Chapter 37 – Flash Step
Zane's heart plummeted the moment his feet left the ground.
"Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!!" His mind screamed as panic surged through his veins. He flailed instinctively, wind tearing at his skin, the balcony already far behind him. Every primal instinct screamed in his ears—this was no training accident. This was a dive to death.
"You've got to be kidding me!" he howled, barely able to comprehend how quickly everything had spiraled out of control. He was supposed to blink a few meters forward—not go flying over thirty. Fiora had said Flash Step was a short-distance burst. What the hell was that?
But just when gravity seemed about to claim him, something brushed against his shoulder.
Zane's eyes flew open. His fall stopped—no, it was being reversed.
He blinked up and saw Fiora gripping him tightly.
"Huh?" His voice barely registered over the rushing air. "What?"
"I got you," she said calmly, her smile unfazed by the fact that they were currently hovering over open air.
"Fiora?! What the hell are you doing?!"
"Shush." She raised her foot and—BOOM—stomped on nothing. A shockwave cracked through the air, and Zane felt their bodies rise sharply. Before he could react, Fiora stomped again, this time launching them sideways toward the balcony.
The two of them shot over the railing and landed with a gentle thud. Zane fell to the floor like a ragdoll, eyes wide, gasping for air.
His heart was thundering in his chest.
"That was… way too close," Fiora muttered as she ran a hand through her hair, her expression a mix of amusement and mild concern. "Didn't expect that much power behind it. With your monstrous Core Energy, I probably should've. Are you fine, boy?"
"Y-Yeah," Zane wheezed. "I'm fine. Just… almost launched myself into the afterlife."
"You weren't going to die, drama queen. I would've caught you either way."
"You say that like it's normal to kick the air and fly like a damn superhero!" he snapped. "What the hell was that? How did you fly?"
Fiora shrugged. "Oh, that? Just an advanced footwork technique. You'll learn it someday, once you're done learning how to move properly on ground."
Zane buried his face in his hands, groaning. 'She says it like this is Tuesday.' Still, the sheer force of that Flash Step had shocked him.
And not just because of the fall.
'That much power... I wasn't even trying to go that far.'
The idea that his own energy could launch him so violently made a chill crawl up his spine. This wasn't just about strength—it was about control. Without it, he was a walking hazard.
'If I don't learn how to manage this… I'll end up killing myself. Or someone else.'
Fiora dusted herself off and looked at him expectantly. "Well? Should we continue? This time aim for the balcony entrance—not the railing."
Zane hesitated, but only for a second. Then he nodded. "Yeah… Let's go again."
'No time to be scared. I have to master this.' He clenched his fists. 'I need tools to survive, and this is one of them.'
Fiora quirked an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at her lips. He didn't flinch. Didn't complain. Most people would beg for a break after a stunt like that… Her gaze softened just slightly. You're tougher than you look, Zane.
And so the training resumed.
Zane went through the steps again, this time careful not to overload his legs. But controlling the energy was easier said than done. Directing it calmly while compressing it into such a small space—his toes—required intense precision and focus.
The results, initially, were… disastrous.
BOOM!
"AHH—!"
Zane was launched straight into the wall, crumpling to the floor in a heap.
The next try ended with him upside down, legs tangled over the back of the couch. The third nearly sent him through the glass doors. The fourth had him bouncing off a column like a tennis ball.
Fiora, arms crossed, watched with visible amusement. "You might want to aim away from the furniture next time."
"Shut up!"
But despite her dry commentary, she let him keep going, only occasionally chiming in with a pointer or a correction.
'He has to learn it through trial, not spoon-feeding.' Fiora thought, observing him closely. 'That's how real Knights grow. Experience teaches what words can't.'
And Zane was learning.
After every failed attempt, he paused. He thought. He adjusted. There was no whining, no asking for shortcuts. He just kept trying, over and over, experimenting each time.
Slowly, the chaos began to refine itself.
The blasts grew smaller. The landings less painful. Bruised and battered, Zane continued undeterred, his eyes blazing with stubborn resolve.
'I just need the right balance,' he repeated in his head. 'Not too much. Not too little.'
About an hour later, with his clothes soaked in sweat and bruises blotching his arms and legs, Zane made another attempt. He gathered his energy more precisely, compressing it into a small, stable point beneath his toes.
Then—
FWOOSH.
He vanished. The force was smaller, smoother.
Mid-flash, Zane leaned his weight backward, and his heels dragged just enough to decelerate.
He stopped—just inches from the wall.
Eyes wide, chest heaving, Zane stared at the wall in front of him.
"I… I did it," he whispered.
Fiora's voice echoed from behind him. "Well, there it is. Your first successful Flash Step." She grinned. "You learn fast, Zane. I'll give you that. Granted, the wall's going to need repainting, but still—big milestone."
"Thanks…"
"Now do it fifty times in a row."
Zane blinked. "... Come again?"
"You heard me. One successful step doesn't mean anything in real battle. You need consistency. Now get to it. You said you wanted intense training—don't cry about it now." Her smile turned evil.
Zane opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again.
But nothing came out.
'Why do I have a feeling that I made... a mistake?' He gulped.
***
The hours that followed would be remembered as some of the most agonizing of Zane's life.
If the first success had filled him with motivation, the next forty-nine attempts ground him into the floor—sometimes quite literally. He crashed. He slammed. He misfired. His feet blistered, his Core ached, and his brain throbbed.
The training was relentless.
He tried again. Failed. Started over. Reached 12. Failed. Restarted. Got to 24. Failed again. The crater on the floor deepened with every launch. Fiora—now seated on the couch and sucking on a lollipop—watched it all with quiet satisfaction.
But Zane didn't quit.
His mind kept calculating, learning, refining. Each repetition was cleaner, more controlled. His subconscious began to act on its own. The movements etched into muscle memory.
Sweat poured down his face. His body trembled.
Finally, on the 49th consecutive attempt, Zane stood at the balcony once more. His Core was nearly drained. His feet screamed in pain.
'Just one more… One more.'
He focused the last dregs of his energy, forming the perfect balance.
Then—BOOM. He vanished again.
This time, his body glided forward, then stopped—perfectly.
No crash. No stumble. No flare.
He had done it.
"Fifty…" he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper. Then his legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the ground.
A soft chime rang in his mind.
[You have stimulated your core.]
[A new Secondary Stigma has been acquired.]