The workout gym was chaotic, and the guards did nothing to bring order. Most of them were big, mean-looking, dressed in black and had arms crossed with smiles on their faces. They had already taken bets: most favored Wolf, and they loved winning money while watching the slaves kill each other. Sometimes, they would watch the fights between the two crews; most of the time, they would watch the duel between the two leaders.

“Pathetic,” Jonas gave a bloody smile, and his voice was full of mockery. It looked like Wolf was a bit shaken, and Jonas wanted to seize the chance to break his opponent's mentality. “You had Terry Coleman stab me from behind? You must've been worried about me if you needed to resort to such shitty tricks. Is there not a single ounce of honor in your body? You shouldn't be a Berserker, as Envy seems much more suited to you.” Wolf shrugged his shoulders as if the taunting didn’t bother him, but there was a throbbing vein in his temple, and his face had flushed slightly.

“Do you remember what I said about wolves?” he clenched his fists tightly, “Victory is all the matters; victory is all the matters,” and he charged forward: angry and ready to continue the duel.

Jonas shook his head in disappointment because the same mistakes he had once made while going against Wolf were the same mistake that Wolf had just made: going against the nature of their Cardinal Sins. Berserkers wanted to dominate their opponents; it was rare to see them gang up against a single person; or perform acts of deceit, as they were very straightforward people. Rogues were the Sinners who preferred stealth, secrecy, lies, and trickery to win their fights.

Jonas felt like Wolf’s movements had become slower, while his own movements had become faster because his confidence was rising, and he felt the Sin of Pride fill his body with a type of vigor: a power he hadn't felt before. It spread to all his limbs: filled his heart, thoughts, and desires – he was going to dominate Wolf.

Jonas slapped away Wolf’s fist, and he slid into his opponent’s space. There, he unleashed a vicious beatdown that resembled an adult fighting a child. He stabbed his fist forward like a spear and repeatedly hit Wolf in the face until his old skin began to split, and blood was spraying from his nose and mouth.

Wolf tried to react, but it seemed as if Jonas was able to predict his next move because he could perfectly counter anything that Wolf threw at him. Jonas could feel his body becoming more durable, his muscles became more explosive, and he felt like he could pick Wolf up and toss him across the room. When he witnessed his great adversary struggle so much, it made an intense feeling of impending victory fill his mind.

A few wolves had a second to check on their boss; however, they panicked when they saw Jonas thrashing and abusing him. It seemed like the fight was in hand, and all their planning and advantages had been for naught. The morale of Wolf's gang was sinking: they needed a miracle.

“Just die, old dog,” Jonas’ voice was eerily calm as he kicked Wolf's skull: blasting his entire body backward. Wolf moaned and tried to pull himself together, but Jonas followed up with a dropkick that hit Wolf in the sternum and sent him crashing into a nearby bench press. Jonas smirked as he approached his beaten opponent; then, he put one foot on Wolf’s chest, stepping on his opponent for all to see.

Jonas’ companions looked over and saw that scene, and they felt a fire burn in their stomachs as they knew victory was near, and whatever wolves were still conscious began to back away in a panic: each had the same look: wondering if it was time to run. How did Wolf lose? None of them had any idea. Although their leader was a top-five, they barely knew anything about Sin. Was this what talent looked like: a nineteen-year-old kid being able to dominate an older martial arts master?

“Jonas!” Ahmed yelled, but it was too late. Wolf pulled a knife from the side of his boot and stabbed it right through Jonas’ heel. The blade penetrated his skin like hot butter: through one side of his foot and out the other. Jonas felt his entire body go momentarily limp – he slipped and fell. His head bounced off the floor, and that intense feeling of Pride left him: everything had returned to normal. Jonas knew that Sin had possessed him to the point of extreme carelessness.

His heel was screaming in pain, and instinctively his hand reached out to touch it. Blood seeped onto the stone floor: filling all the cracks and crevices around Jonas' foot. He screamed in pain, and when he looked down at his foot, he noticed that Wolf was shoving his dirty finger into the hole, squeezing the insides as harshly as he could.

Using his other foot, Jonas tried kicking Wolf in the face, but the old dog lifted the knife and stabbed it. Jonas felt the knife impale the bottom of his foot and watched as the sharp tip poked through the top.

“Wolf!” Jonas screamed while pulling his foot away until the blade came out. Wolf bit the knife between his teeth: his pupils dilated, and his eyes narrowed. He crawled toward Jonas, who tried crawling away, but Wolf crouched like an animal: his powerful muscles flexed and propelled him forward and landed on top of Jonas.

Jonas coughed blood as Wolf’s body crushed his stomach, and he had almost been too late to react when Wolf pulled the blade from his teeth and stabbed it downwards. Jonas' quick reaction time momentarily saved his life as his hand grabbed Wolf's forearm and required all his strength to prevent the blade from penetrating his brain.

Wolf built up enough strength and momentum to finally climb to his knees, and he put both hands on the hilt of his dagger, then he pushed downward with all his body weight behind him. Jonas panicked as the tip of the blade edged closer, but he managed to greet the weapon with his other arm, and the two fighters began a pushing match as they each tried to move the dagger away from themselves.

