The first technique

The morning light filtered through the dusty windows of the dojo, casting long streaks across the wooden floor. Niran woke up to a body still aching from the previous day's training. His arms were heavy, his legs stiff, and every breath reminded him of the strikes he had taken.

"Pain is just another form of training."

Sakchai's voice cut through the silence in his mind, somewhere between wisdom and mockery.

"Should I expect a more inspiring speech?" Niran muttered, rubbing his sore shoulders.

"You're still alive. That means you have time to improve."

With a groan, Niran forced himself up, ignoring the protests of his muscles. Today was another day of training.

Sakchai stood in the middle of the dojo, arms crossed as Niran sat before him. There was no sparring today, no drills. Only breath and focus.

Sakchai's voice was firm and unwavering.

"Your body is a weapon, but right now, it's just a blunt club. Power alone means nothing if the structure behind it is weak. If you want to pierce through something, your body must become harder than what you strike."

He took a step forward, kneeling in front of Niran. Despite being a spirit, his presence felt heavier than any living opponent Niran had faced.

"I will teach you the Drilling Fang."

Niran raised an eyebrow. "A piercing elbow?"

Sakchai shook his head.

"Not an elbow. A spear. A real spear does not slash or bash, it thrusts. It gathers all its force into a single, precise point and drives through its target with unstoppable momentum. That is what you must become."

Sakchai laid out the principles:

"By controlling your breathing, you can direct an increased flow of calcium to the olecranon, the pointed bone of the elbow.

The process takes 15 seconds of preparation, during which your body adjusts, increasing bone density in the impact zone.

Just before striking, a final controlled exhalation will solidify the structure, making your elbow harder than normal.

The result is an attack capable of piercing flesh and even fracturing bones, but it requires perfect timing and mastery of your energy flow."

"A spear is useless if it bends upon impact. If you want your elbow to pierce through an enemy, you must forge it with your own breath. And so I will teach you this technique in 5 days"

Niran nodded, absorbing every word. He had always believed that power came solely from strength, but this was something entirely different.

Day 1

Sakchai made Niran hold specific stances for hours, forcing him to feel every fiber of his body. The slightest imbalance ruined the entire process.

Day 2

Inhale, hold, release. A perfect cycle with no hesitation. Niran began to sense his body in a new way, as if his heartbeat itself measured his power.

Day 3

Continuous strikes against the heavy bag, feeling his bone structure adapt. The pain was constant, but each impact strengthened his awareness.

Day 4

Slow-paced sparring, trying to calculate exactly 15 seconds of preparation without becoming a sitting target. Strike too early, and the effect was weak. Too late, and the opening was gone.

Day 5

The final day before the trial. Sakchai forced Niran to fight using only his elbows, no hands, no legs. Every strike had to drive forward like a lance through the air.

"Tomorrow, either you master it, or my teachings will have been wasted."

The next day Niran was ready. The pressure was suffocating. If Niran failed, it meant he wasn't worthy of the knowledge Sakchai was passing on.

The dojo was silent as Niran stood before the heavy training bag, hands wrapped, feet grounded.

Sakchai watched with arms crossed. "You have one attempt. If you fail, it means you've understood nothing."

Niran closed his eyes. 15 seconds.

Inhale. Calcium began to concentrate in his bones.

Exhale halfway. The oxygen distributed, the flow adjusted.

Hold. The body prepared, but movement couldn't stop.

Count the heartbeats. One. Two. Three.

"Ten seconds left."

His muscles remained relaxed, but power gathered within.

"Five seconds."

The air inside him was a rising tide, his elbow becoming the tip of a spear.

"Three."

His target was clear.

"Two."

His body shifted, fluid like water but solid as steel.

"One."

EXHALE.

The impact was devastating.

The heavy bag didn't swing. It ruptured.

For a second, silence filled the dojo. The torn fabric split open, grains of sand pouring onto the floor like spilled blood.

Sakchai watched with a flicker of satisfaction.

"Not bad for a beginner."

Niran stepped back, his breathing unsteady. His body had demanded an enormous amount of energy to sustain the technique, and now he was paying the price.

His legs gave out. He collapsed to the floor, exhausted.

"Any strike capable of slaying a god comes at a cost."

Sakchai stepped forward, looming over him. "Now you have a weapon. But can you actually use it in a real fight?"

Niran gritted his teeth. He already knew the answer.

"Not yet."

With the last of his strength, he crawled toward the mat. Sleep claimed him before he could reflect on what he had just accomplished.