Post by Macht Stärke on Feb 23, 2015 5:34:08 GMT -5
Today was a day not unlike many others for Macht, the one-eyed German. Once again he found himself in a scuffle against a number of opponents, once again he would fight them off to help someone else, once again that someone else would run, and once again, it would look like he instigated the fight. This was a scenario that was beginning to lose its touch, as it recurred so often it almost seemed as though it was all the redhead did with his time. This time, it was in a local park, not far from #552, and Macht prevented a purse-snatching. Four bodies already laid unconscious around him, and with a heavy haymaker to a man's chin, a fifth would fall heavily to the ground, slumping against the concrete.
"That's right, asshole," Macht spat out with heavy breathing. His arms fell to his side, his chest heaving, and he faced the sky, eye shut. Beads of sweat rushed down his face, and his body was shaking. Even though he'd taken no real damage, his body was frail, and exerting as much energy as he did drained him, and he knew it. He was quietly thankful that there were only five of them. And, with the only people Macht knew were around being unconscious, it was quiet, which meant it would be that much nicer and easier to catch his breath.
The quiet Macht enjoyed would be interrupted by the sound of slow clapping, and a sigh escaped the German's lips as he heard it. His eye slowly opened, and he lowered his chin, tilting his head in the direction of the sound. He saw a large man, roughly a half a foot taller than himself, leaning against a tree, with a grin on his face.
"Can I help you?" the German spat almost aggressively. A laugh escaped the man's lips and he shrugged. "Doubtful, Stärke," he replied. Macht frowned and cocked an eyebrow, his hands retreating to his pockets. "You've got me at a disadvantage, guy." The man nodded, holding up a finger. He approached the one-eyed German, and Macht visibly tensed. The man laughed, before shaking his head, and holding out a hand.
"Echigo's the name. Micky Echigo. I work with Takehiro."
Macht took the hand warily, and then retracted his arm quickly. "I can see I don't need to introduce myself."
Micky shrugged. "That won't be necessary. Now, I'm sure you'd like to know why I'm here?" He waited for a response, though Macht simply stared. "You're what I like to call a glass cannon, Stärke - you hit hard, you hit fast, and then you're broken. You took what, three hits, and you can hardly stand. And these guys were just random small fry. I can't imagine how roughed up you'd get if you fought one of my boys."
"You wanna try me, buddy?" Macht snapped indignantly, pulling his hands from his pockets and clenching his fists. He began to approach Micky, and once again, the large man simply laughed. "You don't know jack. Try me." The man cocked a brow. "If you insist," Micky sighed, letting his arms hang at his sides. He waited a second before raising his left, gesturing for Macht to strike at him.
Without a moment's hesitation, Macht charged, kicking off his right foot and turning to his left. As he did, his body would rotate so that his right arm was parallel to the ground, and he would slam his right instep at the left side of Micky's neck. Micky avoided this attack simply by stepping back, which would cause Macht's body to complete a rotation, and his foot would hit the ground. Regaining his footing, the redhead would not let up, and dashed forward, sending out two quick jabs at Micky's stomach. Micky slapped both of the jabs away, and Macht pulled his arms back before they could be caught. Having closed the distance, he would hop upward and ram his right forearm at Micky's left cheek. It would connect, and Micky would stumble backward a bit.
"Not bad - mean strike. Reckless, but -"
"SHUT UP!"
Macht would press his assault, spinning on his right leg and sending out a left back kick at Micky's stomach. Micky's right hand shot out, catching the foot, and with incredible strength, he would push forward, easily sending Macht off balance and causing him to fall backward. The German rolled over, but kicked off of the ground in another charge as soon as his feet made contact. He leaped once again, pulling his right arm back to strike, but he would be unsuccessful. With one swift movement, Micky would make it incredibly clear how outclassed Macht was. He stepped inward, snapping out a right side kick at Macht's stomach, and the boy flew back through the air.
Macht spit out blood from the force of the kick, and once he hit the ground, he rolled at least a few yards before he pulled at the grass to stop himself. He had labored breaths and his chest was heaving harder than it ever had been. His vision almost seemed to blur, and his ears were ringing. His right hand clutched his stomach, while his left tried to support his weight so he could at least get to a knee. "F- FUCK!" Macht managed to spit out, before falling to the grass. His arms were much too shaky to support his weight, it seemed.
"Who the h-hell... who the hell are you...?"
Micky's hands fell to his pockets and he walked over to the downed German. He grinned, squatting so that all his weight was on the balls of his feet, and he leaned over to see just how bad Macht was hurting. He remained silent first, and when Macht tried to speak up, he'd hold up a finger in protest. His palm would cradle his chin, elbow resting on his knee, and then he would finally speak up.
