Raging Minotaur: Diamondback (Part 1)

>The day after your professional debut at Raging Minotaur…

>…The media was abuzz over you

>Journalists, managers and ringside commentators alike all wanted to interview you

>The very next day you auctioned off the gloves you had used that night to an unnamed private collector for a small fortune

>The public image of you that ensued in the weeks to come was a very polarized one

>Some praised you as remarkable new talent, other lambasted you and dismissed the entire bout a farce.

>You didn’t pay any mind to it. You didn’t even take advantage of any of your ensuing publicity (apart from selling the gloves, of course)

>You’ve simply enjoyed having Rainbow Dash back.

>You’ve also greatly enjoyed the new disposition you’ve acquired. You feel more resilient, sturdier and all around a stronger person.

>Just as any man who survived a fist fight with a minotaur would, you feel completely reborn

>But 2 years and 4 losses by Knockout later (against no particularly reputable opponents), You can sadly admit that was the highlight of you career

>Now…You are beginning to wonder if boxing is for you

>Sure, you could make a living being a journey who serves as a fall guy for the guys climbing up the ladder but you would rather not suffer the damage to your sense of self-worth and central nervous system

>In a sport as detrimental as boxing, such an idea is not completely unfounded

>The Dragon boxer whom you had replaced at Raging Minotaur, Diamondback, challenged you to a fight for whatever unknown reason

>You accepted the offer the instant it was presented to you.

>While you were grateful as ever to be able to find some business, you would shortly later begin pondering why he would challenge you to a fight and what it spells for you

>While you were not able to concoct any plausible reason on his end in the immediacy, you were able to rationalize to yourself why you should do it:

>This as a make it or break it situation; If you cannot prove your skill in this fight , You are putting down the gloves for good

 

Training: Day 23

 

>Your return to training was nothing to remark over.

>Wake up, jog, work on the bags, work on the mitts, the whole nine yards

>All the same. Nothing new about any of it

>You have been doing it steadily for well over three weeks

>Dash, once again, has proven to be very helpful and supportive

>Always there to wake you up, help you maintain a substantial diet, give you pep talk and push you to your limits as you are training

>But she is worried about you.

>She is indignantly continuing to train you as she feels you are going up against insurmountable odds

>Of course, every time the both of you talk about it, it only breeds arguments. They always follow the same formula;

>She asserts that there is no way you’re going to win a fight against Diamondback, citing his fight history of  25 fights 10 KO‘s, 3 TKO’s, 12 victories by decision, 0 draws, 0 losses.

>You of course sigh every time you hear that

>Going up against Iron Will, the undefeated champion of this world and the next was acceptable but THIS is too much?

>She points out that Will was slow and easy to anticipate. She goes on to say you had the advantage of being able to outmaneuver your opponent, Something that is going to be infinitely more difficult against the lightning fast and unpredictable Diamondback.

>To which you reply by rolling your eyes and groaning

>One day after a particularly egregious argument, you have had about as much as you can stand

>You storm out of the house

>You begin walking

>After about stepping a hundred paces past your door, you begin running

>You have absolutely no path or destination planned but you are running anyway

>Its the only thing you can do to soothe the frustration and Discontent of it all; redirect your attention to your training despite Dash’s assertion of what little payoff there could be in the prospect

>“She’s the one who pressured me into becoming a professional boxer, would it kill her to be a little less negative about this next fight?” you say to yourself

>You have not yet told her that you are contemplating giving up the sport

>Especially not now, You know it would not end well

>You jog late into the hour. Trying to outrun your irritations

>As you continue to head further and further away from home and into an unfamiliar urban neighborhood, you eventually stumble upon a gym

>’-The Labyrinth- ringside gym’ its called with a tagline that reads “Training champions for over 100 years!”

