In a nearly empty warehouse, Mark faced off against a man whose stature was comparable to his own.
Aaron, the boss, the attendant, and other Hound members watched from the side, their bodies forming a barrier, creating a semblance of a fighting ring.
The guard Mark faced off against seemed like a regular runt with experience. The guard appraised him in return, and a slightly cocky smirk appeared on his face.
"Begin."
An inhumanely deep voice echoed, but nobody moved.
Mark waited for the guard to act, but the man was waiting for him too.
Seeing this, he quickly thought of a plan.
A flame kindled in his pale-black eyes, and he took a step forward.
Then another, as if he were normally walking on a street, and not approaching an enemy.
He delicately instilled tranquility and arrogance into the guard, who smiled unsuspectingly.
Right as he came in a couple of meters from the man, Mark put pressure on his step and launched forward like a spring.
Throwing his fist with the force of his body, he stretched his mind out once more and replaced tranquility with shock.
The guard raised his arms just in time to repel the strike, almost being knocked back a few steps.
But another fist was well on its way, driving into the guard's gut.
Pushed back a few steps, the man regained his poise and launched a counterattack.
Mark dodged the first blow and then feinted with his left arm, before shifting his body and delivering an uppercut to the chin.
After, he put his foot behind the man's leg and elbowed his chest, tripping the guard.
A thump resounded in the warehouse. The man hit the floor and the fight was over.
"..."
There was no applause, just labored breathing by the knocked guard.
Looking around, he saw that each of the Hound members was relatively surprised. But the boss retained a neutral expression, while his attendant scratched his head.
Aaron was frowning.
Confused by the lack of reaction, Mark regarded the boss.
"Is this not enough?"
The boss shook his head.
"I should apologize for underestimating your capabilities..."
He paused, trying to figure out a way to express his thoughts.
"The fight was great, outstanding even... But no, this is not enough- I didn't see what I wanted to."
'How does that make any sense?'
Mark scratched his head.
"Then what should I do?"
The boss closed his eyes, lost in thought.
His attendant approached, then leaned forward and whispered.
Slowly, the boss nodded.
He then opened his eyes and made an approving gesture. Looking at Mark, he adjusted his glasses and then lightly smiled.
"Consider the last round a warmup."
The guard on the ground crawled away and was helped to stand by his fellow gang members.
After the guard left, Mark watched the attendant leave his boss's side and step into the imaginary ring, cracking his knuckles and neck. The man was dauntingly muscular and definitely at a higher weight level. Maybe with a weapon, Mark would be able to win, but gaining the upper hand with fists seemed impossible.
Just as he watched his attendant walk into position, the boss took a deep breath.
"Fight."
The attendant spared no time and launched forward, his fists sending forth a flurry of strikes.
Not letting the suddenness overcome him, Mark raised his arms and blocked the first impact, parried the second, and dodged the third.
He then initiated a counterattack of his own, striking the shoulder joint of the attendant.
It felt like hitting a rock.
Unfazed by the attack, the attendant simply took back his arm and brought it down on Mark, causing the young man to cover his head.
But the attendant then grabbed his hands and pushed Mark's head down while driving his knee up.
Straight into the face.
Feeling his vision buzz, Mark heard a high-pitched noise in his head while parts of his vision blackened.
Then, a fist rammed into his ribs and sent him flying back.
'Ugh-'
Mark caught himself with a few steps, but the attendant was already on him, launching yet another flurry of strikes.
The process repeated, with Mark barely able to block and dodge the attacks while failing to land a good hit of his own.
He fought round after round, with wounds continuing to pile up on him while the attendant remained relatively unfazed. His face was beaten and bruised.
At some point, he left his guard open and the attendant paused before reeling back his arm.
Then a fist imprinted itself on Mark's gut.
He stumbled to his knees, vomiting a handful of times.
Blood spilled to the floor from his nose as if spurting from twin hoses.
His consciousness blurred and cleared with the repetitiveness of his breaths.
The sight before him blackened, but at times cleared out to see a red the color of roses.
None of that mattered.
His life, in this one moment, in mornings to come, was falling at the hands of a stranger.
Into a bottomless abyss, where all would end up shattered.
His life, as worthless as it was, as painful as it was, is in danger.
He felt his mind burst into action, adrenaline pumping at an incredible rate- unperturbed.
The insignificant attendant walked forward, raising his fist.
Mark stood up, his mind and body were unstable, but something had to be done.
Under the skin, the bones, the blood and pain, something called from deep beneath.
He endured everything, ignored the discord, and grit his teeth.
Then the scoundrel of an attendant swung, and missed.
Mark didn't move, he couldn't. But his mind- it worked incredibly, perhaps faster than a gun.
He stretched it to its limits, then tried to push it further, and brought out one emotion.
Terror.
The attendant prematurely attacked in fright, his arm shaking.
Because he was kneeling, the man had to lean down to reach him.
Mark took advantage of his error and wrapped his hands around the brute's head.
He braced himself, and then raised his skull, viciously bringing it down in a desperate headbutt.
The ringing increased, but that was insignificant. He had to raise his arm, then punch.
And punch again, and again.
Again and again, until the bastard was on the ground, then again some more
Hit the head, hit it hard, hit until it shatters into shards, then hit it some more.
More, more! Make him bleed! Make him suffer! Make him dead!
Everything was painful, his hands shook and bled, but he didn't care.
He would keep hitting, and show this man hell before he could forgive.
Everything in the surroundings seemed to be filled with the hottest air.
This was punishment, for trying to deny his right, his simple right to live.
"That's enough!"
Mark was pulled back from the top of the attendant's limp body.
He struggled on the ground but then stopped.
A pair of footsteps calmly approached his head.
An ordinary man squatted next to him, pausing for just a moment.
From his reddened sight, Mark could only see to the smallest extent.
His body refused to move. There was no saying for what the man would do.
Then, something was placed on his heaving chest- whatever it was, he had no clue.
A mountainous voice resounded and reverberated across the room.
"Congratulations, you made it through."