Paris lost count of how many times she ended up with her face to the sky and her breath knocked out of her lungs. This time, she blinked before whirling upright to her elbows, scowling in Joyce's direction. The boy stood a few feet away, checking his fingernails. He seemed dissatisfied by their state, since he kept clicking his tongue. That, or he was somehow disapproving Paris's lack of progress the first few hours of them sparring.

"Seriously, how many times will you get it wrong?" Joyce braced his hips with both hands, cocking his head to one side. A smug smile decorated his features.

Paris didn't dare push herself upright knowing Joyce would try to knock her down again in his own dirty way. Not that Joyce was playing dirty. Judging from the calculated hooks and tackles he had executed, it wasn't unfair. Paris was just unprepared.

Joyce blew a breath into his fingernails. "Even a five year old could improve in fewer chances," he said.

She wanted to look around in a mocking manner to point out the fact that the youngest person in the colony was a six-year old boy. Even a five year old could do better than her because five year olds didn't exist in this camp. Nor could they be found in the part of the Woods where Joyce brought them at the crack of dawn.

Paris never had the urge to plop down to the ground, close her eyes, and sleep this strong since she first entered as a farm lady in Lance's property. She should give up and have a little rest. Joyce could go and fuck himself while she was at it.

"Get up," Joyce's hissed warning speared into Paris's ears. "There's a demon."

Paris's eyes snapped open. She was up before her vision could fully adjust. Just in time to have an elbow slam into her sternum. Wind flew out of her mouth with a gasp as her world spun and her feet skidded across the ground. She was weightless for a second. Then, a loud crash followed by the sound of the strangled cry ripping from her lips filled her headscape. When her back slapped the ground this time around, she kicked her legs more in frustration than in defense.

"You cock," Paris seethed as she rolled to her stomach and nursed her throbbing chest. She squirmed at the peals of laughter ringing from Joyce who towered above her. "Must you do that?"

Joyce doubled over and slapped his thighs, lost in his amusement. "Oh, that's a good one," he said. More guffaws reached Paris's ears. "I've never had someone fall for that so spectacularly."

Paris rolled her eyes and braced the nearest tree she could crawl towards. At least with the trunk behind her, she could have Joyce punch it after she dodged. Served him right for thinking he could bully her.

Joyce did swing. As planned, Paris ducked and dove out the way. A fist hurtled to her face. Shit. He was aiming another blow? Too late. Hard knuckles crashed against her chin, driving her face to the side. The blow was sure to break her neck so she let her body follow. She hit the ground once more. This time, the thud was less when her hands shot forward to catch her fall. The wound on her leg throbbed but the pain was tolerable.

"How could you hit a woman?" Paris whined.

Joyce had an amused expression on his face. "Demons do not care about what you are," he said. "They'd devour anyone and anything, regardless of what you have between your legs. Do you get me?"

As much as Paris wanted to disagree, Joyce had a point. It's not like those demons would stop and reflect if their prey was a woman or not. They'd just chew (or julienne) anyone who came close to their gullet and rotating teeth.

"Fine," she said. When she straightened with grunt, she brought her arms up, to protect her face from any of Joyce's surprise blows. "Teach me."

"To kill a demon, you need to be faster," Joyce said, lowering himself to a stance. He seemed to be getting into the game just now. Was he just playing earlier? "You need to be faster in thinking, in moving, and in assessing your surroundings. How many staves are behind you?"

"What?" Paris turned to check. Joyce pounced. Her heart leaped to her throat. She ducked his wide swing, the last strands of her curly hair slapping his forearm. Then, she sidestepped the other low blow he did earlier. His other fist sailed past her abdomen. It would have hurt had it connected.

"That's better, right?" Joyce stepped back. "Your form could use some work but otherwise, you are getting there. You have seen my other hand because I used the same trick, correct"

Paris wiped her sleeve against her forehead. The cloth came away blotched and wet. "Yeah," she said. "But demons won't use the same trick twice. Is that what you're trying to say?"

"Nope!" Joyce clapped his hand. "Demons will definitely use the same trick twice. Thrice. Or how many times it takes to skewer you or get you in its mouth. They are like animals in that sense."

Paris huffed, attempting to catch what's left of her breath. She succeeded in a few gulps of air. "Aren't they completely animals?" she asked. "The one you killed yesterday wasn't that smart either. Just kept yelling."

He bobbed his head. "They're stronger than animals, that's for sure," he said. "But there are individuals that exhibit mental prowess but that's rare."

She crossed her arms, letting down her guard once more. Joyce seemed to be running out of ideas on how to throw her to the ground. "Do all animals have a demon counterpart?" she asked. "You mentioned there's a dog, a lion, and a sheep? So, do all animals, like say, an insect, have some kind of a twisted demon form?"

Joyce craned his neck to the sky. "I haven't honestly thought of that," he said, jutting his hip to the side. "But there's an insect demon. The one I reported to be gathering in Guidstrange. The Jezer'thokth. They look like ants and gather in colonies the same way ants do."

