Editing Bound Fate (Warhammer High) (section)

===The Lordly Fitness Test===
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The day was crisp and clear. The air was noticeably colder out than it had been last week, but still mild, maybe the last mild day of the year. Students milled around, some performing their tasks, others simply wasting time. Miranda, ever the dutiful student, panted as she finally finished her last activity, the shuttle run.

''Not quite up to Isis' standards.'' She looked over at the other Daughters. ''But at least I finished ahead of Faith this time.''

Miranda felt eyes on her and looked behind her to see Arthur staring very obviously. He blushed and turned away, leaving Miranda to smile sheepishly as she considered walking over to talk to him.



On the other side of the field, Janus Sigitine was gasping for breath, far worse than Miranda was. Despite the physical conditioning he'd undergone, Janus' thin body never seemed to take to muscle mass.

''I should be able to run, at least.''

He threw an arm onto the goalpost, bracing himself as long, dry breaths rasped through his throat. Janus felt something, something bad, and looked up. He was surprised to see Angela Sanguinius drifting across the field. Her wings twitched slightly, reacting to a breeze that didn't even rustle her gym shorts. Janus focused on those shorts, on her legs, and Angela turned. He suddenly remembered that she, too, was a psyker.

A blush came over Janus as he tried to pry his eyes away from Angela's torso, the flowing of her hair and her bright blue eyes. He felt the faintest tinge of anger, until Angela saw him, when it turned into barely concealed laughter while she walked away, still seeming to drift over the ground.

Janus sank. ''I'm not even worth getting mad about.'' Another pair of blue eyes caught his from across the field and Janus saw Coach Kell glaring as he suddenly remembered worrying about something bad a minute ago, so he began to run again, trying to catch up with the blue eyes, with his friends Callie and Violet. 



Assistant Coach Kell eyed the time wasters, watching one start to run again, then settled on another in particular.

"YOU!" Kell separated the flushed student from his peers with an out-thrust finger, amplifier causing his voice to pound through the boy. "HOW MANY ACTIVITIES HAVE YOU COMPLETED?!"

"F-four, Coach Kell." Arthur shivered a little in his track shoes, then sighed in relief as Kell moved on.

"FURIA!" Kell, like Yarrick, was one of the few who could hope to outmatch Furia verbally, though only because of his vocal amplification. "How many events have you completed?"

"Five, Kell. Lay off." Furia exhaled and rolled her eyes, leaning against the wall.

"You're a Primarch for Emperor's sake, now get out there and finish your last task!" Kell stomped away, completely missing the grin playing over her face.

''Fine.'' Furia stepped away from the wall, then continued across the field. Directly ahead, and under Head Coach Creed's direct observation, was a small platform. About three meters in diameter, the stone dais held a pair of students fighting, hand to hand, one attempting to lock the other into a choke-hold from behind. After another moment's grappling the ploy succeeded, and Creed called an end to the bout.

"Good, good, thirty-five seconds, Jonas. Next!" Assistant Coach Kell trundled up.
"YOU HEARD THE HEAD COACH! NEXT!"

Creed smiled, clenching an unlit cigar squarely between his teeth. When Furia stepped up and waved, he simply smiled a little wider. He didn't expect anyone to take the challenge, after all. ''That's Furia Angron.'' So, when a tall, brown-haired young man stepped forward and waved as well, Creed let out a small laugh. ''Biting off more than you can chew once or twice is a good learning experience.'' The look on Furia's face worried him a bit, what with her eyes bulging so. ''Just as long as you come out the other side intact.''

"How high?" One of the first changes Creed made to the athletic program was the inclusion of combat training. Basic stuff, no real weapons, a few minor wargames. Still, the faux stone pillar looked out of place among the tracks, baseball diamond and the high jump stand some six meters away. He'd intended it be taken mostly by those who planned on military service. Every year, though, more than a few kids looking to prove themselves to their buddies had hopped on. ''And then there are the Daughters.'' Freya Russ, Furia and Hana Khan stood out, of course, but many of the Daughters had taken a turn or two on the Rock, and physical education's 'No Recording' policy had been instituted only minutes after Freya and Hana's first bout started three years ago.

"Three meters." Furia growled out as she stepped forward.

"And you, kid?"

"Doug, Coach. Four-and-a-half meters, please. If Miss Angron doesn't mind."

"Yeah, that's fine, let's get this show on the road." Furia hopped up on the currently meter high pedestal and Doug did so as well, stepping neatly up and standing on the opposing edge. Creed nodded and Kell turned the crank, manually engaging the lifting mechanism. The process seemed to take forever, the pillar slowly lifting and rotating. It was all part of the program, giving the contestants time to see how high they were going, to stare down their opponent. Finally the platform ground into place and Creed looked down at his stopwatch.

"Go!"

"GO!" Kell echoed Creed's command, and the bout started.

Furia launched herself into the fight without hesitation. She punch and kicked blindly, elbowed and kneed without thought. She threw every attack she knew in every combination she could think of, rage building. Her opponent stepped and juked, almost dancing, deflecting her attacks with contemptuous ease. ''Slippery bastard.''
Furia lost herself in the fight, the sheer physical act, each strike pushing him back a little more, a little closer to his side of the Rock. She pushed out unwanted memories, drowned out grief with rage as she'd been doing all day. Frustration set in after only ten seconds, until Furia saw a clear opening: Doug's head dipped forward, and his right leg drew forward in a tight circle around his left. She leaned back onto one foot, the motion pure reaction. The other swept out at his legs in a broad arc only made viable by her inhuman strength. 

The boy exhaled sharply and smiled, almost is if saying Thank you.'

Doug's legs barely braced as he launched into a simple hop. Furia's eyes gaped as it all happened in slow motion. The crook of his knees as her last ditch attack failed, gliding directly under his feet. The lazy pirouette as he spun in the air. The crash of his left foot into her sternum, almost gentle to her superhuman physiology, sending her sprawling over the edge nonetheless. 

Falling. 

Falling.





Suddenly a hand snatched hers, and Furia looked up into the now familiar face of Doug, sliding closer and closer to the edge as he strained to halt her momentum. She gritted her teeth, baring a grim smile, and pushed with her feet, trying to pull him off and throw him down to the ground. She succeeded in removing Doug from the Rock, then failed to find purchase with her other hand and begin to fall again.

Furia hit the ground hard, but not as hard as she'd expected. Her head lifted off the grass, still spinning from the fall, the not-so-hard landing. "What the ''fuck'' just happened?"

"Hh bhhhehf Hh brhhk hhhr fhhll." Furia looked down to see her sizable chest pressed around something. Something with light brown hair. She got angry.

"YOU MOTHERFU-" Furia drew her arm back and up as she savored the word. She'd timed it perfectly, verbal release coinciding with physical impact. As her fist fell through the air toward the gasping young man, she relished the thought of watching his smug face take the hit. One moment she was free and clear. Then, as Furia looked down to see it all play out, her fist smashed into an inexplicable and well-cushioned umpire's vest.

''That's the one they use when I pitch.'' Confusion marred Furia's finely scarred features for only a moment before she heard the match flare up. Eyes and face bulging with anger, Furia Angron watched as the cigar puffed to life between square, clenched teeth.

"CRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE''EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE''-"



Furia sat at Yarrick's desk for the second time that day. Not for the fight: it was part of the LFT, and thus approved, if looked down upon. No, she was in the seat for breaking Clarence Patterson's hearing aid.

''I didn't even get halfway to the D.''' Yarrick looked at her strangely, but Furia didn't care. ''By the time I get out of here it'll be time to go home. Where I still have some smokes.''

"Your father says you're grounded until the weekend." Yarrick paused. "Of course, Lord Angron. Yes, a low-salt injection."

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"No, you don't need the foil, but it'll shorten the cook time." Yarrick took another puff, then passed the cigar to Furia. "About 5 hours... Yes, really."

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"I'd say two or three hours with the foil at that temperature. Yep. Alright, talk to you Saturday night. You bet, Guillimore Dew, nothing better." Yarrick took the cigar back as the final bell range, and nodded once more to Furia before she left for her empty home.



The door slammed shut, far harder than necessary, and only remained intact because it was reinforced to handle the frequent anger and monstrous strength of Furia and her father, Primarch Angron.

Furia's hands were starting to shake, and the feeling, the itch, was coming back. ''Barely made it back here.'' She dropped the backpack, not even bothering to throw it anywhere, and made for the kitchen. Furia opened drawers, dug through baskets and cabinets, searching frantically. She barely noticed the blood, the knife that cut her while her hands rummaged.

“Where the fuck are they.” Furia's voice was different now, not the roar it had been earlier, or even the quiet menace that appeared after Yarrick showed up in the hallway before first period. It was higher now, quivering and breathless as the lack of narcotic or adrenaline finally caught up to her.

The feeling of abandonment came back, stronger than ever, and Furia fell to her knees. She started to cry, simple tears at first, then tiny sobs. Something cold settled into her stomach, and she pulled a hand away from the counter to scratch her arm. The tears fell and mixed with blood welling out from under her fingernails, warm and hot. Her hand started to slip from the rounded countertop and Furia looked up. The lho pack sat there and it suddenly seemed to take up the whole of her vision. She felt the itch start to fade, the abandonment recede as her hand crawled forward.

Time sped up when Furia finally touched the pack of lho sticks. She began to dig frantically for a lighter, then remembered it was in her backpack. The stove kicked on instead, and Furia drew the tabac to life with it, uncaring of the blistering heat on her face. The first real inhalation finally came, long and comforting. She fell back against the island and drew down the lho, barely remembering to light the next one off of it.



Doug iced his aching back and arms while playing over the memory again, his fight with Furia on the rock. He'd barely managed to hold off her wild attacks. ''I'm lucky she so severely underestimated me.'' The damage to his arms, even with properly executed blocks, was considerable. But the ploy worked, and it had only taken a dozen seconds for Furia to get frustrated and take the well-placed bait.

''Lead with the head, and an experienced enemy will follow.''

He hadn't expected her to be so off balance as to fall from the Rock, and barely remembered grabbing her hand. Doug recalled the look in Furia's eyes when she caught on. ''First frustration, annoyance and shock. Then she realized her position.'' A gleam of anger returned, bolstered by imminent triumph, and then they fell. It hurt, but somehow he felt good. ''I felt fulfilled. I felt... warm.'' Doug felt an uncharacteristic blush come over his face.

After the fall Furia was dazed, and took some time to sort out what she was laying on. ''That warm feeling quickly diminished.'' And the ringing didn't settle out of his ears for another ten minutes, even with the earplugs in. Still, Doug fared better than Clarence Patterson, and Furia ended up in the Dean's office for the second time that day. ''Yes, Furia was frustrated, angry and annoyed as she left. But she wasn't sad.''

Doug Hanlon felt sleep come on more easily than he had in months as he lay down, because he'd done something good today.

''A simple kindness.''

He could only hope she felt as peaceful right now as he did.