11. the four deadly brothers

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S O R E N

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S O R E N

Fleck whacked me around the head as I punched the red bag, "Pay attention. Yer hittin' the bag like it's a fragile baby; put yer back into it."

I punched again and again, sweat dripping down the side of my face as my top stuck to my back. The gloves collided with the bag while Fleck told me "harder", to "combine strength with precision". I smashed the sand bag with everything I had and watched it fly into the air, swinging on the chain.

Falling on the ground, I spat the small amount of vomit that filled my mouth, my taste buds gagging, as I was left wanting water.

"Get up, you worthless boy." Fleck spat. I could see his shadow hovering over my body as I spat once again, "Stop getting my floor dirty or I'll make you clean it up with your own hair."

"What the actual fuck is stuck up your ass?" I growled, heaving off the ground as I stared at Fleck's icy gaze.

"Punch it again," he ordered, crossing his arms over his big chest giving me an unreadable look.

"Fleck, what the fuck—"

"Shut up and do as you're told." He growled, taking a step towards me. I stood my stance and looked into his light—almost white—blue eyes.

"... Why are you like this? What the fuck did I do?" I spat in annoyance, feeling myself stand up straighter and widening my stance to intimidate the white-haired man.

Fleck stared at me, unmoving, before sighing and grinning, "I'm messing with you, kid. A week ago you would've punched me straight in the jaw if I called you a worthless boy. What happened to you? You're different."

"Oh, my bad." I said sarcastically, throwing a light punch in his direction in which he caught.

"No, kid, you are different." He looked at me with a questioning gaze, while tightening my glove as I looked at him carefully.

"My mind's concentrating on other shit." I huffed, running my arm across my face to catch the sweat that had slid to the tip on my nose.

"You can't box while playing off with the fairies," he grabbed my gloved hand, "when you punch someone your heart and soul goes into that punch. Energy flows through your body; if you aren't all there what good are you to anyone?"

He pushed my glove into the bag as he spoke, "It's an art to become a good boxer. When your fist collides with the bag, you should feel the power you control. But you don't, not when you're not here," He motioned to my forehead, "You've gotta be there, Soren."

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