Paris frowned. "Then, they'll be easier to kill considering we can squeeze them under foot," she said. "Or we could pour soapy water down their hill."

"You forget," Joyce intruded on her thoughts. "Demons twist a feature of the animal they take after. For ants, their demonic state turns them to the size of houses."

Instead of ants being squashed, it was her hope. "So they're huge," Paris said.

"They're huge," Joyce echoed with a nod.

"Where do demons come from anyway?" Paris asked. Joyce dropped into a stance and she copied him. She kept her eyes on his limbs. She hadn't seen him lash out with a kick but at this point of their sparring, she wouldn't count it out. "If you guys have been killing them for quite some time, why haven't they gone extinct?"

Joyce lunged. Paris learned that he always sprung while drawing his right arm back. It seemed to be his dominant side. So, she surged left and swung her own fist. The closest she came close to punching someone was when she was assigned to lock the barn in Lance's farm. She rammed her knuckles against the splintering wood until she was certain the latches wouldn't give way even if the cows butted their heads against the door. Now, perhaps she could summon that strength again.

Her fist connected to Joyce's shoulder. Then, the kick came. Except it wasn't exactly a kick. Joyce's leg slammed against the back of her knees, forcing it to fold. She tucked her body and rolled aside just as his knuckles slammed on the ground where her head had just been. She got up just in time for another one of Joyce's blows to whizz towards her.

He ended up punching a tree. Ha!

"That hurt," Joyce yelped and cradled his injured hand. It's going to be red sooner than later. "Remind me to never go full strength when you're by a tree."

Paris found the courage to smirk. "How could I? You always attack when I least expect it."

"To answer your question," Joyce said—a clear attempt at changing the topic. "There is little we know about the demons' origins but the myths point to them being born from the shadows of the darkest, moonless nights."

Paris jerked her chin at him. "Do you believe it, though?" she said. "If you start believing in myths, I would be concerned. Your opinion matters to me, you know."

Joyce snorted. "I don't deserve such a high pedestal, my lady," he winked. "But I've heard the Elders talk. What I could gather was that they are rooted to something."

"Rooted?" Paris knitted her eyebrows, a frown pulling her lips lower. "Do you mean they have a chance to vanish off this world but they won't? Or much worse, they can't?"

Joyce rolled his shoulders. "Depends on how you take it." he said. "To me, it's as bollocks as the shadow-birth theory. But still, I wouldn't still drink raw demon's blood. Not all the Elders' words aren't true."

Paris leaned against the tree he had punched earlier. She had come to love this tree. Guess she owed it some thanks. "What would happen if you drink it?"

"It'll kill you," Joyce said with a level gaze. "One drop down your throat and you're dead."

When he saw Paris wasn't convinced, he clicked his tongue and massaged his forehead. "Look," he said as he waved his arms in her face to get her attention. "We use demon's blood for a variety of stuff," he gestured to the vague direction of the camp. "Milliam uses it with salves and tonics, among other things, to treat external wounds. He probably used some to soothe your burns. It's useful to counter afflictions caused by demons. But it's not meant to be drunk. Got it?"

Paris pursed her lips. "Got it."

"Even if all this is as fake as the demonic and angelic affinities, please don't take my words lightly, especially the ones that are concerned for your safety," Joyce said. For once, his tone wasn't playful. "I don't want another Celine."

"Who's Celine?" Paris asked. She might be barging past some boundaries here but they've been dropping the name like grenades around her since yesterday. She had the right to know.

A shroud of sadness passed across Joyce's face. "No one," he said, dropping his eyes away from Paris. "Forget it. She's no one."

"Doesn't sound like it," Paris crossed her arms. "Come on. Tell the truth. You owe me that much after knocking me around the whole day."

Joyce's shoulders sagged. He looked at anything but at Paris's eyes. He seemed to have no problem with it until now. "She's a friend," he said. "She didn't listen that one night and it cost her dearly. I still miss her laugh, you know?"

Paris bit her lip. She was never good at consoling people when they've expressed their grief. So, she stood there like an awkward duck.

"The point I'm trying to make is," Joyce took a deep, steadying breath. "We try to minimize the casualties in the camp. Losing people...it just gets easier. Doesn't mean it doesn't and won't hurt."

Paris peeled away from the tree and bumped shoulders with Joyce. It was a feeble attempt to cheer him up. "Got it," she said.

Joyce smiled at her with grateful eyes. "Forget everything I told you in this lesson but one thing," he said. "The most important rule a demon hunter must abide by: never go out into the Woods at night. Do not go alone."

"That's two rules," Paris pointed out.

Joyce frowned. "You know what I mean," he said.

Paris elbowed him playfully. "I know. I'm teasing."

Joyce answered by grabbing Paris's arm and flinging her to the ground, effectively knocking the air out of her lungs once more. That little shit. He's going to pay for this someday.