They went at it with all they had. Khyros was faster but his blows had less strength. He tried tripping him, but that didn't work. And with every passing second, Scyphius was getting angrier and more determined.
"He's like a monkey," Welsius said.
He and Lord Zerelus were watching him the same way they had the first time.
"Ha... that's too bad. Scyphius is clearly going to flatten him... he showed such promise, too... and look at that, they even have an audience."
Welsius was inclined to agree that Khyros wouldn't win. Scyphius was twice his size, he didn't stand a chance. And yet, it was clear the young man wasn't worried or afraid. It was quite astonishing. Zerelus was silently watching Khyros's every move. The boy was agile, quick witted. He clearly knew how to compensate for his obvious disadvantage in physical strength. He watched Khyros duck and aim another punch, which reached its target but didn't quite have the desired effect.
"You won't get anywhere with those measly punches, you runt!" growled Scyphius.
The girls were standing there stupidly, flashing their obsidian jewelery and screaming encouragements to Scyphius in high pitched voices.
"You tell him, Scyphi-poo!" said one.
"You'll get what's coming to you, jerk!" another jeered at Khyros.
Khyros was finding those sideline comments more and more annoying. And he was getting bored of this little fight. He glanced upwards and saw the row of monkey bars that were used to strengthen your arms. He grinned nastily, leaped upwards, gripped the bars tightly and hit Scyphius hard in the nose with his foot. Scyphius yelled in pain and clutched his nose which immediately began to bleed. The girls screamed in horror. Khyros didn't let go of the bars. He swung both his legs and hit Scyphius hard in the head, knocking him backwards. The tall, beefy man landed with a loud thud. The girls let out another shrill scream of fear and hurried to his side. Khyros ignored them, gracefully dropped to the floor, and slowly got to his feet. Then, with one last look at the pathetic group, he yanked his jacket off the floor and marched out under Zerelus and Welsius' watchful eyes.
"Do you believe he is ready, my Lord?" the servant asked his master.
The Lord of Thendaria didn't answer at once.
"... Not quite. He's getting closer. But I don't think he's quite there yet."
"Hey, come on!" came a small boy's voice.
"Wait for me!" called another voice, a girl's this time.
They were running in their garden one sunny spring afternoon. He, dressed in blue shorts and an orange t-shirt, his messy light brown hair flying about in the wind, she, her long dark braids falling neatly on either side of her round, rosy-cheeked face and hazelnut eyes, the skirt of her pink dress flying behind her.
"Well, hurry up, then!" the little boy retorted.
"You know I can't run as fast as you!" the girl complained.
Her brother looked at her with his bright brown eyes, the wind blowing through his already unkempt hair. He stared at her, heaving a sigh. He had a small round face, like so many eight year olds. His six year old sister pouted slightly, her big blue eyes accusatory.
"Okay, okay, so what d'you want to do?" The little boy asked.
Just then, they heard their names being called from inside the house.
"Uncle Quentin!" they called and hurried to greet him.
As every time they saw him, he had gifts for them. It would usually be chocolate, toys.
"Wow! A doll! Just the one I wanted!"
Stop thinking about that! Khyros scolded himself. What good is it to keep looking at the past? They abandoned you. They weren't worth your attention.
He shook his head vigorously. Only one thing helped in these situations: training. That was his life now. Training. Solitude. Training. More solitude. And he lived with it, accepted it. After all, who was truly happy in Hell?