>“-The Labyrinth-, Eh? Must be where all the Minotaurs hang out” you say to yourself

>It is a large two story building that bears an extremely antiquated character. The paint, bricks and mortar are faded and chipped. The windows are either boarded up or covered with rusted iron bars. The similarly constructed front door’s hinges are rusted into oblivion and apparently the only thing keeping it in place is a great amount of duck tape. Behind it you can only make out a pitch black abyss

>Curious, you step up to the door and try to swing it open but on closer inspection you find that its been bolted shut.

>After taking it by the bars and shaking it, the rattling noise catches the attention of a someone inside. The specifics of them are unidentifiable through the metal and shadows

>“Ya gotta enter through the back” says a gruff and gravely voice

>You take the path around to the back. Its garnished with a sidewalk so filthy and littered that you are not completely sure there is concrete beneath the trash and dust your treading over.

>Alongside the path stands a barbed wire chain link fence two fold your own height that houses off nothing but a vacant dirt lot

>Upon locating the back door you find its even more dilapidated than the front;

>It is not even bolted down in it’s respective doorway. It is leaning on the wall parallel to the door

>You cross the threshold and enter the abyss inside. The instant you step foot inside you hear “five bits for entry”

>The gruff gravely voice came from the left of you. It sounds similar to the one that redirected you to the back door but you are not sure if it is the same individual

>You reach into your pocket, remove the coins and hold it in the direction the voice came from. Nothing visible that way but further abyssal pitch black

>A limb of some sort quickly swipes the bits from your hand and retracts back into the shadows before you can identify who or what said limb belonged to

>“Welcome to The Labyrinth. Enjoy your workout”

>With your admittance paid you move forward through the dark hallway and see what is at the end of it

>The inside gym is only slightly less dark than the void you braved through to enter it. >The only light puncturing the darkness pours down from various unpatched holes in the roof

>From what your eyes can make out of the darkness there are four rings of various sizes.

>seventeen battered heavy bags with exteriors composed more of duck tape than canvas hang from chains based in the ceiling.

>twelve speed bag rigs protrude from the walls, less than half of them appear to be in usable condition and only one of them has an intact speed bag attached.

>The dilapidated walls that support the roof are riddled with scratches, holes the size of grapefruit, tacks, nails and the occasional splatter of blood.

>All of the aforementioned descriptions also apply to the floor

>You rest your hands akimbo and nod as you admire the personality of the place

>“Yup. This is where Boxers are made” you say to yourself

>Venturing into the rather derelict training grounds, you approach the largest heavy bag in the open. You are wanting to practice on it but you do not any hand or wrist protection

>You look around the place to see if there happens to be any house gear you can use but you can not find any.

>Through the shadows you can make out a minotaur working on a nearby bag

>You approach the patron to ask a favor

I don’t suppose you have any wraps you’d mind lending a newcomer?

>he motions to a door under a stairwell

>“There’s some duck tape in the janitor’s closet”

>you shall have to content with that for now

>you go to the closet and manage to improvise some hand and wrist protection with the tape and a few disposable cloth towels. Looks like your back to square one training-wise.

>You go fast to work on the heavy bag. Thankfully it is as good of an escape from frustration as it has ever been.

>Your training at the gym continues late into the day, covering everything from punching, to footwork to reflex training, to calisthenics  By the time you leave, the suns already been down for an hour

>As you jog the trail home, you reflect fondly of your new training spot. Upon arrival at  your destination, you debate on if you should tell Dash about it or not

>Oddly enough, you find her fast asleep. The only thing you can do is follow suit and wait until morning

 

Training: day 24

>Waking up the next morning you find Dash has long since deserted the bed in a strangely familiar fashion

>You head downstairs to start your day. Dash is nowhere to be found anywhere in the house

>Genuinely indifferent to her desertion you scarf down a quick breakfast, pack your gear into a bag and head for The Labyrinth gym

>During the commute, you cannot help but to recollect on yesterday’s argument: The two of you were trying to work on your reflex and speed training.

>After the third consecutive hour of disappointing results, Dash donned a very uncharacteristic hopelessness. Once again she would go on to stress that Diamondback would be far too fast for you fight.

