CHAPTER 287: BEST USE OF HER POWERS

Eleanor had spent the night in the castle. At dawn the next day Annabeth woke her and led her to the coliseum.

"Today, we fight," Annabeth said. "You will defend. You will attack. And you will fail. Repeatedly. Your only goal is to fail better each time. Don’t worry... I will use my ten per cent strength, as usual."

She did not wait for Eleanor to ready herself. She moved as her speech ended: a simple, direct lunge that was deceptively fast.

Eleanor’s mind, still occupied by Annabeth’s words, failed to react instantly. She tried to twist away, but her response was late. She was also slightly sluggish because of the rings on her limbs. Annabeth’s fist, withdrawn at the last moment, still thudded solidly into her ribs.

"You must be ready to defend yourself at all times," Annabeth stated. "You see the strike and your whole body prepares for the impact. Battle readiness is a very important aspect of a fighter. Again."

They reset their positions and tried again. This time Eleanor attempted to redirect the attack, to guide the punch past her, but her movement was too broad, too forceful. Annabeth’s arm flowed around the attempted block like water and her other hand tapped Eleanor’s temple.

"Overcorrection. Apply what you learned yesterday. Again," Annabeth said as she repositioned.

The morning became a brutal symphony of failure. Attack, defence and correction continued. Eleanor’s world narrowed to the burning in her lungs, the sting of sweat in her eyes, and the relentless, patient figure of her master.

Annabeth demonstrated a combination of jab, cross and low kick. Eleanor deflected the jab, absorbed the cross on an angled forearm, and shifted her weight for the kick.

After a short, painful break during which Eleanor could only have water and a food pill while she tried to control her trembling muscles, their roles reversed.

"Attack me," Annabeth commanded.

Eleanor lunged... a straight punch aimed at the centre of mass. Annabeth didn’t block. She sidestepped; her hand slapped Eleanor’s extended arm aside, destabilising her.

"Your shoulder drops a full second before your fist moves. You were announcing your attack through your body language."

Eleanor tried again: a feint high followed by a low sweep. Annabeth didn’t react to the feint. Her eyes remained locked on Eleanor’s centre. She simply lifted her leg and let Eleanor’s sweeping kick connect harmlessly with her shin.

"Your feint is too childish. There is no intent behind it. I do not believe you will strike my head, so I do not move. Commitment sells the deception. You must believe the feint yourself."

Eleanor charged with her full power, trying to be faster than Annabeth’s block.

Annabeth didn’t retreat. She stepped into the blow, inside its arc. Her palm met Eleanor’s bicep and pushed the swinging arm slightly further, spinning Eleanor completely around. Annabeth’s foot hooked behind her ankle and Eleanor crashed to the ground once more, seeing stars.

"Brute force met with minimal leverage equals your defeat," Annabeth said.

When Annabeth decided to stop for the day, Eleanor was a canvas of bruises, her movements sloppy with exhaustion. She had lost count of how many times she had fallen. Her knuckles were raw from hitting sand and stone, and a cut above her eyebrow bled sluggishly, mixing with sweat.

On the way back to the castle Annabeth said, "You are learning. The mistakes you are making now are more sophisticated than the ones you made previously. You are no longer just bracing for impact. You are attempting to redirect, but your timing is off. You are attempting to feint, but your commitment is lacking. These are errors of degree, not of kind. That is progress."

The next day Annabeth said, "Today I will not strike you. Your task is to touch me. Use everything... the ground, the walls, your lightning, your mind; whatever you can use to land a hit on me. Show me what you can do when you unleash your full power. But remember the training: brute force and mindless attack are not allowed. Keep your stamina and power in check so you can fight for the whole day."

Eleanor’s eyes lit. She had felt caged for the last two days; this time she could let go of her restraint. The bands on her limbs had already become normal... she sometimes even forgot about them.

She did not hesitate. Mind Acceleration activated; the world sharpened into hyper-defined clarity. She saw the minute texture of the sand, the thermal currents rising from the sun-warmed stone. With a thought she activated Electroreception and Annabeth’s bio-electric field bloomed in her perception like a silent, pulsing star: a map of life force, impossible to fully conceal.

