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Crunch.
A bloody fist cracks against the solid surface. It violently jolts his arm, he pretends not to notice. He pulls back and slams his fist again.
Crunch.
White-hot agony screams up his arm. His hand stings in irritation and a numbness settles. Dark green liquid gushes from the open wounds, having split all his knuckles open. It seeps into his white glove, a disgustingly humid and sticky mess on the inside. The growing green stains are a reminder that he’s doing this to himself.
Crunch.
He stops, his hand numb and stiff. Sparks of pain flare up, but not enough to jolt his nerves. His fist remains planted on the surface, unwilling to move. A buzz fills his head, spots of discoloration dance across his vision.
Slowly, he leans forward until his forehead presses against the hard surface. He hardly cares that it’s rough and rugged. Better than feeling nothing at all. Beads of sweat incessantly drip down the sides of his face, they’re slick enough that he’s aware of them. Every drop takes the warmth with it, leaving his face clammy. He pays little mind to his surroundings, to him, all there is just him and this pathetic little rock.
He shakily inhales. His chest expands with a surge of emotions, an amalgamation of headache inducing thoughts and sensations that are too much for him. He heavily heaves his body to ease the intensity. Violent quivers reverberate up his muscles.
Readjusting his posture, he pulls away once more, his bloody fist furls up tightly. The cracked, bloody crater mocks him, streaks of green slickly drip down. Despite all he did to it, it never broke. He takes aim and forces his arm forward-
“Whatever did that rock do to you?”
He abruptly stops, the tips of his knuckles only inches from impact. He cranes his head just enough to see who dare interrupt him.
The sight of you greets him. Another ghost.
Your feminine shape and admittedly short height cues him in that you don’t appear to be that much older than he is. You also appear to be the only one who so brazenly approaches him.
“None of your business,” he says snidely.
You huff in contention and readjust your posture, one hand on your hip and your other arm hangs about loosely. You tilt your head to peer closer at his injured hand. You twitch in discomfort at the sight of torn, raw skin that veils itself in the glove. Likewise, you neither move closer nor further away.
“It’s my business when someone’s hurting themselves on purpose,” you say defiantly.
There is an inkling of doubt that pokes your chest. You obviously don’t know who this ghost is and whether he’s dangerous. You hear him chuckle in a low tone, your ghost core accelerates.
“Who cares?” He turns his attention back to the rock, intent on going back to punching it again.
You dart forward just as he rolls his shoulder. Then you stop in hesitation, one hand reaches out to him but never touches him. You worry about him, despite that you don’t know him. Your body jitters between worry and trepidation. The surface under you seems to soften and shrink down in size, your breath grows shaky.
“Wait!” You call out to him.
He stops again, fist in a tight ball, and twitches. In an instant, he glares back at you with eerie, glowing red eyes and an ominous sensation comes over you. You stand strong against whatever it was, your eyes refuse to leave his.
“I can help you,” you say evenly. You keep your eyes on him, your chest tightens. “I can help you like I’ve helped others.”
This time, he turns around in full. It surprises you how…young he seems. While his appearance in general gives a frightening visage, you see vulnerability in his eyes. His facial expression shifts ever so slightly. It softens a bit as his brows slowly part, intrigue rather than hostility.
“What makes you think that?” He asks mockingly, “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave now, and we won’t have to find out what happens.”
He narrows his eyes and bares a set of fangs. You see his ears tilt down slightly. You inhale softly to calm yourself.
“You won’t ever find anything out if you can’t control your powers.” You point directly at him. “I can feel your power, it’s…wild.”
His face is impassive at first, only his jaw shifting. His body shudders as he gives a dry chuckle, a mean grin takes over his expression.
“No one has ever helped me,” he says with a shake of his head. “What makes you think you can help?”
He looks right at you with an intense gaze. Your skin tingles with goosebumps.
“It’d be fun to see you try…name’s Dan.”
A dark blur charges at you, you have little time to think before you hastily duck it. As a dark, muscular form passes you, you see that the back end has been left open. You swing a slender leg with the force of swinging a baseball bat.