>To which you played your rebuttal with the ‘fighting-Iron-Will-was-okay?’-card and the whole thing erupted into an aggravating quarrel

>but while you know she is voicing legitimate concerns about the nature of your foe, both you and her know what the real problem is here.

>The real problem is not how simply how fast your opponents are, how tough they are or how hard they punch

>The real problem is that you are fighting way out of your league.

>Not so much in the sense that you are skills are insufficient when mounted against your opponents. Not even in the sense that you are not experienced enough

>But that your opponents are literally monsters and you are just a meager human

>If you were a creature of mythological caliber, it would possible that you would be able cut it with the training she has been providing

>It would be possible for you to be content with the daily basics

>But you -are- only human

>And what she can offer you right now is simply not enough

>She has every right to be worried and you know it

>Just as you have every right to seek out advanced training to help bridge the gaps left by your human mediocrity in hopes of giving you a chance of fighting the fantastic beasts of this world.

>But without resorting to any kind of magical-anabolic-steroid-potion-bullshit. The solutions must be legitimate, honest and not grounds for disqualification.

>And sure enough, that is exactly your plan today at the gym

>You reach the entry, pay your daily fee to the shadowy unseen figure and enter before you can sulk any further. For the best no doubt, as it is not good for the spirit

>Sitting down on the side of a ring, you empty the contents of your bag and wrap up your hands and wrists before finding the nearest available heavy bag

>They have a rather shoddy but functional round timer nailed to the wall that you set to ten three-minute rounds that grant sixty second break intervals

>At the signaled start of the round timer, you go to work on the heavy bag

>During the interval following the sixth round, you sit on the side of a ring to rest

>A training facility in this state of antiquity gets very hot very fast

>removing the gloves, you shake the accumulated sweat off your hands and brow

>With your head up and rested against the rope, you look around the archaic training ground.

>It is completely deserted today apart from one guest over in the corner who you have seen looking at you over you several times since you entered

>You Squint your eyes. It is hard to make out anything in the darkness but you can verify he is a minotaur

>No sooner do you look in his direction does he stand up and begin walking towards you. >Perhaps he wants to spar?

>You cannot help but to notice he looks a bit like your previous opponent; Iron Will

>With each step closer, the resemblance becomes more and more striking to the point of becoming uncanny. By the time he is close enough to lean against the side of the ring you realize that he IS Iron Will

>He rests a forearm on the rope, leans into it and speaks to you for the very first time

>“Hey, Little man!”

Will?

>He gives a half smile and nods

>“The one and only”

I didn’t know you trained here

>“Me? Here? Of course I do! All the greatest boxers who ever were have been in here at least once in their careers”

So that banner outside that says “training champions for over 100 years” isn’t just a marketing gimmick?

>“Not at all. The champ I took to the title from trained here. And so did the champ he took the title from”

I gotta say. When I hear “Professional boxer training” I think a little less trashy of a place than this

>He laughs heartily and rests an nudges your shoulder with his elbow

>“Come now, Little Man. Since when does boxing have to be pretty?

I guess that’s true

>With the both of you done make acquaintances, he brings up the inevitable

>“So…I heard you’re facing off against Diamondback…”

Yeah, not quite sure how I’m going to win though. Or why he’d pick me

>Will rolls his eyes as he vaguely recollects on the nature of your new rival

>“Yeah that‘s just how he does it. He like to pick…” He mutters the last few words of his sentence unintelligibly

Huh?

>“It’s Nothing. I should let you train. You‘re gonna need some serious grit just to go the distance with him”

>You wave goodbye to Will as he parts

Nice talking to you too

>The instant he leaves, the round timer emits a loud buzz and you return to the heavy bag

>By the time you exit the gym, you have done thorough sessions of jumping rope, speedbag and calisthenics but at nowhere did you find, much less take up, any form of advanced training

>At the end of a day of well spent (yet still insufficient) exercise, you return home and after a refreshing shower go to bed immediately. Wanting to get over to the gym early tomorrow