The gauntlets were heavier than they looked.

  Not in weight. In presence.

  They locked around Karael’s forearms with a dull metallic click that vibrated up into his elbows and settled there, unfamiliar and intrusive. The inner lining was warm already, faintly reactive to his skin.

  Binders.

  Marr watched him flex his fingers and rotate his wrists. “They won’t make you stronger,” he said. “They won’t save you if you’re sloppy.”

  Karael nodded.

  “Pressure only at impact,” Marr continued. “Not before. Not after.”

  “And if I miss,” Karael asked.

  Marr’s gaze stayed on him. “Then you take it.”

  The first opponent stepped forward. Same hall. Same mat. Same silence pressing in around Karael’s chest as he disengaged the pressure fully.

  Begin.

  The exchange started like the others. Feints. Steps. Testing distance. Karael waited, breathing slow, forcing the silence to hold while his instincts screamed to answer.

  The opening came.

  He struck.

  Pressure surged a fraction too early.

  The gauntlets hissed.

  Not loud. Just enough.

  The rebound slammed into his arms anyway, sharp and immediate, pain flaring up through his wrists and elbows. Karael staggered back, teeth clenched as the pressure snapped down unevenly.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  “Too soon,” Marr said.

  Reset.

  Again.

  This time Karael waited longer. Too long. His strike clipped nothing but air. The opponent answered instantly, a clean blow to Karael’s shoulder that sent him spinning.

  The pressure flared reflexively.

  The binders absorbed part of it. The rest punched through his chest and down his spine, stealing his breath.

  “Late,” Marr said.

  Karael forced himself upright, vision swimming. His forearms burned where the gauntlets had taken the hit, heat bleeding through the metal.

  Again.

  The pattern repeated.

  Early pressure. Late pressure. Lingering pressure. Cut too hard. Cut too slow.

  Each failure left a mark. His arms shook. His breathing roughened. The gauntlets hissed more often now, thin threads of heat venting through the seams.

  They were doing their job.

  Barely.

  On the seventh exchange, something clicked.

  Not clean. Not smooth.

  Just enough.

  Karael stepped in and struck. Pressure engaged at the moment of contact, dense and focused. His knuckles met the opponent’s guard with a dull, heavy impact.

  He cut the pressure immediately.

  The rebound hit, sharp but contained. The gauntlets drank most of it, heat flaring bright along their channels before dumping it into the air.

  Karael stayed on his feet.

  The opponent stumbled back a step.

  The hall went quiet.

  Marr did not smile. He nodded once. “That’s it.”

  Karael’s arms trembled violently now, muscles screaming under the strain of repeated misalignment. Sweat dripped from his chin onto the mat.

  They went again.

  He failed twice more.

  Then succeeded once.

  Each success cost him more than the last. The binders grew hotter, their weight dragging at his arms. His chest burned with every breath as the pressure settled back into its silent coil.

  Finally, Marr raised his hand.

  “Stop.”

  Karael froze where he stood, shoulders heaving. The pressure remained disengaged, but it pressed against him harder now, resentful.

  Marr stepped closer and tapped the gauntlet casing with two fingers. The metal rang faintly.

  “They won’t last forever,” he said. “Neither will you, if you rely on them.”

  Karael nodded, swallowing hard.

  “But,” Marr added, “you didn’t break.”

  That mattered.

  As the gauntlets were unlocked and removed, Karael felt the absence immediately. His arms felt lighter and more fragile all at once.

  He looked down at his shaking hands and clenched them slowly.

  Pressure at impact.

  Off immediately after.

  It was possible.

  Painful. Unreliable. Limited.

  But real.

  And the next time, he would need to do it again.