Chapter 9: The Waiting Game Begins
The training yard was alive with the rhythm of combat, its scarred flagstones glinting under the skylight's silver glow, the vine carvings on the walls shifting in the flickering torchlight, their spirals seeming to pulse with the forest's ancient breath. The air was thick with pine and damp earth, laced with the faint ozone of Mark's powers, like a storm's aftermath lingering in the stone. He faced Tauriel, boots planted firmly, hands raised in a half-mocking guard, sweat beading on his brow, stinging his eyes, sharp and relentless. His wrists ached, raw and stinging as he rubbed them, grounding his racing heart, the raw skin a constant reminder of chains he'd worn too long. "Kili's coming. I need this," he thought, his modern lilt a defiance in this ancient place. "Gotta level up, fast."
Tauriel's eyes smoldered, her red hair a fiery crown, strands catching the torchlight like embers on the wind. Her leather armor creaked as she shifted, her bow in hand, its string taut, humming with potential. The lavender scent clung to her, sharp with irritation, a contrast to the yard's earthy musk, cutting through like a blade. Vaelor watched from the side, his scarred hands steady, his armor clanking faintly, his gruff approval a quiet hum in the air. Faelar lingered at the yard's edge, his pine-scented sneer a constant prod, his armor glinting with hostility, his boots scuffing the stone with deliberate menace, the sound grating against Mark's nerves.
"Come on," Mark said, grin wide, reckless, his voice rough from exertion. "You're captain of the guard. Show me what you've got. Or you scared I'll break you?"
Tauriel's growl was primal, her eyes flashing green fire, a spark of fury that sent a shiver down his spine. "You're insufferable," she said, voice sharp, melodic, like a bowstring's snap. "You think this is a game?"
She drew her bow, the string snapping with a sharp thwack, the arrow a blur aimed at his chest, the air whistling with its deadly speed. Mark's heart surged, adrenaline flooding his veins, his pulse a war drum pounding in his ears. He focused, the system's hum surging, a guttural buzz vibrating through the stone beneath his feet, like a heartbeat in the earth. He unleashed Repulsion Field, the air shimmering, a concussive wave bursting outward with a jarring whump. The arrow veered, splintering against a wall, the sound echoing as wooden targets shattered, sawdust swirling in a chaotic cloud. Rocks rolled, the air crackling with static, the ozone sharp in his nose, biting and electric. Tauriel staggered, her bowstring humming, her eyes wide with shock and a grudging awe, her breath catching as she steadied herself.
[Repulsion Field Lv. 1 unlocked. MP -25. Nice area control.]
[Repulsion Field Lv. 1: MP 25/100. Cooldown: 1min.]
Mark stood panting, triumph coursing through him, his chest heaving, muscles trembling with exertion. The yard's scars pulsed, a faded carving of a broken shield on the wall whispering of lost battles, its jagged lines a silent story of defiance and defeat. A memory flashed—his sister, cheering his first soccer goal, her voice bright in the summer heat, her laughter a beacon in his memory. The ache of it tightened his chest, raw and heavy, but he shoved it down, rubbing his wrist, the sting sharp, grounding him in the moment. Dust gritted his teeth, his throat dry, the air heavy with pine and ozone, the scent of his power lingering like a storm's aftermath.
Theryn, a wiry Mirkwood scout, burst into the yard, her cloak rustling like dry leaves, her forest-earth scent sharp, cutting through the ozone. Her boots crunched gravel, her voice trembling with urgency. "Captain! Dwarves near the path. A large company, moving fast."
Mark's meta-knowledge flared, a cold knot twisting in his stomach. "Thorin's here. Kili's with them." He kept his face neutral, but his mind raced, plotting to block Kili's path to Tauriel, like Daryl Dixon cutting off a rival's move in a tense standoff. The air thickened, heavy with anticipation, the pine scent sharp, grounding his spinning thoughts. His moral hypocrisy gnawed at him—manipulating her trust to control the narrative, a survivor's trick he wasn't proud of but couldn't abandon. "Gotta keep them apart," he thought, heart pounding with strategy, his wrist stinging as he rubbed it.
[Intuition +0.3. Dwarves incoming. Plan fast.]
Tauriel turned to Theryn, her voice sharp with duty, cutting through the air like a blade. "Alert the patrols. Double the watch."
She glanced at Mark, a wry smirk playing on her lips, sweat beading on her brow, her hair glowing like a crown of fire in the torchlight. "You're infuriating, human," she said, voice softer, almost playful, a shift that caught him off guard.
"And you're warming up to it," Mark said, winking, his modern lilt a spark in the tension, his grin reckless despite the ache in his chest.
[Tauriel Trust +5%. Progress, loverboy.]
Her smirk widened, a fleeting warmth in her green eyes, her fingers brushing her dagger's hilt, a nervous tic, the leather creaking softly. The torchlight caught her hair, a crown of embers, and Mark's heart skipped, a spark of connection igniting, like finding an ally in a ruined world where trust was a rare currency. The yard's shadows deepened, the broken shield watching silently, its jagged lines a reminder of the battles ahead.
In a quiet moment, Mark lingered by the broken shield, his fingers tracing its jagged lines, the stone rough under his touch, grounding him. The yard was silent, save for the distant clank of Vaelor's armor as he adjusted targets, the sound echoing like a heartbeat. The loneliness was a weight, heavier than ever, his sister's voice a ghost in his mind, her laughter a distant echo from a world he'd never see again. The pine air cooled his sweat, the dust gritty on his tongue, anchoring him in this alien world. "I'm ready," he thought, the system's runes pulsing faintly, a mocking glow in his mind, their snarky tone a constant prod. His wrist stung as he rubbed it, the raw skin a sharp reminder of his fragility, his resolve hardening despite the ache. The dwarves were coming, and he had a plan, a power, and the fragile beginning of a bond with the woman he was determined to keep.
To supporting Me in Pateron .
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