A Man Is Not Finished When He Is Defeated, He Is Finished When He Quits

Before you read on I just want to thank you for reading this and giving power stones, it is appreciated, I only started this for fun but it seems some of you enjoy this so that feels nice for me.

And please bear with me and where the story is going, it is all going to come together, it's just that doing this will also help me get better ideas for the final fight while I write and some stuff in the manga may happen that will change stuff I need to write/correct.

Eichii POV:

As we left the room and I heard the slight bang of the door closing, I relaxed, when the tension went, when the relief began, I carried on only somewhat happier. It is a quiet blossoming of the soul, one that has learned to love itself and the world, one at peace with its natural connection.

I stood still, only for a moment, and allowed the feeling of myself to be renewed. I wanted this feeling to still be there when I am old. The slight moment of my eyes closing allowed for the first time these past months for my mind and body to relax.

At that moment there was no beatings and pain upon me. I was relaxed...though of course not all things last. With a whack on my head, I awoke from my stupor to notice the hall ahead of me. Open walls stood at attention at the left, with wooden walls, layers with patterns of beasts and flowers to the right. It was a beautiful sight that I could only embrace for a short time as I was pulled by my arm led through different turns and halls.

The path seems soft, intangible even. Darkness sticks to my face as I walk down the empty hallway. The halls seem endless as we finally come to an abrupt stop at a wide expanse of a door. It was majestic in its stature, grand in its fashion, a sense of brilliance brimmed from its foundations.

It opened slowly to reveal a large carriage, it wasn't anything special apart from the sheer size it held. I felt the pressure my legs held on the floor be released...I'm in the air? Ah...I'm being lifted by that man with scars...and we are walking towards a large basket...f*ck..."Let go of me! I don't want to go in it again! No! Please!"

I thrashed and squirmed in his hold, we were outside...if he lets go I can run and escape...that was until I was silenced with a smack to the face. "Be quiet kid, now," He told, austere in look and tone. "Piece of sh*t!" I shouted as he lowered me into the basket. Why did they do it? What is it about them that lead them to such a bad decision?

Hatred is all that is left. With it all I can focus on is revenge. I want them dead, all of them, every last one. I want them to know their children are dead before their cut his throat. What then? I have no idea. I don't care what's next, that's where I finish.

Hatred is such an abomination, a subversion of what should be good. I never see strong hatred except where love is betrayed or destroyed in some manner. We hate our ex-partners more strongly than a person who steals our possessions. We make excuses for strangers and hold our loved ones to impossible standards.

Yet in the bleak landscape of hatred, there are always paths back to understanding and empathy, though sometimes they are barely threads in a vast wilderness of negative emotion.

Hatred masquerades as an ointment to hurt when in truth it is no more than gasoline for the flames. More hatred only guarantees more enmity, more pain, more death ahead, never more healing or an increase in our humanity. It can be passed like a dark flame from one generation to the next, burning cold, waiting for the next opportunity for genocide and slavery.

While conditions aren't right it bides its time in the shadows as slander, feelings of superiority and echoes of tribalism. Once the opportunity arises - hunger and natural disaster it comes in fast to override our better natures, making us more primal ape than human. Hatred, the twin of wrath, is never our friend. Hatred makes us all weaker, a poison transmitted via ill-thought-out words.

Before I realise it, my mouth slowly opens as a yawn throws itself out of my mouth, I now can fully realise that my time had been invested in concentration, and like last time it happened, it seems the drawback for my ability has rushed back to me once again

I'd always have a little sparkle of joy before falling asleep. I was that way from childhood. The bed was my sweet thing and it made me as happy as any other treatment. But now it feels dull as if the joy I would feel my mother sung her songs to me before I drifted off.

I suddenly awoke, a sinister silence permeated around me as I found some room to stretch myself around, ever so slightly. I felt the weight of the darkness pushing on me.

My mind darted from one nightmare scenario to the next, the fear of the unknown overwhelmed me and I was paranoid about vicious intrusions.

I'm anxious. It comes as an electrical storm in my brain that, quite honestly, is painful. It's different from a headache and it feels the same as intense sorrow, perhaps as a sort of frozen panic with nowhere to go.

So though I appear calm, my sad eyes are saying far more than "Help me," they are saying that my soul is in such unbearable pain and all for the lack of real love.

Without any moments notice, the roof of the basket is opened and a shock brings a quietness within, a moment to feel my emotions change gear and girder, my soul, for what is to come, light permeates through the openings towards me.

In those lights, my retinas became flooded and all I saw was white. Sometimes light can be so similar to the dark. Yet in a few moments more I could see, the blindness quite resolved.

