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Description
Blueprints for Perfection

Chapter Three: Training

“Move, you piece of junk!” DeFoe shook the amulet.

He had tried to summon Kreutalk more times than he could count. If it weren’t for the sun setting outside the window, he would not have realized how long he had been trying and failing. Because he could see the sun setting, however, he was acutely aware of how much time he was wasting. There had been two or three other agents in the gym when he went there after lunch, but because of the way in which he trained, which involved lots of throwing things and sometimes kicking, he was alone. Alone with his unresponsive, unhelpful, unsympathetic titan.

DeFoe threw Kreutalk’s amulet again. He stomped around for a while, then went to pick it up again. DeFoe closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose. Focus, he thought. Block everything out except Kreutalk.

“Emerge, Kreutalk,” he spoke.

Nothing.

He pressed the amulet against his cheek and petted it.

“Come forth, Kreutalk,” he whispered. “Please.”

Nothing.

DeFoe’s grip tightened around the amulet until his fist was shaking in rage.

“Grrrrrrrrrrrrryah!” He lobbed the amulet at the far wall where it fell to the ground before it impacted. The single clang as a small sound, but it had the same effect a word does, whispered in such a way that you know no other words will dare to come after it. But DeFoe wasn’t one to honor such sanctified, and admittedly obscure, metaphysical meaning.

“Kreutalk, you traitor! Traitor! Obey me, or I’ll hate you as long as I live!” He pushed over a training dummy for emphasis. Even so, Kreutalk seemed unplussed by DeFoe’s tantrum. Didn’t that ungrateful fish-thing have any sense of duty? The way Kreutalk was acting, DeFoe would have thought he had rejected him.

What if Kreutalk had rejected him? Did that happen? DeFoe couldn’t remember. He had read a lot of case studies, of course, lots of history (okay, skimmed); did titans ever leave their masters of their own will?

Impossible.

If they did, many of the Professor’s titans would have left. And DeFoe didn’t hear anything about that.

Then again, he had never heard much about anything. Maybe Kreutalk had left him. Maybe Kreutalk no longer saw DeFoe as his master. Maybe he refused to bond. (No, they didn’t bond. That is, not really. Something about a soul and one will, but no actual combining, sautered sort of way.)

DeFoe pointed suspiciously at the little amulet across the room. “Kreutalk! I’m talking to you, and I know you can hear me. Come out of that amulet right now! I command you! I am your master, and you are my titan! You must obey me!”

Kreutalk didn’t seem to agree. So DeFoe kicked the wall. And a chair. “I control you! I CONTROL you! I am summoning you!” DeFoe stomped towards the amulet. “Emerge, or I will take a pocket knife and pry the face off of your amulet. You wouldn’t like that, would you? WOULD YOU?? Then you wouldn’t have any home to return to, and you’d have to stay summoned all the time—“

“He could just move into one of your ribs or something.”

DeFoe whipped around and – surprise, surprise – there stood Dante with that cocky grin of his. DeFoe lunged at him with a ferocity that surprised Dante and forced him to step back.

“It was just a joke, DeFoe.” He put his palms up and shrugged.

“Augerfrost!”

Dante rolled out of the way. The bolt made a mark in the doors to the gymnasium.

“That was just a joke,” DeFoe growled, veins popping. “And so is this—poison fang!”

Dante continued dodging. “I’m sorry, okay? I thought you could take it.”

“You think you can say whatever you want to,” DeFoe said, going straight at Dante with his fists. “And I’m supposed to swallow it because I’m so thankful to the Foundation for saving me. I said I wouldn’t be your prisoner, and I won’t be your lapdog!”

Dante blocked a punch, caught DeFoe in the shoulder, and shoved him into the floor. He hadn’t meant to do anything besides stopping the onslaught, but he ended up breaking DeFoe’s glasses on the floor and cutting the bridge of his nose in the process. Dante let go of DeFoe’s shoulder and sat on the floor. DeFoe pushed himself up fully to his feet. He took off his glasses, scowling at them in silence, not even noticing the blood slowly snaking down the interesting geography that was his nose.
“I’m sorry,” Dante said. “I didn’t mean for that to get out of hand.”

