A fist tore through the air, aimed straight at the old man's face.
With a flick of his wrist, he blocked it effortlessly, his palm meeting Joshua's knuckles with a sharp smack. The impact sent a shockwave through the air, but the old man remained unmoved. Joshua, on the other hand, wasn't as lucky. The force rebounded, and before he could brace himself, the old man twisted his wrist and sent him flying backward with a single counterstrike.
Joshua crashed against the rocky ground, rolling until he managed to stop himself. He coughed, wiping dirt from his face, then sprang back to his feet. His red eyes burned with determination. He didn't hesitate—he lunged again, fists flashing as he threw a barrage of punches.
The old man dodged with ease, weaving through each strike like a leaf dancing in the wind. When Joshua swung again, the old man parried, grabbing his wrist mid-strike and twisting it just enough to force Joshua to stumble forward. Then, with a simple shove, he sent Joshua skidding across the ground once more.
Joshua gritted his teeth and slammed his fist into the dirt. This was frustrating. No matter how hard he tried, the old man barely looked like he was trying.
For what felt like hours, they continued—Joshua attacking with everything he had, and the old man countering with minimal effort.
Then, finally, the old man raised a hand. "That's enough."
Joshua, panting heavily, clenched his fists. "I can still—"
"Enough." The old man's voice left no room for argument. He studied Joshua with a calculating gaze. "Your red eyes allow you to channel raw energy attacks and enhanced strength, but if you want to survive here, you need more than brute force."
Joshua straightened slightly, still catching his breath. "What do you mean?"
The old man smirked. "Try switching to a different eye color."
Joshua froze.
"You heard me," the old man continued. "You can control multiple abilities, just do it. Change your eye colour."
Joshua swallowed hard. Change his eyes? The only time his abilities were activated was when his emotions overwhelmed him. How was he supposed to switch on command?
He shut his eyes and focused. Change. Change! But nothing happened.
He tried thinking about a different power—precision, speed, anything—but the moment he opened his eyes, they were still red.
The old man crossed his arms. "Again."
Joshua clenched his jaw and tried once more, concentrating with all his might. He willed his eyes to shift, to take on a new hue, but the burning sensation of transformation never came. He grunted in frustration, his fists trembling.
Again and again, he tried. And again and again, nothing happened.
His breathing grew ragged as he stared at the old man. "Why isn't it working?!"
The old man simply chuckled. "Because you don't understand your power yet." He stepped forward, his expression unreadable. "If you can't even control your own abilities, how do you expect to control your fate in this world?"
The old man studied Joshua for a long moment before exhaling. "Fine. If you can't change your eye color, then we'll focus on what you can do."
Joshua's frustration tightened his jaw. "And what's that supposed to mean?"
The old man smirked. "Your energy attacks. You've been throwing punches like a reckless fool, expecting raw power to carry you through. But energy isn't just about brute force. You need control."
Joshua frowned, his breathing still heavy.
"Instead of charging headfirst, try releasing bursts of energy. Direct it outward instead of wasting it on wild swings." The old man took a step back. "Try it now."
Joshua flexed his fingers. He had only ever used his energy instinctively—letting it explode from his fists or fuel his attacks. But control? That was different.
Taking a breath, he focused. His hands tingled, heat pooling at his fingertips as energy crackled to life. He clenched his fists, then thrust them forward.
A pulse of red energy blasted outward, carving a shallow trench into the rocky ground.
The old man nodded. "Again". But this time, don't just release it all at once. Store it. Let it build up, then release it in controlled bursts.
Joshua hesitated. Store it? That was new.
Gritting his teeth, he gathered energy in his palm, feeling it swirl and build like a storm barely held at bay. His muscles trembled under the pressure. Then, with a sharp exhale, he pushed it outward—this time in a concentrated blast rather than a wild explosion.
The energy shot forward, more focused, more precise.
The old man's smirk deepened. "Good. Now do it again."
