God of Destruction: Living Among Mortals

Marcus paced, his eyes assessing the two after that grueling, body-altering warm-up.

Then he spoke up, "You're both raw, but that's fixable." Saying it as if they were toys, which they were to him, for now. His tone was demanding, his lips puckered out, eyes narrowed, brows slightly going inward. "Nova, your form's instinctual, which is very good. So, I want you to keep working on it." Then, turning to Adam, "Adam, you have got a lot of talent, but you're doubting too much. Drop it. Hesitation kills faster than any monster can."

The two nodded in unison, moving on to agility drills: dodging holographic projectiles that zipped from wall emitters like angry hornets. Nova weaved, his body low, the projections grazing his skin slightly with a sting.

One clipped his shoulder, a jolt like Freya's teasing zap, but much sharper, and dangerous.

Adam took more hits at first, screaming, but learned quickly. His dodges became sharper.

Mid-drill, Marcus activated floor panels that shifted unpredictably, turning the mat into a tilting maze. Nova leaped, balanced on one foot as the ground bucked, seeming to resist, then struck a rising dummy.

Adam slipped once, face planting, but rose laughing nervously, shaking it off. Marcus also gave in, slightly smiling at the edges, then going back to his "boss" mode.

Two hours ticked by, bodies pushing through limits that they didn't seem to have achieved. Marcus finally eased off. "Core work now. Planks on unstable orbs, hold three minutes, then switch to crunches with weighted pulls."

Nova mounted the orb, its surface wobbling like an event horizon of a black hole. His core engaged, abs trying to stabilize, sweat already dripping onto the mat like precipitation.

This is hard, he thought, as his abs burned. He closed his eyes, tightening them as the pain was much greater than he had imagined. Trying to do planks on an unstable surface isn't something I thought I would do. But then again, it is Marcus.

Three minutes stretched to an eternity, muscles shaking violently, but he held, his face looked like it was about to pop like a balloon. He was so red that his blood vessels pushed through their limits.

At the same time, in his thoughts, he laughed, smirking happily, as this was also the type of struggle he wanted to enjoy, to crave. To understand and not yield to.

Adam managed two minutes before collapsing, but Marcus nodded heavily in approval. He was looking like a happy dad, drinking three cans of beer and watching his kid excel at baseball.

Marcus spoke up, astonished and encouraging Adam: "Very good, Adam, I didn't think you would last even third seconds, but you impressed me. Keep at it, and maybe you can even surpass Nova here."

"Let's not take it that far," Nova said immediately, still proud of Adam, but also didn't want to give him false hope, since Adam would never catch up to Nova.

Crunches followed, bands pulling against upward curls, which felt like a losing fight against gravity. Nova's abs screamed by forty, but he hit fifty, collapsing with a satisfied grunt. Adam tapped at thirty-five, panting, but his eyes now held that spark of fire; the spark of determination of not giving up. His hesitation began to crack.

Marcus issued another break, handing energy bars with nearly forty grams of protein in them, which also tasted like compressed stars, sweet, zesty, and restoring vigour.

"Eat. Then we will move on to sparring basics, no contact yet. Just ease into the footwork and positioning. Nova, I think you know how to box and use other martial arts techniques, so you will teach Adam. I have to attend a meeting I forgot about, but I will only need ten minutes."

Nova tossed the bar aside, savoring every single bite, already eager for what came next. The sweetness lingered on his tongue like artificial lightning, clashing with the metallic tang of his sweat.

He wiped his forearms across his forehead, his breath steady, stabilizing, his body still pulsing with that good type of ache, the kind that meant he was truly alive.

Adam, on the other hand, was slumped against the wall, the wrapper crumpled in his fist. His chest rose, rising and falling like he'd just escaped drowning. He grimaced at the aftertaste of the energy bar, chewing more slowly than necessary.

"It ta-tastes like som-somebody froze sunlight and added... de-detergent," he murttered between gulps.

Nova smirked, his voice teasing him: "You'll get used to it. Or you'll stop caring altogether."

"Both sound awful."

"That's training." Nova stood, stretching his shoulders until his joints cracked. His muscles radiated with sweat under the overhead lights, his stance already shifting into a natural boxing pose. "Come on. Marcus said footwork. We'll start here."

