Star Wars: Scars

Part 1 - 1

He'd seen swords before and used training swords and such in practice, but never before had he held a real sword in his own hands.

"ACT-90, stop fawning over it and stand ready," the Sergeant snapped.

90's head jerked up and he almost dropped the sword, but fumbled for it and got a hold of the hilt before shakily stepping back, executing the ready form and holding it, his eyes focused on the ground in slight embarrassment.

He could feel the Sergeant moving around him, inspecting his form and making note of every detail.

"ACT-90, keep your eyes up. Your enemy will not be on the ground," the Sergeant ordered.

90 lifted his eyes quickly and inclined his chin to the proper position, only to find himself looking into the disapproving gaze of Sergeant Dunn as the man glared at him with annoyance.

"Finished, now return to your place, cadet," he ordered, holding out his hand for the sword.

Stepping out of the ready position, 90 handed over the sword and saluted before making a strict about face and marching back to his position among the others. He avoided their looks, but he could feel their eyes on him, watching him and judging him.

ACT-17 was the only one who he knew wasn't laughing inside his head or judging him. 17 had always been a little kinder than the others, to him at least. When it came to battle, he was just as ruthless as the rest, though.

They were all ruthless, though. That was the point. They were assassins and their targets weren't supposed to live to see the next day. It was their job to ensure that was the case, by whatever means necessary.

"All cadets," the Sergeant addressed them firmly, returning his sword to its sheath and stiffening as he clasped his hands behind his back. "About-face and report to the sparring room. We will begin training there."

Making the about-face with the others, 90 followed behind the cadets in front of him as they marched in pairs of two down to the corridors to the sparring rooms that lay just behind several of the Phase One cadet barracks.

When they reached the rooms, they filed in and stood three across facing the sparring mats, coming to rest at attention as they waited on the Sergeant. When he arrived all of them snapped completely to attention again.

"Listen up," the Sergeant instructed, and he stepped up onto the mat.

"Today you will not be training with your practice swords made of wood or whatever flimsy material you've been hitting each other with for the past five years. Today you begin with a real sword. Remember, the object is for the sword to become an extension of your body, not just a weapon in your hand," he said, walking over to grab one of the swords sitting in brackets on the wall. It was curved just like his own, only the blade was a little shorter and the handle had no hand guard.

"You will be sparring with each other in Form One today. This is not a test, and I expect all of you to walk off the mat alive--," he narrowed his eyes, looking over them all darkly. "--Today."

Swallowing hard, 90, watched closely as the Sergeant turned over the training sword in his hands and continued to speak.

"Now, find a partner and chose your sword. This will be your primary weapon until the end of this phase of training," the Sergeant instructed firmly and he held out the sword in his hand to the first cadet to step up.

90 looked around the room and moved to retrieve his sword first. He grabbed one off the bottom and turned it over in his hands, feeling that the balance wasn't nearly as perfect the Sergeant's sword. It was a training, sword, though, and of Kaminoan make. It was built for endurance, not the ease of the user.