But Not Too Hard (Un-Betaed Draft) (Patreon)

But Not Too Hard

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“You’re strong, Sparks. Strong, fast and tough,” Greg began, his posture relaxed yet confident,  hands behind his head. He tapped the cold concrete floor with a single foot, a rhythmic beat that echoed around the expanse of the dimly lit warehouse. His mouth a flat line and his eyes concealed behind his glasses, his expression was pretty much unreadable, but his mind was a frenzied storm of calculations and tactical assessments.

“I mean, not that strong, fast or tough, especially when compared to like… me,” he drawled, cocking his head to the side as if musing over an interesting hypothesis. His nonchalant tone didn’t falter in the slightest, even as Sparky rolled his eyes dismissively. The heat of the last lesson was still clear in the air, but both of them had chosen not to address it, simply deciding to deal with that little tantrum later. “But you know, pretty solidly not bad all around.”

Sparky sucked his teeth dismissively, shooting Greg a tired look as if to say ‘get on with it’.

“And that’s kind of the problem,” Greg said, letting his arms drop loosely at his sides as he shook his head. “Your not bad is a regular guy’s ‘oh my god, that’s a fucking monster’. You could probably mow through a small army of mooks on your own and probably kill more than half of them. You can deliver at least five times as much force as the average guy with almost any hit. That’s… Well, that’s kinda deadly.”

The corners of his mouth curled downwards, morphing his smirk into a contemplative frown as he continued his line of thought privately. I’ve already let him use me as a punching bag, let him go all out. But I can’t let him get used to that. Dude’s got serious anger issues under all that chill. He’ll actually kill someone and pretty easily too. He’s not really gonna be fighting Brutes if he fights anyone. Probably just regular dudes with guns or bats or something. Need to teach him where to hit but also that hitting hard is bad.

The bronze-skinned teenager narrowed his eyes, his expression clearly reading confusion at where Greg seemed to be going with all of this. After a few seconds of tense silence, Greg focused in thought as they stood in the center of the dim warehouse, Finally, Sparky’s frustration got the best of him.

His arms crossed defensively over his chest, a challenge wrapped in clear curiosity to what Greg was getting at. “... So, yeah, I’m strong. We knew this. What’s your point?”

With a slow nod, as if concluding a mental debate, Greg raised his gaze to meet Sparky's challenging stare. He stretched his hands out, his fingers popping in anticipation. It was time for the real lesson to begin. “Get in position,” the blond commanded. “I’m gonna show you where to hit and why hitting too hard is a no-no.”

Greg’s frown flashed into a dark grin as across from him, Sparky was still trying to find his footing, frame taut as he tried to prepare for the next onslaught. Come on, Sparkplug. Let’s speedrun through this one. No pain, no gain. “Lesson Five; But Not Too Hard.”

Without warning, he rushed at Sparky, body controlled as he focused on restraining his superhuman strength to mimic that of the average guy. Despite this, he let himself push the throttle slightly on his speed, every movement a blur of quicksilver motion and jolting impact, but not so fast that Sparky was unable to keep track of. Each strike was named, every  body part he targeted turned into a painful, impromptu biology lesson.

"Nose," he announced, his jab quick and calculated as it connected with Sparky's face. His friend’s head snapped back, his golden eyes glistening with unexpected tears. "Very painful, usually bleeds, and not hard to break."

As Sparky did his best to blink away the shock and moisture, Greg struck again. His hand snapped up, fingers stiff as they delivered a sharp chop right between the other boy’s nose and upper lip. "Philtrum. Nerve cluster. Hurts, doesn't it? Next up is…”

His eyes shifted and Sparky tried to dodge, but it was too late.

In an almost lazy move, he spun on his heels, catching Sparky with a powerful slap to his left ear. "Ears," he taunted, watching the boy wobble on his feet in a way that let Greg knew his head was ringing, equilibrium shot. "Disorients you, knocks you off balance. Easy way to put a person down. Most people don't need much. Just one good hit," he added, a twisted smile tugging at his lips.

Before Sparky could fully recover his equilibrium, Greg pressed on, his lecture punctuated with swift, brutal strikes. "Throat," he declared, and his hand chopped into the windpipe. Sparky choked, hands automatically going to his neck to protect his throat. "Slightest hit to the throat stuns anyone. Painful as all heck and people immediately hold their throat when it's hit, letting you get all sorts of hits in. Like to the..."

Greg twisted to evade an enraged, blind lunge from Sparky, the darker-skinned teenager fighting through the pain as he attempted a tackle. In a whirlwind of movement, Greg didn’t let his momentum go to waste as he spun around to deliver a swift kick to the-.

"Knee," he stated with a chuckle as Sparky crashed onto the cold warehouse floor. "Knees are a joint. Joints can be dislocated. Just a little pain, and any fight's over."

Sparky wasn’t done, though. With superhuman grace, he performed a kip-up, a powerful handspring, jumping to his feet in an instant and charged again, teeth gritted.

The blond was faster, though.

Shifting into a literal blur of motion, his hands darted out with just two fingers on each hand to deliver a flurry of surgical taps, each blow carrying just enough force to get his point across.

"Temples," Greg intoned, two fingers tapping Sparky's head with a sharp jab on each side, the dual strikes a small hammer against the most sensitive part of his skull.

"Skull base," he continued, his hands moving down to the back of Sparky's head. There, just above the nape of the neck, another tap struck home, disrupting the other boy's equilibrium.

"Jaw," was the next target. A swift tap under the hinge of the jaw sent a ripple of pain through Sparky's face, his mouth slamming shut with an audible click of his teeth.

"Side of the neck," Greg declared. His hand slid lower, fingers brushing along the column of Sparky's throat, a tickling threat rather than a pointed jab.

"Clavicle," Greg tapped his knuckle against the curve of Sparky's shoulder, the point where bone met flesh, a spot that could have — and had — brought a grown man to tears and to his knees with the right amount of force.

"Ribs," His fingers prodded at Sparky's chest, not hard enough to break anything, but a stern reminder nonetheless.

"Bladder," the tap came lower now, aimed at the center of Sparky's lower torso, a quick jab that nonetheless elicited a flinch.

"Shins," Greg moved lower, delivering a stinging slap to the vulnerable bone, drawing a sharp wince from Sparky.

"Thigh Nerve," A finger jabbed into the meat of Sparky's thigh, finding the pressure point nestled there.

"Kidneys. Spine. Tailbone." Greg’s fingers moved to Sparky's back, tapping a path down his spine, each touch precise and firm, illustrating just how many points of vulnerability a body held.

"Achilles Tendon," He finished, bending down to tap the back of Sparky's ankle, the touch just enough to make the other boy shift his weight uneasily.

“And finally…”

Greg's hand hovered just an inch away from Sparky's torso, and then he whipped it forward, delivering a powerful punch in a span of barely an inch. "Solar Plexus."

His last strike sent Sparky flying, the boy sprawling down to the floor once more, leaving him winded and sprawled out beneath Greg. He looked up, dazed and panting, the ceiling above him spinning. “...ow. What the fuck was that?”

With a satisfied smirk, Greg stepped forward, looking down at Sparky. "Apparently, it's called Jeet Kun Do. I picked it up from a book, but honestly, I think I was getting it down on my own already. Either way, it's just the way I learned to fight without my swords."

Dropping down to a crouch, he reached out his hand to Sparky, using the other to adjust his glasses. "Get up, sparkplug. “He clasped his friend’s raised hand, and grinned. “We've got a city to save."