She feinted a straight charge, and at the last second used Bolt Step to vanish and reappear at a sharp angle, her hand crackling with Lightning Touch. It was fast and precise.

But Annabeth was not there. She had shifted her weight a half-breath before Eleanor finished her Bolt Step, flowing aside with minimal movement. "Your intent to Bolt Step is a shout in your energy field. I feel the surge before you move. Muffle it."

Eleanor recalibrated. She circled, using Predator’s Awareness to read the subtle shifts in Annabeth’s posture. She launched a Lightning Projectile... not to hit, but to force a dodge, while she kicked a sheet of sand into the air to obscure vision.

Annabeth did not dodge the projectile. She simply leaned back, letting it pass over her chest by a millimetre, her eyes never leaving Eleanor’s through the dust cloud. "The sand is a good thought. But your kick was slow and forceful. The projectile was a distraction, but a predictable one. Synthesize your actions. Make them one fluid trap."

The morning slid into afternoon. Eleanor became a whirlwind of controlled power. She used Bolt Step to run along the coliseum wall, raining down Voltaic Strikes. Annabeth moved in a small, efficient circle, each step a precise calculation that kept her just outside the area of effect.

"You are spending too much energy," Annabeth said as Eleanor paused. "Each Bolt Step, each lightning charge, depletes your reserves. Use your abilities as scalpels, not sledgehammers."

Eleanor took a short break. After drinking some water she closed her eyes to think, Eidetic Memory replaying every failed attempt she had made. She mentally ran through other ways to attack from the same positions.

When they resumed, something had changed. Eleanor halted her relentless assault. She stood still, letting Mind Acceleration and Electroreception merge seamlessly with Predator’s Awareness. She was no longer simply searching for an opening... she was reading the rhythm of Annabeth’s defences, the microcurrents of her energy field.

She advanced, not with a Bolt Step, but with an ordinary, measured stride. She threw a simple, slow jab. As Annabeth began to deflect it, Eleanor’s other hand, held low, released a Static Flash. It was not the blinding burst she used in combat, but a muted, localised pop of light and sound... right at their feet.

Annabeth’s eyes flickered downward for an imperceptible instant... a trained response to a sudden stimulus. It was the delay Eleanor needed. Her jab, a feint, snapped back as her body, already in motion, executed a perfect, weightless redirection, using the principles of the Open Hand to guide Annabeth’s own deflecting arm just slightly off-line. Her fingers, devoid of lightning to conceal the energy signature, brushed the fabric of Annabeth’s sleeve at the shoulder.

Eleanor was panting... not from exertion, but from the strain of concentration. Annabeth glanced at the hand on her sleeve, then back at Eleanor’s face.

"Good," she said, a single word that carried more weight than a thousand praises. Then, calmly, she began to explain how Eleanor could refine her attacks and make the best use of her limited lightning ability.

After returning to the castle and freshening up, Eleanor was summoned to the throne room. She was surprised to find Supreme Grandmaster Scáthach seated on the throne. Annabeth Chase and Arrichion were also present, sitting before her.

"Eleanor pays respect to the Supreme Grandmaster," Eleanor said, bowing.

"No need for formalities," Scáthach replied. "This is not a courtroom. We are in our personal space. How is your training progressing?"

"I think I’m improving... thanks to Master Chase and Instructor Arrichion. Although not quite at the pace I’d hoped," Eleanor admitted.

"It’s all right," said Scáthach. "Countless hours of training and hundreds of battles make a warrior. You still have a long road ahead. I’ve spoken with Arrichion... you will challenge the Tower of Legends next. Remember to take a food pill before you enter. Take your time, and try to complete the challenge."

Eleanor looked towards Arrichion, who gave a slight nod. Then she turned back to Scáthach and said, "I will try my best."

"Good," Scáthach said. "Train harder, and return after becoming an ascendant."

With that, she waved her hand, and a rune flared to life beneath Eleanor’s feet. In the next instant, Eleanor found herself once again in the combat department chamber beside Instructor Arrichion.