Eating. Fighting. Sleeping.
That was the life of Lucks.
Morning. Breakfast. Lunch. Fight. Win. Eat. Sleep.
The child was born from death and would thrive in violence. He was not blessed by it, but blessed by its existence.
He awoke lying in a pool of water. Soaked in the sun, he took in a breath of warm air, and arose. Standing in the ankle-deep pool, the child wiped his mouth, taking a look at the blood left on the back of his hand.
Glancing up, his eyes met that of another. They asked and he answered.
Drenched in blood, he walked past the defeated challenger. He felt great.
Grinning at the crowd before him, he couldn't help but feel exalted. For he was exalted. Within their eyes, he alone was held in such regard. Godlike, divine, he was unbound.
He could feel it. He was physically changing. Becoming no longer human, he had attained enlightenment, he had attained esotericism, and now, he was attaining preeminence.
The excitement flowed through his veins, the euphoria of victory, the spark of understanding, he felt animal.
He grinned.
Straightening himself, he planted his foot back, tensing up his hands just the slightest, raising them to near chin level.
He took in a breath. Slowly. Then he exhaled. His eyes dilated.
"Begin."
At his word, they all rushed towards him. Many hands came forward, but the child was elusive. Movement unmatched and inhuman, he slipped through the blows of countless those like him, yet not quite. For his obscenity surpassed them all. His being reviled, yet existence venerated.
His every blow landed, every attack was a defeat granted to another, every move performed with such ease, it nearly evoked pity in his jubulant heart for those he put down. He felt unnaturally relaxed. His body moved like never before, as if he'd been mad his entire life and now truly sane. Everything simply made sense. He felt so maddeningly real. Falling down the edge, he'd grasped that he did not before. It was pure euphoria.
He was becoming something no longer human. Not merely flowery language or metaphorical speech, he was physically becoming something other. His flesh, changing, morphing, shaping itself into a form more suited for battle. Evolution recasted, he felt everything. His body, his muscles, his bones, his tendons, his veins, his soul.
It was insane. Seeing what couldn't have been seen before. Realizing what he could not before. Being what he could not become. Every strike he threw slowly grew increasingly more violent as he was unable to contain the excitement in his veins, with it bubbling out into every jolt of action.
Violence.
Then it was over.
Standing upon the scattered bodies of defeated challengers. Victory washed over his back like a shower of gold. As the feeling simmered, he looked at his fist and unclenched his hand.
Oh wow, the world is wonderful. The child thought.