"How's this?" Wyatt asked, gripping the daggers in an odd reverse hold, the blades' tips angled toward his own face. His knees were bent awkwardly—like he was either ready to pounce or desperately trying to hold something in.
Craven didn't reply right away. He simply stared at his student in quiet shame, wondering if he'd made a mistake by offering to train him.
"First off, everything's all wrong." Craven walked over and straightened him up. "You don't hafta stand like yer tryin' to take a sh*t."
Wyatt flashed a sheepish smile. He had no idea what he was doing.
"Secondly, are ya tryin' to fight or chop onions with those?" Craven said, taking the daggers from him with a shake of his head. "Forward grip. That's what you use when you need precision and control." He held one up, the blade extending from the same side as his thumb—sharp, efficient, practiced.
"Reverse grip," Craven muttered, flipping the dagger so the blade curved down past his knuckles. "That's for close-in, no-room-to-breathe kinda fights. Real personal sh*t. You use it when you don't have the space to swing—just slash, stab, and move."
He followed it up with a lazy, practiced jab aimed low to the ground. "Forward grip's cleaner. More control, more reach. Reverse?" He scoffed. "That's when yer already bleedin', and the guy in front of you is breathin' in yer face."
He handed the dagger back, eyeing Wyatt. "Try both. Find the one your hands don't fight against. 'Cause trust me—your opponent sure as hell won't wait for you to figure it out mid-fight."
He returned the daggers and asked Wyatt to do both grips.
After a few awkward attempts, Wyatt settled into a reverse grip. "I think this one's more comfortable," he said, though his posture still screamed beginner.
"Good. Now for the stance."
Without warning, Craven kicked Wyatt's knees outward, forcing him into a crouch.
"Lowering yer center of gravity helps with quick movement."
"Quick steps, not sprints," Craven said, not even checking if Wyatt understood. "Assuming your legs know how to listen."
"Hey, slow down…" Wyatt muttered, his brain barely catching up with Craven's whirlwind of instructions.
"Always aim for vulnerable areas — throats, kidneys, thighs, all the works," Craven said, ignoring Wyatt's protest. "And don't block unless you have to. Parry, redirect. Got it?"
"Kinda." Wyatt replied, still trying to piece it all together.
"Great. Now for the fun part," Craven said, gripping the axes strapped to his back. "Try using everything I just taught ya—on me." He flashed a grin.
"What?"
"You said ya got it, so what's wrong with a little spar."
"What's wrong is you barely gave me time to focus on anything!"
Craven lazily unslung his axes, rolling his neck. "I'm getting bored, kid. If ya don't make a move, I will."
"Fine!" Wyatt replied, while Craven stood there waiting for him to attack.
"Alright… reverse grip, crouch, shuffle... what did he say about blocking again?" Wyatt muttered, walking himself through the steps like a nervous student cramming before a test.
But it only took a single step from Craven—just one—and everything flew out of Wyatt's head. He panicked and charged forward with all the grace of a panicked toddler.
"What'd I tell ya?" Craven shook his head as he casually sidestepped the clumsy swing. "Don't run—shuffle."
He tapped Wyatt's stomach with a light kick.
It looked effortless—but Wyatt still went flying, landing hard on his back and gasping as he clutched his stomach.
"Also, try not to leave so many openings," Craven added casually.
Wyatt pushed himself up, dusting off his pants, his eyes lit with a mix of determination—and irritation.
"Ho ho, I like that," Craven grinned, loosening his stance. "Now show me whatcha got, lil' man."
Wyatt lunged again, but this time there was a shift. As soon as he closed the gap, he dropped low and slid to the side, dragging his dagger across in a tight arc toward Craven's thigh.
Craven caught the blade mid-swing with the blunt edge of his axe. His eyes flicked downward, then back to Wyatt.
"Good, good." Craven raised his leg again, causing Wyatt to jump back immediately for fear of being hit again. "Not bad," he muttered. "One hit in, and yer already adapting."
Wyatt's breath came in short, ragged bursts, but his eyes stayed locked on Craven—unflinching.
"Yer doing well, kid. Now let's see ya do it again."
Craven lunged forward. He wasn't even moving at full speed, but it was still fast enough to send Wyatt into a mini heart attack.
"Wha—wait! I thought I was the one attacking?!" he shrieked, pivoting sharply and bolting in the opposite direction like his life depended on it.
"One way or another, yer gonna learn to defend yourself."
Craven's voice was right behind him—too close.
Wyatt glanced over his shoulder… but Craven wasn't there anymore.
Before he could even process what was happening, his body slammed into something solid—like a brick wall that had appeared out of nowhere.
He hit the ground hard—and when he looked up, his face twisted in horror.
Craven was in front of him.
…
Julius stormed into the base with Candy close behind, a sly grin etched across her face.
