The way of the fist

To Alma Elma, it was a painful defeat. One she would remember her whole life. The next day, she was mostly fine after being nursed back to health by her mother. However, she was now banned from leaving the house for a week. 

Now, sitting in the living room, she rested her head in her hands, her elbows propped on the worn wooden table. She sighed heavily, her gaze fixed on nothing in particular.

"I'm so bored…"

The house was quiet. Her mother had left hours ago to find some food and hadn't come back since then. Alma's tail flicked back and forth, the faint swish, swish the only sound in the room. Her wings drooped lazily behind her, and her fingers absently toyed with the splinters of wood peeling off the edge of the table.

Her thoughts wandered back to the previous day—the Mantis Girl's claws that transformed this fight into a desperate struggle. 

"If only that bug wasn't so big… I could kick her ass any day," she puffed her cheeks in annoyance.

In truth, she was annoyed that she was beaten by sheer strength. It showed how much weaker she was compared to other monsters in terms of physical abilities. 

The quiet creak of the door opening snapped her out of her thoughts. She straightened up, her tail freezing mid-flick.

"Alma?" Elia's voice called as she stepped inside, carrying a basket of fresh products and a bottle of 'milk'. "Still sulking I see."

Alma Elma crossed her arms in protest and looked away. 

Elira raised an eyebrow as she set the basket down on the kitchen counter. "Come now, don't be so dramatic. You've only been grounded for a day."

"It feels like forever!" Alma shot back, her wings twitching in annoyance. "Please let me go outside!"

Elira chuckled softly and walked over, brushing a few strands of hair from her daughter's face. "You're being unreasonable. You got hurt yesterday, and you know it. Don't you think it's a little reckless to try running off again?"

Alma grumbled under her breath, turning her head away. Being reminded of her weakness only soured her mood further.

Elira sighed and shook her head. She walked back to the counter, picked up the bottle, and handed it to Alma. "Here, take some. You need to grow big."

Alma perked up at the sight of the bottle. Without hesitation, she grabbed it and drank greedily. For a brief moment, she forgot her sulking. 

Elira smiled knowingly. "Better?"

"Hmm," the little imp murmured, licking a stray drop from her lip. "It's… okay, I guess."

The mother leaned against the counter and folded her arms. "I know… He wasn't particularly tasty but at least he was healthy," she sighed. "Which reminds me—we really should work on your skills."

Alma Elma's expression shifted into a deadpan stare. She could already see where this was going. Elira let out another sigh, running her fingers through her hair in exasperation. Teaching her daughter the essential skills of a succubus had been a challenge from the start. Alma always looked bored or distracted, and sometimes outright refused to pay attention.

Although, now that she was scolded for a week, it was a good time for her to learn more. Standing up, she headed toward the bookshelf and picked up a few old books that looked so worn they might've been used through countless generations. Their spines cracked and their pages yellowed and brittle with age.

"You want to get stronger, right?" Elira smiled at her daughter. She placed the books on the table in front of Alma and smiled. "Then you need to learn the great skills of our ancestors."

Alma eyed the books skeptically, her wings drooping further. It's not that she wasn't particularly interested in these techniques, but it was the reason why they used them that she found boring. Every succubus was fighting with sexual techniques, advocating lewdness and allure, carefreeness. 

To make matters worse, she wasn't even allowed to practice these techniques on real people. Instead, her lessons were theoretical, consisting of repetitive gestures, exercises, and abstract explanations. What use was learning a skill she couldn't even test properly?

"Do I really have to?" she muttered, dragging her fingers lightly over the edge of the table.

"Of course. With these techniques, you could easily defeat a mere Mantis Girl like yesterday."

Alma frowned, her tail flicking in irritation. "But that wouldn't smash her face in," she said bluntly. "What's the point of defeating someone if it just makes them feel… good? Shouldn't I be making sure they can't fight back, like, ever?"

Elira recoiled in surprise, and her face flashed in anger. ""What are you talking about? It is the pride of a succubus to bring pleasure, not pain."

Alma folded her arms, her skepticism clear. 

