The day was cold, yes. The snow made it even colder, especially to the eyes. Not touch. Touch could be fooled on days when it should be cold, and due to the confines of a warm bed they are misconstrued. When it grew in moisture and precipitation, he found those days to be best for an open book as well as the occasional nap on the patio; laid back in the relaxed chair, glass of soda in hand and hers in his other.
But this was a cold day. Bitterly cold in fact. On this season's day he must do what is needed.
'Not must', but rather he wanted, no, he desired to become more. Muscle training no longer proved to be enough and occasional sparring matches all felt too similar. Too bland. Too predictable.
The ice on the cemented tiles to the back of the house, or rather a mansion yet the boy hated to call it such an enormous title, gave a needed means to growth. He took a step onto the surface straining his foot so that the muscles bulged, gripping tightly enough to shatter the ice which left a molded footprint in its place.
The cool air circulated in and out fogging the area in front of him. Tensing his legs, he heard the uptick to his heart beating. Such loud drumming could be noticed from a meter or two away, but with focus it was tempered. However, today was one for pushing the limits. Focus thrown somewhere is lost in another.
Repeated lessons taught him the fibers composing every muscle to his figure. The teacher that sat inside gazing on in critique forced it upon him stating, "In mastering one's ability there needs to be complete understanding. Someone cannot begin sawing and expect to build a home, but first must learn the inner workings of the craft then can proceed."
He did not know whether he believed the man. Then again, there was almost no other he trusted well enough.
Gan felt the pulsating expansion of his feet not far off from how his lower legs swelled with the tacit muscle. While using this ability he learned that the flesh became a scarlet red when it expanded. Something to do with an increase in blood cells that changed the pigment. It was a horrifying hue that sparked flavors of wispy memories. Memories that brought great comfort to Gan as a friend aided in a beautiful battle.
Despite Gan's inability to remember the logistics to his ability, his father undoubtedly knew. An aging man near his sixties at this point with a flock of gray hairs exacerbating distress to his mind. Yet, due to his time as an executive, his memory never faltered especially regarding his own flesh and blood.
He released another breath, this time resulting in dangerously hot steam exiting from his nostrils. The foot swelled further as muscles belonging to the tendo calcaneus, abductor hallucis, and the abductor digiti minimi grew with a hardened coating from the supple pads on his toes to the heel strengthening the grip between earth and skin. Next, he rose either arm into a boxing pose with the right drawn slightly further in front than the left poised under his chin.
The steam at this point had encompassed his entire face barely allowing for sight in the cloud of it, however, Gan had quickly become unaffected by its scalding hotness. Afterall, touch could be lied to.
Gan's bicep bore with the expansion ached by pulsating blue veins that threatened to burst. Sweat danced to his brow, never had he attempted the use of his ability on more than a single area of his body. Yet, a body is inhabited for improvement. An almost elastic stretching sound could be heard all the way from inside the foyer of the home. The noise always frightened the father, his worried eyes jiggling from his son to the instructor while his fingers toyed with the scrawny mustache beneath his droopy snout.
Triceps came into the flow following the signal from the completed bicep so did the pectorals exposed to the crisp wind and the trapezius accompanied by the deltoids to his back. Holding that stance for a second before wind up, Gan strained to feel the connection he had with his body. The unseeable wires that connected all of this to his mind. Information is what he strived for when training and when the information had finally been completed, he would obtain full control over his body's movements. An inhuman ability that only the greats could do.
'Like Unity.
No.
Like Kage.'
Then in a movement that only the instructor could see due to his own perceptive skill, Gan punched with a force what many considered to be similar in power to a tank shell. It was elegantly deafening to any human that had mastered the craft themself. The landscape had been torn about shredding the mat of white off the frozen grass, startling the trees from their coffins, thereby lifting mud to uplift the blast.
But it was not enough for an Evolved. It wasn't even close to the one he had witnessed.
None of the lasting bravado could be felt. The quick decision to perform such perfection almost on a dime's notice had taken Gan more than three seconds to prepare. There was more strength associated with his punch, but it had not mattered, for his attack could be countered. It was a move unusable at the moment.