"One kick, and you're out. This is bad. No way to sugarcoat it either. You apparently need some serious work on your constitution, all I needed was a quick test to be sure of that. You're not quick enough to not worry about getting hit, and you don't hit hard enough to hope for any one-shot knock-outs. And, it is my job to help you out in that department, Stärke. So, if you wouldn't mind coming with me."
Micky grabbed the back of Macht's collar before he could even protest, and despite how much he wanted to, he really couldn't. He would, against his will, be thrown upon Micky's shoulders, and the giant of a man would begin to waltz nonchalantly through the park. He whistled a hearty tune, and Macht only wished he had the energy to shut the guy up. He tried to move his hands and slap him a little, but he could not.
"Where are you... where are you taking... me..."
"You'll see, Stärke. You will see."
And Macht was out.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Macht woke up in a soft bed, in a room that gave off very martial artsy, dojo-y feels to it. He squinted his eye, taking a moment to adjust to the lighting situation, and then pushed himself into an upright sitting position. He wasn't really in pain any longer, but he was terribly sore, and his entire torso hurt. He tried not to worry too much about that, though, as he was much more focused on where he was at the moment. He threw his blanket off of himself and hopped out of the bed, realizing only now that he was in different clothing a wife-beater, and some black, loose gym shorts. He was confused, but he wouldn't focus on that right now. He looked around the room and, upon spotting a door, he made his way out.
Upon exiting the room, Macht would find himself in a large dojo, with Micky standing in the center of it. He, too, was wearing only a simple black wife-beater and loose black gym shorts, but his forearms and shins were wrapped in fighting tape. The redhead frowned when he saw him, and slowly approached. Micky smiled, pulling some tape out of his pocket and throwing it in Macht's direction.
"What is this, the Matrix?" he remarked, catching the tape. He caught the gist of what was gonna go down, so he began to tape his forearms rather than ask questions. "You know Kung Fu?" besides that one.
"We're here to train you, Stärke. To take a hit, to control how you attack, et cetera." He began to roll out his shoulders.
"Yeah, I put that much together, guy -"
'Echigo."
"-... Echigo."
Macht finished taping his forearms and shins, and then tossed the tape back to Micky. The large man caught the tape, but then simply tossed it to the side, where all the rest of his stuff was. "We won't be leaving until I see some progress, so it's best we get started sooner rather than later." Macht frowned, bending slightly at the knees. He was about to lunge forward, before Micky shook his head. "No, you tried that approach already. You went all out, showed off your speed right away, left yourself way open, and it let me take you down in one hit. We're going to go about this round a little differently." And he had a point. Macht stopped, eye wide, in realization of how much he gave away despite his speed.
Easing up a little, Macht's arms curled at the elbow so that his fists were at about shoulder height, and he made a moderate dash in Micky's direction. He stepped to his left, throwing a right hook for the guy's stomach. Micky turned to his right, bringing his left hand up to push at Macht's elbow as it would pass, allowing the hook to miss its target entirely and send Macht's momentum forward continuously. As Macht passed, he snapped his right foot out at the German's back, kicking hard but without the same force as before. Having expected it to hit, he was slightly surprised to see Macht regain his balance so quickly, and duck under the kick. He used the force from Micky's push to allow him to turn to his left, so that the kick would be aimed toward his front. He let it pass overhead, before slamming an elbow out at Micky's inner thigh and then charging forward with a right haymaker at the guy's stomach.
Micky took the blow to his thigh with a grimace, acknowledging that there was good force behind it, but he wouldn't take the haymaker. As it came, Micky's right hand would catch Macht's fist. He would allow his weight to shift toward his kicking foot, and once it hit the ground again, he pushed forward, hard, and slammed his forearm into Macht's forehead. The force was enough to knock the German off his feet and fly back a few feet, but because Micky still had a hold on his hand, his legs would fly out first, and the large man would slam him onto the ground, facing downward.
"Better," he remarked, letting go of Macht's hand and taking a step back. "However, you put too much into your attacks for your speed. They leave you open for counter attacks, especially if they fail, and when - not if - they do, you're done. If you commit to an attack like that, there's no getting out of it." Macht struggled to stand once again, though this time, Micky would help him to his feet. The German's limbs were shaking visibly, but he had the determination to keep going, which was good.
"That all you got... guy?"
