Free Obsidian Sky by Julius St. Clair Page B

job. Probably because you’re a psychopath.”
    The classroom went deathly silent.
    “No,” she answered. “I intimidate them because they need to have a steel resolve. People take my class to prepare for the scouting missions that may come their way in the future. If they can’t take my heat, then they have no right to be walking outside these walls. A recommendation from me to the Elders grants special consideration. I’m sure this is the reason you’re here now, is it not?”
    “Don’t try to run away from this,” George huffed, still clutching his wounded hand, his face reddening. “You want to make an example out of me? You want to act like I’m helpless just because we’re inside the shields? What if I was to show you what I could do right now?”
    “You want to fight me, Piss Stain?” Bailey laughed as the rest of the room chuckled with her. George’s face became redder as he nearly began crying.
    “When I walked in here, I was afraid of you,” he said through grit teeth. “But I’m not anymore. All I want to do is make you feel what you’ve done to me.”
    “Good. That’s the point,” Bailey said. “You can’t let fear grip you.”
    “Do you know what I can do?”
    “Couch, please. Stop trying to make this dramatic. Go back to your seat.”
    “I control the wind,” he said ominously as the entire classroom felt a breeze rustle past their feet. The wind kept circling the floor, over and over, brushing the dust and crumpled papers along the floor, until it had developed into a gust, and then transformed into a miniature tornado. The students kept their hands fastened to their creaking oak seats, though it wasn’t because they were concerned for their safety. They just wanted to keep watching the show. The only person in the room George wanted was their teacher, so they weren’t worried for themselves.
    Bailey smiled as the winds were purposely directed at her. They picked her up off her feet until she was about a yard off the ground, and then the assault began.
    George forced her limp body to circle around the room like she was a rag doll, banging up against the students’ desks and occasionally into the walls. Eventually, George grew weary of the smile planted on her face and decided to wipe it off. Circling his extended hands in front of him like he was casting a magic spell, he ordered the winds to bring her back toward the front and slam into the wall at his side. She winced upon impact but kept the smile up. He grunted and ordered her body to be slammed against the other end of the room, and she hit it even harder. This time her eyes closed, and the grin lost some of its hold. One more, George thought. One more will do.
    He forced her back to the other wall, but she never reached it. Just as her body passed him and the teacher’s desk, he felt three sharp pricks hit the back of his head. The sudden sensation threw off his concentration and Bailey landed on her feet as the winds died abruptly. Wasting no time, she sprinted forward, yanked the pencil from his aching hand, and then stabbed it swiftly through the side of his neck. His eyes lit up in shock at the movement, and she followed through with a swift punch to his left cheek before he could react, sending his head into her desk, and knocking him out cold. She caught his head in the palm of her hand before it could fall to the floor.
    Looking down at her handiwork, she snapped her fingers with her free hand and a healer ran forward. He rubbed his hands together and a light blue aura erupted over his palms. Bailey took the pencils carefully from George’s throat and the back of his head as the healer placed his palms over the wounds.
    “Do you want me to heal his hand as well?” he asked.
    “No, Elias, he still needs to feel that wound as a reminder.” Elias nodded and continued healing George’s neck. Once he was finished, Elias went back to his seat. Bailey nodded toward another student, who sent the equivalent of a bucket