THE ADAMANT: BOOK ONE

(#WIP) Prologue: The Siblings Called Footloose Fury

{{{PRESENTLY}}}

In the desolate heart of Blightwater, a battle rages on.

Milyar Khong—the leader of a gang of mercenaries called The Tenetz—is gasping for breath and teetering on the precipice of collapse. Montel Deadwyler—one half of the duo known as Footloose Fury—has been carrying out a relentless assault that's turned his back into a canvas of agony, each punch landing with the force of a sledgehammer. Never before had such a symphony of violence been conducted.

Montel's fists blurred with calculated rage, landing with a rhythmic brutality that left his opponent reeling. The savage pummeling that Milyar was enduring eventually ceased, but before he could catch a breath, an eruption of pain made its home in his nose as Montel's knuckles became acquainted with his flesh and bone.

Milyar collapsed with a heavy thud. Montel promptly lifted him off the ground, grabbing him by his bomber jacket's collar as he did so, then pulled him close.

"Look, bruh, I know next to NOTHING about you, but you seem to be well-informed about my brother and me. So much so, you knew exactly where we'd been hiding out. Now, I'm gonna ask you again — WHO SENT YOU?!"

The thug only frowned in response. He refused to speak, partly because he had been paid not to, but also because of the disgusting iron tang of blood that shuffled across his tastebuds. He was beside himself with anger. Montel was right that he had been informed about him, but there was an obvious gap in that information. What he had been told pertained to who Montel used to be, and the man before him was a beast unlike any warrior Milyar had faced before.

This error in the counsel he received led to him being overwhelmed by Montel, and the beatdown was bolstered by the latter's years of training with The Forge Fraternity.

While it had been some time since Montel had seen combat, his training had not been forgotten. His usage of The Forge's techniques, fused with the Grizzly Style of Bloody Yearning taught to him by Dark Blue Mamoru, transformed Montel into a relentless force of nature.

"I can see you're the strong and silent type," Montel said. "Let's see how long that lasts."

He shoved Milyar back and resumed his fighting stance. Milyar struggled to remain on his feet, but didn't fall. His mind was in a daze, and his vision was disoriented, so he struggled to anticipate Montel's movements. The former soldier's wide and brawny, six-foot-four frame belied his Olympic-level agility.

Milyar eventually regained a semblance of equilibrium, so he was on the move, but desperately wished Montel would grow arrogant, as one moment of hubris is all it would take for him to shift the tide of battle. Yet, Montel was far from reckless and overeager. Although fast, he struck with precision and deadly intent. Every movement was foresighted, every blow an executioner's stroke. Milyar's feeble attempts to counter were met with a fierce determination that left no room for complacency.

Montel knew that pridefulness could lead to defeat, and in this harsh landscape, such a mistake would be fatal. While he and his brother, Clifford Hudson, had lived in Blightwater for sometime, they didn't know the area as thoroughly as Milyar and his gang. So, his mind raced as he sought a vulnerability in the tenacious thug's defenses. Despite the vicious assault he had doled out, an exploit in the man's resolve had yet to present itself.

On the other side of the woodland battlefield of Blightwater, Clifford fought his own grueling battle.

*💥*

Kiran Verma, a high-ranking member of The Tenetz, was a whirlwind of swift, deadly kicks that left Clifford wincing and spitting out blood. He was forced onto the backfoot; bobbing, weaving and contorting his body, almost pulling a muscle in the process.

Kiran's svelte, muscular left leg—sculpted from years of relentless training—was only a hair's breadth from knocking Clifford out as it whizzed past his chin, tickling its vivid, ginger tuft of hair with the gust of wind that followed. Clifford danced on the edge of danger as he avoided the lithesome fellow. The celerity of Kiran's attacks seemed to manifest blades from the atmosphere itself, slicing through the air, stirring up dirt and shredding branches of the bushes surrounding them to bits.

Clifford clutched his chest tightly and groused internally.

Shit! I never been backed inna corner like this. If I don't end it soon, I'll be playin' Shave an' a Haircut on Death's door. An' I can't let that happen, not 'til I have the answers I seek.

Indeed, it was unprecedented for him to be outmatched. Especially in speed.

***

While Montel is exceptionally fast and agile for his size, Clifford has an abnormal amount of velocity. It's the reason he was trained in the Harrier Style of Bloody Yearning. Yet, his techniques weren't doing much to push the fight in his favor.

Without a hint of sound, Kiran transitioned seamlessly from his unyielding kicks to a powerful punch, a shift in tactics that caught Clifford off guard. Yet, he avoided the blow by quickly ducking, which Kiran expected, thus allowing a chance to drive his knee into Clifford's nose with devastating force. The long and narrow protuberance shattered and a crimson mist filled the air as Clifford doubled back, grappling with the storm of agony overpowering him.

This fuckin' smarts, but it ain't the worst pain I done felt. Gotta keep goin', Clifford thought. Gritting his teeth and clutching his throbbing nose, he decided that careful evasion wouldn't win this battle. He lunged at Kiran, tackling him to the ground with a bone-jarring impact.

With the desperation of a panicked beast, Clifford brutally rained upon his opponent with uncountable punches. "This is for all those punk-ass kicks! An' for my fuckin' nose!"

His fists appeared as little more than atmospheric distortions, and each strike carried the weight of his rage and determination. Kiran, pinned beneath the relentless assault, struggled to defend himself. Clifford had finally gained the upper hand. He decided in that moment that he'd never let himself get pushed into a corner again.

*💥*