The German grinned, and Micky couldn't help but grin himself. Macht got into his same stance from a moment ago, and Micky would mirror it. All Macht needed to do was build up the stamina to match his determination, and he would be a formidable fighter, and turning him into one was Micky's goal, so he would keep Macht here as long as it took. They would go round after round, Macht falling each time, though he continued to get back up every single time.
It looked as though Macht finally had an actual teacher in the ways of combat.
"That's right, asshole," Macht spat out with heavy breathing. His arms fell to his side, his chest heaving, and he faced the sky, eye shut. Beads of sweat rushed down his face, and his body was shaking. Even though he'd taken no real damage, his body was frail, and exerting as much energy as he did drained him, and he knew it. He was quietly thankful that there were only five of them. And, with the only people Macht knew were around being unconscious, it was quiet, which meant it would be that much nicer and easier to catch his breath.
The quiet Macht enjoyed would be interrupted by the sound of slow clapping, and a sigh escaped the German's lips as he heard it. His eye slowly opened, and he lowered his chin, tilting his head in the direction of the sound. He saw a large man, roughly a half a foot taller than himself, leaning against a tree, with a grin on his face.
"Can I help you?" the German spat almost aggressively. A laugh escaped the man's lips and he shrugged. "Doubtful, Stärke," he replied. Macht frowned and cocked an eyebrow, his hands retreating to his pockets. "You've got me at a disadvantage, guy." The man nodded, holding up a finger. He approached the one-eyed German, and Macht visibly tensed. The man laughed, before shaking his head, and holding out a hand.
"Echigo's the name. Micky Echigo. I work with Takehiro."
Macht took the hand warily, and then retracted his arm quickly. "I can see I don't need to introduce myself."
Micky shrugged. "That won't be necessary. Now, I'm sure you'd like to know why I'm here?" He waited for a response, though Macht simply stared. "You're what I like to call a glass cannon, Stärke - you hit hard, you hit fast, and then you're broken. You took what, three hits, and you can hardly stand. And these guys were just random small fry. I can't imagine how roughed up you'd get if you fought one of my boys."
"You wanna try me, buddy?" Macht snapped indignantly, pulling his hands from his pockets and clenching his fists. He began to approach Micky, and once again, the large man simply laughed. "You don't know jack. Try me." The man cocked a brow. "If you insist," Micky sighed, letting his arms hang at his sides. He waited a second before raising his left, gesturing for Macht to strike at him.
Without a moment's hesitation, Macht charged, kicking off his right foot and turning to his left. As he did, his body would rotate so that his right arm was parallel to the ground, and he would slam his right instep at the left side of Micky's neck. Micky avoided this attack simply by stepping back, which would cause Macht's body to complete a rotation, and his foot would hit the ground. Regaining his footing, the redhead would not let up, and dashed forward, sending out two quick jabs at Micky's stomach. Micky slapped both of the jabs away, and Macht pulled his arms back before they could be caught. Having closed the distance, he would hop upward and ram his right forearm at Micky's left cheek. It would connect, and Micky would stumble backward a bit.
"Not bad - mean strike. Reckless, but -"
"SHUT UP!"
Macht would press his assault, spinning on his right leg and sending out a left back kick at Micky's stomach. Micky's right hand shot out, catching the foot, and with incredible strength, he would push forward, easily sending Macht off balance and causing him to fall backward. The German rolled over, but kicked off of the ground in another charge as soon as his feet made contact. He leaped once again, pulling his right arm back to strike, but he would be unsuccessful. With one swift movement, Micky would make it incredibly clear how outclassed Macht was. He stepped inward, snapping out a right side kick at Macht's stomach, and the boy flew back through the air.
Macht spit out blood from the force of the kick, and once he hit the ground, he rolled at least a few yards before he pulled at the grass to stop himself. He had labored breaths and his chest was heaving harder than it ever had been. His vision almost seemed to blur, and his ears were ringing. His right hand clutched his stomach, while his left tried to support his weight so he could at least get to a knee. "F- FUCK!" Macht managed to spit out, before falling to the grass. His arms were much too shaky to support his weight, it seemed.
"Who the h-hell... who the hell are you...?"
Micky's hands fell to his pockets and he walked over to the downed German. He grinned, squatting so that all his weight was on the balls of his feet, and he leaned over to see just how bad Macht was hurting. He remained silent first, and when Macht tried to speak up, he'd hold up a finger in protest. His palm would cradle his chin, elbow resting on his knee, and then he would finally speak up.
