God of Destruction: Living Among Mortals

Only four days were left until the tournament started. It was a bright sunny morning, the kittens were tucked in their boxes, Nova was in his bedroom, awake, mapping what the rest of the day would look like. He was in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, his hands behind his head as if he were in some sort of movie.

Only four days left, He thought in seriousness. His face contorted into a hardened expression like a man on the frontlines of a war. I need to prepare as much as possible. I haven't awakened yet, and I know for a fact that there will be awakened and non-awakened Players. Which means I should have a massive disadvantage. He bit his lip, thinking of a way to bridge that gap, but the only way to do such a thing was either being unethically strong or awakening.

He stretched his hand towards the ceiling, looking at the ceiling, stretching towards the star, going even past that, entering the Outer Heaven, and then ascending towards the Inner Heaven, just to touch the beautiful, fragile face of Freya. He was missing her, as they won't spend a day without seeing each other at least a million times. They also sleep in each other's room, alternating every time.

Then he snapped back to reality. He diligently got up from the bed, going towards the bathroom to freshen up and brush. Then, he went over towards the kittens, filling up their water bowl, and filling up their food bowl with snacks, for when they wake up. He also ate something, a banana, and leftover chicken and rice. He realized that this chicken and rice combo was helping him gain muscle, so he continued to request that Talia get it.

He snapped his shoes on, leaving the kittens, locking the apartment as he headed towards the park for a little morning jog. He got to the park, stretched, and did a warm walk for thirty minutes, digesting the food. After he felt that the food had settled, thanks to his fast metabolism, he started to jog, looping the park.

In just thirty minutes, he was already in double digits, running faster, with no soreness in his legs, as he had rested for two to three days without moving a muscle. So, his body had gotten all the rest it needed for his muscles to work more efficiently.

In just an hour, he had done fifty laps, which was about ten miles. Then, sweating buckets, he fell on the ground, catching his breath, as he thought of the next course of action.

I should go back to my house to finish up my bodyweight training, then I'll come to the gym for weight training. Then, in the gym itself, I saw a couple of boxing bags available, so I'll utilize them next.

He headed towards his apartment after taking a good two-minute break, then, once he got in, he didn't waste any time and started doing his push-ups. Before, his arms trembled when he hit twenty, but now he went back twenty in just a couple of seconds. Doing his bodyweight exercises twice a day, every day. In the morning and just before bed.

He broke through fifty pushups, his hands trembling like an earthquake, but he pushed further, his willpower giving him resistance and motivation. He went to sixty, then sixty-five-, his face contorting into a rabid beast, almost foaming at his mouth, then he gave up.

He gasped for air, his lungs heavy. His heart was burning, and his head ached with the next record he had set for himself. Then, after another two-minute break, he caught his breath, loosening his leg muscles. Then moved unto squats.

After hitting a 253-rep max on squats, he again took a two-minute break, recharged himself, as those two minutes were all he needed. Then moved to lunges. Then another two-minute break, then a plank. Another break, then dips, utilizing chairs. Then birdies. Mountain climbers. And he kept going, until he was refreshed.

He checked up on the kittens who were awake and ready to make the day their bitch. All five of them ate the snacks, as Nova prepared for a good chunk of breakfast, split equally. After feeding them and refilling their water bowl, he kissed all of them, then went to the gym.

At the gym, he trained his legs. He first stretched even more, cracking his bones in his legs, then stretching them thoroughly, until he felt them loosen up. Then, he first decided to do squats. His first set was a warm-up set with just the barbell, and then his second set was with a plate. Then he loaded two twenty-five-pound plates. Then, like a pyramid, he did his top set with two plates, getting only two reps. He was happy with it, but still needed to be stronger.

Then he moved onto barbell hip thrust, with his top set with two plates and a ten. Then he moved on to hack squats, his top set being two plates. Then into slow-eccentric leg extensions, sealed leg curls, to finish off with seated calf raises.

He was tired after his workout. Then, after a couple of minutes of resting on one of the benches on the side of the gym, he got up again, exhaling from his mouth, mentally preparing himself for his next course of action.

The boxing bags were lined up against the far wall, like a row of grumpy bouncers daring him to take a swing. There were three of them, each a different size, like they were leveled up in a video game. The smallest was a little speed bag, bouncing around like it was mocking him. The middle one was heavier, built for solid punches. And then there was the big boy, the massive, industrial-grade heavy bag that looked like it could take a truck and still not budge.

Nova cracked his knuckles, his sore hands whining, and muttered: "Alrighty, let's do this."

He shuffled over, his sneakers squeaking on the gym floor. A couple of guys lifting nearby glanced his way, probably wondering why this near scrawny dude was eyeing the bags like they'd stolen his lunch money. Nova didn't care. He was in the zone, or at least, he was trying to be. He thought about all the awakened mortals who could cast fireballs, have super strength, control other elements, and there he was, unawakened, and at a massive disadvantage.

"Alright, you big ugly sack," he muttered, cracking his neck like he'd seen in some action movie. "You're going down." He shook out his arms, which felt like overcooked spaghetti, and took a deep breath.

He stepped up to the heaviest bag and threw his first punch. It barely moved. And even worse, his hands, which were still sore from all the training, were aching more. He gritted his teeth, plastering the faces of all those awakened players on the bag, then swung again. It was harder this time, but the bag just swayed a little, mocking him.

Then he backed up, bounced lights on his feet, and launched himself forward. His sneakers squeaked against the floor as he drove a punk into the center of the bag. It barely shifted. His shoulders jolted, a pain flaring down his arm, but he didn't stop. He didn't want to.

He threw another punch, then another. His fists slammed into the bag with ferocity. Each strike echoed through the gym, unrefined but fueled by something deeper than technique. The weight of every future defeat, every awakened show-off who dismissed him, was packed into his knuckles.

Sweat streaked down his face, stung his eyes. His breathing grew uneven. Still, he kept swinging. One-two. One-two. His arms ached, his hands cried, but the fire ignited in his chest only brightened. The bag moved more now, each hit sending it into a sluggish pendulum, like it was finally reacting.

His vision narrowed. He didn't see the gym anymore. Not the mirrors, not the weights, not the guys pretending not to stare. Just the bag and him.

He launched another brutal combo, jab, hook, uppercut, each hit snapping through the air like gunfire. The bag embraced itself and twisted, cracking slightly, sand shifting inside with an ominous grind. His hands, wrapped in blood, started bleeding even more.

Then, he planted his foot, twisted at the hip, and let it all go.

The final punch cracked through the air with a sound like a bat hitting concrete. The heavy bag trembled violently and then split wide open. A gash tore down the front, sand and filler bursting out like a ruptured artery. The chain rattled above as the bag had finally been slain.

Nova staggered back, his chest heavy, arms trembling. Blood dripped steadily from his knuckles, pattering onto the floor. He stared at the broken bag, split and spilling its guts, the air still vibrating from the collision.

A soft smile formed at the edges of his mouth, as all the people had turned their gaze on him, looking like a madman.