Amson, 18, "Echoes of Breaking: Body and Mind"

Fuckbelt dropped his heel with such force that it swooshed through the air, ripping all space blocking its path. His opponent swiftly dodged and countered with an almost equally powerful hook, aimed directly at his jaw.

Fuckbelt dodged backward, narrowly missing the swing as he retouched the ground, hopped up, and drop kicked his unlucky opponent square in the midsection, leaving them both on the ground.

The crowd roared, and they both climbed back to their feet, Fuckbelt finding spectacular ease.

They smiled at one another, but in the next moment, they were back in the fray, exchanging powerful blows. Back and forth, left and right, their merry-go-round of raw power sung through the air, but Fuckbelt, with his greater skill and precision, had gradually gained the upper hand. Kicks to the legs and abdomen wore his opponent down, coupled with the expenses of those haymaker swings, and bit by bit, he slowed down, forced on the defensive.

The guy was relentless, grunting with every swing of his legs, and quickly, he'd gained all momentum over his opponent, an unstoppable force. The crowd hooted and hollered as his opponent, who was both physically and literally bigger than him, hopelessly tried to block his kicks. A kick pounded against his abdomen, and he coughed, falling to his knees as his body wore out.

Fuckbelt backed away for a second, hopping with those hungry soles of his, and a smile graced his sweaty face, laughing along with the crowd.

"Burnt out already?!" He boasted above the crowd. "Stand the fuck up! I'm not done with you, you pitiful fuck!"

Fuckbelt stepped toward him, charging his back leg with enough power that he'd take the motherfucker's head off. It whipped through the air, but as it was bound to land, his opponent stepped up with his last inch of tangible will, all power put into one "Hail Mary" of a swing.

The crashing sound of both blows colliding shook the audience, including myself, and we all saw as Fuckbelt fell to the ground, his head hitting the pavement in consequence to his big head. The crowd went completely silent, and I saw the majority shudder as Fuckbelt's opponent reached to the sky before he did. As he pulled himself up, eyes trailed his form, and a miasma of animosity, something that'd never been seen in the crowd before, lingered within the halted air.

Still, he struggled, not getting up with any ease whatsoever. He gasped for air at the apex of his ascent, and looking down upon Fuckbelt, I wondered what was going on within that mind of his, the effect of his emotionless stare broader than I could've imagined. I glanced at Ty and Deuce, both of which had had their confidence clearly dwindled to where it showed on their face, a subtle hint of anger yet so clear to me.

"A lucky punch..." Deuce hissed. "A lucky-ass sucker punch..."

I saw as Deuce clenched his fist, but Tyriq remained quiet, watching silently. The guy just stood over Fuckbelt, looking at him as he lied on the ground with his face hidden to the crowd. He held his side tightly, however, the cost of that powerful kick finally taxing through his adrenaline.

The silence of the crowd was short-lived as he winded his leg, putting all of his force into a kick to Fuckbelt's side.

"Get the fuck up, big talker." He chuckled. "Where'd that fire go?"

The anger of the crowd rose with every kick that landed, and with each kick, there was no sign of Fuckbelt getting back up. One after the other, the blows rippled through his still body, and after he'd grown impatient, he grabbed him by the back collar, turning him to where he saw his face.

"All that shi--" He stopped suddenly.

Spit lined his face the second he turned Fuckbelt around, and the crowd laughed their asses off. Fuckbelt grabbed at his opponent, looking for a submission, but he was quickly pushed off, setting the dude off with the forward of his own disrespect.

"You're dead, bitch." He growled, approaching Fuckbelt as he was grounded.

He was kicked away before Fuckbelt jumped back to his feet, his posture dented in comparison to before that blow. It was likely that Fuckbelt'd actually suffered much more damage than he allowed the ignorant crowd to believe, possibly even more so than his opponent at this point. The punch landed straight on his jaw, just like his opponent'd been itching for the entire fight, but that one punch was enough to set him off his game, I could tell.

He wobbled ever-so-slightly, and his eyes wandered, no longer able to be trained on his target for long. He was rocked, and in order to hide that from the crowd, he'd licked the blood from his lips, assuming what he could even remember of that disciplined stance.

Fuckbelt wanted his opponent to come to him; that's likely why he'd waited on the ground to recoup and spat on him once he wasn't able to keep up the act anymore. It worked like a charm; spitting on someone is likely the one surefire way to piss most people off. His opponent dashed at him, preparing that untrained fist of his, but of course, it was a long miss, cueing for Fuckbelt's counter attack.

He uppercut him in the liver, forcing him to nearly fall flat, but he pushed himself from the ground, swinging again. Fuckbelt narrowly dodged, palming the guy's head and kneeing him clean in the face as response, but he was grabbed, his opponent taking the full force. He threw wild punches at his leg, and with Fuckbelt unable to dodge, he took the next best option, his devastating elbow hits.

He grabbed his palm with the other as he was driven off balance, swinging his elbow around like a fist. It was much more accurate and powerful than trying to throw punches at that range, but the damage he'd surely cause to himself could make or break the outcome of the fight. The blows could be heard, landing against his opponent's skull, but despite a few stumbles, he continued pushing until Fuckbelt was driven to the ground again, his opponent swinging from above.

He tried pushing him off, but with such expended energy, he could only fight him off, swinging for dear life. He narrowly dodged the furious swings before landing a double-handed swing across his face, finally relieving the pressure upon him. He was clearly panicked, scurrying away as the big guy huffed for air, his hands pressed against the ground.

Fuckbelt was the first to climb to his feet, this time, but with the wear on his body, he looked mere seconds from collapsing. He rested on his knees and watched as his opponent rose, facing him with a similar, defeated glare, but I could tell the fight wasn't nearly over yet. Fuckbelt, hoisting the weight of his leg, kicked in his opponent's side, still capable of pushing him over with the powerful force, and in response, he was met with a powerful hook, clean in the cheek.

As he stumbled backward, he was struck in the side, and he kicked again, slamming against his opponent's.

"Hrn..." The crowd echoed the power of the blow, shaking the very air.

His opponent swung straight for Fuckbelt's chest, knocking the wind out of him.

"Hue..." They called the answer, Fuckbelt still rising back to his feet.

Again, they went back and forth, this time a no-holds-barred brawl. They swung at each other with every inch of power they could muster, Fuckbelt with his kicks and the unknown thief with his powerful punches. With the help of the crowd, each crash echoed through Dame Coccinelle, and Tyriq and Deuce joined in, cheering Fuckbelt on with each vocalization of impact.

They were effectively breaking each other with each blow, both of them slowly yet surely crumbling to the ground by the second. Yet, neither showed any sign of giving in, no matter the strain on their body. Eventually, it seemed the fight would come to a stalemate, but suddenly the tide was altered with a clean kick to the chest by Fuckbelt, pushing his opponent to the ground.

Fuckbelt approached as he slowly rose again, winded and in a daze, but as he started to stand, he was met with a straight fist, smashing his head into the pavement. The crowd went crazy, but Fuckbelt only looked at his opponent, breathing heavily. Something within that look was strange, but not unreadable like his opponent's. It was something I'd only seen once before.

A look of pure pity, sorrow for another.