The image of Kage's appearance during their last mock battle still shone brilliantly in his mind. Kage never once had adopted the same fighting pose when they began their matches. Once, he had gone with the similar all too known boxing style only for it to be none other than trickery to conceal the deadliness of his feet. But amidst the match, again, Kage outmaneuvered Gan with a rather unique technique that blended elements of boxing together with karate which stuck a single foot ahead as if going in for a lunge while two open palms smiled at his face. Thus, showing the opponent the extent of their compatibility in true battle. In that stance, Kage had shown the pinnacle of a punch to Gan.
Done without a second thought, surpassing all defenses, then landing on its mark in successful pain. The only problem stood was the massive barrier of strength separating the two of them.
Gan punched with his left this time. The landscape shook again, knocking the garbage cans over, spilling their contents dirtying the earth with pre-made waste. A grimace etched his lips. The timing had been off once more.
So, he punched and punched and punched.
From that morning to evening Gan had not left this spot, instead punching until blood leaked from his nose as well as being spat out from a labored cough. His mother had not arrived a moment sooner to wipe away the stain to then carry his unconscious form inside with the father's assistance.
The lights inside the manor were moody with an orange glow that comforted one's aching heart when they entered. Many neighbors called it the Palace of the Heart. A title originating from the woman that dedicated countless hours a day to maintaining such prestigious recognition.
The mother of the household was the one to contribute heavily to the building's design. Occasional glimpses were found of the father's pastime, with skulls of animals mounted upon the mahogany walls decorated by an abundance of awards into the field of genetics. However, the mother was not to be discredited. A diploma just above the joint study demonstrates her astuteness toward the workings of the government. To intrigue a guest's mind even further were the photographs of her shaking hands with the greatest heroes in the nation. A factoid which commonly wormed its way into conversation over a glass of wine.
The father carefully laid his son out onto the boy's bed as the mother drew back the covers then stuffed them up to his nose once situated. The two took a shot at the other with a questioning look. Then, that anger at the other found a more common enemy. A word was to be spoken with that instructor. On another occurrence, Gan had turned up injured after a training session. The two concluded through their disgruntled expressions that this was a commonality that shouldn't be allowed. An evaluation was to be had sooner rather than later.
Both parents planted a kiss on the child's forehead with the father rustling his hair before shutting the door behind them leaving Gan in the warmth of the cotton covers. Peeking out, he gazed over toward the door where he could hear the muffled whispers of argument between his mother and father. Gan knew of the late-night fights and them no longer sharing a bed. Divorce was imminent to fracture the family as well as this bountiful household.
However, these thoughts that pooled within the bed only brought stress. A stress stacked upon even more.
Studying was failing him that forced his father to bend the will of the principal for his attendance at the academy. He knew he wasn't smart with no ability to solve a riddle if his life depended on it. His sole inspiration took cadence in his power where he implemented immense effort to cultivate. All his life had him training further and further to a point where he thought no other could compare. He could then live amicably as an Evolved above all else manipulating the funds from the government without a worry.
Then, Kage appeared. They had met on the first day at the front gate to the academy. Gan knew of his intellect while Kage knew of Gan's strength. It was a moment Gan would never forget. Despite the difference between them, he had eyed the boy sizing him. A cold sweat ran down Gan's back when he saw those unwavering icy eyes eating away at him. Only later would he realize that the boy had already found the weakness in his left ankle, a defect from birth.
While an inferior being would feel insecure even clogged up nasty thoughts, insane by muttered ponderings, Gan had only respect.
Respect manifested whenever the two exchanged a glance. From then on it was almost fated for them to be drawn into the other. The way he fought was clean yet malicious. If not for its deadliness, not a soul could throw their sight to another object.
This same respect was in the others who surrounded Kage. Despite his darker heart, they all wanted to stay near. The boy's unrelenting effort to surpass the impossible had no place in this downtrodden world. A year after their meeting Gan had asked the others on what drove Kage. None knew, for whatever it was, it must be close to an obsession…
Or worse.