"One kick, and you're out. This is bad. No way to sugarcoat it either. You apparently need some serious work on your constitution, all I needed was a quick test to be sure of that. You're not quick enough to not worry about getting hit, and you don't hit hard enough to hope for any one-shot knock-outs. And, it is my job to help you out in that department, Stärke. So, if you wouldn't mind coming with me."
Micky grabbed the back of Macht's collar before he could even protest, and despite how much he wanted to, he really couldn't. He would, against his will, be thrown upon Micky's shoulders, and the giant of a man would begin to waltz nonchalantly through the park. He whistled a hearty tune, and Macht only wished he had the energy to shut the guy up. He tried to move his hands and slap him a little, but he could not.
"Where are you... where are you taking... me..."
"You'll see, Stärke. You will see."
And Macht was out.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Macht woke up in a soft bed, in a room that gave off very martial artsy, dojo-y feels to it. He squinted his eye, taking a moment to adjust to the lighting situation, and then pushed himself into an upright sitting position. He wasn't really in pain any longer, but he was terribly sore, and his entire torso hurt. He tried not to worry too much about that, though, as he was much more focused on where he was at the moment. He threw his blanket off of himself and hopped out of the bed, realizing only now that he was in different clothing a wife-beater, and some black, loose gym shorts. He was confused, but he wouldn't focus on that right now. He looked around the room and, upon spotting a door, he made his way out.
Upon exiting the room, Macht would find himself in a large dojo, with Micky standing in the center of it. He, too, was wearing only a simple black wife-beater and loose black gym shorts, but his forearms and shins were wrapped in fighting tape. The redhead frowned when he saw him, and slowly approached. Micky smiled, pulling some tape out of his pocket and throwing it in Macht's direction.
"What is this, the Matrix?" he remarked, catching the tape. He caught the gist of what was gonna go down, so he began to tape his forearms rather than ask questions. "You know Kung Fu?" besides that one.
"We're here to train you, Stärke. To take a hit, to control how you attack, et cetera." He began to roll out his shoulders.
"Yeah, I put that much together, guy -"
'Echigo."
"-... Echigo."
Macht finished taping his forearms and shins, and then tossed the tape back to Micky. The large man caught the tape, but then simply tossed it to the side, where all the rest of his stuff was. "We won't be leaving until I see some progress, so it's best we get started sooner rather than later." Macht frowned, bending slightly at the knees. He was about to lunge forward, before Micky shook his head. "No, you tried that approach already. You went all out, showed off your speed right away, left yourself way open, and it let me take you down in one hit. We're going to go about this round a little differently." And he had a point. Macht stopped, eye wide, in realization of how much he gave away despite his speed.
Easing up a little, Macht's arms curled at the elbow so that his fists were at about shoulder height, and he made a moderate dash in Micky's direction. He stepped to his left, throwing a right hook for the guy's stomach. Micky turned to his right, bringing his left hand up to push at Macht's elbow as it would pass, allowing the hook to miss its target entirely and send Macht's momentum forward continuously. As Macht passed, he snapped his right foot out at the German's back, kicking hard but without the same force as before. Having expected it to hit, he was slightly surprised to see Macht regain his balance so quickly, and duck under the kick. He used the force from Micky's push to allow him to turn to his left, so that the kick would be aimed toward his front. He let it pass overhead, before slamming an elbow out at Micky's inner thigh and then charging forward with a right haymaker at the guy's stomach.
Micky took the blow to his thigh with a grimace, acknowledging that there was good force behind it, but he wouldn't take the haymaker. As it came, Micky's right hand would catch Macht's fist. He would allow his weight to shift toward his kicking foot, and once it hit the ground again, he pushed forward, hard, and slammed his forearm into Macht's forehead. The force was enough to knock the German off his feet and fly back a few feet, but because Micky still had a hold on his hand, his legs would fly out first, and the large man would slam him onto the ground, facing downward.
"Better," he remarked, letting go of Macht's hand and taking a step back. "However, you put too much into your attacks for your speed. They leave you open for counter attacks, especially if they fail, and when - not if - they do, you're done. If you commit to an attack like that, there's no getting out of it." Macht struggled to stand once again, though this time, Micky would help him to his feet. The German's limbs were shaking visibly, but he had the determination to keep going, which was good.
"That all you got... guy?"
The German grinned, and Micky couldn't help but grin himself. Macht got into his same stance from a moment ago, and Micky would mirror it. All Macht needed to do was build up the stamina to match his determination, and he would be a formidable fighter, and turning him into one was Micky's goal, so he would keep Macht here as long as it took. They would go round after round, Macht falling each time, though he continued to get back up every single time.
It looked as though Macht finally had an actual teacher in the ways of combat.