Joshua exhaled, sweat dripping down his brow. This was harder than just throwing everything he had into a single attack. It required patience, control—something he wasn't used to.
But as he tried again, something clicked. He could feel the energy shifting within him, responding to his will. Maybe… maybe this was the key to mastering his power.
The old man's eyes gleamed. "Now, let's take it even further."
The old man pushed him harder, forcing him to refine his control over energy rather than rely on brute strength.
"Energy isn't just something you release," the old man lectured as he paced around Joshua. It's something you shape, direct, and bend to your will. If all you do is fire off blasts, you'll run dry before a real battle even begins.
Joshua wiped sweat from his brow, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He had been at this for hours, but the old man wasn't letting up.
"Try shaping it," the old man continued. "Compress it into a form rather than letting it scatter."
Joshua clenched his fists, summoning the red energy once more. He tried to hold it in his palm, to shape it like the old man said, but it crackled and fizzled out of control, dispersing before he could fully contain it.
The old man shook his head. Too unstable. "You're forcing it instead of guiding it." Energy responds to intent—gives it purpose.
Joshua inhaled sharply. Purpose. He tried again, this time focusing on keeping the energy within his grasp rather than forcing it outward. Slowly, a small sphere of energy formed in his palm, flickering like a weak flame.
"There," the old man said. "Now make it denser."
Joshua gritted his teeth and focused. The ball of energy pulsed, condensing slightly, but the moment he tried to control it further, it detonated in his hand, sending him stumbling backward.
The old man sighed. "This will take time. Days, at least."
Joshua clenched his jaw but nodded. He wouldn't back down.
And so, the training stretched on.
Each day, they went to the mountain and back to the cave.
Each time, Joshua honed his ability—learning to shape his energy, to store it in his body, to release it in controlled bursts. He practiced coating his limbs in energy to enhance his strikes rather than waste them on unnecessary blasts.
The old man demonstrated techniques Joshua had never considered—redirecting energy instead of simply releasing it, using it defensively, even absorbing stray energy instead of letting it vanish.
The progress was slow. The frustration mounted. But with every failure, Joshua learned. And with every success, he grew stronger.
On the seventh day, Joshua stood before the old man once more. His red eyes glowed, but this time, they burned with more than raw power. They burned with control.
The old man smirked."Now we're getting somewhere."
Joshua's red eyes glowed as he steadied his breathing, energy pulsing around him in controlled waves. Days of relentless training had refined his power—not just in raw strength, but in precision. Now, it was time to put it to the test.
The old man smirked, standing with his arms crossed. "Now, attack me with everything you've got."
Joshua didn't hesitate. He shot forward, his fist crackling with compressed energy. The moment he swung, the force behind it sent a tremor through the air.
The old man sidestepped smoothly, but Joshua had grown faster. He twisted mid-strike, releasing a sharp, concentrated burst of energy that forced his opponent to shift back.
Joshua pressed on, launching a flurry of strikes, each one charged with refined power. The old man weaved through them effortlessly, occasionally deflecting or countering, but there was no denying the difference—Joshua was no longer attacking recklessly. Every movement had intent, its energy shaped into focused waves rather than uncontrolled bursts.
They clashed, the impact of their blows shaking the ground beneath them. Joshua's strikes carried weight, but more than that, they carried precision. His energy no longer exploded chaotically; it moved with purpose.
After parrying a final attack, the old man leapt back and landed lightly, his smirk widening. "Well done, kid."
Joshua, breathing hard but still standing strong, felt a rare sense of accomplishment. He had never fought like this before—never felt in control.
He exhaled and let his stance relax. Then, a thought struck him.
His brows furrowed. "Wait… I just realized—I don't even know your name."
The old man tilted his head, amused. "Is that so?"
Joshua nodded. "Yeah. You've been training me, pushing me this hard, and I don't even know what to call you.
The old man chuckled, as if entertained by the thought. Then, with a glint of something unreadable in his eyes, he spoke.
"My name is Kweku Ananse."