Adam peeled himself from the wall reluctantly, his legs trembling, though his eyes, which Nova noticed, had that spark still.

The two moved to the center of the mat. Holographic lines lit up beneath their feet, marking squares and circles in pale blue, like a glowing chessboard that demanded pieces move precisely fall into chaos.

Nova tapped one of the lines with his heel. "The first thing that any good martial artist needs is balance. Balance helps you stand up, walk, and do many other things. It also helps you evade and strike brutally."

Then he said, pointing at his feet: "Your feet are your foundation. Too close together, and you fall. Too far apart, you're slow. You want strength; you also want flow. Those two need to complement each other; otherwise, your flow would be in Antarctica, while your strength is in the Arctic. Polar Opposites."

Adam frowned, trying to mimic the stance. His feet slid too far back, his weight uneven. Nova circled him, his sharp eyes catching every single flaw.

"You're leaning. Fix it."

Adam adjusted awkwardly, but determined, which Nova nodded in approval.

"Better. Now, never cross your feet when moving. That's suicide. Always slide. Small, efficient steps. The moment you trip yourself, you're done. Try: left, right, back, forward. But keep your eyes on me."

Adam nodded, shuffling stiffly, his sneakers squeaking against the glowing floor panels. High rhythm was off, faltering, his focus dipping every few seconds, but Nova was patient. Understanding that Adam was new to most of this. Almost all of this.

"No. Reset. Do it again." He said patiently, nodding at Adam to reaffirm to him that he was fine; that he was starting to get the hang of it. "Keep your guard up." Nova raised his own fists, elbows tucked tight, demonstrating. "Protect yourself, even in drills. Make it a habit. Your instincts would protect you, so believe in them."

Adam mirrored him, fists trembling slightly but rising. His eyes locked onto Nova's, unsure, wavering.

"That hesitation," Nova said flatly, "will get you killed."

Adam bit his lip, then straightened his stance, then said, without stuttering: "I'll fix it."

"Good." Nova smiled, realizing that Adam didn't stutter this time, meaning he was improving steadily.

Minutes passed in repetitions, shuffles, pivots, steps. Nova corrected him constantly, knocking Adam's arms higher when his guard dipped, snapping at him to keep breathing, to stay light but not careless. Adam stumbled, cursed, and early tripped, but each mistake made that spark of fire in his eyes brighter, much deadlier. Slowly, the stiffness was peeling away, layer by layer.

Sweat poured down Adam's temple, his T-shirt sticking to his back, and he felt somewhat itchy, but his movements gained a rhythm. The awkward shuffling grew into something resembling divine grace.

Nova watched carefully, seeing the sudden improvement in Adam. He nodded constantly in approval.

"You're learning," Nova admitted after a long silence.

Adam blinked, surprised at the praise. "Really?"

"Really. Don't get cocky. But yes."

Adam grinned, panting. "That's… something, at least."

The floor suddenly dimmed, as Marcus's voice cut through the air from hidden speakers. "Good. Very good. I can't believe you've improved already, Adam. Nova's a solid teacher, but it's all thanks to you that you have improved."

Adam straightened instinctively, chest swelling. He looked proud, as the compliments rushed through his head.

"Don't let it go to your head," Marcus added sharply, and Adam's pride shrank to something more manageable. "Keep your mind on the grind, not the glory." Then, he added, becoming more serious. "Nova, keep pushing him, and if he falters, break him down. And if he breaks, make sure that he rebuilds."

"Understood," Nova replied, his voice neutral, though inside he enjoyed the responsibility.

The speakers clicked off.

"Okay," Nova said, clapping sharply. "Now, let's move on to pivot drills. The point of pivot drills is for you to learn not just to step, but to turn around, using your hips, using angles to win fights." He demonstrated, shifting smoothly, sliding left, then right, his shoulders rotating with his feet, his entire body aligned like a coiled spring. "See? Always ready to strike or evade."

Adam tried, and of course, stumbled almost immediately; his pivot was too wide. His foot slipped, and he nearly tripped. He caught himself at the last second, swearing.

