Post by Macht Stärke on Mar 7, 2015 21:37:48 GMT -5
It had been two weeks since Macht had begun his training with Micky Echigo. Two weeks since all of his weaknesses were made apparent, and thrown in his face. Two weeks of rigorous training, day in and day out, with a mentor who could floor him no matter how much progress he made. The last two weeks had been hell, to say the least, but not in that it wasn't a good experience, or worthwhile. Never before had Macht been pushed so much, and made to feel so weak. Never before had he been presented with an opponent he couldn't beat, no matter how hard he tried. Never before had Macht tried so hard to prove that he was capable of bettering himself... and his training was going to bear fruit, some day soon. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon. Micky Echigo was training a fighter to be a warrior - a beast.
Day fifteen of Micky's training arrived - it was an early Saturday morning, and the sun had not yet risen - and Macht was already at the dojo, even before his mentor, who practically lived here. The cycloptic, redheaded German was in the center of the building, wearing his usual attire - a pair of black gym shorts with a red trim, a black wife-beater, his plain black eye patch, and fighting tape from his elbows to knuckles, and shins to toes - stretching out his limbs. Right arm across the chest, then left. Repeat. Right arm behind the head, then left. Repeat. Right leg extended, and hamstring stretched, then left. Repeat. And so on, until Macht had taken care of just about every muscle in his body, and his blood was flowing well enough for a training battle to take place. With the stretches taken care of, Macht began to throw in a few practice moves. He'd jab at the air, testing his speed. At first, he was a little slow - by Macht standards, of course - but he was warming up. About a minute in, and he was throwing jabs quicker than most people could even see. He was working on his form, alternating between twisting into the jabs, and keeping his torso still. After a few repetitions, he would begin to alternate between closed hands all throughout, and open-palmed jabs, closing his fist at the exact moment of the strike.
Macht had been making subtle changes to the way he fought ever since this training began. At first, it was all about dishing out powerful blows in the beginning, before his opponent could wear him out. Technique wasn't important, finesse was nonexistent. Now that his weaknesses were apparent, he'd finally started working around them. Rather than over-exerting himself from the get-go, he'd developed a simpler, quicker, more effective style of fighting. Pacing was important, gauging the opponent and using the beginning of the battle to determine how good they were at specific things. Putting pressure on the opponent was key, to force them to react, so you could get more information. Once all of the weaknesses were known, capitalize on them, and achieve victory. That was one of the things Macht had learned, here, and yet... he still could not stand up to Micky Echigo, and that caused a fire to burn in his soul, unlike any other he'd ever felt before.
While he was lost in thought, reflecting on his progress and motivations, Micky finally arrived. The giant entered the dojo quietly, having heard and felt the light thumps Macht was making on the mat as he trained. To see his student taking such initiative for the first time truly was heart-warming for the large man, and to him it was a sign that he was succeeding. "Up early today, huh?" he asked loudly, setting his bag on the floor next to the door into the dojo. Micky yawned, stretching his arms out wide. To get his blood flowing, he chose a different route than Macht, and began performing acrobatic stunts, like flips and cartwheels.
"I got antsy."
Macht shrugged, throwing another couple of jabs at the air before he stopped entirely. Beads of sweat raced down his forehead, and he wiped it off quickly. He was done with his warm-up, but he wasn't going to quit moving. He bounced from heel to heel, hands still at about shoulder height.
Day fifteen of Micky's training arrived - it was an early Saturday morning, and the sun had not yet risen - and Macht was already at the dojo, even before his mentor, who practically lived here. The cycloptic, redheaded German was in the center of the building, wearing his usual attire - a pair of black gym shorts with a red trim, a black wife-beater, his plain black eye patch, and fighting tape from his elbows to knuckles, and shins to toes - stretching out his limbs. Right arm across the chest, then left. Repeat. Right arm behind the head, then left. Repeat. Right leg extended, and hamstring stretched, then left. Repeat. And so on, until Macht had taken care of just about every muscle in his body, and his blood was flowing well enough for a training battle to take place. With the stretches taken care of, Macht began to throw in a few practice moves. He'd jab at the air, testing his speed. At first, he was a little slow - by Macht standards, of course - but he was warming up. About a minute in, and he was throwing jabs quicker than most people could even see. He was working on his form, alternating between twisting into the jabs, and keeping his torso still. After a few repetitions, he would begin to alternate between closed hands all throughout, and open-palmed jabs, closing his fist at the exact moment of the strike.
Macht had been making subtle changes to the way he fought ever since this training began. At first, it was all about dishing out powerful blows in the beginning, before his opponent could wear him out. Technique wasn't important, finesse was nonexistent. Now that his weaknesses were apparent, he'd finally started working around them. Rather than over-exerting himself from the get-go, he'd developed a simpler, quicker, more effective style of fighting. Pacing was important, gauging the opponent and using the beginning of the battle to determine how good they were at specific things. Putting pressure on the opponent was key, to force them to react, so you could get more information. Once all of the weaknesses were known, capitalize on them, and achieve victory. That was one of the things Macht had learned, here, and yet... he still could not stand up to Micky Echigo, and that caused a fire to burn in his soul, unlike any other he'd ever felt before.
While he was lost in thought, reflecting on his progress and motivations, Micky finally arrived. The giant entered the dojo quietly, having heard and felt the light thumps Macht was making on the mat as he trained. To see his student taking such initiative for the first time truly was heart-warming for the large man, and to him it was a sign that he was succeeding. "Up early today, huh?" he asked loudly, setting his bag on the floor next to the door into the dojo. Micky yawned, stretching his arms out wide. To get his blood flowing, he chose a different route than Macht, and began performing acrobatic stunts, like flips and cartwheels.
"I got antsy."
Macht shrugged, throwing another couple of jabs at the air before he stopped entirely. Beads of sweat raced down his forehead, and he wiped it off quickly. He was done with his warm-up, but he wasn't going to quit moving. He bounced from heel to heel, hands still at about shoulder height.
