Block First, Bleed Later

A Practical Guide to Avoiding Bruises and Philosophy

---

---

“Alright, kid,” Dax said, cracking his knuckles. “Lesson one: if someone grabs you…don’t scream like a girl. You move.”

Wendell blinked at him from across the dusty courtyard. “I wasn’t screaming. I was… projecting alarm.”

“Sounded like a gnome stepped on a squeaky toy.”

“I was kidnapped,” Wendell protested. “That guy stabbed me with a needle, Dax!”

“Exactly why you’re learnin’ to fight.” The Evolu crouched, his currently fleshy-pink skin glistening under the warehouse’s artificial light. “Self-defense ain’t about being faster, it’s about being harder to grab.”

From behind a barrel, Chuck’s voice drifted like a smug wind. “Technically, it’s also about awareness, emotional readiness, and an understanding of intent.”

Dax rolled his eyes. “We’re not writing a philosophy paper, old man.”

“I’m supervising,” Chuck replied, sipping from a tin mug. “Supervising and judging.”

“Yeah,…I feel the judgment,” Wendell muttered.

Dax pointed at him. “Focus, kid. Feet shoulder-width apart, knees bent, arms up.”

Wendell mimicked him…awkwardly. His right elbow poked out like a broken lever.

“No, no. You look like you’re halfway to a hug. You ever thrown a punch?”

“Yes,” Wendell said defensively. “At a piñata. Once.”

“What’s a piñata?”

Wendell shrugged. “Fake animal made of paper and paste, filled with candy.”

“Sounds like something kiddies would have at a birthday party,” Dax snorted.

“It was.”

“Sweet mercy,” Dax sighed. “Fine. Open your hand.”

Wendell opened it.

Dax slapped it.

Hard.

“OW!”

“That’s lesson two,” Dax said calmly. “If your hand’s open, someone’s gonna use it against you. Fist closed. Thumb outside the fingers.”

Wendell frowned. “Wouldn’t it be easier if people just didn’t fight?”

“That’s lesson three,” Chuck said, walking over with that frustratingly serene smile. “The world doesn’t care about your preference for peace, son. It cares about your response to chaos.”

“Exactly,” Dax said. “If you can’t stop a punch, you’ll spend your life apologizin’ to someone who can.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Wendell said.

Dax crouched beside him. His tone softened. “That’s the point. Defense ain’t about wantin’ to hurt people, kid,…it’s about making sure they can’t hurt you. Or anyone else.”

Chuck leaned on his staff. “He’s right, you know. There’s a spiritual symmetry to that. Defense of self leads to defense of others. But emotional readiness must come first.”

“Here we go,” Dax groaned.

Chuck ignored him. “Wendell, a hero who only trains the body builds a weapon. But a hero who also trains the heart builds a shield. You’ll need both.” He frowned at Dax. “And what monkey here doesn’t admit, is that he is solid and experienced in both categories.”

Wendell lowered his hands. “You think I’m a weapon?”

“Currently?” Dax said. “You’re a doughy target that apologizes too much.”

“Encouragement,” Chuck said dryly. “What a novel strategy.”

“Look,” Dax said, stepping back. “Let’s just start small. I’ll come at you slow. You block. No fancy stuff.”

“Define ‘slow,’” Wendell said nervously.

Dax lunged.

Wendell screamed.

It was not dignified.

Dax screeched to a halt just inches from Wendell’s face. “You just closed your eyes.”

“I was thinking defensively!”

“You can’t defend if you can’t see!”

“I was bracing for impact!”

Chuck snorted behind his mug. “He’s doing better than you did your first lesson.”

Dax pointed without looking. “That’s a lie.”

“You wept,” Chuck said fondly. “Right after you broke my nose.”

Dax’s ears twitched. “Different situation.”

“You cried,” Chuck added.

“I was four!”

“Emotionally, you still are.”

Wendell tried to stifle a laugh…and got elbowed in the chest.

“OW! What was that for!?”

“Lesson four,” Dax said, stepping back. “Don’t laugh during training. Humor gets you hit.”

“That’s barbaric!”

“That’s effective.” Dax smirked. “Now, again. Block.”

He swung. Wendell flailed.

There was a loud crack.

Both froze.

Wendell blinked, cross-eyed, blood dripping from his nose. “I... think something’s... not where it used to be.”

Chuck sighed. “Well done, Dax. Another victory for education.”

“It was an accident!” Dax said quickly. “He moved wrong!”

Wendell’s voice came out nasally. “I moved wrong? I was moving away! From the fist! Which is the correct direction! For not dying! OW!”

“Hold still,” Dax said, wincing. “You’re fine.”

“I’m leaking! That’s not fine! OW!”

Chuck knelt beside him, calm as snowfall. “Breathe, boy. Remember what we discussed about reaction versus control?”

“Chuck,” Wendell whined, “part of my face is sideways!”

Chuck placed a wrinkled hand on his shoulder. “And your face will learn patience.”

“HOW IS THAT—” Wendell stopped mid-scream. The Ithari, pulsed once from the center of his chest…bright white light shining through his black smiley t-shirt.

A soft warmth flooded his face.

The pain ebbed. His nose straightened. The blood evaporated.

Wendell blinked, touching his face. “Oh. That’s…better.”

“That,” Chuck said, “is the universe offering you mercy before you’ve earned it.”

Dax crossed his arms. “Or it’s saving me paperwork.”

Wendell glared at him. “You broke my nose!”

“Yeah, but now you’ve got a story,” Dax said with a grin. “And a functional nose. You’re welcome.”

“Welcome?!” Wendell sputtered. “You nearly shattered my face!”

Chuck smirked. “He’s teaching you endurance, son. Life will hit you harder than Dax does.”

Wendell sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I’ve never been able to fight, Dax. I’m pretty gifted at being the punching bag, but…”

“Cause you ain’t never had me as yer teacher,” said Dax. “But you can’t learn courage sittin’ around readin’ Buddy Keisler books.”

“And,” Chuck added, “you can’t learn wisdom from comfort. Growth requires discomfort, just as steel requires heat.”

Dax squinted. “Did you just call me ‘heat’?”

Chuck sipped his tea. “I did. You’re the hammer too.”

“Aw,” Dax grinned. “You hear that, kid? I’m both hot and useful.”

“Great,” Wendell said, “and I’m the anvil that gets smashed.”

Chuck and Dax looked at one another, then at Wendell. “Exactly.”

“That wasn’t the encouragement I was hoping for.”

“Encouragement is overrated,” Chuck said. “Preparation is not.”

Wendell exhaled, shoulders slumping. “So what’s next? Broken ribs? Lost teeth?”

“Not if you block properly,” Dax said, already crouched again.

“Oh no,” Wendell groaned. “Not again—”

“Lesson five,” Dax interrupted. “Confidence. Ready?”

“No!”

“Perfect. That’s when it counts most.”

Chuck turned away, muttering to himself. “I should’ve brought popcorn.”

Dax lunged again. Wendell yelped, ducked, and…by some miracle…grabbed Dax’s arm, twisted, and sent the elf sprawling.

Dax blinked up from the ground, stunned. “...Did you just throw me?”

Wendell looked equally confused. “I think I panicked…correctly?”

Chuck chuckled, the sound low and proud. “And that, my boy, is the beginning of competence.”

Wendell grinned, cheeks flushed. “So I did good?”

Dax got up slowly, brushing off his tunic. “You did better.”

“Fair trade,” Wendell said smugly. “You broke my nose.”

Chuck raised his mug. “Balance restored.”

---

---

---

---