“Of course you didn’t,” sneered DeFoe as he started for the door. “I am sick of arguing with you—ahh!” Something cracked in DeFoe’s back and fire shot through his spine. He bent over to relieve the pain, but his knees buckled from the shock, and he fell to the floor.

Dante rushed to him, their fight completely forgotten. “Are you alright?” he asked anxiously.
“Does it look like I’m alright?” DeFoe growled between clenched teeth. “I told you the Professor cursed me!”

“We need to get you to the sickbay. Can you stand?”

Even thinking about standing sent a new wave of pain. Dante withdrew his question. He took his cellphone out of his back pocket and put it to his ear.

“Guggenheim? DeFoe just collapsed in the gym and we could use a stretcher.”

“Right away, Dante,” replied Guggenheim on the other end.

“Maybe now you’ll take my warnings seriously,” DeFoe gritted his teeth, squeezing his knees.

“Don’t push your luck,” Dante said. “I’ll get back at you when you’re recovered.”

The stretcher came in less than a minute since the hospital wing was at the same end of the facility as the gym: which made sense, since most injuries incurred on the Huntik Foundation premises would happen in the gym. Reese was among the doctors to come in.

“What happened?” asked Reese as he and the other doctors wheeled the patient back to the hospital wing.

“The Professor cursed me, is what happened,” replied DeFoe with a hint of triumph at being right.

“I didn’t ask how, I asked what. What hurts? Et cetera.”

“I feel like if I move, I’ll break in half,” DeFoe moaned, cringing as the stretcher bumped over the ridge and into the elevator.

“Specifics, DeFoe!” Reese said, pushing the LL button.

“Alright!” DeFoe growled. “It’s my back. My spine. Searing pain, like before, when… And…ugh, I don’t feel well. I-I think I’m passing out.”

“Stay awake, DeFoe. Just until we’ve gotten you into a stable condition. Just a few more minutes—“

DeFoe was fading fast. “This…is taking so much longer than normal.” His breath was heavy. “Am I transformed yet?”

“You’re not going to transform,” Reese answered.

DeFoe exhaled and let his cheek rest on the stretcher. “Good.”

Description
Blueprints for Perfection

Chapter Three: Training

“Move, you piece of junk!” DeFoe shook the amulet.

He had tried to summon Kreutalk more times than he could count. If it weren’t for the sun setting outside the window, he would not have realized how long he had been trying and failing. Because he could see the sun setting, however, he was acutely aware of how much time he was wasting. There had been two or three other agents in the gym when he went there after lunch, but because of the way in which he trained, which involved lots of throwing things and sometimes kicking, he was alone. Alone with his unresponsive, unhelpful, unsympathetic titan.

DeFoe threw Kreutalk’s amulet again. He stomped around for a while, then went to pick it up again. DeFoe closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose. Focus, he thought. Block everything out except Kreutalk.

“Emerge, Kreutalk,” he spoke.

Nothing.

He pressed the amulet against his cheek and petted it.

“Come forth, Kreutalk,” he whispered. “Please.”

Nothing.

DeFoe’s grip tightened around the amulet until his fist was shaking in rage.

“Grrrrrrrrrrrrryah!” He lobbed the amulet at the far wall where it fell to the ground before it impacted. The single clang as a small sound, but it had the same effect a word does, whispered in such a way that you know no other words will dare to come after it. But DeFoe wasn’t one to honor such sanctified, and admittedly obscure, metaphysical meaning.

“Kreutalk, you traitor! Traitor! Obey me, or I’ll hate you as long as I live!” He pushed over a training dummy for emphasis. Even so, Kreutalk seemed unplussed by DeFoe’s tantrum. Didn’t that ungrateful fish-thing have any sense of duty? The way Kreutalk was acting, DeFoe would have thought he had rejected him.

What if Kreutalk had rejected him? Did that happen? DeFoe couldn’t remember. He had read a lot of case studies, of course, lots of history (okay, skimmed); did titans ever leave their masters of their own will?

Impossible.

If they did, many of the Professor’s titans would have left. And DeFoe didn’t hear anything about that.

Then again, he had never heard much about anything. Maybe Kreutalk had left him. Maybe Kreutalk no longer saw DeFoe as his master. Maybe he refused to bond. (No, they didn’t bond. That is, not really. Something about a soul and one will, but no actual combining, sautered sort of way.)

