[Smaller chapter, 950ish words, but this won''t be common]


    The boys trained with a ferocity that bordered on self-destruction. Each morning began before dawn, muscles screaming from the previous day''s exertion, yet they pushed through the pain. Their courtyard became a battleground—a sacred space where they forged their bodies into weapons.


    Kain and Talon devoted countless hours to developing their gauntlet-based fighting style. The reinforced leather weapons became extensions of themselves as they practiced strikes against makeshift dummies.


    Kain favored quick combinations that targeted vital points, while Talon developed powerful blows that could break through defenses. Though their approaches differed slightly, both brothers/clones of Zac mastered the art of close-quarters combat where their gauntlets proved most effective.


    Redd meticulously documented everything in his journal—techniques observed, dietary experiments, and training progressions. His analytical mind transformed their workouts from brute force exercises into scientific pursuits. Under his guidance, they learned to maximize the nutritional properties of different foods, stretching their limited budget to fuel their superhuman development.


    Ash approached training with single-minded determination. The memory of his humiliation at Whisper''s hands drove him to push beyond his limits daily. His once-lanky frame hardened with lean muscle, his movements becoming sharper, more deliberate.


    Every evening, they haunted the fighting club like ghosts. They''d sit in different sections, observing the veterans with predatory focus. They studied fighting styles, cataloged weaknesses, and dissected victories. Old Man Drogg noticed their dedication and occasionally offered cryptic advice that proved invaluable in later fights.


    After six months of preparation, they returned to the fighting pits.


    "You sure about this?" Drogg asked when Talon signed up for his first bout. "Veterans ain''t gotten any gentler since you left."


    Talon''s dark eyes reflected the torchlight. "We''re not the same boys you saw before."


    They started with one fight weekly, carefully selecting opponents. Despite their improved skills, veterans still outclassed them, but the defeats were no longer one-sided massacres. Each loss taught them something new, and occasionally, when matched against other novices, they tasted victory.


    Two months later, they increased to two fights weekly. Their bodies adapted to the rhythm of combat—the adrenaline spike before a match, the burn of exertion during, the ache of recovery after. Whisper, who had humiliated them before, now needed actual effort to defeat them.


    "You four have grown," he told Kain after a particularly close match. "Still green as spring grass, but growing."


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    By the time they increased to three fights weekly, the brothers had developed distinct fighting identities.


    Ash became known for his mischievous style, employing feints and unexpected maneuvers that often left opponents swinging at shadows.


    Redd fought with tactical precision, every movement calculated and economical.


    Talon developed a reputation for exploiting the smallest openings with devastating counterattacks.


    Kain distinguished himself through adaptability—seemingly able to shift fighting styles mid-match to counter whatever his opponents threw at him.


    The day they began fighting daily marked a turning point. Their names appeared on the betting boards with increasingly favorable odds. Old-timers who had laughed at their early attempts now nodded respectfully when they passed. Even Drogg''s perpetual scowl softened slightly when addressing them.


    "You boys might actually survive this life," he grudgingly admitted one evening.


    Two years passed like water through cupped hands—impossible to hold yet leaving a tangible impression.


    The boys, now fifteen and a half, had transformed.


    Their bodies bore the evidence of countless battles—scars mapping their journey from naive children to hardened fighters. Their movements carried the weight of experience, the confidence of those who had tested themselves against fire and emerged tempered.


    With six months remaining before their planned departure, they faced a new problem—too few worthy opponents. Most fighters who could challenge them appeared only sporadically, leaving the brothers hungry for greater tests.


    "We need something more," Redd said one evening, closing his journal with a decisive snap. "The fighting pits have taught us what they can."


    Kain nodded, absently tracing a scar along his forearm. "It''s time we put our skills to real use."


    Their decision to join the rebellion came after careful deliberation. The Kingdom of Krevane, with its oppressive taxes and brutal conscription policies, had revealed itself as a regime built on suffering. The rebels, while outgunned, fought for autonomy and basic rights.


    Their first mission was simple—deliver medical supplies to a rebel outpost in the foothills. As they proved their reliability, the assignments grew more complex. Escort missions. Reconnaissance. Sabotage operations against government supply lines.


    The brothers excelled at these tasks, their fighting pit experience translating well to real-world combat. Government soldiers, while trained, lacked the raw survival instinct that came from fighting for one''s life daily.


    Within months, the four teenagers had earned a reputation among the rebel forces for their ruthless efficiency. When assigned a target, they never failed, leaving nothing but completed objectives in their wake.


    Now, with mere weeks before their sixteenth birthdays, they prepared for one final mission—their most dangerous yet.


    A pirate crew had recently seized a rebel-controlled island nearby, disrupting supply lines and threatening the rebellion''s southern flank.


    The brothers volunteered for this mission not just for the cause, but with their own agenda—they needed a ship for their journey, and capturing the pirates'' vessel offered the perfect solution without depleting their hard-earned savings on an inferior craft.


    As they prepared their gear in their courtyard, Ash spun his staff—now metal-reinforced and battle-scarred—with practiced ease.


    "After this," he said, "we finally get to start our real journey."


    Kain met Talon''s eyes across the yard, a silent understanding passing between them. The mission ahead was merely a stepping stone. Beyond it lay the true test—the paths they had chosen for themselves in the wider world.


    ****


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