Fire With Fire
The attacks usually lasted a few minutes each, rarely more than three attempts at a time. Strike, dodge, blocked by the sand barrier. Pause to think and breathe, quickly; bolt, strike, flip away, strike, accept the pain of being thrown, get up. Strike again. Escape. Come back another day.
There was no way around the automatic barrier, not one he could manage. He wanted to; the need to win could burn inside so fiercely his body screamed, ached, and he lost any appetite for food or sleep until he'd fought - fought and lost, but rid himself of that frightened, unmatched rage.
He knew he could be nice, get close and then strike. He could fight with kindness, and kill without mercy. But for all its potential, the idea was sour in his mind. No, if he was going to fight he would fight truthfully: with his wrath burning, his teeth and weapons bared, not with false kindness that dulled him. If he could only win...
It was tempting, playing nice. But it was not a nice thing, to hate something, and he would not ruin a nice thing for his own petty uses. For now, rage was good, and each fight hurt, burned and kept him alive. Niceness had no place.
Author: jagter se maan
Status: Complete