A dull thud goes through your ears, you see your opponent lean over in pain. Before you know it, a huge fist comes at you.
You sweep your arms in front of your face to block the blow. Nerve busting pain jolts through you as you take a heavy hit. Your forearms ache in discomfort and your body skids back a bit as your opponent pushes against you.
“C’mon now, how many punches are you going to take?” A deep, mocking voice has you glance up.
“As many as I need to.” You push Dan’s large form away with all your might, your muscles scream in protest and a sheen of sweat spreads across your face.
Before Dan can recover, you’re immediately on top of him with a flying kick. You bear down on him with the bottom of your heel aiming for his head.
The world around you turns into a whirlwind, your body slams against the ground. You automatically arch up your body to soften the impact, even though your limbs and muscles throb in retaliation. You slump back down, head pounding and ectoblood roars in your ears. You pant heavily, your chest bounces with every intake.
The spinning comes to a halt. You’re unsure of it once the dark, swirling visage of the Ghost Zone fills your view. The ominous swaths of black and green twist and curl around each other. The more you stare at the chaos, your mind loses focus again. Then the spinning starts up again, the roar in your ears is louder than ever.
Look away.
Look away.
Your head pounds more and more painfully. You can’t even close your eyes all the way because the dull thud jolts them back open.
Look away.
Dan’s silhouette stands over you, blocking the chaotic environment from your line of sight. Your mind remains out of focus, you hardly acknowledge him. Your attention is drawn more towards the headache.
A dark shape slowly descends to your level, it startles you, and it forces your eyes to focus on it. You steady your breath, staring at it with goosebumps crawling up your body.
You blink.
Dan’s open hand stretches down to you. His features are mostly impassive, though the quirk of his eyebrows say otherwise.
“I…might have thrown you too hard,” Dan says ruefully, a neutral expression carefully settles on his face.
You give him a deadpan stare as you reach out to take his hand. He grips you far more tightly than you would like. He pulls you up to your feet, you wobble around as you have yet to regain your balance. Dan still doesn’t let you go, he cautiously places a hand on your side. Warmth and familiarity blooms in your body.
Shaky breaths escape your mouth as you recompose yourself. Your limbs are quivery, and you’re silently glad Dan’s holding you upright. A dull ache still settles in your body, though it’s not so bad if you ignore it.
“‘Too hard’.” You repeat, staring at him in exasperation. “I’ve seen you sweep over humans and ghosts like they were made of toothpicks, and you’re telling me you threw me too hard?”
“Maybe I underestimated my own strength,” Dan retorts while he lets you go, confident that you can stand on your own now.
You waver slightly, a deep breath centres you once more.
And the smug grin is back on his face. You roll your eyes playfully, always skirting around and teasing.
“I can’t believe you’re supposed to be that same string-bean kid I met years ago,” you say without a care in the world.
You smile to yourself, it always gets under Dan’s skin when the subject of his younger self is brought up. He bristles at your words and his fiery white hair flickers with a bout of intense emotion, fangs bare in warning. Dan’s chest expands with the irritation he swallows down. He may appear calm, it was so plainly easy to annoy him. Sometimes it’s fun, other times…it isn’t.
“I take back what I said,” Dan says as he closes his eyes.
He seems to stop for a moment to think, though the dramatic posturing of his arms and a still expression has you disbelieving. You shift your weight from one foot to the other as you wait for Dan to continue.
“You’re too much of a shorty to be considered toothpick material.”
Your mouth hinges open to fire back with another insult. Nothing comes up. You study Dan’s face, his eyes glint sharply, and his mouth is a cross between a grin and a smirk. It’s impossible to tell if he’s teasing, or he’s actually serious.
Were it any other person, they’d probably be insulted by his words. For you, it makes you stop and think. Perhaps you can test it out. You did see Dan lean over in pain when you kicked him earlier. The sparring session wasn’t over yet, he doesn’t need to know that.
“Want to bet?” You turn away from him.
You sharply round on Dan, your foot turns into a blurry projectile. It makes contact with a soft target and your leg muscles tremor in alarm.
Dan’s deep laugh floods adrenaline into your system.