Raging Minotaur: Diamondback (Part 2)

Training: day 25

 

>Returning to The Labyrinth initiates a day of what begins with lacking any noteworthiness

>30 minutes of heavy bag work

>30 minutes of speed bag

>30 minutes of jumping rope, calisthenics, shadowboxing and so on and so forth.

>All the standard issue training in a Boxer’s day.

>Its an adequate exercise but its just not enough to give you the edge your needing

>After the workout, you look for somewhere to sit. Not wanted to place your un-cushioned and unprotected posterior on the hard and grungy concrete floor you find, of all things, a rather large tire (possibly belonging to a tractor) set in the corner of the room

>Sitting down on it you look around the gym to recall to yourself what all had been covered today, seeing if there is anything missed or could be added.

>After two or three sharp glances around the place it looks like your visit was well spent, though still insufficient, and that your work is done here

>Before you can begin taking the wraps off your wrists, thereby making the day officially concluded, Iron Will passes by you with a short greeting.

>“’Afternoon, Anon.”

>With a sudden epiphany in mind, you hastily spring from your seat on the tire and plant a palm on his shoulder

Will, can you help me train!?

>He turns around and faces you with a raised eyebrow

>“Me? Now? I guess so. What do you need help with? Medicine ball? Mitt work?”

>You shake your head as, most other days, you can do either or both of those at home with Rainbow Dash

No, no, no. I need somebody to spar with.

>With eyebrow still raised, he slowly looks over his shoulder then back to you, almost as if he’s trying to comprehend you had just told him there is a penguin in your pocket

>“You want to go in the ring with somebody you’ve already fought and lost to?”

I’m not looking for a rematch, I just need to practice ACTUAL fighting in an actual ring

>He shrugs and rolls his eyes

>“I’ll get my mouth guard”

>Five minutes later the two of you are in the ring sporting mouth pieces and headgear, ready and waiting to spar

>It may not be any sort of the exceptional form of training you have been hoping to find these past few days, but it is a crucial basic that has been missing from your regiment

>The shadowy figure who collected your entry fee volunteered to referee the fight though he has yet to reveal himself, instead still staying masked in the shadows. Not that it matters anyway

>“What are you looking to work on?” Will says with a slight muffle through his mouthgaurd

Everything. Anything. It doesn’t matter. I just need a match simulated.

>He rolls his eyes and shrugs again

>“Alright. You’re the boss”

>The shrouded ref calls for the two of you to bump gloves and go to your corners.

>With the both of you in position, you take a deep breath and wipe the sweat from under your head gear.

>Hard to tell if its originating from the heat of the place, your rising pre-game tension or both.

>The ref shouts and the both of you approach in for one another at the center of the ring.

>With your palms faced toward your head, you cover up as you close in.

>You throw a few feinting jabs just before you are in range, hoping to open up a hole in his defenses via miscalculated blocking but he’s not fooled

>The instant your in arm’s reach, Will begins throwing those trademark haymakers of his from either arm

>You dip and duck out under each one coming in and in the process manage to land a few body shot jabs

>This time around, the both of you are more conscious about the other’s style;

>Will is cautious not to leave his guard open by falling victim to any of your misleading ploys and your cautious not to take one of those haymakers and get thrown halfway across the ring

>After you slip under a dozen hooked shots, he throws a surprise uppercut that catches you off guard.

>It was not a direct hit, it bumped your shoulder and grazed the side of your face but it did cause you to recoil in a rather amateurish fashion.

>With your face left open from the childish reflex, Will throws a forceful jab into you.

>What would have been a strategic punch intended to pave the way for leads of a heavier main hand from any other fighter is nothing to scoff at in the case of Iron Will.

>The jabbing force alone from his disproportionately muscular left arm pushes you back onto the edge of your heals

>While his jab alone sports considerable power, he proves to be as predictable as always when he follows with a powerful lead from his right

>With a well timed bob, you duck underneath his right, step in close and manage to plant a left hook into the corresponding side of his ribcage.

>From what memory serves correct, such close quarters are a prime zone for his hook punches.

>With that acknowledged you dip down again and manage to lunge back just in time to avoid damage from said predicted hook

>With the two of you out of the other’s reach, you stay on your toes as you try to see way to your next attack

>Not the easiest offense to mount as he has both a longer reach and great deal more force in his strikes than you

>With no better option in mind, you enter range just enough to jab and try to see way to exploiting another mistake

>Avoiding punches, throwing punches and staying alert for a route to counter are no easy task by themselves but trying to manage all of them at once seems impossible.

>For the sake of your own physicality, you stay most alert on dodging more of those terrifying right hand leads of his. So much so that for nearly a third of a minute that is the only thing you are doing

>When you impulsively asked for a sparring match, you had not quite remembered that Will had spent the better half of your initial encounter dazed and partially incapacitated from crashing face first into the post in the third round

>Facing a completely sober Minotaur this time around makes things alarmingly difficult, especially considering you had exhausted the option of fooling him into making careless mistakes during your first encounter

>Not wanting to give him complete control, you try to combat his right hand leads with one of your own

>A good straight punch. It lands on the padding of his headgear.

>He recoils from the generous, though comparably lesser, power of the blow. Regrettably it is far from enough to do anything more than stun for a split second.

>To worsen matters, the only way to land such a punch was to stand directly in the line of fire of another of Will’s crushing jabs.

>Sure enough, he realizes that before you and takes to landing an undeniably sound jab that pushes you back onto your heels a second time.

>Crowded, unbalanced, off guard and with no realistic means of eluding, all you can do is suffer the predictable but overwhelming right hand lead that follows.

