Wake-Up Call
On some level, he shouldn't have been surprised at the outcome. Sure, he'd taken on fearsome opponents, even those who scared the heck out of him, and came out on top. But this one—was an entirely different story. Six feet tall, 200-something pounds and full of muscles, scars indicating his involvement in previous fights. He looked like a runt compared to this guy! The majority would've said that the big man would finish the green-clad one in no time flat!
Maybe he would've, if he hadn't directed that hateful slur toward the man in red. Seconds after the slur flew out of his mouth, the man in green calmly asked him outside, and they had it out in the quiet night, where nobody could take notice of them. The big man had immediately gone in with his massive punches, but when his opponent still stood even after taking blows which crumpled previous opponents, he knew that he was in for it.
The green clad one gave a good fight! Though not as tall or as built as the other dude, he was more agile, dodging fists to the head and dashing in with fierce punching and kicking attacks. In between dealing out breathtaking blows, he launched green fireballs into the other man's face and jabbed with a knifehand strike at his midsection. He knew the best places of his opponent's body to go for, and go for them he did! The big meanie tried to roll with the punches, his pride refusing to allow him to lose, but the fight grew progressively heated, the cruel words he'd overheard ringing in the green-clad man's ears and driving his rage up like stock market prices. Soon satisfied that he'd warmed his opponent up enough, he grabbed him, threw him to the ground and butt-stomped him, and any Smash aficionado in the vicinity would've known that the butt-stomp was a gateway into Hell on a battlefield. And nerfing it only made the flames hotter.
But I digress.
As our antagonist found himself the victim of one ruthless combo after another, he noticed the red-clad guy standing there, chewing on a mushroom, his face neutral. But there was something in his eye—yes, something—which proved far worse than the thrashing he was currently enduring.
Pure, uncontained glee.
Seeing the man in red laughing with his eyes hurt just as much as the kicks, karate chops and God-knows-what else thudding into his once-titanium frame.
The one in red waited till he was certain his brother had exhausted himself. Then, he spoke.
"Bro, come on. He's not worth it."
The one in green finished his little demonstration with one last vicious punch. The offender lay there, too demoralized to try and stand, as his vanquisher glared down at him.
"Lil' Bro?"
"Just a sec," he responded in a tight voice. "This guy has something he'd like to say to you. Don't you, buddy?"
The offender nodded. "I—I'm s-s-sor-r-ry," he spluttered.
"What was that?"
"I'm sorry," the offender said again.
"For what? Be specific, my friend."
"I'm sorry—for saying those things to you."
The red-clad one responded to the apology with a face like stone. Then, he turned to the green-clad one. "Let's go home, Bro. Hopefully, this guy learns something from this."
"Yeah. Hopefully," echoes the man in green.
The world will never know if he did. But he made sure to steer clear of those two after that!
Happy belated Veteran's Day!