- Mike's Fight Club -
The place was pretty run down to be completely honest, but I didn't really care about the quality of equipment, more-so the quality of instruction. And from the website 'Mike' was apparently and Ex-navy seal and a blackbelt (or equivalent) in multiple disciplines including but not limited to: Jiu-jitsu, Muay-thai, Taekwondo, Judo, Karate, Kali, Kenjitsu, Krabi-Krabong, and even goddamn Fencing.
Why in god's name was such a supposedly accomplished martial artist slumming it out in this backwater of a borough was beyond me.
When I entered the empty Dojo I immediately spied a man I assumed to be Mike wailing on a full-sized punching bag with the fury of a thousand suns.
It was clear from the lines across his face the man had seen some shit, his ears rough and skin coarse.
"Hello!" I said aloud, pulling the man out of punching trance.
He turned, surprised to see me.
"Can I help ya kid?"
I nodded, "yeah I'd like to sign up with your dojo."
Mike nodded, "What styles are you looking for."
I tapped my chin for moment. "Honestly I'd like to try and get a foundation in everything you know, but I'd like a focus on sword-based arts if possible."
Mike gave me a curious look but shrugged his head. "Sure can do, lessons are paid weekly, and if you're looking for the full package that's one-sixty a week, does that work for ya?"
One-sixty, Jesus. But Mike seems worth it, no non-sense, straight to the point and from the looks of it I might get the place all to myself.
"Works for me!" I say with a smile.
—
Three hours later I stumbled back into my apartment, my clothes pasted onto my skin with sweat. I was beaten and bruised — though most of the lesson was spent getting to know my current level.
Unsurprisingly he beat the shit out of me. I had never been the most active guy, and after the death of my parents I had become a near hermit. Mike told me we'd be working on conditioning first — going to the extent of giving me goddamn homework.
Namely morning runs and stretches.
He was surprised however at my reaction speed. For an amateur he told me I reacted like a pro.
It was all Force Sense of course. The pre-cognition I had practiced last night had continued to be honed during Mikes lesson. Though I quickly found the difference between dodging a strung up tennis-ball and a martial fist.
It was not the same.
I had a lot more practice to go before I'd be dodging and deflecting blaster shots that's for sure.
That night I quickly half-assed my homework before sinking into a Force Meditation.
Something odd happened, probably because the beatings and learnings were so fresh in my mind but I started 'lucid dreaming', finding Mike staring at me in an endless void of white. Then the man fucking charged at me and started wailing on me.
I dodged his attacks, the Force responding to my intent and guiding my actions. I felt the air of fists whip past me mere millimeters from my face. My eyes widened as I twisted away from a round-house kick. Mike maintained his momentum spinning gracefully into another back-side kick that caught me in the stomach.
I flew backwards rolling across the perfectly white landscape, the wind stolen from my lungs.
uuaaagh…why does it hurt if I'm dreaming--
I quickly lost all concept of time as Mike continued to beat the shit out of me. It felt like hours, easily close to a day of non-stop pummeling.
And as much as it literally pained me to say, I was improving rapidly. I let the Force flow through me with wild abandon, free from flying eyes I began to tap into its intangible potential.
I began channeling Force directly into my body, enhancing my physical capabilities and reducing my exhaustion by a slight degree.
My Precognition was improving rapidly under pressure, Mike's painful corrections a great motivator. I slowly began to do more than react — I anticipated.
By the end of the session I was dripping with sweat, my hold over the Force weak. I could only stare as Mike slowly approached me with a grin, his arm cocked comically back before he sank his fist into my nose, knocking me out.
When I awoke I felt tired, beaten both physically and mentally, my head pulsed with pain. I looked over at my alarm clock.
Holy shit… only three hours had passed.
I couldn't help but grin. The newfound ability was a literal pain to use, but the sheer benefit it provided was immense.
Image training was going to help my progress immensely, if I don't pass out from exhaustion beforehand.
I groaned as I closed my eyes again. Letting true sleep numb my pains.
—
I arrived at school early the next day feeling more tired than ever. Mike promised a world of hurt if I didn't do my morning runs, and after last night, I believed the man.
I wouldn't skimp on endurance and strength training, because despite being connected to the Force I was still just human. Jedi's were incredible warriors, to a super-human potential, especially when making full-use of the Force, but the reality of my fleshly coil still remained — a bullet to the head, and I'm dead.
I needed something more, the Super-Soldier-Serum perhaps? But I knew that was a long shot, not to mention guarded by the U.S military and subsequently Hydra. The closest alternative was the Lizard Serum from Connors, or god forbid Osborn's Goblin Juice.
Even if I did steal the secret sauce I didn't have the knowledge to perfect it. Fuck, I might actually have to study.
I groaned. It looks like my only option is maximizing my Force potential, training and paying a visit to Ye Old' Ancient One.
I'll do it this weekend, right after I pray that she doesn't smite me from existence.
My day went by in relative boredom, if not a practice in my stealth abilities. I was using Jean as a training dummy, her presence in the Force was significantly brighter than the average person. It was like being stalked by a lightbulb.
But to honest, it was quickly getting boring. I didn't want to be stalked out of getting my Mid, Mid Town pizza.
I will not be held hostage.
When lunch hit I made my way to cafeteria and found myself a quiet table pressed against a pillar. It was an overtly anti-social spot. A clear sign of solitude.
Yet even so…
I found myself face to face with Jean motherfucking Grey once again…
She winced when I let out a tired sigh.
"S-sorry?"
"It's fine… but really why? Why are you following me like some sort of sad puppy, as pretty as you are, you kinda ruined it by trying to dig into my head, twice." I said bluntly, giving a longing gaze to my pizza.
