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Cadets wonder why they're drilled constantly. Why they're often pushed and run through monotonous training exercises that can go from bland to impossible from moment to moment. But then when a situation happens where there's no time to think and every action is reflex and instinct, suddenly it all clicks into place.

When the thing lunged at the rat, it impacted his barrier and got a harsh jolt for its trouble. Kryst felt the backlash of it through his teeth, like the jarring sensation one feels when they accidentally bite down on tinfoil. He surged his power back against it and shoved it away. A primal show of force that he hoped would cow it into retreating.

The thing drew back upon itself and struck again, crashing against his wards and causing starbursts of pain and color to dace across the rat's vision. His relic burned white on its chain, jumping and dancing as if it were alive. The monster was testing him, looking for weakness or an opening. But every time it lunged he hit it back.

It could make itself insubstantial enough for his bullets to phase through it and yet solid enough to grab and strike. But it couldn't pass through solid matter, or at least not through a solid wall of magic. Maintaining something like that took power.

Which meant that right now it was simply a matter of who gave out first. Kryst could already taste copper in the back of his throat, but was was damned if he was going to lose the only person who could make sense of this. So when it lunged, Kryst punched back, striking with everything he had and hoping it would give out first.

As his body fought, his mind raced, trying to draw on memory and the hundreds of case files that had paraded across his desk. He was fighting an artificial construct or a spirit, it showed the earmarks of one or the other. Both were operated remotely. But remotes had short leashes and there was nobody else in the room, he had passed nobody in the hallway, which meant the operator was outside, probably looking through his construction's eyes from the street.

The shadow lashed at him again and Kryst felt his wards buckle. He pushed back and fired his pistol at the only window in the room, shattering the glass and letting in the sounds of traffic from the street below as he hoped that the gunshot or shattering glass would distract the invisible handler outside.

“I'm a cop and I'm trained to fight shit like you,” Kryst's voice was a gravely croak. “I've got friends in the hall outside, in the lobby, and in the lot. You can win this.”

His words seemed to register to the creature, albeit slowly. It shifted and momentarily focused on its original prey, only to find that the magical push and pull had given the rat the opportunity to put himself between it and her.

It coiled back as if preparing to strike again, then leaped out the shattered window. Kryst pitched after it, banging against the frame and looking madly for any sign of anybody. He caught a glimpse of a leg and a tail from a retreating shape, but knew that he had no hope of catching up.

He fumbled for his cell as his legs started to give out, clumsily thumbing the call for backup. He'd been bluffing, of course. But this place would be crawling with policemen soon enough.

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Copic marker and gelpen on canvasboard. Original is for sale.