Till Death, We Shall Not Part

Derek Worrick is a Worrick. Of course, you could tell that by his name. But what you don't know is that the Worricks have taken centre stage in the Tournaments since time began and no-one has seen a Contender this good since... well, a millenia ago.
And seeing streaks of neon blue is not helping at at all. Not when his life is at stake. The Tournament permits only life to leave the ring - only one soul to live.
It is is nearing however and is Derek ready to take what is his without being distracted on the way? Or will he allow it to slip through fingers?
(This is for the Legacy comp. A bit late thought =D)


1. Neon Streaks Re-Appear

“Punch, it Derek… Yes, that’s it! Punch it with vengeance, boy! Don’t let the other wimps get to you –“my trainer said gleefully. Apparently, I was the best they had ever seen since The Old Times which were now millennia ago. It meant that I was a Contender for the Tournament, with or without my consent seeing as I was a Worrick.

I wiped the sweat off my brow angrily and let loose another three swift punches that broke the punching bag off its hinges that were connected to the rusty, iron railings at the top of the farmhouse. I loved it. Every punch, every kick – it sent an addictive course of adrenaline through my body that I revelled in.

No, I would not lose this. The only thing I had left. It was the only thing that kept me from losing myself; and I would rather die than give them that satisfaction.

“Alright Der, you can stop now. You’ve already killed the opponent; you don’t need to make them unrecognisable too.” Martin, my dutiful trainer, tried to say it harshly but I knew he was happy with me acting this way. He wanted me to be savage. He trained me to be savage and being savage was only in my nature.

“Yeah, yeah alright.” Exhaustion was already seeping through my body; the workout had been one of my toughest: Two- three hour sessions of wrestling, one-hour of swimming and a continuous 2 of punching a bag until it fell off whereby another would be place automatically. My arms now felt detached from the rest of my body - immobile and saggy.

I semi-crawled over to the corner of the now murky training room where it would hard for people to see me .I did not want any company. Falling onto a rickety, metallic chair, I lifted my bottle to my mouth and gulped down its contents. Ahh… it was refreshing.

These workouts always took the best of me of me and I constantly made sure to have at least a litre of water on hand after every agonising hour passed.

 I took a deep breath and allowed my joints to relax. That’s what Max said anyway – take slow, deep breaths when I feel like this. Every inch of this room was layered with sweat and grime but I had no care for it now. I was too dead to even turn my head to the side.

It seemed like an eternity but finally I was ready for Max to drive me home now. That was, if I could stand up. I cracked my eyes open a centimetre as I felt a cool breeze pass me pleasingly.  

No-one. No-one directly in front of me anyway. I looked to the other corners of the training room and caught a glimpse of something. I was not sure what it was, but it had long, iron-straight black hair with streaks of neon blue.

Mmmmmm… the fatigue was definitely taking its toll on me.

“Der?” I heard a familiar voice ask. “You ready to head on home?”

It was Max. Good old Max. Always here when I thought my sanity was slipping.

“Right. Yes. Could you just help me with my bag? My arms are dead weights,” I laughed shakily.

Max looked surprised.” As if you even have to ask Der! I am your butler and I was going to take them anyway,” he huffed indignantly.

And just like that, we were on our way home. The only thing that was on my mind though, was how on earth was I going to forget about neon streaks girl? It had been more than two weeks since I had been catching glimpses of her and if I was going crazy, now was not a good time.

The date of the Tournament was dangerously close and I could not afford a slip-up.

Not when it would cost me my life.

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