"Listen to me clearly, Alma Elma," Elira continued, her tone scolding. "Violence is shameful in our family. It is beneath us. To conquer without harm, to subdue with grace—that is the art of a succubus. Do not ever think like that again."

Alma's jaw tightened, her frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. "But—"

"No buts!" Elira cut her off firmly. "You will learn these skills, and you will do so with respect for our traditions. This obsession of yours with resolving everything with brute strength is… Is… Inconceivable!"

Alma Elma slumped back in her chair, her arms still crossed as she muttered under her breath. 

Elira softened her voice, though her gaze remained stern. "One day, Alma, you'll understand. The only strength of a succubus is in her charms and influence."

"Fine," Alma muttered half-heartedly, her hand lazily opening the nearest book. "I'll learn."

The evening was spent trying to teach her some techniques, but seeing the enthusiasm, Elira opted to teach her wind-based techniques instead, feeling it could be a good start. 

As the lessons wound down, Elira returned to the kitchen to prepare a small dinner for the two of them. The rhythmic sound of chopping filled the cozy home, interspersed with the crackling of the stove. Still, as she worked, her eyes occasionally darted toward Alma, who was flipping through one of the books with surprising focus. She couldn't help but wonder if her headstrong child would ever truly embrace their legacy.

One day she would have to tell her the truth about her lineage. 

However, that day was not today and they both went to sleep. After dinner and hours of lessons, Alma's fatigue finally caught up with her. She yawned and stretched, her small wings fluttering briefly, before dragging herself downstairs to her room in the basement. Her eyes were half-closed by the time she reached her bed. 

The warm embrace of her bed was almost enough to pull her straight into sleep, but a faint flicker of light caught her attention. Groaning, she realized she'd forgotten to blow out the candle on her desk.

With a heavy sigh, Alma pushed herself up from her bed and shuffled over to the desk. She leaned on it for a moment, her gaze lazily sweeping over the mess of papers, feathers, and trinkets scattered across its surface.

As she reached out to extinguish it, her eyes were drawn to a book sitting on the bookshelf above. It stood out awkwardly, wedged between two other worn and dog-eared volumes. The placement was careless, almost like it had been shoved there in a hurry, yet something caught her eye.

Her curiosity piqued, and Alma Elma stood on tiptoe to grab it. The book was dusty, its cover cracked with age, but the pages beneath the cover seemed in near-pristine condition, almost as if it hadn't been touched in years.

She blew the dust off the cover, revealing an elegant, embossed design that she couldn't quite make out in the dim light. Was it a fist? Something about it felt… different from the other books she'd seen. Her hand hovered over it for a moment longer before she finally opened it.

The first page explained everything. The title was elegantly written in big letters.

"The Art of the Extreme Fist…" she whispered the name under her breath, her eyes scanning the words.

The title alone sparked excitement within her. But why had this book been hidden away like this? It felt… forgotten, abandoned. As if no one had touched it for a very long time. 

Her fingers traced the delicate writing under the candlelight as she flipped to the next page. 

Each page was filled with detailed hand-drawn illustrations of movements and stances, but instead of the usual sexual techniques the succubi were taught, these depicted something different.

Martial arts.

She had learned about it from the occasional hero passing by the village. To her, it was something she had never witnessed before, like an old saying that you couldn't quite put the meaning on. 

The pages turned with each flick of her finger, revealing more illustrations, and even explanations on how to execute these techniques. Each page conveyed focus and discipline, a stark contrast to what she was used to.

Before she knew it, she found herself trying some of the poses in the book. However, she also quickly realized some of them required to learn a bit of magic, and she found herself unable to realize even one of them.

"Perhaps the first ones are easier…" she muttered, flipping the pages back to a simpler section.

She paused, but her eyes narrowed as she scanned the next technique.

"No… This one seems too complicated as well…" she sighed, her wings drooping in exhaustion.

But something stirred within her. She couldn't just give up now. There was a fire in her chest, an undeniable pull toward this book. 

"Perhaps if I learn bit by bit, I might get it." 

