Echo didn't sleep a wink that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he heard Nate's whispered warning: "His students disappear, one by one."..... He might be rough, but he saved me. He's a good man... isn't he? Echo stared at the ceiling, his mind a storm of doubt. Something feels off. I can't tell Lazarus he made it clear I'm on my own now. I have to face this. I'm not a kid anymore.
When the sun finally rose, Echo looked like a ghost. His eyes were bloodshot, and the salt from dried tears stained his cheeks and pillow. He stood before the mirror, jaw set in a hard line. "I'll face the consequences of my choices," he whispered. "I'll face him."
Downstairs, Lazarus was already waiting. "Good morning, Echo. You look terrible," he said, his eyes narrowing. "What happened? Is this about Kyle again?"
"No, brother, don't worry," Echo forced an awkward smile. "I just felt a bit sick last night. Are you... heading to school with me?"
"Of course I am," Lazarus said, his concern deepening. "Is someone bullying you? You can tell me."
"Bullying? Of course not. You know I can defend myself," Echo said, his voice cracking slightly. "Let's just go. We'll be late."
Once they reached the academy grounds, they parted ways as usual, but the tension followed Lazarus all the way to his own lecture hall.
"What made you so late today?" Professor Geo asked as Lazarus slipped into his seat.
"I'm sorry, sir. I had to walk my brother to his class," Lazarus replied, his voice heavy. "He was so messed up this morning... I thought someone was targeting him."
Geo adjusted his glasses. "You won't always be there to shield him, Lazarus. He needs to grow up."
"That's the problem, sir," Lazarus whispered, leaning forward. "Kyle chose him."
The color drained from Geo's face. The name alone seemed to suck the air out of the room. "What do you mean Kyle chose him? We have to get your brother out of there!"
"We can't," Lazarus said, a single tear escaping and tracing a path down his cheek. "Last time, we couldn't stop it, and we won't be able to now. The President himself supports Kyle's methods."
"Aren't you worried?" Geo asked, stunned by the admission.
"Of course I'm worried!" Lazarus's voice trembled with suppressed rage. "But I'm too weak to act. I'm just a student."
"You're the top student in the Neural Tactics class," Geo countered, looking at him with pity. "Is that really not enough?"
"Against a man like that? No one is enough. Not even you, sir."
Back in the Weapon Hall
"Good morning, Mr. Kyle," Echo said, bowing respectfully. "I'm ready for today's training."
Kyle was already there, his massive golden-hilted sword planted in the floor. "Good morning, Echo. I see you healed quite fast."
"Doctor Elsa took care of me," Echo said, trying to keep his voice steady. "She has a very strong healing ability."
"Very well then," Kyle said, a huge, predatory grin spreading across his face. He gripped the hilt of his weapon, and the air in the room suddenly felt heavy enough to crush bone. "Are you ready to experience hell? Kyle's voice boomed, echoing through the desolate training grounds. "You, Echo, are currently nothing but raw, brittle ore. To be a warrior, you must first be broken and rebuilt."
The training wasn't a lesson; it was a systematic dismantling of Echo's limits. It began before dawn with the Iron Sled. Kyle harnessed Echo to a massive stone slab piled with jagged river rocks, weighing hundreds of kilograms. The leather straps bit into Echo's shoulders, peeling away skin until the fabric of his shirt was fused to his flesh with dried blood.
"Faster!" Kyle roared, pacing beside him like a hungry predator. When Echo's pace slowed, Kyle didn't offer a hand; he struck the back of Echo's legs with the flat of his blade, forcing him back up. "If you collapse, the weight crushes you. If you run, you survive. Choose!"
By mile twenty, Echo's breath came in ragged, bloody gasps. His vision was a hazy blur of grey dirt and red pain. When he finally fell, his face hitting the gravel, Kyle didn't show mercy. He stepped onto the sled, adding his own armored weight to the load.
"Do you know why the others failed, Echo?" Kyle whispered, his voice cold yet intensely focused. "They had the spirit, but they didn't have the 'Anchor.' Your ability is a curse that will snap your spine unless your body becomes as stubborn as the steel you hold. I am saving you from a short life of weakness. Move."
Then came the "Hammering." Kyle forced Echo to hold a heavy iron shield. Then, using a massive sledgehammer, Kyle began to strike. Each blow was calculated to vibrate through Echo's arms and into his chest.
