The predicament of the hero!

A while early.

"Huff!" "Huff!" "Huff!"

Sweat trickled down the man's face, joining with the wetness covering his entire body. He pulled back his hands, positioned them behind his head, and swung it down. The sword in his hands sliced the air before coming to a stop just inches away from the ground, a millisecond delay, and it would have carved the ground.

"How!" He swung it again. "Fucking!" Again. "Dare!" Again. "He?!"

The whole training looks like a madman skewering a poor fellow. Spit flew from his mouth. Blood leaked from his lips as he bit on them hard.

His eyes were menacing, defeated, and murderous. His mind was a storm waiting to devour something and everything. "How? How did he do it?" HE swung again his sword, slashing the air. The sound of wind echoed from the impact. "Why?" he muttered. "Why?! Why him? Why me? Why..."

He screamed as he swung his sword with all his might, sending a flurry of strikes against the air.