Another day had come and gone. Jonas sat quietly to the side of the sandy fight pit while he watched Simon and Ahmed perform a warm-up spar. His blue eyes examined the minute details of Ahmed’s body, his motions, and his decision-making, but it was extremely difficult to garner any information because Ahmed didn’t make wasted movements, and every punch and kick seemed simplified like a good math equation.

One thing Jonas did notice was that Ahmed’s Sin Scars never showed any sign of reaction when fighting Simon, but they did occasionally glow while fighting Jonas. He was taking their spars more seriously, but what was the difference? Jonas needed to figure out how he was channeling his Sin, and why the Sin Scars were reacting. He wanted to stare and pay attention to his own hands, but it was a mission to do so while being attacked by a top-five fighter.

Simon lasted as long as he could, but eventually, a quick jab from Ahmed shattered his nose and he was forced to take a break as he sat on the sidelines, painfully trying to stop the bleeding.

Jonas rose from the sand and began pacing towards Ahmed, and although he was unsure of his first move, he knew that it would most likely end up with him looking like Simon, or worse.

He attacked first, not letting fear dictate his decision-making. Ahmed effortlessly parried the attacks and threw a few punches himself but to his surprise, only one of them had any impact as the first two were clumsily deflected, and the last hit Jonas’ shoulder but had its impact cushioned because Jonas had rolled on the ground and distributed the force.

“Still making so many unnecessary movements,” Ahmed chided as he waited for Jonas to pick himself back up.

“So many unnecessary comments,” Jonas replied as his hands went back up to his chin and he approached his opponent. Their second bout occurred, and Jonas was sent flying across the sand, and he swore his sternum had been cracked. He got up and a third-round began, but this time he managed to almost hit Ahmed who had temporarily left himself open, but Jonas was disappointed to realize that he had done it on purpose, and biting the bait had rewarded Jonas with nothing but a nasty karate chop to the back of his neck.

“Ow, ow,” Jonas moaned as he rubbed the back of his neck and stared daggers at Ahmed, “Simon, you go next, I’m taking a break,” which was fine by Simon whose nose had at least stopped bleeding.

Jonas sat down and contemplated, ‘I feel like I can see his movements,’ he stared earnestly at the two fighting in the center of the pit, ‘I just can’t seem to move my body fast enough, it’s like no matter what my eyes see, I can’t react in time,’ and he felt momentarily frustrated as he considered how he could move quicker than he already was, ‘If this was a running race, I would leave him in the dust,’ and Jonas couldn’t help but sigh as he wished somehow that forty-yard dash speed could translate to the reaction speed of his kicks and punches.

Jonas watched as poor Simon was thrown face-first into the sand, and then Jonas stood up and prepared to fight once more, but it seemed that Ahmed liked Simon better because Jonas was thrown much farther and much harder when compared to his fellow, ‘Oh, you just wait, asshole,’ and he spat sand out of his mouth.

All wasn’t lost though, and maybe it was just a guess, but Jonas felt like Ahmed was putting in a bit more effort than he usually had, which made him believe he was starting to improve.

He began trying to refine his attacks as he threw them, careful to take Ahmed’s advice of cutting back his wasted movement and trying to focus on simplicity and speed. In theory, it should have worked, but realistically even with his newfound power, it wasn’t easy to suddenly refine a fighting style he had been using since he was young.

Jonas had never been the strongest, that role was for his older brother but looking up to Drake had always inspired him to be somewhat of a decent fighter, and although he hadn’t fought many people in his past life he at least could hold his own against guys like Tommy Phillips.

“What is this?” asked Jonas a while later, “Round three or four?”

“Six,” replied Ahmed, who was breathing noticeably harder than usual and a thin layer of sweat had begun appearing on his body. Jonas was hit hard in the face by a right hook, but he felt like he was beginning to be able to embrace the pain, and instead of his body cringing in reaction, he counter-attacked at top speed and actually made Ahmed step back to defend himself.

Maybe he felt embarrassed that he was expending so much energy, but Ahmed began attacking with much more force and a guillotine-like kick hit Jonas so hard in the neck he thought it might be permanently stuck in the shape of a curve. Simon grimaced as he watched Jonas cough, splutter, and gag for air, while his hands and knees planted into the chunky sand.

‘Fucking, cocksucker,’ Jonas was furious, ‘You want to go all out against a malnourished slave who is a thousand years your junior?’ and he slowly stood up from the spot while wiping spit from his mouth, ‘Pathetic.’

Although Jonas wasn’t speaking out loud, the arrogant look in his eyes told Ahmed that he was looking down on him for being a bully. His breathing was haggard, and his body was sore, but there was a fire burning in his belly as the same thought crossed his mind each time Ahmed threw him around like a sack of potatoes, ‘I can beat this guy.’

Day three of the bet hadn’t gone much better than the second, although by the end, Jonas was sure that he could win against Ahmed and this was including the fact he had yet to land a clean hit.

As Jonas lay in his cage the night of the third day, he began doing pushups for the first time since gym class, “Fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two,” up and down Jonas pushed himself and Simon did nothing but bob his head up and down as he watched Jonas go to work.

