The man in front of me is not someone I can take on, but I still want to. From Adept rank onward, one can bring out the elemental powers they have an affinity for,
As an adept ranker, he would have two low-level skills integrated.
Me? I don't have any elemental affinity, nor do I have any skills integrated.
My only advantage now is my hand-to-hand combat techniques. I've spent the last eight years training in basic combat every single day. If I can force him into close combat, I might stand a chance.
I genuinely believe that I might stand a chance, but believing doesn't mean that I stand a chance against him.
And I understand this very clearly, yet my body moves on a rampage, uncontrollably.
Lately, I've been failing to control myself for reasons I can't explain.
Maybe my mind has given up, and my body is just reacting blindly.
A constant tug-of-war is wreaking havoc within me,
So what chance do I have?
My fist slams into Marcus's face again and again. A creepy smile threatens to crawl across my lips. My body feels like it's winning, dominating. But my mind disagrees. It warns me—your punches aren't doing anything to him, don't get drunk on them.
In response, my body only snickers.
As I struggle to control it,
Then, a giant fist comes crashing toward my jaw. It's quick and heavy, meant to break bones.
Instinctively, I tilt my face, reducing the impact, but the force is still overwhelming. I hit the ground, blood spilling from my mouth.
My eyes pleaded to shut, but I forced them open with what little will I had left.
Two legs entered my vision. A hand clutches my shirt, yanking me up.
Marcus's face draws closer, his eyes locking onto mine. They feel strangely similar to mine—wild, uncontrolled. I want to ask why, but my body reacts again, grabbing the wrist that holds me. My right leg lashes out, kicking his knee. I'm sure the blow should shatter it—but it didn't.
Before I can follow up, his fist slams into my head.
Again.
And again.
My nose broke. My ears tore. My eyes swelled. My face became a bloody mess.
And I finally understand why I can't react to his blows. He's enhancing them with his elemental affinity. -Wind.
No matter how fast I tried to dodge, he was already there with another strike.
This is truly messed up.
Just yesterday, I was searching for a way to fight against faster opponents, and here I'm being beaten by one.
After pounding me to his heart's content, Marcus finally let his hand that clenched my shirt go.
I think—this is it, I lost.
But I didn't let my body fall. My legs struggled to hold me up, and I bent forward, barely holding myself up. My eyes lock onto the floor. Then another pair of legs enters my vision.
"Coward. Serves you right."
"How dare you sneak attack me?" It's the goat I slapped earlier. The one who couldn't even handle a single slap is now barking at me.
His cheeks now looked almost healed,
"I should've slapped him harder," I mutter.
I don't know what I'm doing, but I lunge at him, grab his legs, and throw him down.
"Aghh!" he screams.
I slam a fist into the same wound I gave him before. I slammed again and again. He wails in pain. I punch his neck, hoping to shut him up. Then I held his right leg and I twisted it, breaking it. He is an awakened one, so he can heal his leg and restore it to perfection with just a potion.
But that's enough, I'm not a sadist who enjoys seeing others in pain. And beating a fatass feels pathetic. I collapse onto the ground, breathing heavily.
Marcus looks at us both, sneering.
"Pathetic."
I turn my gaze upward. A beautiful chandelier shaped like golden leaves hangs above. Its light spills into my bloodied eyes.
I stagger, pain kissing me with gleaming eyes, but I stand. My combat stance is shaky but steady enough.
Blood- and sweat-soaked, the suit clings to my skin like a second skin. My face, disfigured and painted in hot red blood, my hands dripping red. Strangely, none of it feels uncomfortable.
I meet Marcus's eyes and whisper, low but clear,
"Let's begin."
As a non-awakener, I've always relied on my unusual physical might, enhanced with tricks, to fight against awakeners. But against an opponent like Marcus, tricks mean nothing.
In the past, I had fought many opponents faster than me, but their technique was crude and unpolished, which gave me a chance at winning, but against a well-trained opponent like Marcus…
Am I nothing?
He comes at me again, fists whistling through the air. I try to dodge—too slow. His knuckles hammer into my ribs, knocking the air out of me. My body bends, but I force it upright, legs trembling. Another strike comes to my temple.
Am I nothing?
My head tilts just enough to lessen the impact. Not perfect, not clean—but enough to survive.
I pulled back to maintain a distance and Marcus let me be, moments ago his eyes were trembling with something I couldn't grasp and now he looked at me with indifference that boiled my rage.
Am I Nothing?
Am I Nothing?
Am I Nothing?
Am I Nothing?
My mind is crumbling under the weight of this unadorned uncertainty.
Four years, for almost four years. I have kept asking myself this question again and again with no certain answer. And this uncertainty is what kept me disciplined and shaped me into the person I am today. I was proud of myself, as I didn't let anything shake me.
Really??? Was that really the case?- I don't know,
Was I just a coward who was afraid to accept the truth?
It was eating my sanity away, and I failed to acknowledge it.
Am I Nothing?
Now- This uncertainty is twisting me into despair.
Am I Nothing?, Am I Nothing?, Am I Nothing?
Am I Nothing?, Am I Nothing?, Am I Nothing?
Am I Nothing?, Am I Nothing?, Am I Nothing?
Am I Nothing?, Am I Nothing?, Am I Nothing?
Am I Nothing?…
"Aghhhhh..." I screamed,
As loud as I can, to break free from the overwhelming tornado of uncertainty.
Looking back, my life was filled with uncertainty, every moment of it.
"Aghhhh..." My scream hadn't stopped; it tore through the Euphonious music and broke the susurration of voices that filled the hall.
"Huff…" I drew a deep breath, as I felt a bit of clarity return to me, and a smile tugged on my lips, as I felt the familiar rustic odor.
Rustic odor became a part of my life, and I felt it welcoming me to the madness.
My smile deepened, and to the crowd it might look unnatural and horrifying,
A face painted in hot red blood, nose broken, bones cracked, skin torn, eyes swollen black, it's a face displaying the brutal assault it endured, and it looked utterly disgusting, and then a creepy smile tugged on it.
It is a sight that would turn onlookers' blood chilling cold, and it did.
The crowd turned cold, and some took a step back unconsciously, as if seeing a madman,
And Marcus, His eyes still glued to Indifference.
Am I Nothing?, Am I Nothing?, Am I Nothing? - I don't know, and…
"I DON'T GIVE A FUCKKKKK," I screamed again, as the clotted blood broke and fresh blood poured out.
I don't give a fuck, and that is my answer.
What if I'm nothing?
What if I'm just a useless bag of shit?
What about it? I don't care if I'm a nobody.
If I want to do something, I will do it,
Even if it's something that would kill me,
Break me,
Tear me,
Burn me,
And, Destroy me.
I will still do it.
Stupid??
So what? I'm a fucking MADMAN,
And…
I DON'T GIVE A FUCK
'It's as simple as that'
"It's as simple as that," I declared