But once again my vision becomes clouded in a shroud of black as I feel myself being guided towards somewhere unknown. The feeling of having to walk with only the sense of hearing where the other persons footsteps is an anxious feeling. I know running is an option, I have tried too many a time and yet it all ended the same. In pain.

When we came to a stop, I heard the man say in a cold, hard voice, "I have one piece of advice kid, survive now, cry later," And I was pushed forward roughly and made an impact with the ground callously. Before I can get a hold of myself, a loud abundance of laugh and shouts call out to my ears.

I start to look up only to have my eyes quickly glued to a small knife on the floor ahead of me. Swiftly going to grab it, my fingers firmly grasp around the handle as I am now finally looking up towards the source of all the noise. What I see gives me a sense of dread and anguish as I look to see the figures of a few hundred people seated above tall walls, reaching at least 3 fully grown men high.

They are sheltered under a roof, all lined up in seats looking down on me and another figure across this ring. I was slowly grasping my situation as I see the dark figure approaching me at a sluggish pace.

He called out in a mocking tone as he towered over me, "Look at you, picking up a tool you don't know how to handle," he continued with a grin his mouth getting wider and more teeth showing as he said, "Though, you might have a chance, as they say, can't find a door? Make your own!" the moment the last syllable left his mouth, he brought down his fist, obvious to where he is aiming.

I dove to the right to try and gain any form of distance from him, still in a stupor about what is happening, my eyes not believing what is happening. Again, he sent a simple strike towards me, presumably amused I am attempting to escape..."Piece of sh*t!" I shouted as I rose to my feet and timidly held the dagger in front of me, my arms and hands trembling uncontrollably.

Being able to now fully see the man, I saw he was of average stature and getting on fat, cheeks looking slightly full. He was below average and wore decent clothes. Scruffy brown hair and black eyes. He would fit in well with the other bas*ards who ruined my life.

As I continued to keep jumping out of the way of his punches, I was slowly beginning to know where he would try and hit me, his legs would curve and his back would arch to a low angle to reach my distinctively smaller height. His arms would swing wildly as he moved his fist as it approached exposing his forearms and wrists.

My concentration was also wavering because of the noise the people watching repeated to make, their sounds becoming part of the fearful part of my head, reaching in and pulling out my anxiety. Though, he seemed to have noticed my nervousness as he swung a roundhouse punch as I bent backwards and felt his knuckles swish past my nose.

I staggered back when he slammed his fist into my chest, using my arms to protect myself, the dagger slid out of my hand and slid across the floor.

It continued as a small stalemate for a while. He punched. I ducked. He kicked. I twisted. "This is boring me now," the man said in the same arrogant tone as he hurried towards the dagger, and as I ran towards him to stop him, his left hand grabbed the dagger, still bent downwards, he swished his arm up in my direction blindly, the dagger connecting at my left chest, reaching up and above to my cheek.

I had to bear through the pain as he lunged out the dagger toward my face, and in this moment, where my life is about to end, some instinct in me clicked as I bent my neck sideways, my body tumbling to the side slightly as I struck with all my might on his exposed wrist, the dagger stumbling out of his hands as I grabbed it when it left his grip and I slashed his wrist, blood spraying into my eyes as I heard a small thud mixed with a deep shout of pain.

"You dog bas*ard!" the man shouted, my eyes were blinded, I used the shout of his voice and turned in the sound of running feet. As I plunged the dagger in that direction, at the same time his body slammed into mine and we connected with a thundering thud as we both crashed in different directions. For the moment I was on the floor I realised the difference between a coward and a man. The bravery. Bravery is a skill we learn, for to challenge ourselves is to grow. I believe, however, that it should be a personal choice and not a matter for others.

Though, as I wiped my eyes clear of the blood with my left arm, I looked up and the realisation of all of this hit me. I wasn't new to the concept of killing someone, I had done it once before when I started to run away at the village, but so many events transpired I hadn't had the chance to reflect. Now I can.

I lay still, sprawled over, when I heard a different, more heavy steps advance towards me, his voice clouded over all the other noise reverberating from the people as he said, "Well done, kid, looks like you have the guts after all, but still, it will be a long time fr you from now on," he told in the same cold voice as ever.

At his words, I can feel the fear in my chest waiting to take over. Perhaps it only wants to protect me. I just want to smell the spring flowers and take my chances on seeing a deer. There's something about being outside that evaporates my fear, maybe the fresh air scent reminds me of the village. And so some years passed, and the despair continues to take over Eichii...