Jean's face flushed with both embarrassment and guilt averting her emerald eyes from my dark orbs. Ah fuck, now I feel bad.
I let the silence linger, a little longer than I wished to.
Jean looked back at me, a newfound determination in her emerald eyes. "I'm sorry, again. But still… I'd like to extend an invitation to visit our school. I know you said you aren't a mutant, but how do you know?"
I held her gaze. Letting her words stew for a moment.
"What will you do if I say no?"
"...um, nothing?" She replied, though it sounded like she wasn't sure herself.
"Have you told anyone else that you think I'm a mutant?" I asked, my face becoming deadpan. I saw her face sour a little.
"Y-yeah, but I promise he wouldn't tell anyone."
I sighed. "Thats messed up, you literally pried that information from my head. How about this, I promise at some point to visit you all — on my own terms, in due time — but seriously, you need to work on your approach, take me out to dinner or something first..."
Jean quirked her head slightly. "Are you asking me out on a date?" She asked in an uncertain whisper.
I shook my head, "No, I'm asking you to ask me on a date before meeting your telepathic daddy or friends or whatever."
Jean chuckled a little at the thought, letting out a sigh of relief over not being told to fuck off. I pulled out my seriously outdated phone, some-off brand Nokia and handed it to her.
After entering in her number she smiled and returned to her fellow mutant friends, leaving me to finish my once again, cold pizza in peace.
Or so I thought, since not a minute later I felt a wave of anger flood through the force. It wasn't hard to figure out who it was, as Scott's anger flared towards me.
I could only sigh, I didn't ask for this. Damned if I do, Damned if I don't…
Though I won't lie and say I don't find enjoyment with messing with the red-eyed cycloptic douche.
—
"You've improved." Mike praised as he threw me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I slammed down onto the cracked training mats, the air stolen from my lungs.
"T-thanks…" I said with a groan, rolling away from a curb stomp. Mike had a feral grin as I dodged away, the Force screaming at me as he chased me down.
"No seriously kid, it's only been a couple days but it feels like I've been training you for months. You've got some serious talent."
I gave him a weak smile as I felt my arm get locked into an arm-bar. "YIELD!" I screamed, feeling the tendon in my shoulders groan. I let out a sigh of relief as he stepped away with a satisfied smile.
"Good job today — keep up your conditioning and you'll be worth your salt in no time. Also, I'm out of town for the weekend so don't bother showing up, I'll be back on Tuesday." Mike rubbed his hands dry with a dirty towel placing around at the equally as dirty gym.
"Tell you what kid, clean this place up for me every Friday and I'll reduce your weekly costs by half."
I groaned, "Can I use the equipment while you're gone?" I asked pulling myself to my feet.
Mike nodded, "Yeah just don't break anything, or it'll be paid back in blood."
I shivered a little giving the man a nod. I grabbed my stuff and looked over my shoulder giving him a tired wave. "Thanks for today Mike, I'll see you on Tuesday, stay safe."
"You too kid."
It was finally Friday.
My first week in this new world quickly coming to a close. Time had begun to fly as I got into a muscle-aching routine. I'd wake up and run, go to class, get pestered by the X-gang, death-stared by Scott, finish classes, hit up the library, then go to the dojo, get beat up by Mike, then stumble home to sink into more Force meditative practice, do my homework, and either pass out or do image training in my dream-scape.
Honestly, I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it.
There was a certain satisfaction with having such a productive schedule, and even more-so when I directly felt the growth in my prowess.
I never used the Force fully when sparring with Mike at the dojo, the guy was a hawk, and any sort of precognitive fuckery would surely make the man suspicious.
In my dreamscape however…
Force Sense had grown leaps and bounds. At full force (pun intended) I could easily evade Mike's onslaught for over ten minutes; thirty if I also empowered myself with Force Body.
My current limit was peak-human strength, with momentary bursts of super-human prowess, namely through liberal use of Force Dash — an absolutely baller ability that had me burst into a blur of speed, covering meters in the blink of an eye.
To be frank, I was surprised at my progress. Was the Force so easy to master? Did I have a stupid high Midi-chlorian count? Or was the fact that the power came from a literal God at play here? Maybe all of the above.
From my memories alone I knew that getting to such a level took months if not years of training — something I was doing in a matter of days.
Though, unlike an actual Padawan/Knight/Jedi master, I didn't have to spend years learning the rites, history, and mind-numbing moral dogma that being a 'Jedi' entailed.
Just pure Martial & Force mastery.
My Force Telekinesis was also coming swimmingly, I decided to go the control over power route. Speed of activation over raw strength.
I practiced what I monikered as my Foundations.
Force: Push, Pull, and General Manipulation.
At the moment it took over two seconds to channel a cannon-ball sized projectile of Force, that hit with enough strength to crack concrete — and likely bone just as easily; my main focus was reducing the time to cast.
Force Pull was in a similar state, though I also had to contend with the metaphysical weight limit that strained my mind like a muscle under tension. My max weight was about 250lbs, about double my bodyweight. Depending on the weight it could take 1 to 5 seconds to cast properly. If the object was small and light, like a tennis-ball, I could yank it through space fast enough that you'd miss it if you blinked.
But if the object was on the heavier-side, like a wooden table, I needed to build up my pulling force before it would float towards me and a walking pace.
That last limitation was slowly being remedied by my third and final Foundation, Force Manipulation.
It was really just raw practice. Making an object float above my hand and spin, or having tennis-balls orbit around me without colliding. This was also where I trained my max-strength with stolen weights and boulders I borrowed with my Storage.
Suffice to say I was now an assuredly capable Padawan — only, I had no weapon, no lightsaber to call my own.
But I plan to change that tomorrow.
It was time to visit a rather bald sorceress', if she was even still alive…