The Almighty Dominance (by Sunshine) novel Chapter 717

That night, once the shop had gone quiet, Alex sat with Grim's head against his knee and called up the skill.

Skill on record: Bloodrend. Compatible target found. Teach?

Grim was awake, ears already up, watching him with the particular stillness of a dog that knew something was about to happen to it and had decided in advance not to flinch.

"Yes."

Cost: 300 mana. Cooldown: 48 hours.

The pull came sharper than Windshear had, a cold drag behind his sternum that didn't let go for a full ten seconds. Grim's whole body went rigid, then shuddered, then settled — and when he lifted his head again there was something different sitting behind his eyes, a weight that hadn't been there an hour ago.

He tested it without being told to. A short, low swipe at the empty air, twin motions folded into one strike. The old fence post nearest him didn't so much break as disagree with existing.

"That's yours now," Alex said. "Don't waste it on fence posts."

Grim's tail didn't wag. It thumped, once, like a verdict.

Alex reached into the ring next and drew out a small lacquered case. Inside, two pills sat pale and faintly warm, the kind of thing Wudang disciples were given once they'd survived their first real injury and needed their foundation rebuilt stronger than it had been before. He hadn't planned on using them here. He hadn't planned on any of this.

He gave one to Grim, one to Squall, and pressed a palm flat against each animal's chest afterward while the pill did its slow work — bone density thickening, blood running hotter, whatever passed for a beast's inner reserve here filling in deeper than food or sleep alone could manage. Squall's static crackled once, sharp and involuntary, then smoothed into something steadier than it had ever run before. Grim just exhaled, long and low, like a held breath finally let go.

Neither animal was faster. Neither was smarter. They were simply built better than they'd been that morning, from the ground up.

Monica walked him out past the north edge of Willowmere the next day, Grim padding alongside without a leash because neither of them had ever needed one.

"The Proving Ring," she said, nodding at the fenced yard ahead — timber stands, a packed dirt floor, a low iron rail dividing spectators from whatever was about to happen inside it.

"City runs it. You register, you pay the gate f*e, and if you want it to mean something, you wager it — loser covers both f*es, winner walks off with the pot and the bragging rights. Judge keeps it from turning into a funeral."

The gate clerk barely looked up from his ledger until he clocked Grim, and then he looked up plenty.

"That's the Reagent hound." Not a question. A murmur went down the row of waiting keepers behind him, half amused, half already bored. "Starved thing they had chained out back for a year? Didn't figure it'd have the legs to walk here, let alone fight."

A woman near the rail — sharp-eyed, a breeder's calluses on both hands, clearly known to half the yard — didn't even bother lowering her voice.

"I've kept that guard-line for six years. They peak early and they peak low — good for standing at a door, useless past it. Whatever's under those ribs, it's not going anywhere today." She glanced sideways at Monica without recognizing her. "No offense to the owner."

Monica's jaw worked once. She said nothing, which for Monica was its own kind of warning.

"Easiest match on the board," someone else added, and this time nobody bothered whispering it at all.

The easiest match on the board, as it turned out, had a name — Dorian Vance, a keeper young enough to still be showing off, standing near the rail with a Rime Lynx pacing at his heel. Ice-pale fur, claws that left frost hanging in the air a full second after they moved. Proficient, by the way people around him talked about it. Frostrake to open, Glasscoat to close, and a keeper who clearly hadn't lost a match on this yard in a long time.

"You're serious about this one?" Dorian asked, glancing at Grim with the mild pity of a man about to collect an easy purse.

"He is," Monica said, before Alex could answer.

"Suit yourself." Dorian looked past them both, toward Alex, and something in the unbothered way Alex stood there made him pause half a second longer than he meant to. "You're not from the district."

"No." “Association-trained?” Dorian asked, looking Alex up and down.

“Or did some private tutor teach you how to stand like that?”

“Self-taught,” Alex replied.

The crowd around them exploded with laughter.

“How about a bet?” Dorian said. “I heard you’re the new guy on the reagent branch. Hasn’t it already gone bankrupt?”

“How much do you want to bet?” Alex asked.

“Whatever you’ve got,” Foran sneered. “If you can actually cover it, I’m in.”

“Fine.” Alex reached into his bag and drew out two heavy gold bars, each a full kilogram. “Two kilos. I’m sure you recognize the value.”

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