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Why did everyone always think Litural was running late for things? Honestly, he thought he had a pretty damn good sense of timing. He wasn't lazy, per-se...he just didn't like to be rushed. Especially when it came to doing something at The Facility. Why rush going back to a place that had given him so much trouble as a child?

Anyway, late or otherwise, he strolled into the classroom...somewhat prepared. Santana had mentioned that this class was going to be a melee or fighting class, so Lit had adjusted his attire to better fit the potentially rigorous activity. Today he wore just his plain black tank top and a pair of fairly form fitting sweats. Less fabric to slow him down.

Looking around at the various equipment, he smirked and snorted a short laugh out his nose.

"This must be the place."

This one was much better than the other teacher that Lit had been assigned to by the Facility in the past. This one had a clue and didn't treat him like a freak. Even with the snappy comment, the spawn smiled and flexed his fists. He was anxious to start...and while all the weapons did look promising, where was he going to carry something like those around? The only thought he had was maybe some daggers or a chain, like he'd seen gang members use in movies.

No. His hands were his choice; his constant weapon. Better stick with what he knew.

"Hand to hand," he answered definitively, watching the teacher slide the desk. She was a strong one, too. Excellent. "Though if you've got any pointers for small hand weapons, I'm willing to learn."

He was willing to learn anything, really.

"I meant more like switch blades or lead pipes," he supplemented, a little snappier than was proper. Whatever, if she wanted to focus on the heavy hitting stuff, that was fine by him.

"I know some basic defense," he said, answering her. "My guardian taught me when I was younger, in case I got into trouble. In the blood...I'm sure you understand." Otherwise, she was in for a rude awakening.

"Been looking forward to getting into some heavier action," and it was his turn to smirk. Go inhuman strength...this was gonna be fun to be able to hit a girl and not get into trouble. "Whatcha got, Teach?"

At first, Lit had been excited...putting up his fists, he seemed eager to begin; then came the sour complaint, which just made Lit's attitude go south, too. His whole face scowled (though the mentioned third eye seemed darker, more upset), and he snorted out his nose like an angry animal, the movement reflected in the agitated fluffing of his wings.

"I'll show you stupid," he muttered under his breath, and took his first sets of swings.

They weren't that fast, but he varied them as he'd been instructed. Chest, face, gut...he was going off video games and movies, and those were always prime targets. He didn't dare trust any sort of kick or leg sweep, so he stuck to using his fists.

If he did manage to land any of his punches, there would be power behind the impact you can be sure. Not only was his strength pretty impressive to begin with, he was a little amped from their pre-encounter banter.

Lit wasn't fast enough to dodge the punch, but was pleasantly amazed when the wind that was trying to be knocked out of him basically staid put. Yes, being a spawn did have some awesome advantages...and it had those disadvantages.

Where the pain faded, anger rose. A burning silently boiled in his belly, his lips curling in a snarl that wasn't so quiet in his mouth. Quicker - much quicker this time, and harder too - he whirled for another jab. Shoulder, side...hell, he'd try taking her head off if he was quick enough.

If he didn't get her that time, he would try again. And again. And again. His wings fluffed out as his anger expanded under the pressure of trying, needing to just make contact with skin. And that third eyes was wild, narrowed and growing more blood shot with any and every hit.

Had she said something about not letting the anger blind him? Yes, well...it was getting a little late for that.

(( Nah, you're fine. :3 ))

When she fell, he practically roared in triumph! He'd done it, he'd hit her! He was coiled for the spring onto his fallen target when she leaped back up. Caught off guard, she'd land a few solid punches into him, but now his anger was rimmed with the threat of defeat. No! No, she would not make him back down! It added a level to his tolerance for pain.

His body fell into defensive moves on instinct. Santana had taught him well, and he performed even better when he wasn't thinking about the actions. Was he a fortress? Far from it, but it was enough to keep him standing through most of her attacks. Her words were lost on him, but as she got farther and farther into her assault, he began to falter.

That last one hit its mark. Not so much the pain, but the force knocked him off balance and not even his wings could set him even again. He hit the ground hard, making the equipment rattle against the walls, sliding back several feet on the ground before his back hit the desk she'd shoved away earlier.

He'd never been hit that hard before; not even the techs from his youth or Santana in his beast form had that kind of power. He wasn't getting up from that one, and he groaned as the anger slowed to a nasty simmer and the pain came in flashes off heat all across his upper body.

Lit's first reaction was a growl at the outstretched hand; he practically lounged away from her and used the desk to climb to his feet, leaving nice claw marks in the wood.

"I'm fine," he snapped, his back to her as he tried to focus...trying so hard.

He wouldn't look at her nor answer any questions or attempts at getting his attention until he was under control again. His whole body shook - from rage, from shock, from disappointment - and when his wings finally stopped bristling and his breathing slowed, he turned to face her, his face looking tired but determined.

"How did you do that?" He sounded a little hoarse, but he made the demand for an answer clear. That power...he wanted that power.

Unfortunately, her compliment was glanced over. Had he known her better, it probably would have wrung a little louder. Maybe he'd thank her some day.