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墨書 Inktalez
The audience's screams seemed to shake the very roof, their arms waving wildly as they shouted in excitement over Hulk's impressive performance. Some whistled sharply, while others cupped their hands around their mouths, yelling, "Hulk, take him down! Don’t give him a chance!"
Hulk stood in the center of the ring, his chest heaving with heavy breaths, a sinister grin on his lips and a cruel glint in his eyes. He slightly lowered his head, staring at the young man before him. The slender figure looked as if he might collapse at any moment, yet he gritted his teeth and held on.
"How's it going, kid?" Hulk sneered, raising his fists and bringing them down with force. "You can still surrender now; otherwise, you won't even be able to stand after this!"
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Hulk's fists came crashing down like giant hammers, relentlessly pounding against the young man's defenses. Each strike landed with thunderous force against the young man's raised arms, producing dull thuds that echoed through the arena. With every punch, the young man's body swayed slightly, his legs involuntarily sliding back on the ring. Yet he forced himself to stabilize his footing, gritting his teeth to withstand the overwhelming power.
The young man's arms trembled violently with each impact. He could feel the shockwave traveling through his bones and muscles, pain spreading like a tide. But he knew he could not lower his arms. Sweat beaded on his forehead as his breathing quickened, yet his gaze remained resolute, as if he were using sheer willpower to hold himself together.
"Is this all you've got?" Hulk taunted between punches, his voice dripping with mockery and pressure. "Still pretending to be tough? Just give up; at least you'll suffer less!"
The young man did not respond; his lips were pressed tightly together as he fixed his gaze on Hulk. He understood that if he dropped his defense for even a moment, those massive fists would come crashing down like a hammer onto his face, sending him sprawling to the ground without hope of getting back up. The sound of him gritting his teeth was clear in the ring; every second felt like a life-or-death struggle against Hulk's might.
The crowd's cheers grew increasingly frenzied, the atmosphere around the ring boiling like water in a pot. Their eyes were filled with anticipation as if they were waiting for that moment—waiting for Hulk to completely crush this stubborn opponent.
Mark stood outside the ring, leaning against a sandbag, coldly observing the scene before him. He watched the young man's trembling arms and Hulk's increasingly frenzied attacks, a smirk playing on his lips.
Mark stood by the sandbag, watching the clash in the ring with detached interest. However, for some reason, as he focused on the young man's slender yet resolute figure, he felt a flicker of emotion stir within him.
That feeling surged from deep within him, awakening some forgotten memory. He saw the young man gritting his teeth under Hulk's relentless barrage of blows but never lowering his arms. He noticed those defiant eyes filled with stubbornness and an almost mad determination. It reminded him of himself—once fighting tooth and nail in the underground arena to survive against all odds.
Stubborn, obstinate, never giving up.
These words echoed in Mark's mind as he could almost see his younger self overlapping with the young man in the ring. Back then, he had been just like this young man, enduring immense pressure and pain, drawing strength from despair, with anger as his only support.
Mark furrowed his brow slightly, a complex emotion swelling within him—both nostalgia and an indescribable unease. He was unaware that his feet had begun to move, his boots softly tapping against the floor of the boxing gym, producing faint sounds. He slowly approached the ring, his gaze still fixed on the young man, as if silently watching a past version of himself.
In the ring, the young man remained steadfast. His arms had begun to tremble, muscles aching from the relentless impacts, yet he did not retreat or lessen his defense. Sweat poured down his face, dripping onto the floor and soaking the area beside the ropes.
Hulk loomed like a raging beast, swinging his massive fists in an attempt to break through the opponent's defenses. His eyes were filled with contempt, a smirk playing on his lips; he was not surprised by the young man's stubbornness but rather saw it as futile struggle. With each punch thrown, he sneered softly, "Still hanging in there? Have you forgotten this is boxing, not a game of getting hit?"
Just as Hulk's heavy fist was about to land another blow, the referee suddenly raised his hand with a bell and rang it.
"Ding—!"
The first round was over.
At the sound of the bell, the young man's previously tense body relaxed slightly. His hands slowly dropped, leaning forward with his forehead bowed low, beads of sweat falling like rain. He gasped heavily, as if finally granted a moment to breathe, though those few minutes felt like a century to him.
Hulk heard the bell and his smile turned even more disdainful. He stopped attacking, stood upright, spat on the ground below him, then turned back to his corner. His movements were casual and lazy, as if declaring that this match was hardly worth his attention.
The audience below the ring expressed their dissatisfaction with the sudden bell, murmuring impatiently and some even shouting, "What's going on? Let them fight a bit longer!" But the referee paid no heed; he stood sternly in the center of the ring, ensuring both fighters returned to their corners to prepare for a brief rest.
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