Intense training

Chapter 11

Ronan leaned against the doorway of his small apartment, the soft hum of the city buzzing outside his window. The familiar, comforting scent of old leather and cleaning products filled the room. Noah sat cross-legged on the worn-out couch, scribbling something in his notebook with his usual stoic expression.

Ronan couldn't help but smile, his heart clenching with both relief and guilt. It had only been a day, but it felt like he'd been gone for weeks. Taking a step inside, he cleared his throat.

Noah didn't look up right away, just kept writing as if he hadn't noticed his dad enter. "Back from the dead, huh?" he muttered without missing a beat.

Ronan chuckled, shaking his head. "You make it sound like I died out there."

Noah finally glanced up, raising a brow. "You look like you did. Twice."

Ronan rubbed his bruised jaw, trying not to wince. "Just had a rough day at work. Nothing I can't handle."

Noah's lips twitched, almost forming a smirk. "Guess you didn't handle it well enough if you came back looking like roadkill."

Ronan walked over and ruffled his hair, but Noah swatted his hand away, feigning annoyance. "You know, most kids would be happy their dad's home," Ronan teased.

Noah shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm not most kids. Besides, Dean said you'd probably be fine, even if you got your face smashed in."

Ronan snorted. "That's comforting. Dean always knows how to put things delicately."

Noah just hummed in response and closed his notebook. After a beat, his expression softened, and he hesitated before muttering, "You're not planning to disappear again tomorrow, are you?"

The hint of vulnerability made Ronan's chest tighten. He knelt down to Noah's level, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'll be here tonight. Just needed to check in on you, make sure you didn't turn this place into a lair of evil while I was gone."

Noah gave him a deadpan look. "Too late. I already summoned the demons."

Ronan chuckled and sat down beside him, letting the tension fade as they talked. Noah eventually started recounting his day—how Dean made him do some basic training exercises "because apparently, being able to look scary isn't enough to survive," as Noah put it.

Eventually, as the night stretched on, Noah leaned against Ronan, giving in to his inner child for just a moment. It was rare, but Ronan cherished it whenever it happened. They sat there in comfortable silence, the city lights painting shadows across the floor.

Noah eventually fell asleep, his head resting against Ronan's side. Ronan stayed put, not wanting to disturb him, knowing that this was exactly why he was fighting—to protect this quiet, precious moment.

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The next morning, Ronan arrived at the training grounds before dawn. The air was cold and crisp, biting through his thin shirt as he jogged in place to warm up. The space was a wide, open area behind the main building, lined with various training equipment and sparring mats.

Jordan was already there, arms crossed, his sharp gaze boring into Ronan as he approached. Diana stood a few paces away, stretching out her shoulders, while the others lingered around the edges, curious but not interfering.

"You're on time," Jordan remarked, sounding almost surprised. "Good. Let's see how long you can keep up."

Ronan didn't reply—just nodded, trying to shake off the nervous energy crawling under his skin.

"Start with basic drills," Jordan ordered. "Ten sets of push-ups, squats, and sprints across the field. You stop or slow down—you start over."

Ronan gritted his teeth and dropped into a push-up position. The first few sets went smoothly enough—his body was still fresh, muscles fueled by determination. But by the sixth set, his arms began to tremble, and sweat dripped from his forehead, soaking the ground beneath him.

His breathing grew ragged as he forced himself to keep going, ignoring the burn crawling through his muscles. Jordan watched with a detached expression, not offering a single word of encouragement.

"Faster," he barked. "You think an enemy will wait for you to catch your breath?"

Ronan forced his arms to push harder, his shoulders screaming in protest. By the time he finished the tenth set, he was gasping for air, his limbs feeling like they'd been replaced with lead. He barely had a moment to recover before Jordan gestured to the sparring mat.

"Next," Jordan said flatly. "Hand-to-hand combat. Diana, show him how it's done."

Diana stepped forward, giving Ronan a quick nod before assuming a fighting stance. He barely had time to mimic her posture before she lunged, her fist aiming straight for his ribs. Ronan dodged, barely, but her foot swung around and caught his leg, sending him stumbling back.

She didn't hesitate—pressing forward with a swift jab aimed at his jaw. Ronan blocked, but the impact rattled his bones. He grunted and tried to counter with a punch to her shoulder, but she parried it effortlessly, stepping inside his guard and shoving him to the ground.

"Again," Jordan commanded before Ronan could catch his breath.

Gritting his teeth, Ronan pushed himself up, ignoring the pain radiating from his back. This time, he went on the offensive—throwing a combination of punches and a quick kick aimed at Diana's side. She weaved around his attacks like water, her movements smooth and calculated. A well-timed elbow struck his sternum, and he doubled over, wheezing.

Jordan shook his head, unimpressed. "You're too predictable. Your stance is weak, and your strikes lack power. Do it again."

Hours passed in a blur of bruises and frustration. Every time Ronan fell, Jordan would make him start over, drilling the same sequences until his muscles felt like they were tearing apart. The others occasionally watched from the sidelines, murmuring among themselves, but no one stepped in.

When the sun was high overhead, Ronan finally collapsed onto the mat, his chest heaving as his vision blurred. He wanted to scream, to curse Jordan for pushing him past his limits. But even that took too much effort.

Jordan's shadow loomed over him, his voice as unyielding as ever. "Is that it? You give up?"

Ronan clenched his teeth, trying to push himself up, but his arms wouldn't respond. His body had long since stopped listening to him.

"Pathetic," Jordan muttered. "If you can't handle this, you'll never survive out there."

Just as Ronan's mind teetered on the edge of unconsciousness, something inside him flared—like a surge of energy rushing through his veins. His breathing evened out, and the crushing fatigue lifted as if it had never been there. Strength flowed back into his limbs, and he pushed himself up, stunned at how light his body felt.

The others stared, wide-eyed. Jordan narrowed his gaze, clearly cautious but intrigued.

"What just happened?" Ronan muttered, glancing at his hands as if they belonged to someone else.

Diana, wiping sweat from her forehead, gave him a wary look. "Your system... activated?"

"But... it wasn't bloodlust," Ronan whispered. "It just... restored my energy." and something else was strange, there was no visible text or any ding sounds in his head, which always happened whenever his system activated.

Jordan approached, expression unreadable. "Unexpected. Systems don't change their nature. Either it's evolving, or you don't understand it as well as you think. Regardless, that surge of strength saved you from collapsing. Get back up—we're not done."

Ronan nodded, his mind still spinning, but there was a hint of determination in his eyes now. Whatever had just happened gave him hope—hope that he wasn't entirely helpless without bloodlust fueling his power. He steadied his stance, and this time, when Diana came at him, he met her blows with renewed vigor.

His movements were faster, his reflexes sharper. Diana's eyes flickered with surprise as she adjusted to his newfound speed, but she didn't hold back—sweeping his legs out from under him with ruthless precision. He hit the ground hard, but he barely felt the impact, adrenaline surging through him.

Jordan watched, his expression more thoughtful than scornful. "Maybe you're not completely useless after all."

Ronan couldn't help but smirk through the exhaustion, determination blazing in his eyes. Whatever his system was doing, it wasn't just about bloodlust anymore. And for the first time since he'd joined this group, he felt a flicker of confidence.

Maybe he really could get stronger without losing himself in violence.