They crossed the training grounds, passing by Wyatt and Craven.
"What happened to you?" Craven asked, eyeing Julius—soaked to the bone and clearly pissed.
"Don't ask," Julius growled, stomping past them and heading inside.
Candy turned her gaze to Wyatt, who lay face-down on the ground with his butt raised awkwardly in the air. Both daggers were splayed beside him like fallen wings.
"What happened to you?" she asked, biting back a laugh.
"Don't ask," Wyatt groaned into the dirt.
"Okay…" Candy rolled her eyes and turned to Craven. "I think we found something. I'll be in your office."
Craven gave Wyatt a look. "Rest up. We're not done."
He followed Candy inside, leaving Wyatt still sprawled on the floor.
"She smelled really weird…" Wyatt muttered, still face-down with his butt in the air.
"What did you say?" Candy's voice shot back from across the training ground.
"Nothing!" Wyatt yelped, gulping hard.
In his office, Craven dropped into his special chair, a bottle of booze already in hand. Candy stood across from him, arms crossed, worry flickering in her eyes.
"Must you really drink so much?" she asked softly, genuine concern in her voice.
Craven didn't answer. He tilted the bottle back and took a long swig, nearly draining half of it in one go.
"So... what'd you find?" he asked, voice rough.
Candy reached into her coat and pulled out a small black stone. "We found this at the bottom of the lake. It could be a clue."
Craven took it and turned it over in his hand, inspecting the texture and weight. His brow furrowed when he noticed a faint crest engraved at the base. He paused.
"What's this?" he muttered.
"No idea," she replied with a shrug. "But it looks man-made."
"Well..." Craven slumped back in his chair, eyes half-lidded. "This doesn't help at all."
The frustration was setting in. They were getting nowhere, and honestly, Craven would've loved to drop the case entirely—but the thought of Catherine showing up unannounced, again and again, made his stomach churn.
"It's the only lead we've got," Candy replied, undeterred. "We could ask around, see if anyone recognizes the crest."
Craven sighed and waved a hand dismissively. "Doubt it'll lead anywhere, but sure. Knock yerrselves out."
He dropped the stone into his desk drawer with a dull clink, then leaned back with the bottle in hand, eyes already glazing over.
Craven went back to his bottle but paused when he noticed Candy still standing there, arms crossed.
"What?" he asked, brow raised.
She hesitated for a moment before speaking.
"You know the Vipers aren't going to take what you did lying down, right?"
"Oh, please," Craven scoffed. "Bumi's too scared to piss me off."
"It's not you I'm worried about," she said, her tone tightening. "The Vipers are getting bigger. If a fight breaks out... I don't think we can handle them—not anymore."
"'Course we can." He tipped the bottle back and downed the rest in two gulps.
"By we, I meant me and the others, Craven." Candy's voice hardened into a frown.
"You worry too much," he muttered, already reaching for another bottle. "I'm telling ya—he won't do anything."
Candy watched him pop the cork with an audible pop.
"If you get us all killed, I'm haunting your drunk ass."
Craven eventually managed to shove Candy out of his office. She still had work to do, and he needed to get back to Wyatt.
As they walked toward the entrance of the building, they spotted Tai pacing back and forth with barely-contained energy. The moment she noticed them, she power-walked straight over, eyes lit up with anticipation.
"Are you done? Is it my turn? When do I start?" she fired off questions at Craven in rapid succession, completely ignoring Candy.
"Calm down, will ya," Craven said, waving a hand. "The kid's gotta learn how not to stab himself before we start teaching him how to fight. No need to overwhelm him."
"Fine," Tai muttered with a dramatic pout.
"I guess your training date will have to wait," Candy teased with a sly smirk.
Tai stuck her tongue out at her playfully, before spinning on her heel and power-walking away, just as fast as she'd arrived.
Meanwhile, back in Craven's office, the door creaked open and a small child wandered inside. Annie drifted through the room aimlessly, her curious eyes scanning everything, though she wasn't looking for anything in particular. She hummed to herself as she explored, poking around with the carefree curiosity only children possessed.
After a while, her attention landed on Craven's desk. Drawn by temptation, she crept over and opened the top drawer—despite being told countless times never to snoop in here.
Inside, something caught her eye.
A smooth black stone sat nestled in the drawer. It hadn't been there before. Annie picked it up with a gasp of delight. It was cold to the touch, oddly heavy for its size, and shimmered faintly in the light. Something about it made her feel… drawn to it.
Grinning, she tossed it in the air and caught it a few times, then held it out like a tiny airplane and made it zoom around the room. Just a kid playing with a cool rock.
Then—footsteps.
Her eyes widened.
She had been warned more times than she could count: never mess around in Craven's office. If she got caught…
Without thinking, she stuffed the stone into her pocket and slipped out of the office, gently closing the door behind her.