DeFoe pointed suspiciously at the little amulet across the room. “Kreutalk! I’m talking to you, and I know you can hear me. Come out of that amulet right now! I command you! I am your master, and you are my titan! You must obey me!”

Kreutalk didn’t seem to agree. So DeFoe kicked the wall. And a chair. “I control you! I CONTROL you! I am summoning you!” DeFoe stomped towards the amulet. “Emerge, or I will take a pocket knife and pry the face off of your amulet. You wouldn’t like that, would you? WOULD YOU?? Then you wouldn’t have any home to return to, and you’d have to stay summoned all the time—“

“He could just move into one of your ribs or something.”

DeFoe whipped around and – surprise, surprise – there stood Dante with that cocky grin of his. DeFoe lunged at him with a ferocity that surprised Dante and forced him to step back.

“It was just a joke, DeFoe.” He put his palms up and shrugged.

“Augerfrost!”

Dante rolled out of the way. The bolt made a mark in the doors to the gymnasium.

“That was just a joke,” DeFoe growled, veins popping. “And so is this—poison fang!”

Dante continued dodging. “I’m sorry, okay? I thought you could take it.”

“You think you can say whatever you want to,” DeFoe said, going straight at Dante with his fists. “And I’m supposed to swallow it because I’m so thankful to the Foundation for saving me. I said I wouldn’t be your prisoner, and I won’t be your lapdog!”

Dante blocked a punch, caught DeFoe in the shoulder, and shoved him into the floor. He hadn’t meant to do anything besides stopping the onslaught, but he ended up breaking DeFoe’s glasses on the floor and cutting the bridge of his nose in the process. Dante let go of DeFoe’s shoulder and sat on the floor. DeFoe pushed himself up fully to his feet. He took off his glasses, scowling at them in silence, not even noticing the blood slowly snaking down the interesting geography that was his nose.
“I’m sorry,” Dante said. “I didn’t mean for that to get out of hand.”

“Of course you didn’t,” sneered DeFoe as he started for the door. “I am sick of arguing with you—ahh!” Something cracked in DeFoe’s back and fire shot through his spine. He bent over to relieve the pain, but his knees buckled from the shock, and he fell to the floor.

Dante rushed to him, their fight completely forgotten. “Are you alright?” he asked anxiously.
“Does it look like I’m alright?” DeFoe growled between clenched teeth. “I told you the Professor cursed me!”

“We need to get you to the sickbay. Can you stand?”

Even thinking about standing sent a new wave of pain. Dante withdrew his question. He took his cellphone out of his back pocket and put it to his ear.

“Guggenheim? DeFoe just collapsed in the gym and we could use a stretcher.”

“Right away, Dante,” replied Guggenheim on the other end.

“Maybe now you’ll take my warnings seriously,” DeFoe gritted his teeth, squeezing his knees.

“Don’t push your luck,” Dante said. “I’ll get back at you when you’re recovered.”

The stretcher came in less than a minute since the hospital wing was at the same end of the facility as the gym: which made sense, since most injuries incurred on the Huntik Foundation premises would happen in the gym. Reese was among the doctors to come in.

“What happened?” asked Reese as he and the other doctors wheeled the patient back to the hospital wing.

“The Professor cursed me, is what happened,” replied DeFoe with a hint of triumph at being right.

“I didn’t ask how, I asked what. What hurts? Et cetera.”

“I feel like if I move, I’ll break in half,” DeFoe moaned, cringing as the stretcher bumped over the ridge and into the elevator.

“Specifics, DeFoe!” Reese said, pushing the LL button.

“Alright!” DeFoe growled. “It’s my back. My spine. Searing pain, like before, when… And…ugh, I don’t feel well. I-I think I’m passing out.”

“Stay awake, DeFoe. Just until we’ve gotten you into a stable condition. Just a few more minutes—“

DeFoe was fading fast. “This…is taking so much longer than normal.” His breath was heavy. “Am I transformed yet?”

“You’re not going to transform,” Reese answered.

DeFoe exhaled and let his cheek rest on the stretcher. “Good.”