“Ughhh.”

I groaned as I woke up, feeling like I’d passed out in a terrible position out on the street again. What had even happened? The last thing I remembered was-

The dream, the fight, being saved, punching.

Right! I had a Master now. An actual master. I’d been in a fight to the death and been saved by that old man. He, he actually took me on as a student! And then… and then I punched and punched and punched and-

“Owww.”

My whole body felt so sore. Every muscle in my arms were practically screaming at me and I felt so tired even after waking up. It was like my blood had been replaced with lead and then pounded down into shape with iron. It hurt. Not like the white hot agony of being broken apart. But still, it hurt.

Piercing blue eyes stared down at me.

“Punch it.”

Huh?

“W-What?”

“You heard me. Punch it.”

My Master’s head turned, staring at something I’d not made any noticeable mark on. The punching bag. Still just hanging there, in the same position it always was. My Master, wanted me to punch it? But…

“I think I need to go to the healing tank.”

“No. Punch it.”

There was a serious look in my Master’s eyes. No jokes as I woke up, no uncaring attitude or nonchalance. He was fully serious about me punching the damn bag again. But, I’d just, I’d just passed out punching the damn thing! I even blacked out. I could hardly stand right now, let alone throw a punch!

“But, Master I-”

“If you don’t want to get stronger, get out.” He said, staring me down. “If you’re still breathing, you can throw a punch. So, Punch It.”

My heartbeat sped up. It was like the whole weight of the world was on me. It was hard enough to throw punches at it normally but like this? Could, could I even get up?

“I told you. You must do your best. Punch it.”

I gulped. This was the test right? I had to show my resolve. That was the point. That I could keep going no matter what. That I would really do my best, no matter what. That I had the drive and will to be the strongest, to actually be the one to take down Vega. I took a deep breath, centering myself. I wasn’t going to waste this chance. Even if I had to punch this damn bag for a million, no, a billion years!

I wasn’t going back. To that horrible day, to that horrible trip, to the years spent begging and pleading and trying and working only to be crapped on, beaten up, and even left for dead. To getting drunk and letting the world pass me by in a haze. To getting beat to death and only being saved by a random old man’s mercy. No, never again.

I tried to get back up… and failed. I blinked in shock before a wave of pain hit me. My muscles were toast, some might even be torn. I had to grit my teeth as my exhaustion tried to lull me to sleep along with the pain.

I pushed.

I sat up.

I stood.

“Punch it.” Came the words from the old man, his stare never leaving me.

“Yes Master.” I managed to say.

I punched and couldn’t resist letting out a wince. My fists didn’t like that one bit. I wasn’t strong and my durability wasn’t high either. I already felt like my knuckles were bruised. My punch practically swam through honey before it finally hit the bag. My second punch was a bit faster but it was like I had become rigid iron, piloting a body that didn’t want to move.

I kept going, exhaustion clawing at me. I hadn’t had much time to rest. However long I’d been out, it hadn’t been long enough. Minutes passed and I could feel myself slowing down.

“Faster. Harder.” My master said, his words forcing me to do just that.

Over and over again. My body complained, fiercely, but it was just a work out. I just had to, keep going. Over and over and over again. Before long, it all seemed to fall away. My punches went forward, over and over again. My fists smacking into the grey material, the soft thumps echoing out. The sweat dripping off my form, my body swaying, and always my master’s words flowing into my ears.

“Faster.”

“Harder.”

“Punch it.”

“Punch it.”

“Punch it.”

I could feel my chest heaving, my eyes drooping, my soul feeling exhausted. Just had to punch it. Just punch it. All I had to do to beat Vega was punch it. Punch, punch, punch, punch. The bag and me, that was all there was. Empty words and the endless bag. I didn’t stop and my stamina was holding me up better this time.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Punch the bag.

Hit the bag.

My arm moves forward, it hits the bag.

Again and again and again.

Sweat hits the ground, the bag resists, the words blur. Iron pushes forward, endless blows rain down like droplets in a storm. Always moving and going, always pushing forward. Light begins to blur and in that darkness it’s only me and only the bag. Time halts and keeps going at the same time. An eternity awaits me and yet it’s the same stop as the first.

‘Punch it.’

Just had to punch it.

.

.

.

The old man watches as his newest student finally starts to get the memo. He’d been embarrassed when he’d passed out but at least he was finally starting to get it. He’d entered a good ole workout trance. That should last him at least a few hours.