With renewed focus, Alma Elma turned back a few pages, her eyes scanning for a technique she could try to master. She was determined to push past the frustration and adapt to what was in front of her. Alma Elma wasn't one to shy away from a challenge. With a resolve that only grew as she read, she resolved that tonight, she would master just one of these stances. Just one.

But when the morning came, she was flat on the floor, her body having collapsed from exhaustion.

Not even after a few minutes, she fell right asleep, having not even succeeded in mastering step one.

When she woke up, the cold hard ground met her face with a sudden jolt. A groan escaped her lips, and she blinked in confusion.

"We should really put a carpet here…" Alma Elma mumbled, rubbing her face with one hand as she pushed herself off the floor.

Quickly, she climbed up again the stairs and sat down at the table in the living room with bags under her eyes.

"You didn't sleep well, sweetie?" Elira's voice drifted from the kitchen, where she was preparing breakfast. Her concern was evident, though there was an undertone of amusement in her tone as she looked over at Alma's slumped posture. For once she might have peace.

Alma rubbed her eyes, blinking away the sleepiness. "I… uh… yes…" she mumbled, not quite able to keep her eyes open.

"You've been studying late again, haven't you?" Elira smiled knowingly, not without pride. She set a plate of food in front of Alma. "I suppose I should reward you for being obedient yesterday. I will allow you to go outside for the morning."

Alma Elma's tiredness almost disappeared as soon as she heard it and she jumped out of her chair. "Really!?"

Elira nodded with a slight pat on her daughter's head. She ruffled the little imp's purple hair and poked kindly at her small horns. "But only for an hour, okay? If you're late, I will drag you back here myself."

Alma's eyes sparkled with joy. "I won't be late, I promise!" She scrambled out of her chair, nearly knocking the plate off the table in her excitement.

Elira chuckled softly. "I'm sure you'll make the most of it, but remember—just an hour. No more running off."

Alma nodded eagerly, taking the food with her as she darted towards the door. The sun was already beginning to rise, and she didn't want to miss that opportunity. 

As she stepped outside, she couldn't help but smile, feeling the soft warmth of the morning sun on her skin. But she didn't have the time to walk around at her leisure. 

She needed to talk to someone.

"…A book of martial arts?"

Sally, the daughter of Trish, was one of the few people Alma Elma spoke to in the village. Though she wasn't as close to her as she might have liked, Sally was an odd, inquisitive girl who always seemed curious about anything that caught Alma's eye. And Alma Elma, for her part, had never minded talking to her.

Sally was smart but very carefree. Even more so than Alma Elma. And so, whenever something was interesting to her, she usually dropped what she was doing and ran over to get a closer look, which is exactly what she did now. With her bright blue eyes, she stopped in her tracks when she saw the imp out for once.

"A book of martial arts…" she repeated, sounding intrigued but also skeptical. "Are you sure it's not something your mother snatched from a human?"

Alma's excitement was obvious, her wings fluttering behind her as she nodded eagerly. "I don't know but some of the techniques are clearly made for succubi!"

Sally recoiled in disgust and she shook her head vehemently. "Urgh… I swear it's probably one of those weirdos who love muscular women or something that wrote this book. Go find an oni instead of wasting your time writing a book like that…" she sighed from her own wild imagination.

Alma raised an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly, before offering a thoughtful suggestion. "Perhaps it's a succubus who wrote it?"

"What?" Sally let out a short laugh, her expression one of disbelief. "No way. Absolutely no way. I doubt there was ever another weirdo like you in history."

Alma Elma chuckled and rubbed her head. "Yeah, you're right."

Sally, still shaking her head sighed. "Anyway, you should drop that book. Martial arts aren't for us. You better stick to sexcraft so that you can drown in men in a few years."

Alma's smile faltered, and she chuckled half-heartedly, feeling a bit deflated. "Y-Yeah, you're right…"

Sally didn't notice the change in Alma's tone and continued, her carefree attitude undisturbed. "You could be the best at it, you know. I feel like you have a lot of potential as a succubus in the future. My mom says that all the time."