CRACK.
A hairline fracture appeared in Echo's forearm. He screamed, dropping the shield. Kyle immediately stepped forward, his eyes burning with a cruel sort of obsession. He didn't call for a break. He grabbed Echo's broken arm and forced it back into position, wrapping it tightly in a rigid, agonizingly tight brace.
"The bone will knit back stronger because it has no choice," Kyle hissed. "The shield didn't dent, Echo. Your power kept the metal whole, but your body failed the weapon. We will hammer you until the world breaks against you, not the other way around."
By nightfall, Echo was a shell. He sat in the dirt, his body a map of purple hematomas and structural cracks. He couldn't even lift his hands to wipe the sweat and blood from his eyes. Kyle looked down at him, his hand trembling with a strange, dark pride. He leaned down, pouring a bucket of ice-cold water over Echo's head to shock him back to consciousness.
"Don't go to sleep yet," Kyle said, his voice dropping to a haunting, low tone. "The pain is the only thing telling you that you're still alive. Tomorrow, we stop using shields. Tomorrow, you catch my blade with your bare hands."
Echo looked up, terror intermingling with a new, hollow coldness in his heart. Kyle wasn't training a student; he was carving a weapon out of a living boy, and he was willing to splinter every bone in Echo's body to see it finished.
The next day the "Hammering" had moved beyond iron weights. Kyle stood over Echo with a blunt training mace, his eyes devoid of the slight pity they had held days before.
"The shield is gone, Echo," Kyle stated, his voice as cold as the morning frost. "Hold your sword. I am going to strike you. If you rely only on the blade, the vibration will shatter your ribs. You must find a way to let the steel protect the flesh."
" I can't... my arms won't even lift," Echo rasped, his voice sounding like grinding stones.
"Then you will die in the dirt," Kyle replied, and swung.
The mace whistled through the air. In a blind, panicked reflex, Echo threw his arms up, clutching the dull Level 1 blade. He braced for the inevitable sound of his radius and ulna snapping like dry twigs.
The impact was deafening. CLANG.
But the sound didn't come from the sword. It came from Echo's forearms.
For a split second, a dull, metallic grey sheen rippled across Echo's skin, starting from where his palms touched the hilt and racing up to his elbows. The mace bounced off his arm as if striking an anvil. Echo didn't feel the bone break; instead, he felt a horrific, hollow sensation, as if his blood had suddenly turned into liquid lead.
Echo gasped, staring at his arms. The grey sheen faded, leaving his skin pale and cold to the touch. But the sword in his hand—the "Unbreakable" blade—suddenly looked fragile, a hairline fracture appearing near the crossguard.
Kyle froze, his mace mid-air. His predatory grin returned, wider and more terrifying than ever. "There it is," he whispered. "The Bridge. You didn't just harden the sword, Echo... you pulled the 'Unbreakable' property out of the steel and into your own skeleton."
"I... I felt like I was becoming stone," Echo whispered, his breath hitching. He tried to flex his fingers, but they felt stiff, unresponsive. "But the sword... it nearly broke."
"A perfect trade," Kyle said, ignoring Echo's distress. "The sword gave you its soul to keep your bones whole. But look at the cost, boy."
Echo looked down. Where the grey sheen had been, his skin was now covered in tiny, dark cracks, like an old porcelain doll. He tried to move, but a surge of agonizing exhaustion washed over him. By pulling the durability into himself, he had drained the "life" of the weapon—and his own stamina along with it.
"Again!" Kyle commanded, raising the mace higher.
"Wait, sir! I can't breathe—my chest feels heavy, like it's made of iron!"
"That is the weight of survival!" Kyle roared, showing no mercy. "If you can't control the flow, you'll turn into a statue and crumble. Learn to pulse it! Learn to be the sword and the man at once!"
The training continued for six more hours. Every time Echo successfully "borrowed" the steel's strength, he became a more formidable warrior, but his movements became slower, more mechanical. By the time Kyle let him go, Echo's skin was cold to the touch, and his heartbeat was so slow it was barely a murmur.
He stumbled out of the training grounds, his mind a fog of grey iron. He didn't even notice the red-haired boy, Nate, standing in the shadow of the hallway, watching him with eyes full of horror.