Kenny steadied himself, eyes locked on Ryoko. His body trembled, but his will burned brighter than ever.
"This time," he muttered, "I'll make it count."
He clenched his fists. The air thickened.
Flames erupted from his back — wild, unstable, pure rage given form.
He bent his knees, gathering everything he had.
Then he moved.
A spiral of fire burst around him, twisting into a blazing drill aimed straight at Ryoko.
The ground cracked under his feet. The heat turned the air white.
For a moment, it looked unstoppable.
But Ryoko didn't flinch.
He took a single step forward — and the world went silent.
His palm struck once. Just once.
The flames shattered. Kenny's body hit the ground with a dull thud, smoke rising from his skin.
He tried to get up but couldn't. His limbs refused to move.
Ryoko's voice came from somewhere above the haze.
"Now you understand. Power without balance… is just destruction waiting for a target."
He walked closer, his tone calm but sharp.
"You rely too much on your flame. It burns for you, not with you."
Kenny's eyes fluttered open.
"Then… teach me how to control it."
Ryoko smiled faintly.
"Rest first. When you wake, you'll learn a different fire — one that doesn't come from heat, but from discipline."
The night air was cold.
Too cold for fire.
But Kenny was awake. His body still ached, burns still fresh, yet his mind wouldn't rest.
He replayed Ryoko's words over and over.
"It burns for you, not with you."
He stood up, wincing from the pain, and walked back to the center of the training field. The ground was still scorched from earlier.
He raised his fists — trembling, unsteady — and began to move.
Slowly.
Clumsily.
But with focus.
He mimicked Ryoko's movements from the day — the step, the strike, the breath.
Each motion came with a flicker of flame. Small at first, but steady.
The fire didn't rage anymore. It listened.
For the first time, the flames didn't fight him. They moved with him.
Up on the roof, a shadow watched silently — Ryoko.
He crossed his arms, a faint smirk on his face.
"So… even pain couldn't break his will."
The wind carried the faint sound of Kenny's breathing. Slow, disciplined.
Ryoko's gaze softened.
"Maybe you are worth the next stage."
He turned away, his cloak brushing against the roof tiles.
"Tomorrow, I'll show you what real control looks like."
He paused, looking at the faint red glow in Kenny's flame.
"Muay Thai — the art of a warrior who burns without burning out."
And the night moves on
The void was endless. Silent.
Icabod opened his eyes to nothing but darkness — not the kind that surrounded him, but the kind that breathed inside him.
His heartbeat echoed through the emptiness.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Each thump sent ripples through the space, and slowly, the darkness shifted.
A figure stepped forward.
It looked like him — same face, same voice, same stance.
But the eyes… the eyes burned gold like dying stars.
"You think you can wield the power of gods?"
The reflection's tone was cold, sharp, almost divine.
"You can't even face what's inside you."
Icabod clenched his fists, summoning his energy.
Golden flames wrapped around his arms, but the reflection did the same — faster, stronger, perfect.
Every move Icabod made was mirrored.
Every strike countered.
The void trembled as they clashed, divine sparks cutting through the darkness.
But with each moment, Icabod's control weakened. His power grew wild, unstable — the mimicry was fighting him back.
His reflection smirked.
"You copy gods, yet fear your own power. Pathetic."
The words struck deeper than any blow.
For a moment, Icabod felt small — swallowed by the very strength he sought to master.
Then he remembered the voice of his teacher.
"Fear isn't something you destroy, Icabod. It's something you understand."
He stopped moving.
He let the flames rage, let the fear crawl up his spine — and then, he breathed.
Once.
Twice.
The fire steadied.
The reflection's power faltered.
"I don't reject my fear," Icabod said softly. "I shape it."
He raised his hand, palm open.
The reflection hesitated — then, it too lowered its guard.
Light swallowed the void.
When it cleared, only Icabod stood, calm and unshaken. His aura no longer flickered — it pulsed with quiet rhythm, in tune with his heartbeat.
"Trial of Fear… complete."
Somewhere far above that empty realm, unseen voices whispered:
"So he's learning. The boy's no longer mimicking the gods… he's beginning to rival them."