
The forty-fifth day of Summer, 512 A.V.
Long had Ezekiel awaited the day he would be given the chance to prove his worth and join the monks of Nyka. His many peers who had joined in his training had not the dedication nor the will to become the monks they spoke of being with such bravado and pointless posturing. They would be the first to fall to the trials, and Ezekiel thanked Laat for it. Bone-headed fools who thought the robe to be just that were no better suited for combat than a babe fresh from the womb. Without resolve, they were nothing more than moving sacks of meat waiting to be crushed beneath the almighty forces of the Celestials who ruled above them.
"Tabbris, you're next."
The young man stepped forward, his frown bent in concentration as his steely eyes appraised his opponent. He was large, muscular, and walked with a cocky swagger that denoted him as one of the foolish individuals who thought the role of a monk nothing more than a position of luxury. Surely, those sort of people would have been discarded come the second trial, but Ezekiel saw no reason to allow them that far - this particular one especially. What better way to serve Laat than to eliminate those who would sully his name with selfish deeds and desires.
"Guide my hand that I might strike the sneer from his petching face." Ezekiel cracked his knuckles together and spit on the ground as they circled each other. Neither one of them seemed willing to make the first move, thus they continued, slowly closing in upon each other, maintaining eye contact the entire time. The other man was the first to take action. His fist swung out in an obvious roundhouse, slow enough that Ezekiel was able to dart in close and and shove his palm into the other man's throat with an uppercut thrust. The maneuver was surprising enough that by the time the man's arm slammed into Ezekiel's shoulder, he was too busy coughing and sputtering to follow up.
Ezekiel winced as he gingerly touched the area the other man's arm had connected with. His body wasn't built to take heavy hits, thus he had to end fights quickly if he was going to emerge the victor. Clenching his teeth together, he dove back in, striking several times in succession at the man's head. On the defensive, the other man moved his arms up to try to shield himself from the blows, but having been disoriented by the strike to his throat, he succumbed quickly to Ezekiel's onslaught.
The repeated punches that bounced off the man's weakening shield of flesh started to wear on Ezekiel as the sweat trickled down the sides of his face. Putting all of his forward momentum into a spinning kick, his foot landed squarely in the middle of the man's stomach, sending him sprawling to the floor. Not waiting for any kind of retaliation, Ezekiel immediately dropped down on top of him and began to jab at the man's face, shoulders, chest: whatever was exposed and a target. Not too soon after, the overseeing monk pulled Ezekiel off of the man, declaring him the victor.
Ezekiel looked down at the bloodied mess upon the ground with a hint of disdain. The other man had been too preoccupied with his intimidating physical stature to actually focus upon the art of fighting. Ezekiel had never been one to consider himself a martial master, but when the opportunity to counter-strike arose, he rarely passed upon the chance. He'd managed to keep the other man on the defensive. Coupled with his aggressive maneuvers, Ezekiel had been able to easily defeat his ill prepared opponent. He glared into the face of the monk as he was dismissed to clean up, commenting on Ezekiel's seemingly unnecessary brutality. "Were I to allow him a chance to fight back, I would have lost. There is no place for hesitation in a fight." Nor was there a place for hesitation in the pursuit of the Robe.
He turned his back upon the both of them, massaging his knuckles and grimacing at the painful signals his brain received from the action. Having chosen a more agile form of combat, his strikes were weaker but faster than those of many of his monk-hopeful counterparts. Thus, he had had to deliver twice - if not more - the blows to fell his opponent than many of the others. It appeared he had been much more cruel and bloodthirsty than had been his intention at the time, but after the fact, Ezekiel had owned it. Let them frown and whisper about him. It would only serve him in the end.
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