SWORD ACADEMY (censored)
CENSORED 55: NICK

I carefully explain the process of transporting to Ainsley, and she hangs onto every word with rapt attention. She only has to picture where she wants to go and will herself there. It’s simple enough, but there’s substantial risk. She has to be sure she has a very, very firm grasp on the location she’s transporting to. Otherwise, she could land kilometres wide of her mark.

Or inside a wall.

Or concrete.

Or a tree.

Or anywhere that’s not a wide open space that might facilitate breathing and prevent fusion.

I’m confident with enough practise she’ll even be able to transport just by looking at a detailed photograph and some topography. Of course, those guides really need to be current or else, POOF! Total gonzo.

Her air spark has a hard time getting off the runway at first, but after a few tries, it’s eager to spread its wings and take them soaring. Alone. I’m not going on that joy ride with them just yet. While I have a soft spot for her, I’m not eager to share a set of lungs with her forevermore.

She decides her first transport out of the room will be to see Sunny, and despite my protests, she goes right along with that idea anyway, rudely transporting in the middle of my beautiful speech about the dangers of throwing caution to the wind. I grab the sheet from her bed and take off after her like a total Regular.

When I arrive in Sunny’s room, I chuck the sheet at Ainsley. She’s leaning over the bed, her bare blaster pointed at me with zero cares to be had over it. Thankfully, she only gives me a scope spiral in response before wrapping the sheet around herself and tying the corners behind her neck like a halter dress.

She reaches out to hold Sunny’s hand where it lays still on the bed beside her. “The cuffs are working,” she quickfires.

Ainsley’s negation cuffs hadn’t worked, but Sunny’s are doing the job. It’s almost like Ainsley can tell that just by touching her hand.

She clicks her tongue. “How often are they giving her blood?”

My brow drags. “Once a day like all the other shattered wielders.”

I know she feels guilty. She was donating blood faithfully every week, but that hasn’t happened since she jetted dark diarrhea all over the Sleep Chamber. They’re still drawing her blood. It just isn’t meant for patient circulation. They’re testing the snot out of it, and Ainsley knows that, so she’s much less cooperative when it comes to relinquishing it. For that, we need Frank’s behemoth bee hive.

“I can feel her struggling,” Ainsley slamfires. “It’s like my sparks know she needs help. I wish there was more I could do. I still have freaking sheath blood. It’s horsecrap they won’t use it for something good.”

“They’re only trying to figure you out,” I tailslide, “and maybe once they do, you’ll be able to help more than just Sunny.”

She volleys a feral groan. “In the meantime, all the shattered sparks are falling apart.”

She isn’t wrong. The patients once showing significant improvement are totally turbulent now and that regression makes no sense unless…

“You glorious beaut of a wrecking ball.” I blast a laugh, and she whips her head around, prepared to show me just how well she’s received my compliment. Best I follow up. “Your blood.”

“What about it?” she snicks.

“Your blood ripped those blowhard walls to shreds. Something in it was breaking down the barriers keeping them from properly accessing their sparks,” I theorize. “Since they’ve stopped receiving it, those walls have built back up rock solid.”

“That’s why Dustin’s rainbow rose didn’t turn to dust,” she accurizes. “He’d drawn from my earth spark when he created it.” Her eyes light with wild excitement. “I can fix him!” she roars.

I blow out a low whistle. “They won’t let you start free-veining.”

“I’m not giving him my dang blood,” she fires back. “My sparks are gunna glue his shattered spark back together.”

“I don’t know,” I sputter. “We don’t even know if there’s a real link.”

But she transports out guns blazing before I can make another protest. I grab the sheet and fly out of the room in a hurry. I have to stop this. She’s being reckless, as always, and while I want to believe we’ve popped the cherry on this pie, it needs to be tested. Safely.

I run down the hallway, ripping Dustin’s door open with Ainsley’s sheet in hand. In the short minute it takes me to get to them, she’s already hauled Coterie Construction right out of retirement. Apparently, Dustin approved the emergency work permit on site. I can tell he’s regretting that now as he’s on his knees screaming like a little poof while Ainsley just keeps on renovating. To his credit, he isn’t staring at her snatch, which is eye level.

I start toward them to haul her away. Before she gets one salty shot off at me, she falls into a heap beside him. Dustin shakes his head like he’s clearing the stars from his vision and uses the bed for support to stand up.

“What did she do?!” I boom, tossing the sheet over Ainsley and moving to stand in front of him. “Are you okay?”

“She…” He capos his brow as he turns to face me. That’s when I see the striking difference in his eyes.

Soup.

Freaking.

Sandwich.

His green rings are still intact, but where they were once speckled with white and black flecks, each eye now holds a single colour, white on the left and black on the right. She didn’t tear down the wall at all. She strengthened it, completely separating his light and dark sparks.

“I’m sorry, Dustin,” I course-correct. “She was only trying to help you.”

“Why would you be sorry?” he strums.

He clearly doesn’t understand what she did to him. “She solidified the wall. She took your choice away.”

“No, she didn’t,” he plucks. “She installed a door.”

“I’m not following you.”

“She might’ve separated my light and dark sparks, but the door has no lock. Now I can choose whichever I like from either side,” he riffs.

He holds out his left hand and proceeds to show me what he means, growing a rose from root to petal before disintegrating it back to dust with his right.

Ainsley groans from the floor. We kneel down to haul her up. She smirks when she notices Dustin’s eyes. “Not too funky for a first freaking try.”

Dustin swings her in circles. She giggles and kisses him on the cheek once he stops.

“I can help Sunny now!” she roars again.

“How about we get in a little more practise before we fix your friend?” I backwind.

Practise really does make perfect. Elaina proved that when I finally got the wielded blow job she promised me. Freaked me out the tiniest bit when she inverted her chime tube as a bonus surprise, but I clappered the dickens out of it anyway. Probably best I don’t use that as a reference point for Ainsley though.

“For spark’s sake, fine,” she holsters. “Then aim me at the next wall Battle Unicorn gets to destroy with their wielded horn.”

And, in this moment, I see something more than her fists of fury. I thought this girl was made for the Fighting Sect. We all did. But here she is proving me and every other blowhole wrong in typical Ainsley fashion. She’s Healing Sect through and through, and those hands are meant for helping.

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