiping the blood from his lip, his face bruised but his expression resolute. Ash stands opposite him, equally worn, but there is something between them now, something unspoken, a quiet understanding forged in the heat of combat.
Ash lets out a breathless laugh, the sound filled with a mix of respect and amusement.
“Not bad, Zander,” he says, his voice still holding that signature playfulness, though it is now tinged with genuine recognition. “You’re a stubborn ass, I will give you that.”
Zander’s lips quirk into a smile, a slow, deliberate curve that doesn’t reach his eyes, still burning with the fierceness of the fight. He wipes a hand across his brow and then extends it to Ash, his grip firm and acknowledging the challenge they just faced.
Ash accepts the handshake, his own hand calloused and rough, a mirror of Zander’s. Both males stand there for a moment, exchanging a silent acknowledgment, two warriors who have pushed each other to their limits, each recognizing the power in the other.
“I’m surprised you’re still standing,” Zander says with a grunt, his tone lighter now, but still holding that underlying edge. “Guess we’re both stubborn as hell.”
Ash’s smirk widens, despite the bruises darkening on his face. “We’ll see if you still think that after a few more rounds.”
They both step back, breathing heavily, yet there is no animosity between them.
Only a quiet respect. And for the first time in a long time, it feels like the fight isn’t just about physical strength.
It is about understanding each other’s power and what they are both willing to endure to stand their ground.
The fight between Ash and Zander stretches on, each round harder than the last. The two of them, battered and bruised, seem to grow more relentless with every strike, as if the pain only spurs them on further.
Ash’s magic crackles in the air, constantly shifting between gravity manipulation and protective shields, trying to subdue Zander’s raw, physical power.
Zander is relentless, adapting to each new strategy as though his body were built for defying the very laws of nature itself.
Every time Ash tries to force gravity against him, pulling him down or making him heavier, Zander counters it with the precision of a well-honed weapon, using his strength and agility to defy it. He seems to almost anticipate Ash’s moves before they happen, his instincts fine-tuned to the battle.
At one point, Ash manages to make Zander weightless, sending him floating into the sky.
The air shifts as Zander hangs suspended for a split second, but Zander doesn’t just drift.
With a powerful flex of his muscles, he propels himself across the field with a speed that defies logic, crashing into Ash and taking him to the ground in an explosive tackle.
The fight wears on, both men nearly unable to stand, the sky shifting colors as the sun sinks lower, casting the battlefield in an eerie, fiery glow.
Each breath is labored, their bodies are torn with exhaustion, their fists still clenching with determination.
Neither of them gives an inch, both driven by something deeper than the fight itself.
There is something mesmerizing about watching them, raw, brutal power in every movement.
As the light of day fades into the dark of evening, they finally call it quits. Neither Ash nor Zander can stand much longer, their bruised bodies barely holding together as they trudge back toward the house.