Strike Hard (Un-Betaed Draft) (Patreon)

Strike Hard

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Greg began to shed his clothing, his friend watching with confusion as Sparky’s breathing came in noticeably heavier pants. His slight exhaustion made perfect sense as he had spent the last thirty minutes trying to land an actual hit on Greg, the basis of lesson 3 being the importance of moving fast.

It had been an understandable leap, from dodging to speed, but in all fairness, Greg knew that the only reason dodging and speed had been two separate lessons was mostly because he wanted to amuse himself by hitting Sparky with dodgeballs.

And it had been.

Amusing, that is.

After that was a fun game of full-contact tag, the entire point of it being that Sparky had to chase Greg around the warehouse, with the blond making sure not to go faster than what he knew Sparky could manage, in order for Sparky to hit him and no longer be “It.”

He never even got close.

Speed was one thing.

But even with that equalized, Greg was simply far more agile and experienced. Moving with his powers came naturally to him by now. Compared to him, Sparky might as well as have been a toddler.

Still, it was time to pay back the torture and let Sparky have a lesson that was actually fun for him for once. With a slight shrug, Greg began to shed his clothes, removing his tracksuit jacket, white under-shirt and glasses before sending them away with a brief pulse of pixelated blue light.

Standing there shirtless, arms open in an inviting dare, he locked eyes with Sparky. "Hit me," he commanded, the words reverberating through the building.

"Wh-what?" Sparky stuttered, thrown off balance.

His lips curving upwards into a cocky smirk, Greg decided to do his friend a favor and clarify the situation. "This is Lesson 4: Strike Hard. You get to hit me as hard as you want. Get all your grievances out. Hit me as hard as you can for as long as you want to. Go nuts, sparkplug."

To Greg's slight surprise, Sparky nodded quickly, a smile that sang with anticipation clear on his face. "Sure, wouldn't be the first time you've asked me to beat the shit out of you."

Greg let out a laugh, unable to help himself. The times when he had asked Sparky to help him train his resistances were still fresh in his memory, surprisingly a lot more fun for him than he would have thought. God, that just sounds weir- His thought was cut short as he felt a familiar pulse at the base of his neck, the sensation weak but unmistakable.

A blink later, a knee was flying into his face.

Staggering backward, Greg tried to regain his balance. Sparky had begun suddenly, without warning. Although, I guess I usually do the same, he reflected, shaking off the momentary disorientation.

Another pulse of danger sense went off just as Sparky's fist slammed across his jaw with a powerful hook. The momentum was immediately followed by another blow from the other side, his face jerking the opposite way barely a moment later. Rubbing his jaw, Greg felt a faint prickling sensation, the familiar ring of pain clear as day. Wow, did that actually hur-

What followed was an onslaught. Each furious punch, kick, and strike was a silent story from Sparky. He used his fists, his elbows, his knees, everything he had, almost unwilling to stop, not that Greg was asking or expecting him to. Ten minutes in, Sparky’s eyes snapped to a pair of iron pipes lying nearby. Without even glancing back at Greg, he ran for them and dashed back, face firm as he raised them and brought them down for the first time.

The pipes were… different.

They hurt, sure.

But Greg had dealt with worse.

This wasn’t even all that bad. If anything, it was a familiar pain.

It reminded him of when all this was new, when everything was still more fun and exciting, instead of chaos and carnage. Sure, there was blood, but most of it was his, and he’d be fine in no time.

Now, though?

Now, there was a lot more and he didn’t know how to feel when it wasn’t his over everything around him.

The pipes connected with Greg's body in a constant, staccato rhythm, each blow strong enough to cave in a man’s skull five times over and full of a silent rage and frustration that the blond hadn’t realized his friend was holding back. The deafening clash of metal against skin filled the air, every strike with the pipes a raw display of his frustration, a storm of violence that seemed to come from nowhere.

But eventually, the storm did end.

Sparky's powerful swings gradually slowed, his strength just as potent but his motivation clearly fading like the anger on his face. The blood-stained and utterly broken pipes fell from his hands, hitting the concrete with a loud clatter. The resulting silence felt just as loud as the pipes had been against his skin, Greg couldn’t help but notice.

With all the fury spent from his system, Sparky collapsed onto the cold, hard floor of the warehouse. Greg watched this, his eyes oddly piercing in the  dim lighting. It's not easy being the punching bag, he thought with a sad smile. Sparky was drained, emotionally if not physically, and it was obvious to his friend.

Once Sparky was done cleaning himself, Greg summoned a box of juice boxes and some frosted sugar cookies from his Inventory. He presented them to Sparky, the ordinary snacks a stark contrast to the recent chaos. "How about we have a twenty-minute snack break?" Sparky nodded in agreement, the warehouse finally returning to a sense of normalcy.

The blood that was smeared across his skin didn't faze him. It never did. It was just another thing that set him apart from the rest of humanity. But even for him, cleanliness mattered. He pulled out a packet of Wet Wipes from his Inventory, the blue light of his ability giving the mundane item a moment of luminescent glory.

He cleaned off the dried blood, every swipe erasing the crimson evidence of Sparky's unleashed wrath. Once he was clean, Greg stood up and strode over to Sparky, who was still sitting on the floor. His hand extended out, offering a Wet Wipe. "Wet Wipe, bud?"

Sparky seemed to be lost in thought, but Greg's voice snapped him back to reality. He looked up, and with a quiet "Thanks, brah," he accepted the wipe. Watching him clean up, Greg could only wonder how much of Sparky's past frustration had been vented on him today.

When Sparky was finally clean, Greg reached into his Inventory again. This time he summoned a box of juice boxes and a container of frosted sugar cookies, the items falling into both of his hands. Given what just happened, the items seemed almost laughable, more of a joke on their own than anything else, but Greg thought they were fitting.

He held them out towards Sparky. "How about we have a twenty-minute snack break?"

Sparky gave a tired nod, and the two sat down side by side to snack.

“So, Sparks…

“Mmmhmm?”

“You… uhhh, you wanna talk about it?”

"Talk about what?"

"...cool.”