Breachers

(OsiriumWrites) Breachers -I- Path of Steel - Chapter 2 (The Old Wolf)

Breachers – Path of Steel

2

I

The Old Wolf

- - -

Several days later

Bas

Bas's lips curved upward, his mouth guard clamped between his teeth, revealing a design of painted wolf fangs against the dark protective material. His gaze settled on his two sons standing in a corner of the boxing ring. The eldest, Marcus, stood with an air of certainty, his finger tracing the path of a jab as he guided his younger brother, Martin, who nodded in eager agreement. 'He's always so gentle with Martin. Like he's a different person,' Bas thought as he looked at his sons for a while longer, enjoying their interaction. 'He's a good kid. He just needs to realize it himself.'

Afterwards, Bas's gaze swept across his gym, tracing the faded marks on the floor while inhaling the familiar scent of worn gloves and the lingering tang of old sweat. Two boxing rings dominated the space, each bearing the scars of countless sparring sessions and heated disputes resolved through time-honored combat, or just a good old fashioned brawl. His place also had several mats for wrestling, Jujutsu, or judo. Next to that were boxing bags dangling from sturdy chains, swaying gently as if still reverberating from the force of the punches they'd absorbed mere seconds ago.

"Are you ready, old man?" Marcus shot him an arrogant expression, his lips curling upward in challenge. In response, a smile crept across Bas's face, a mix of pride and nostalgia intertwining as he saw Marcus's bold spirit—the very same fire that had burned within Bas during his younger days. He nodded at his sons and assumed a fighting stance. Martin, the youngest, clapped his MMA gloves together, a determined look in his eyes. Despite his age, the youth managed to look as focused as most professional boxers. His gloves shielded his face as he swiftly closed in, feinting left before swiftly sliding right. Two jabs shot toward Bas's chest, but he evaded them while launching a few counterattacks of his own.

Despite possessing more mass, power, and reach than Martin, Bas couldn't help but admire his son's progress. Clearly, Marcus had imparted some valuable tips, as well as stoked a fire in his younger brother. The father and son clashed once more, Bas testing Martin's skills with a series of jabs and hooks, gradually increasing the pressure. With a sudden surge of energy, Martin's fists blurred, his blows landing with precision against his father's midsection. Shrugging them off, Bas stepped in and closed the distance, seizing Martin's arm and neck in a firm hold. Following that, Bas hooked his leg behind Martin's, leveraging his leg to knock his son off balance. The forceful collision with the canvas echoed throughout the dojo as a resounding thud. Martin's face lit up with a grin, his hands hanging loosely at his sides as he grasped what had just happened. Rising to his feet, he removed his mouthguard and faced his father. "I landed a few hits!" His once determined fighting expression now transformed into childlike innocence, betraying his age.

"I saw that, buddy," Bas replied, lowering himself to a kneeling position beside his son, his fingers playfully tousling Martin's dark hair that was sticking out at the top of the headguard. "But remember, you lost the fight because of it. Was this the trade-off you wanted? A few blows for a loss?" he asked, observing a shift in Martin's expression, as if contemplating the question further. "You've inherited your mother's intelligence, so make good use of it. Think strategically. Don't charge recklessly, like a bull... or your brother."

"Big words, coming from a fossil," Marcus called out, leaping into the ring and landing on the canvas with a dramatic thud. He then put on his head protector before slowly putting on his own gloves. "Maybe it's time someone made you eat them."