"…" - Spoken Dialogue.

'…' - Thoughts.

'Balls.' - Words with emphasis.

'Bonk.' - Extreme rage or dialogue of a godly/hellish being.

Nathan observed his opponent in the boxing ring, his vision hindered by the headgear he wore, similar to his opponent. Besides their previous two spars, this one had gone on for longer than 20 minutes now and they were both beginning to lose fuel.

Standing at five feet and five inches, Nathan possessed a slim and decently muscular build. He was an out-boxer, relying heavily on his adept footwork, dodging, strategic positioning, and the ability to deceive his opponents with feints. Though he could switch it up to a different style if he wanted, just as he has trained to do.

On the other side, his opponent was his heavily strict, almost abusive coach. His own father, who was also a retired professional fighter that failed to become a champion, stood at a height of five feet and eleven inches while weighing almost twice as much as he did. Even though his father was way older and wasn't as fit as he used to be in his prime, he was still a skilled and experienced fighter of many disciplines, and especially in boxing.

Despite all that, Nathan evaded each punch and exploited every feint with little difficulty. However, an outside spectator might think Nathan was being arrogant and foolish by not putting his guard up.

They'd be right, of course. But Nathan didn't work his ass off since he was a kid for more than half a decade for nothing.

'I just want to get this over with,' he sourly thought, dragging out the words in his mind.

A left jab suddenly headed straight for Nathan's face. Keeping his hands around his stomach, Nathan judged the distance between them and backed away half a step, successfully dodging it and continuing to back away. His opponent followed, shuffling closer than before with swift footwork and their left hand moved up into what would've been an uppercut, but Nathan knew it was a feint. He swiftly weaved under the right cross going for his head and stepped back further.

While he could've gone for a counter just then, he was still waiting for the perfect opportunity.

His father went for another left jab. The punch missed as Nathan simply tilted his body to the left, shifting his footwork and causing his father to overextend just enough to leave an opening. But his father was an experienced fighter and wouldn't leave himself open without a threat. He followed with an ever faster right jab, aimed straight at where Nathan's head would be.

It was only his swiftness and extensive knowledge of his father's habits that allowed him to calmly weave under the punch as if he'd known the future, and identify the small opening his father had left in his attempt.

Nathan took his chance.

Pivoting on his left foot and twisting his torso, he used the leftover momentum from his dodge and launched a meteoric left uppercut into his old man's unguarded chin, slipping under the jab.

The bang of what seemed like a gunshot echoed from the punch and his father staggered back into the corner of the ring, holding onto the ropes for a brief moment, before immediately losing balance and falling on his rear.

'Fucking finally.'

"That was a good spar, but we've been sparring for two hours now. Can't we take a break?" Nathan complained, approaching his coach while removing his gloves and mouth guard. "I get that you want me to be at my best for the next tournament, but you know how good I am already. Almost no one in my age bracket has a chance of beating me."

Shaking himself from his daze, his father gradually regained his senses and glared at him. "This again? How many times do I have to tell you? Everybody who slacks off loses eventually, even the greats. You're just too damn complacent to see it."

"Complace—Oh, you gotta be kidding me!" Nathan sputtered in indignation and his balled fists shook in anger. It's been building up ever since their last argument about his training and his teenage hormones just made it worse. Before it could erupt, Nathan got a hold of himself. He inhaled deeply before continuing.

"Ever since I was seven, I've won tournaments in all the seven martial arts I learned, just like you wanted. I've only ever lost once, and despite that, I keep training almost Every. Single. Day. You know I spar against fighters way older than me because I know the advantage experience fighting against older opponents can give and because no one my age can give me an actual challenge. I even practice during the school holidays, for god's sake! And you're calling me complacent?" he somewhat calmly retorted. He couldn't contain the hostility and irritation in his tone.

"Tough shit. You think that's enough, do you?" his father chuckled in contempt. "You don't know what you're talking about. You haven't even fought in the UFC yet," his father continued saying, completely ignoring what he said, just like always. He rose to his feet while warming up his neck.

"You'll never become a world champion by being complacent. Come on. One more spar, but this time, change your stance to—"

"No." Nathan shook his head, tossing his gloves and headgear on the ground before leaving the ring, a defeated expression on his face. "I… I'm done, coach. Go find another kid to turn into a UFC world champion, because I quit."

"What?" his father uttered in pure confusion before the realisation dawned on him. "Hey-! HEY! Where the HELL do YOU think you're going?!" his father roared. Even without looking back, he could imagine the old man's face tensing into an ugly expression. An expression he'd seen too many times.

Whenever he became like this, he'd always be extremely violent, and years ago, his mom left when she couldn't take it anymore. His dad's temper only got worse after that, and he took the brunt of it during their spars before his dad eventually calmed down enough.

"Nathan Anderson! Get your fucking ass back here! I'm not done with you! You hear me?!"

"But I am!" Nathan sharply and nervously said with gritted teeth, quickly wiping his sweat and putting on his baggy hoodie. Knowing his father's next likely action, he grabbed his phone, sunglasses, and wallet before sprinting towards the door. "You can go fuck yourself, you cranky piece of shit! Your breath stinks!"

A thrown headgear quickly passed where his head would've been, but Nathan had already reached the door by then.

His father's roars somehow got louder. "You think you can just run away, do you?! Then don't you fucking dare show your face at the hou—!"

Closing the gym's door with relief, Nathan felt exhilaration and dread coursing through him. This was the first time he had fully defied his father, and he knew the consequences that came with it. But he regretted not grabbing his best pair of gloves. They were great in terms of quality and were expensive as hell. It was also the first thing he had ever splurged his saved up money on, but his dad was probably busy ripping the place apart right now, and going back in would be suicide.

