[Training] [se] these years of infinity

Deimos “The movement,” he uttered, striving to practice those depths, hone them into some manner of muscle memory, before committing to the power behind his strength, diligence, and motions. The sand wasn’t a damper on the maneuvers at least, given the way they’d trained on the terrain in his childhood – ocean youths, eventually implementing the wilderness for their own benefit. So he took a moment to not linger in the steps and pace so much, as the fortitude nestled within – bludgeoning the target in an immediate onslaught of force, breaking the head off. He chanced a sheepish glance towards Darkeye – before continuing onwards, striking it in the chest, leaving a deep puncturing laceration in his wake. Thereafter, he unfurled another breath, and listened to the next set of directions. Fists. Shoulders. Legs. Not relying so heavily on the singular weapon. Or surprising an adversary with the way it could be utilized. He altered his grip on the spear, mimicking his instructor’s hold, and while orchestrating motions meant for some invisible opponent (a sharp jab to a shoulder, perhaps, or a kick to ribcages), he backed up, striving to hit what remained of the target, as he hurled the weapon towards it. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime