Disclaimers: All FF8 characters are respectfully copyrighted to their rightful
owners, Squaresoft. No copyright infringement intended for the usage of their
characters in this work of fiction. No profit is being made by this fan fiction;
please do not redistribute unless otherwise stated so by me personally.
Warning: The story will eventually depict homosexual relationship(s). I don't
write my characters as horny rabbits about to jump the sack, love at first sighters,
or Shakespear-spouting lovers, but if you have a problem with being a mature
and respectful reader about NON-heterosexual relationships, I suggest you STOP
READING now. And really, don't be an idiot and flame me after
I've warned you. It'll irritate me if you do, but I won't be losing any sleep
over you. Possibly just some brain cells at your lack of comprehension.
Part Two:
Lift. Spread. Flex. Cut. Strike.
Lift. Spread. Flex. Cut. Strike.
Hands lifting, fingers spreading, nerves flexing, air cut, hands striking a hard, resilient surface.
Lift. Spread. Flex. Cut. Strike.
He continued to breath in slowly and deeply, not noticing as the trails of sweat begin to thicken and flow continuously as if he were standing underneath a shower-head.
Hands lifting, fingers spreading, the motions repeating over and over again in an unbroken litany.
Lift. Spread. Flex. Cut. Strike.
Feet a blur of motion and muscles becoming defined as they were pressed into use; blood pumping throughout his body in a wild, freeing ecstasy.
Fingers clenching into tight fists, leaving indents on the slowly yielding surface and then smoothing out for a split second before he was striking it again.
And again.
And again.
Lift. Spread. Flex. Cut. Strike.
He wasn't focusing on the 26 students surrounding him in a tightly-knit circle, but a good several feet away from him.
He didn't pay attention to their startled facial expressions; some mingled with fear, others by awe, and most by uneasiness.
Body gliding on the smooth practice mats, feet barely touching them as he continued to circle the stuffed bag over and over, faster and faster. The students could no longer see the taut muscles or lithe body; they only saw a blur of pale, over-flushed skin, and blonde hair. He was a furious storm whirling around and around. He was becaming unrecognizable.
Liftspreadflexcutstrike. Liftspreadflexcutstrike. Liftspreadflexcutstrike.
The silence was so empty it was deafening. A drop of sweat was falling and when it hit the floor it became a resounding echo. It was so loud in the silence.
And slowly he began to realize his fists were thrusting against soft, shredded cotton.
Distantly he began to feel the screaming muscles, the raw, throbbing burn coating the knuckles of his hands.
Gradually he began to realize that his body was no longer moving. He was barely panting though sweat was rolling off his body in a salty rain,but then his legs gave way, his knees buckling to strike against the thick mat now coated in a flurry of stuffing.
Lifting his head, hair usually gravity-defying limp and wet, he met the horrified and shocked gazes of his twenty-six students.
Spread. Flex. Bleed. Lose. Fall.
Spread fingers splayed against the soft material, flexing painfully to close them into a bloody grasp, he knew he had finally lost, caving into the mad cries that had been haunting him in his restless slumber.
"Shit! Someone grab another instructor! Instructor Dincht--"
"Instructor Dincht, are you oka--"
"Holy FUCK, I ain't ever seen anyone move so FA--"
"Oh Hyne, what's going on?! What's wrong--"
"ZELL!"
Lift. Spread. Flex. Cut. Strike.
Fall.