The old man frowns. He forgot how weak his new student was.

Maybe half an hour…

How ridiculous. The problem with his new student was plain for him to see. He was too soft. His will was weak.

Well he’d fix that right up. There was always a surefire way to make people’s will stronger.

Just put them through hell.

.

.

.

Punch… punch… punch…

Punch… punch… punch…

“Faster.”

Punch.

“Harder.”

Punch.

Punch…

P…unch…

“Get up. Punch it.”

Get up? I was just, just catching my breath. God, I felt so tired. I just wanted to go to sleep. How long had I been doing this? But I just, just had to keep throwing, throwing my punches. Just had to. Just had to.

“Get up.”

Up? I wasn’t, I wasn’t sitting down.

“Up.”

I could feel the cool concrete under my hand. I felt so hot. So tired. I just, just needed to rest for a little while.

“Vega will kill you.”

“Wh-what?”

“If this is all you can amount to, Vega will kill you.”

The words were backed up by some of Master’s aura, cutting through my tired mind like a knife. Vega. What was I doing?! When had I even sat down? I don’t remember. I had to kill him. How could I lose to something so measly as being tired?

I got up and threw another punch. My arm hurt, my knuckles hurt, my vision swam again, but my feet stayed planted. Again. Again. Again!

Again!

Punch after punch left me. And disgust and anger filled me. Every punch seemed to scream at me. I still had this much left in me? I still had another punch? Another ten? Another hundred?! And I was going to lay down before giving it my all? What a fool I was.

No wonder I’d never gotten stronger. I’d never wanted it enough.

I wouldn’t stop. With every punch new conviction filled me. I imagined the bag as Vega’s evil face. Till every blow can smash him apart, till every punch breaks him like he broke me, I can’t stop.

I won’t stop.

Never.

I kept going, but the body, it’s a betraying temptress. The fire in me could only last so long. Before long, it began to scream at me. Every muscle pulled, every second seemed like I was fighting through a wave of sickness, my breaths came heavy, sweat stuck to every part of me, and began to feel disgusting. I’d fought through the exhaustion but all that awaited me on the other side were these awful sensations.

There was no trance this time. Just the endless repeating motion of pulling my arm back and pushing it forward. Having my aching knuckles hit a bag, over and over again. My shoulders ached. My mind began to skip, as if I hadn’t gotten sleep in a very long while.

I heaved, holding the bag just to stand up. My master’s words came and hit me like an old wound and sore in one.

“Punch it.”

I tried. I threw a final punch. The same punch as any other, except far weaker than even by normal standards.

And then it all went dark again.

.

.

.

When I next woke up, my body felt even worse than last time. I let out a silent scream as my body told me exactly how it felt about what I was doing. Every muscle hurt. It was a different pain, one I wasn’t used to, and my face twisted in agony. Silent tears fell down.

I’d pushed too far. Far too far.

“Punch it.”

The words were like the deepest coldest horrors. My face paled, terror gripped me. There… there was no way right? I was in so much pain… I’d passed the test right? We could, surely we could take a break already right?! I didn’t even know what day it was…

My master stared down at me, face like an uncaring mountain. Eyes staring directly into my soul and finding nothing worth anything.

“Punch it.”

Those words were repeated, over and over. I could barely think. The pain coiled around and through me unlike anything I’d ever experienced. My mind barely had the energy to generate an action, let alone a thought.

I got up. I cried. My body screamed. I don’t know how I did it.

I pulled back, I screamed. I punched, my knuckles lit up in agony.

I barely lasted a minute. I didn’t pass out this time. But I collapsed. The cold concrete hit me like a punch from Vega.

I lay there, writhing with every movement causing even more pain.

“Hmm. Well, I suppose this is good enough for today.”

A hand grabbed me, the force of it causing a pained groan to escape me.

“You’ll be spending most of your nights in the healing tank from now on.” I felt a stabbing in my arm, only to see a needle in it. When, where? “For the nutrients. We don’t have time to waste with you eating right now. The healing tank will deal with the dehydration but I’ll get something for that tomorrow anyway. A basic IV should work while you're passed out. Bah, I’ll have to get some actual water too won’t I? Well, whatever.”

I barely could take the words in, my body barely able to focus on anything.

“Congratulations kid. You made it past day one. We’ll be doing the exact same thing tomorrow.”

I cried in a different kind of pain this time.