Alma looked down, the weight of Sally's words sinking in. She wasn't sure how to feel. The thought of continuing down the same path—the one that was expected of her—had always felt like the right choice.

But that's not what she wanted, deep down.

Alma forced a smile. "I'll think about it, okay? But you know… Maybe there is more to us succubi than just one thing?"

Sally gave a mischievous smirk. "What's wrong with that? Oh right, I heard you've been slacking on your studies," she teased. "Be careful, I might end up the queen of succubi at this rate."

"Pfff… In your dreams," Alma Elma chuckled. 

"Oh, I'm serious!" Sally replied, her grin widening. "You know, my mom and I have been invited to meet the Monster Lord soon. I think she's noticed my talents."

Alma couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, intrigued but trying to remain indifferent. "Who cares about the Monster Lord?"

"Well, I do!" Sally's tone was playful but earnest. "Though I don't really care all that much about that 'Queen' thing…"

"Me neither…" Alma Elma sighed.

"Yeah, who cares about that? I want to live my own life, that's all."

That moment, right there, was exactly why Alma Elma valued Sally's friendship. It was rare to find someone who wasn't trying to fit into expectations, someone who was just trying to carve out their own path, no matter how unconventional it might be.

"Anyway, I heard there was a group of heroes arriving today. We should not stay there for long," Sally said before waving off Alma Elma with a quick blow of a kiss.

Alma Elma stood there for a moment, watching Sally walk away with her usual carefree attitude. The notion of the heroes arriving here lingered in the back of her mind.

Perhaps one of them was a martial artist? 

With a determined frown, Alma decided to take a closer look. She crossed the bridge and made her way toward the mayor's house. There, a group of humans had gathered, and they looked exactly like the kind of people who would fit the definition of heroes.

At the front of the group stood the leader, his flamboyant royal blue cape fluttering dramatically in the morning breeze. His blonde hair glowed like golden threads under the sunlight, and his steel sword caught the light in a dazzling display. His confident posture and the way the others seemed to defer to him gave off the air of a natural leader.

Alma watched, intrigued. The group seemed to be discussing something with the mayor, but she wasn't sure what.

Upon close inspection, she could see a man dressed like a monk, probably from the land in the east she had heard of, Yamatai. He carried no weapons and only wore a large robe.

Alma's mind raced. Could he be the kind of martial artist she was looking for?

She wanted to approach him, ask him if he knew anything about martial arts beyond what the book could teach her—something that could give her the basics. But how could she even begin to approach someone like that? Her mother always told her to never approach heroes, especially since they were baptized by Ilias and hated succubi.

But then again, there was something about him that seemed different. His peaceful air, his focus—it was a stark contrast to the more flashy types she had seen in the village before.

As Alma lingered near the outskirts of the gathering, she caught the monk's eyes briefly. His gaze was soft but piercing, almost as if he had noticed her presence from the very start. Alma's breath caught in her throat for a second, unsure of how to react.

The monk gave a small nod, a silent acknowledgment, as if he'd sensed her curiosity and was offering an invitation to speak. Alma hesitated for a moment, then, with a mixture of determination and uncertainty, she took a step forward.

"Excuse me," she called out quietly. 

The monk turned his head and offered her a smile. "What is it, child?"

"I was wondering if you knew anything about martial arts?" Alma Elma asked, her words rolling out of her tongue smoothly. 

"Martial arts?" he repeated thoughtfully as he stepped aside from the group. "Why does a young child like you want to learn that?"

Alma felt a flicker of hesitation, but the monk's calm presence made her feel more at ease than she expected.

"I just want to learn."

The monk considered her words, his gaze dropping to her head. "Unfortunately, I'm not a good martial artist. However I do know a few things," he chuckled. "Back in my day, I used to watch and repeat the movements of my brother who worked tirelessly in his own form of Karate.

"Karate? Is that a kind of martial art?"

The monk nodded once. "Yes. It's one of the many types of martial arts. There are many others but it's the only one I truly know."

"Could you teach me?"

However, the monk shook his head. "I'm sorry but that might be a bit hard for me. I cannot offer you the wisdom of a true master."

