Chapter 10: Sparring

Lucas felt like he was sleepwalking; his head felt like it was made of cotton. It wasn't until the searing heat on his ring finger snapped him back to reality. They were back in the foyer, standing in front of the gate, Enoch was checking his watch and wearing that perpetual grin of his.

"That was faster than expected. Well, I guess it's not too surprising; that skull of yours seems to have some magic-resisting properties. I didn't even have to use these." From some inner pockets of his coat, he pulled out two pairs of handcuffs, some soft wax, a gag, and a blindfold. "Normally, I have to pull people out of that room kicking and screaming."

Looking down at his burning finger, Lucas noticed the melted remnants of the wax ring. Noticing his gaze, Enoch elaborated, "Just a small safety measure, don't worry about it. Now that you've passed the most important test unless the boss wakes up from her little nap and doesn't like the look on your face, you're all but a member."

Lucas raised an eyebrow. "Of what exactly?"

Enoch facepalmed, while the spectacled man laughed in the background. Clearing his throat, he spoke up, "Ahem, must have slipped my mind. You now belong to the E.S.P., a new and experimental branch organization of the Amber Tower. We essentially act as a form of law enforcement, handling situations that transcend the capabilities of typical authorities. Essentially, we deal with anything of a supernatural nature that occurs in Blackport."

Lucas let out a sarcastic laugh. "Sounds like fun."

"Now that's the right attitude, not like some bookworm I know that never sees the sun," Enoch replied, pointing at the spectacled man, eliciting no reaction from said bookworm.

Turning back he pulled out a small stack of thin bookmark-shaped papers, "I nabbed these while you were out of it. They should allow me to show off a bit and for us to have a little 'fun'."

***

In the center of a spacious, well-illuminated chamber rested a plateau crafted from earth, clay, and sand. Its angular sides led to a flat peak where a large circular arrangement of runic symbols, meticulously carved from polished stone, lay embedded within the surface.

On top of the dohyō-like structure Enoch announced, gesturing around. "Welcome to the sparring room. It's where our field team spends much of their time, so you'll grow quite accustomed to it." Enoch and Lucas had already swapped their attire for thick dark gray training garments, reminiscent of Earth's gi, albeit utilizing a system of thick drawstrings in place of the traditional belt.

Enoch took one of the papers from the stack, licked the back of it, and stuck it to his chest, placing it directly over his heart. He then passed another sheet to Lucas. Taking a moment to examine it, he noted the symbols on its face that bore a resemblance to those surrounding the ring. Following Enoch's example, he licked the back of his own paper and affixed it to his chest. With the preparations complete, they stepped into the ring together.

Enoch bounced lightly on his feet, executing a series of dynamic stretches before taking a deep breath, and readying himself. As he assumed his stance, he made a short step back with his left leg, balancing on the ball of his foot, sliding his right leg forward, and slightly bent his knees. Movement flowing up from his feet he then positioned his arms: his leading arm lowered, elbow bent, covering his body, while his rear arm rose to guard his head and chin. His movements were so smooth and effortless that they seemed to unfold in slow motion in his eyes, though It was all too clear to him that what just occurred only happened in the blink of an eye.

Enoch's smile took on a sadistic edge as he queried, "Have you ever been in a serious fight before?"

Lucas squared his stance, brought forward his shoulders, dropped his chin, and lifted his elbows. "My brothers were martial arts fanatics, so maybe” He was very very rusty, martial arts had never caught his fancy, but he couldn't forget the basic Muay Thai guard his 'kind' brothers had spent so many hours teaching him the hard way.

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In response to Lucas's stance, Enoch squared the gate of his pseudo-Philly Shell. "Let's get started then." he said, remaining stationary prompting Lucas to make the first move.

Lucas decided to close the distance swiftly entering his opponent's range.

[Enoch has a reach advantage if I don’t close in, I’ll be screwed.] It was clear from Enoch's guard and decision not to move that he was an outboxer-counterpuncher mix, a punishing combination for someone as unskilled as Lucas. But Lucas had one advantage: a passing knowledge of modern martial arts.

Snapping out a swift calf kick, Lucas hoped to take advantage of his opponent's boxing oriented guard.

Reacting faster than Lucas could perceive, Enoch moved like a well-oiled machine and flashed his rear leg forward cleanly, checking the kick.

The momentum behind his opponent's movement combined with the unusual lightness of Lucas's leg easily flung it out from under his center of gravity, causing a momentary loss in footing. Subconsciously opening up his guard in an attempt to regain balance was the perfect opportunity his opponent needed to finish the fight

Like the executioner's ax, Enoch cleaved through his weakened guard, channeling force from his rear leg through his torso to his shoulder and finally into his left fist, delivering a devastating immaculately aimed uppercut.

A tidal wave of pain surged from his face, cascading through his skull, down his spine, and coursing through his entire body. Lucas's face and limbs grew numb, his vision swimming and ears ringing. He felt the sensation of weightlessness as his feet left the ground and darkness encroached upon his senses.

Then in a flash, Lucas found himself outside the ring, the talisman on his chest turned to ash. Meanwhile, Enoch, rubbing his fist, calmly stepped out of the ring himself, watching as the talisman disintegrated shortly after.

"That skeleton of yours is certainly fun to fight against. With your first kick, I confirmed something I've been pondering. Your lighter bones hamper your momentum, potentially leading to sticky situations if not managed carefully. But it's not all drawbacks. When I delivered that uppercut, your chin shattered my left hand like a thin sheet of ice. Hitting a jaw harder than a steel plate while bearing the weight of your entire body is no different than punching an anvil."

Gesturing towards the stack of papers with his uninjured hand, Enoch added, "But that's precisely why we have these, to test things like that and fight without holding back."

Tilting his head slightly, he held one of the talismans and asked, "How do they work?"

"I'm not entirely sure," he admitted, "All I know is if your body undergoes significant changes while inside the ring, it automatically ejects you, returning you to the state you were in before entering. "

-Clack-

A man with shoulder-length red hair entered the room, his locks cascading over his head like a mop, obscuring his eyes. He wore the same training uniform as they did, though he had opted not to wear the top, instead keeping it neatly rolled under his armpit. Due to his brothers' insistence, he had spent a significant amount of time watching UFC, causing him to be familiar with the physiques of top tier fighters. And now, standing before him, he saw a physique beyond any of earth's champions. Somewhere between welterweight and light heavyweight with skin decorated by a tapestry of scars that left Lucas baffled how he had survived through some of them all. Yet, what struck Lucas most was the man's musculature. Like steel cables, they were both lithe and adamantine, with an underlying bestial ferocity. Reminiscent of nature's most sublime killers, his physique was perfectly sculpted for violence. Each movement was made with the ruthless efficiency of an apex predator, making his way to the top of the plateau.

"Rookie, should've figured you'd be here. This is our new recruit—oh, I guess you're not the rookie anymore now that we have somebody newer. Now, I have to think of a new name. Hmm... Rook. Yeah, that works well. Don’t you think so?"

'Rook' simply shrugged in response, then turned to Lucas, giving him an evaluating gaze. Finding nothing of particular interest, he bent over, grabbed one of the talismans, adhered it to his chest, and entered the ring without uttering a word.

"Our little Rook over here is a mute who. We don't know his name or if he even has one, so everybody around the office just refers to him by a nickname, Not that many have the opportunity to talk to him as he spends the vast majority of his time either training or sparring."

He paused, a glint of excitement flickering in his eyes. "I just had a great idea. How cool would I look if I defeated a guy who could effortlessly rip through an army of over 100 copies of you? I'd imagine quite dashing, no? "