Jonas hated the situation his enemy placed him in. Both his feet were useless: Wolf had stabbed his left foot through the heel, the right foot from bottom to top, and Jonas couldn't get any leverage from either foot. His body was still missing a ton of blood, and the sparkly stars in his eyes told him that he would soon pass out from blood loss. The hulking figure of Wolf was on top of him while pushing a seven-inch serrated blade toward his face, and it seemed that the old dog was blood-crazed as his inner Wrath screamed out to kill his opponent and end the fight.

Jonas watched as the tip of the knife slowly edged its way closer to his skull, and he couldn’t help but feel his muscles grow tired as they lost the battle. At that moment, Jonas realized it might be the end for him.

Instinctively, he turned his head to look toward his companions to see if one of them would help him; unfortunately, they were all preoccupied because Wolf’s resurgence boosted their confidence, and their morale increased too.

‘Fuck,’ thought Jonas as melancholy filled his body. In his heart, he wished that he could have seen his brother one last time before death, and a feeling of remorse swept over him because he would never see Drake again.

'Pride!' Jonas spoke in his mind, but no voice answered. 'Pride, I know you can hear me. Help me!'

'Sorry, Jonas.' Pride's voice sounded cold, 'I told you before not to rely on me to save you. Hopefully, the next version of you isn't such an idiot. When you die, Drake's teachings will be gone, your thoughts and opinions will be gone, and most importantly, I'll have a fresh canvas to paint on. Goodbye, Jonas. I'll see the new you soon.'

Jonas' heart turned cold, and an icy feeling spread from his toes to his fingers; even his alter-ego had abandoned him. He had relied on Pride many times to save him, and the Sin Shadow probably grew tired of such a weak and empathetic person. No, Pride would want a much crueler version of Jonas, who mercilessly killed others and treated them terribly.

'Fine,' Jonas felt his fighting spirit waver, and the dagger got closer. 'I'll just die. Maybe in my next life, I'll be the person Hell wants me to be.'

'NO!' His heart shouted. It pumped warm blood through his veins and made the icy feeling subside. That's right, why should he die? It was his afterlife, and it was his mission. He had been abandoned by his parents: by God, by Drake, Old Louie, and even Pride. He was tired of relying on others to survive, and he was tired of being abandoned. Why should he die because they no longer cared for him? He refused.

Jonas wasn’t sure why he heard Simon’s voice, but their conversation had popped up in his head from a time long past when he had first arrived at the Hurt’s gang.

"You just need to learn how to deal with the pain, and if you can learn that, you’ll be able to survive against Garth, at least long enough to show your skills.”

“Deal with the pain? Do you mean that literally?”

“The only way to get stronger is to become numb to the feeling of pain.”

“How does one do that?”

“Easy, you just have to convince yourself that no matter how badly you get hurt, you’ll eventually heal from it.”

‘Fuck me,’ Jonas smiled, and he did something completely unexpected. His right arm, which pushed Wolf's arm, went limp and shot off to the side. Wolf couldn’t control his momentum as the dagger fell downwards, and he watched Jonas quickly twist his head, and the tip of the blade sliced through his cheek: cutting off his tongue and penetrating to the other side of his mouth.

Wolf tried to pull the blade out, but Jonas had gripped the hilt with his left hand, holding it down with all the force he could. He felt Wolf pull, the serrated edge moved up and down while slicing the insides of his mouth, and it felt like someone was trying to cut his face in two. However, Jonas held the blade firmly, preventing Wolf from drawing it out as if unworthy of doing so. With his free hand, Jonas’ fingers enclosed something, and with all the might he still had, he swung his arm upwards and struck Wolf across the temple.

For a second, Wolf saw stars. The hit had been perfectly unexpected and knocked him to semi-consciousness. His jaw went slack, and he rolled over to the side.

Jonas rolled over and pulled himself on top of Wolf, the same way the old dog had done to him moments earlier. He pushed himself up, got onto his knees, and looked down at his opponent's bleeding and semi-conscious face.

Jonas wobbled his body, and he used his knees to press down on Wolf’s shoulders. For a split second, time froze as he stared into the gray eyes of his enemy.

It wasn't a question for him, nor was there hesitation – Jonas knew what he had to do. A single tear formed at the base of his eye: it trickled down his cheek and fell on his opponent's face. In his hand was a five-pound weight, and he swung it downward.

The small weight greeted Wolf’s skull with a sickening crunch, but the old dog was still alive. Jonas struck once more, and this time the crunch was much sloppier as blood began to seep.

Wolf whimpered as the third strike hit him. The fourth made his skull split at the seam, while the fifth made his face fall apart. On the tenth hit, Wolf's head no longer resembled anything human; however, Jonas continued bashing it as if he didn't realize what he was doing, and flecks of blood, skull, and brain matter splashed everywhere.

Wolf was dead. Jonas obliterated him, and chunks of his body would forever seep into the stone floors of the workout gym – staining them. It would be a subtle memorial of the time a nineteen-year-old kid had brutally murdered an old slave.