Author's note:
Allrigh this is my first and probably only attempt into making a story, feel free to provide constructive criticism!
There will be multiple chapters.
A thin fist, punching a wooden trunk repeatedly, without showing any signs of neither hesitation nor regret.
Eventually however, the thin fist's skin rips, exposing the blood and flesh hidden within. The blood starts spreading in the log, leaving a distinct red tone upon its contact as the blood flows through the trunk's imperfections and the fist bloodies from the repeated impacts.
The hand does not cease, and instead, tries to do even more impact than before, leaving injuries and exposed tendons.
This hand was not from a man, but a boy, a boy with a strange ambition, a very strong ambition, which some may have considered it insanity.
The boy was fascinated by creatures, wonderful creatures, capable of feats unimaginable by mere men and were induced naturally with these talents, on which differed greatly from one being to another.
Some could breathe fire, some could lift objects with their own mind, some could control their own aura, and some were incomprehensively fast or strong, their abilities were endless, and this was the boy's biggest and only dream:
To achieve what they could do, to be equal to them, to stand with them.
Humanity used these creatures as pets, training them, befriending them, even without possessing the potential to do what these creatures could. It angered him, but that anger was not directed towards humanity;
It was directed to himself.
His ambition was to be as strong as them, as powerful as them, as fascinating as them. His fear was immense, knowing that his limits may be pathetically low, knowing that it might be an impossible dream, knowing that despite everything he would try, everything he would do to become stronger might be worthless.
His fist ceased, bloodied from the constant impact against the trunk.
And the trunk was still intact, without any damage.
That was when the boy realized that he wouldn't be able to do one of their feats with his current power.
He would need to get stronger, and maybe he was insane after all.
But no thought was to keep him away from that ambition. The blood and wounds in his hand were just the spark for an immensurable power.
He was inside the woods and the sun was almost behind the horizon, realizing what he should do, the boy tried to wash off the blood on his hand ,covered the wounds with a piece of white cloth and returned to his village. After all they might be concerned about him being this late.
It was a long way, and his duty was bringing firewood home.
It was a small village. Upon arrival, he went into his house's storage and placed the firewood there, picking a small amount enough for cooking and entered his home.
It was a simple house of wood. The living room was connected to the entrance, there was a simple carpet on the center, a fireplace on the right wall, a table on the left wall with two benches and a chair.
The creatures mentioned earlier were called "Pokémon" as humanity named them.
Most humans or families had a pet Pokémon and his family was no exception.
He was greeted by his family's creature, whose species was a male "Lucario"
"Why are you late?" Lucario asked with a serious expression, "You never arrive this late."
"I had a problem," the boy said in a very convincing manner, walking towards the kitchen only to be stopped by Lucario's paw, who , in a very disappointed manner, let out a sigh.
"You know I can sense your aura," lucario said, "i know you're lying. I'm not an idiot."
"They're not home yet, are they?" he asked while still looking towards the kitchen;
"No they aren't, and they won't know about you being late if you tell me what happened," Lucario said. "What are these wounds on your hand?"
The boy closed his eyes for a moment, clenched his jaw, and then looked at the pokémon who was still holding his arm.
"I can't tell you," the boy answered in a serious tone, but smiling, "You'll tell them, and then I would have to explain why, and you know why," he said, then lifted his arm to the same level as lucario's head, with lucario's paw still holding it, "Now, let me go."
Lucario nodded, releasing the boy's arm, in which proceeded to the kitchen.
"You can tell me, we've been friends since your family adopted me," Lucario said while watching the boy put the wood into the wood stove, "Your secret is safe. I'm only asking this because I care about you."
The boy hesitated for a moment, collecting his thoughts, and eventually looked at the Pokémon and said while staring at the ground in an ashamed manner;
"I tried to tear down a tree with my bare hands," the boy said while lifting his eyebrows and looking at Lucario, waiting for his response.
Both stared at each other for a moment in silence, then the lucario let out a suppressed chuckle and said:
"And you went so far as almost destroying your hands?" he said with a surprised smile while lifting from his chair. "Honestly that's the stupidest idea I've ever heard ever," he said whilst walking towards the boy. "You didn't even think about how they'll react when they see this blood? Also, there is blood on your face," Lucario said while taking off the white cloth (which was completely red) around the boy's hand exposing his wounds.
"These wounds are pretty ba-"
"It doesn't matter," the boy said, interrupting lucario and taking his injured hand out of the pokémon's reach, "i'm off to train," he said, now walking towards the back door.
Lucario smiled then walked towards the living room, speaking with a high voice, "Fine. Just don't push yourself too hard like last time, after all you're still injured and I don't want any trouble for me either."
The boy chuckled and opened the back door, meeting a huge grass field, going slightly downhill while covered by mountains and receiving the shine of the pale moon above.
Upon this sight, the boy got inspired, clenching his fists, lifting his injured hand in front of the pale moon.
The boy grinned angrily, with the blood streaming through his skin, feeling the pain of the cold breeze hitting his exposed flesh, questioning himself what he was about to start.
He inspired, filling his lungs witch fresh air before rushing down to the grass field, in an act to improve his stamina.