Alma Elma was about to drop her head in disappointment before the man continued. 

"However," he cleared his throat. "I can give you some sort of guidance. Martial arts are not merely about strength or technique; they are about understanding yourself. Balance. Awareness. Once you understand your own body, your own spirit, then the movements will come."

He then rubbed the back of his head and laughed heartily. "Or at least that's what my brother used to say."

"Then…" the little disguised imp looked up at the monk. "I need to understand my body first?"

"Yes. You might be a bit young now, and you are probably also not accustomed to your movements. Balance, for example, comes with practice. And in general, for martial arts, you need a good one."

She gave him a determined nod. "I understand. But how do I begin?"

The monk smiled softly. "Begin by understanding your body. Pay attention to how you move, how you breathe, how you stand. Try to take the movements slow first and then, when you feel comfortable, try faster. Everything comes with practice."

Alma nodded eagerly, determined to begin right away, but just as she was about to ask more questions, the leader of the group interrupted.

"Hey, Yamanouchi, you ready?" the leader called, looking toward the monk. "We got everything we needed, and we're about to head back to Goldport."

The monk, turned his gaze toward the leader, his peaceful demeanor unshaken. "Ah, yes. I'll be right there."

He then looked back to Alma with a reassuring smile. "I'm afraid my time here is short. But I'm sure you will succeed young girl."

Alma's heart swelled with gratitude and she watched the monk go. "Thank you very much, sir."

Yamanouchi nodded once, his serene gaze resting on her for a moment before he turned to rejoin the others. Alma stood still, watching the group as they began to gather their things.

"Oh no! I will be late!" Alma Elma suddenly shouted in panic and began rushing toward her home. She glanced at the sun, trying to gauge how much time had passed, but it was already climbing higher in the sky. If she was even a minute late, her mother would surely scold her, and she didn't want to spend an additional week inside the house.

The familiar sight of her home came into view, and Alma's pulse quickened. She could hear her mother's voice inside—was she waiting for her?

With one final burst of speed, Alma skidded to a halt in front of the door, taking a moment to catch her breath. 

However, there, she heard moans and sighs coming from the living room.

"Ah." Alma Elma stopped as she was about to turn the doorknob and stood frozen for about ten seconds before sighing.

"Mother is eating, I can't just come in like that."

Actually, she didn't care that much. Without another second thought, she entered the house and walked casually toward her room downstairs, ignoring the activity inside the house.

As she walked down the familiar staircase toward the lower level, the sounds from the living room seemed to fade behind her. She ignored them, making her way into the cool dimness of her bedroom, where she could focus on her thoughts in peace.

Sitting down on her bed, she reached for the small book she found that night. With the advice of the monk in mind, she could now begin training for real and master the techniques written in it.

Thus, ignoring everything else, she began training. 

Standing on one leg without losing balance, understanding the pressure points and joints of the different bodies. 

What surprised her about that particular subject was the amount of detail given about harpies and snakes. It was odd, but she tossed the thought aside for she didn't understand the underlying meaning.

Fist thrusts, and leg sweeps, she learned bit by bit the basics of the books by imitating the illustrations drawn on the book. 

It was now her daily routine, day after day, she would hide in her room and train away from the eyes of her mother. It was hard, it was frustrating, but above it all, it helped her kicking the other kid's asses with ease.

The moment she learned a new technique, she didn't even hesitate to challenge Sally or even another kid to a fight before mercilessly beating them down. Her nickname of "violent girl" soon became "crazy girl" as no one even dared to even try to fight her anymore. They whispered about her in fear, some avoiding her outright, others afraid to meet her gaze.

Of course, every time she fought gave her heavy scoldings from her mother, who grew even harsher with her punishments. But none of them fazed her anymore. In fact, it only fueled her resolve. She was no longer afraid of the scoldings or the isolation. The more her mother disapproved, the more determined Alma became.

And so, seasons passed. The little Succubus village, living at its own pace, remained unchanged.

Alma Elma soon celebrated her 14th birthday.