Chapter 27: Morning Reflections And Lisa’s New Siblings!
The pale light of dawn crept through the shutters as I stirred from sleep, my internal clock pulling me from dreams I couldn’t quite remember. I turned carefully, mindful not to disturb the figure beside me.
My lovely big sister lay curled on her side, her white hair spread across the pillow. Her breathing was deep and even, the kind of exhausted sleep that comes after pushing one’s body and mind to their limits. Last night had drained her more than she’d admitted. Well, it was her first time having an orgasm after all.
Slipping from the bed silently, I walked out in the backyard.
I settled into my usual meditation, legs crossed, hands resting loosely on my knees. The routine had become sacred to me—thirty minutes of focused breathing, of clearing my mind and centering myself before the chaos of the day began. But today, as I closed my eyes and tried to find that familiar inner calm, images of yesterday’s fight kept intruding.
Arlos. The cold bite of steel sliding between my ribs. The moment I’d thought I might actually die in this strange world, far from everything I’d once known.
My jaw clenched involuntarily. I’d been sloppy. Overconfident.
I could be on Earth but int his world, it could lead to straight death.
When the meditation timer in my head signaled the end of my session, I rose. My body protested slightly as I began my stretching routine, muscles still tender from yesterday’s ordeal. But pain was just another teacher, and I had lessons to learn.
I started with the basic forms—the foundation of the fighting system I’d developed over years of studying Krav Maga and adapting it to my needs. Each movement flowed into the next: strike, block, counter, move. But as I worked through the familiar patterns, I found myself pushing harder, moving faster, adding elements I’d never attempted before.
My fists cut through the air with sharp precision. A knee strike that would have shattered ribs. An elbow that could cave in a skull. Each technique was refined, economical, deadly. No wasted motion, no flashy moves—just pure, efficient violence.
But it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough as long as I was just shadowboxing.
Retrieving the wooden lance from where I’d propped it against the shed, I hefted its familiar weight. The weapon had served me well, but I needed to push beyond competence into mastery. I needed to become something more than just skilled—I needed to become lethal.