'There goes 400 bucks…'

If he listened closely, he could hear beast-like roars and some furniture breaking. A surge of fear made his heart quicken.

'What the hell do I do now?' Nathan wondered as he started walking away. '…No. Doesn't matter where I go. Any place is better than here.'

When his dad first found out about his prodigious talent in fighting, he wasn't as unstable and violent as he was now, and he and his mother got along okay. But after Nathan won his first ten fights against more experienced kids his age without much effort, his dad suddenly got the crazy idea of turning him into the perfect fighter. Someone that could become a UFC world champion never seen before, and someone he could use to resolve his biggest regret—losing his chance of getting the world champion title.

It was that very idea that began his near torturous training and was the beginning of his parents' disagreements. His mother worried for him every time because of the training's intensity and duration, but the old man wouldn't budge. Slowly, their disagreements turned into quarrels before degrading even further, turning into all-out shouting matches you could hear outside the house.

At first, he didn't know what his dad had in store when he told him he was going to learn fighting styles other than boxing, but he enjoyed learning how to fight better, and his younger self wanted to make his old man proud.

Learning how to fight in different ways was fun for him and it was the feeling of accomplishment he got from improving after every fight that drove him to train for the first few years. But after dedicating most of his time to training for that long, he started to lose things he cared about.

Friends, hobbies, and a normal childhood being some of them.

By the time he realized it, he'd already dug a hole too deep to escape from. After a few years of winning tournaments, he got the attention of the media, and this somehow just made things worse. The old man thought it would be a good idea to proclaim that his son was going to be "the best fighter in history". Not only did this pressure him to excel in his fights and training even more, it attracted the attention of the older and rougher kids in the neighborhood who wanted to see if he was "all he was cracked up to be".

He didn't go out much during that year.

Eighty percent of what he did in the past three years had been training, fighting, and even more training under his father's supervision, with some studying in between to keep up with his school. Aside from that, his only other pastimes were watching a good movie, show, or anime and or playing a video game between tournaments and training.

But what about a social life?

Completely irrelevant to a fighter, his dad said.

In that situation, his only exposure to proper relationships and role models were those from shows, movies, and anime he watched. Thankfully, his mother and some good teachers of his had taught him more than enough basic human principles early enough that he only had some trouble distinguishing which relationships and role models were great to learn from.

However, his dad was right about one thing. Nathan knew he could have gone pro and maybe get a world champion title or two when he got older and had more years of experience. But while he was confident in his skills, that wasn't his dream. It was his dad's.

Fulfilling a dream that was forced upon him and not one he himself longed for, just felt…

Hollow.

If he was honest with himself, he didn't even know what he wanted to do for a career or what his ultimate goal in life was just yet, but he was sure it wasn't gaining a prestigious title only his dad valued.

So in summary, all these thoughts and emotions made him do some deep introspection for the past few weeks, which ultimately resulted in what happened earlier. It was far less violent than he expected it to be, but at least he was out, and he knew there was no going back.

He was just tired. Tired of his dad. Tired of a life where almost all he did was training, fighting, and even more training, for a dream that wasn't even his to begin with.

Defying his dad and leaving his clutches were the first two steps, but he hadn't really planned out what to do after that. So here he was, with nowhere to go and no-one to go to.

Nathan heaved a sigh. 'I haven't eaten anything for a while, so I might as well go to the mall and get something to munch on.'

-===-

3 Hours Later

Something was wrong.

Sitting on a bench with his back against a wall, Nathan's hands subtly went inside his red hoodie's pocket, nervously clutching the brass knuckle-duster hidden inside while his right leg fidgeted up and down. Behind his sunglasses, his striking grey eyes scanned the surrounding crowd in the mall, looking for any eyes looking in his direction. There were a few, but they were mostly just people that were probably curious about the suspicious guy wearing a hoodie and sunglasses that was acting skittish.

He didn't blame them. He'd be cautious of himself, too.

The unpleasant feeling in his gut continued to gnaw at him, but he couldn't pinpoint the source. After having a small meal, he walked around the mall, having nothing else to do. It wasn't until a few minutes ago that this dread and gut-clenching fear suddenly seized him out of nowhere.

'Damn it. I have no clue what's going on. Why do I feel as if I'm about to shit my pants?' Nathan thought, his body tensing even more. His instincts were telling him to run as fast as he could, but where could he run to? And what was he running from?

'I—I should get out. It's not safe here.'

Getting off the bench, he was about to leave and hurriedly head outside, but before he could even take a single step, his vision blurred and everything he could see turned grey, freezing in place as if time had stopped.

'What. The. F—!'

In a flash, he saw it. Alternate timelines and fictional worlds he recognized blazed through his vision. The barrage of colors showed planet Earth as an infinitesimally small fraction of the universe, fitting into a multiverse, which itself flowed from an omniverse, and finally, all of it surging from the Root of Realities. The indescribable kaleidoscope of worlds spiralled with endless depth and infinite breadth. Yet somehow, his mind remained intact after witnessing the boundless.

Frozen in place, Nathan's mind struggled to process what he witnessed. He was no longer inside the mall, surrounded by people. Around him were strange, humongous, incomprehensible shapes in constant motion, glowing in iridescent colors. The ground was a glass-like surface that created a perfect reflection of everything above it.

Nathan gaped at his surroundings. 'W…What WAS that? And what the hell is happening to me?'

He didn't know how he obtained the knowledge, but he intuitively knew he now stood within the boundary between realities.

Abruptly, a white shard of seemingly ethereal glass emerged from his chest, transforming into a hovering screen.

[By some incomprehensible accident, you are being flung into another reality.]

-===-

Author's Note: I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. I have no clue if I got rusty or not after my 4 months break from writing, so let me know if there is weird dialogue or narration.