>A good hook from Will lands on the side of your head with enough power to literally throw you off your feet and send you landing on your side.

>Damaged but not destroyed, you spring up to your feet quickly and resume your stance

>Getting knocked down is unbearably humiliating to the point of infuriation

>Now being driven more by passion than strategy, you resort to the old fallback of swarming in

>You lunge in and begin swinging recklessly, disregarding any concern for technique in the process and causing Will to cover up

>While he can only guard so much of himself at once, he is able to tolerate the punishment landed through the unprotected flaws in his defenses not covered by the muscular shielding he calls his arms

>After a dozen seconds of sustaining the unchallenged and constant assault, he realizes the blows are potent but negligible in the long run and begins swinging wildly himself

>As physics would assert: when two objects collide, the larger object tends to prevail

>This is no exception here as consecutively taking Will’s powerhouse blows while trying to dish out your own knocks you off balance and effectively disable you from throwing any more worthwhile punches

>Within a matter of seconds, you are thrown to the mat a second time

>Once again, you recover to your feet in a flash recuperation, Still determined not to be defeated

>After that knockdown, your fury has subsided (or possibly had been forcibly punched out of your being) and you are more cautious about your approach.

>While swarming in is the only way your going to get any immediate influence on the direction of this sparring session, you try to bear in mind that a boxer who cannot get up cannot get ahead

>Testing the limits of both your stamina and your multitasking, you step into the trajectory path of Will’s haymakers and resume throwing a flurry of power punches

>This time around, you have taken to adding a great deal more defensive slips and bobbing, keeping an eye out for errs in his own defenses and focusing on not throwing so hard that you lose balance and are therefore thrown face to the ground by a good punch once again

>Will’s Haymakers resume. For the first moments you are able to avoid them and land effective punches of your own.

>This is sustainable for now but it could easily become very exhausting very quickly

>All in all, standing this close is a double-edged situation:

>Such close proximity is the only real way to damage him but at the same time it is where he is most effective.

>And while you are able to manage the multitasking skillfully, the fact of the matter is that you are fighting a losing war

>Lo, the only way for you to sustain a fight such as this continuously would be if you were made of marble and his endurance was laughably bad

>Considering that is far from reality and that his punching strength is universally without equal, the wiser alternative in this situation would be to curse your fate.

>Indeed, all in good time do you end up take more of the magnificent right hand power punches of his.

>His gloved fists are quite remarkable. Their size, density and concussive power are best compared to cannonballs

>The tide invariably falls in his favor and you wind up face to the matt.

>This time you are not able to get up quite so fast. You have not been knocked unconscious but you are feeling the toll coming down on your endurance from the combined taxation of your landed punches, missed punches, successful defenses and failed defenses.

>Getting back up, you return to a more contemplative state of mind

>There is no way you are swarming in like that again. Not without a death wish

>Will, not waiting for you to make a decision, decides to take the fight to you now

>With you not wanting to let him pressure you so easily, you begin retreating backwards in an attempt to further the distance

>You are able to stay out of reach for a considerable amount of time but this is not a contest of avoiding the other guy.

>You stop near the ropes and attempt to employ some quick hit-and-run punches but you are only able to throw a single, unremarkable and easily blocked jab before resuming your retreat

>The unrelenting Will, growing tired of this game of cat and mouse lunges in, begins crowding you and chases you to the ropes.

>With you leaning against them, he resumes those wild haymakers of his

>Determined not to suffer continuous preludes to brain damage and internal bleeding, you commit your all to blocking, slipping and bobbing everything coming at you

>Though with what limited space you have, blocking is the only real option

>And though his punches may or may not land on any vulnerable spots of your body the raw force transferred from them to you is enough to make you lose balance, even if they are fully blocked

>You endure a few seconds of being thrown around in the whirlwind before nearly toppling over

>A solid punch of indeterminate origin and trajectory landing on the padding on the side of your head pushes you over your edge.

>You fall to your knees with one arm strung out over the ropes.

>This time around, you do feel dazed. Your eyes dart left and right as you forget where you are momentarily

>You are not sure for just how long you are down, but getting back to your feet is no easy recovery

>You shake off the damage sustained and lunge back in for Will

>But rather than resuming the match he plants his palms on your shoulders and pushes you back into the ropes, clearly refusing to carry the one-sided session on any further

>“Enough already!”

>You return to your position of being strung out over the ropes

>Knowing you have been undeniably overwhelmed, you keep your eyes focused on the ground below, not wanting to face the look of condensation your sparring partner surely holds

>Within a few moments, he recognizes your unresponsiveness and leaves the ring without a word. Hearing steps emanating from the corner of the room leads you to assume the shrouded referee followed suit

>After hoisting yourself off the ropes, you sit down at ringside. The true damage here was not impacted upon your physique but on your spirit

>The second you catch your breath there is no reason to stick around. Your work is done soon here. Possibly for good

>You exit the gym with both hands still gloved and head for home

>As you gradually return to a more formal state of mind you slowly begin to realize the gravity of your situation.

>Not the practice session with Will but the upcoming fight against Diamondback.

>The circumstances were not in your favor in the first place but with the results of the last hour’s sparring match fresh in your in mind, you understand your situation is not simply bad but possibly catastrophic

>You are anxious, frightened, uncertain, indecisive. You feel like you are lost in a maze with no idea in what direction in lies your escape

>For the moment though, you at least know the way back to the house

>Without searching for, much less acknowledging, Rainbow Dash you enter the house and find way to the bed

>All you can do now is sleep off the burdens of today