Nova chuckled, his tone slightly sarcastic: "Not bad. You definitely got it somewhat right. But do it again."

And Adam did. Again, and again, and again. Each time a little smoother. His frustration didn't vanish; it burned brighter. But he didn't stop. Not once. The spark of fire in his eyes radiated even brighter.

Half an hour passed in drills. Their sweat pooled on the mat. Their breaths came sharp and slightly rough. Nova's patience wavered but never broke; he sharply said corrections, offered sharp encouragement, and sometimes just stared until Adam fixed himself without a word.

Finally, Nova stepped back, folding his arms. "Alright. That's enough for basics. You're still sloppy, but you're not hopeless."

Adam collapsed onto the mat, lying flat, his chest rising. He laughed weakly. "Sloppy… but not hopeless. I'll take it."

Nova sat beside him, stretching his legs out. He wasn't as tired, not nearly, but the burn in his body was pleasant. For a moment, the two simply breathed, their exhaustion filling the silence.

Then Adam spoke, softly, almost to himself: "Do you ever wonder if Marcus really cares, or if we're just tools to make him richer?

Nova tilted his head, considering, then saying, somewhat in the middle of the two options: "Both. He cares enough to make us strong. But he'll still use us. That's the deal, anyway."

Adam closed his eyes, absorbing that.

The doors open suddenly, Marcus reappearing, his aura thickening the atmosphere of the room even more. His suit jacket was gone, sleeves rolled up, his posture sharp. His eyes swept the room, assessing instantly.

"You kept busy," he said, satisfied. "Good. Very good. But now we'll add a layer."

Both Nova and Adam sat straighter.

"Sparring, light contact. Nothing to injure, but enough to sting. Adam, you will learn the fastest by failing, so Nova, don't hold back, but keep the power level appropriately."

Adam swallowed hard, his nerves firing. Nova stood, rolling his shoulders, his body already shifting into his natural fighting stance. They both wore their gloves, since it was a way to limit the amount of damage being dealt, especially by Nova.

The room reconfigured, walls glowing faintly, a countdown flashing in holographic digits.

3…

2…

1…

"Begin."

Nova moved, shifting, controlling his power to not injure Adam as much. He launched a jab: not full power, but as sharp as he could. Adam flinched, stepping back in a wide arc, nearly tripping. Nova didn't give him time; he stepped forward, launching another strike. Adam raised his guard late, the glove grazing his cheek.

"Focus!" Nova barked. "Breathe!"

Adam blinked, panic rising. He swung clumsily, a wild punch, telegraphed from a mile away. Nova sidestepped easily, his fist darting out, a clean tap to Adam's ribs.

Adam gasped at the sting. His eyes widened.

"Good. Feel it. That's what hesitation costs."

Adam growled, frustration bubbling, and charged again, sloppier this time, his feet crossing. Nova caught it instantly, sweeping low with his leg, sending Adam sprawling to the mat with a thud.

Adam groaned, rolling to his back.

Marcus's voice echoed loudly from the sideline: "Get up!"

Adam pushed himself up, slower than before, but that spark of determination was not fading away just yet.

Nova smirked at him, teasing him, as he crooked his finger, darting him forward.

Over and over, he lunged, swung, stumbled, fell, and rose. Nova struck, blocked, countered, teaching through pain, through repetition. Each failure chipped at Adam's hesitation, forcing something rawer, more instinctual, to surface.

Minutes bled into an hour. Adam's lip split slightly, his arms trembled, his ribs ached, but he kept coming. Nova, though untouched, found himself impressed. The boy wasn't quitting. Not anymore.

Finally, Marcus clapped once, loud, halting them. "Enough."

Both froze, drenched in sweat, panting hard. Adam nearly collapsed again, but Marcus caught his shoulder, holding him steady.

"You didn't break," Marcus said simply. "That's step one. Most never make it this far."

Adam blinked, dazed, then smiled weakly, blood on his teeth. "Guess I'm… not most."

Marcus chuckled, low. "No. You're not."

Nova watched silently, his chest still rising steadily, his own pride buried beneath a mask of calm. For the first time, maybe, he thought Adam might actually become more than just dead weight. Maybe even… competition.

And that, he decided, would make things interesting.