By the time he reached his third set of seventy, Jonas’ arms were rubbery and shaking like wet noodles. ‘If I’m correct,’ thought Jonas as he took deep breaths, ‘My muscles will repair much faster than normal because of my healing ability, which means I should be able to put on muscle mass at the same rate as someone who was using powerful steroids.’

Jonas didn’t suddenly have an obsession for muscles, it was just a fact that he realized through the many ass whoopings he had received in Hell, that not even one of his opponents had been slim fit like himself, all of them had been either bulky like a heavy-weight boxer or shredded like a middle-weight cage fighter.

His stomach began growling, ‘I need protein,’ he thought desperately as he looked at the empty bowl next to him. Stomach pains were the last thing he was worried about and Jonas decided that he would simply fill up on sleep and ambition.

When Jonas awoke on day four of his bet, he realized immediately that he had been correct, and although no one else would find him noticeably bigger, he could tell that there was a firmness that hadn’t been there before, ‘I can’t believe I could gain muscle in a single day,’ he thought as he flexed and examined his handiwork, ‘If I keep this up, I should have enough power to throw Ahmed out of the pit, the only thing I need to worry about now is paying attention to his movements and learning to absorb the pain.’

Jonas’ strategy for beating Ahmed was very simple but also practical. First, he would learn Ahmed’s attack patterns allowing himself the opportunity to dodge an attack and if he failed to dodge, then he would simply eat the hit without flinching; grapple Ahmed and use his extra muscle mass to judo-toss him out of the fight pit. Although Jonas considered the plan simple and practical, he also knew that ten thousand things could go wrong and that a fight rarely progressed how it was envisioned in the mind.

Jonas was dirty, sweaty, and bloodstained, but he stood his ground in the sandpit. ‘When I hit the asshole, I need to punch him as if I’m not worried about his counter-attack. I need to believe that no matter what he does to me, my body will just heal from it,’ but this was easier said than done because every time Ahmed attacked him it hurt so badly that he couldn’t help but feel his body flinch in protest.

“You’re getting a bit better,” Ahmed conceded through what Jonas realized were deep breaths that the old warrior was trying to hide.

“You okay there?” Jonas asked sarcastically, “You look a bit tired,” but he probably shouldn’t have provoked him because Ahmed immediately attacked full force, grabbed Jonas by the throat, and kneed him so hard in the mid spine, Jonas was sure he’d never be able to walk again.

A few minutes later, Jonas felt the numbness in his legs subside as he slowly rose from the ground, his back felt like he had just been hit by a vehicle. Ahmed was just as shocked as he usually was when dealing with that annoying youth, but this time he was even more surprised because he was sure that he had put enough force behind that attack to knock Jonas out of commission.

Ahmed was starting to think that something was wrong, and he started paying more attention to Jonas’ Sin Scars. Although the youth didn’t realize it, Ahmed had noticed them getting stronger over the past few days. His flame-like Sin Scars would glow in protest, a sign of a Berserker who loved to dominate others.

“Ahmed, are you still playing around with Blondie?” a booming voice from a nearby fight pit drowned the sounds of fighting, and both Jonas and Ahmed merely glanced at Garth like he was an annoying fly, and something about their arrogant expressions drove the big man insane as he shouted, “Why don’t both you pussies come over here and give me a warm-up, I’d love to taste you again, Blondie,” and Jonas noticed that he was stepping on the back of someone’s skull, while that poor slave’s legs twisted and writhed as he suffocated in the sand.

“Why don’t you let your new slave breath?” asked Ahmed, “Or perhaps you believe that you’ll be entitled to another one if he dies?”

Garth smirked as he used his foot to press harder against that person's skull, and their entire head sunk deeper into the sand as their hands desperately gripped at the big black boots, tapping, clawing, and doing anything to show that he desperately needed air.

At the last possible second, Garth raised his boot and allowed his slave to gasp for air. Although his face was mostly hidden with long matted hair, Jonas could see that his eyes were bulging and red.

“Johnson,” Simon whispered, and his expression was concerned.

“Friend of yours?” Jonas narrowed his brows.

“Not really, but he doesn’t deserve that,” and as much as both Simon and Jonas wanted to help him, neither could take Garth.

“Care to go again?” Garth asked politely, but Johnson could barely speak let alone beg for mercy, his nose was broken, and he was bleeding from nearly every part of his body.

“No more,” he said breathlessly, his eyes were watery and Jonas could see that he was fighting back tears.

“No more?” asked Garth, “You had so much fire before, where did it all go?” Johnson hung his head in shame, “I’m willing to never choke the life from you again, but you have to do a favor for me.”

“Anything,” Johnson said, “Just name it.”

“Crawl over here and suck my cock,” Garth smiled evilly as he watched the color drain from the poor slave’s face.

“What?” there was no point pretending that he didn’t hear properly, everyone in the room had heard what Garth said.

“Come-suck-my-cock,” Garth said each word slowly and let them roll off his very thick lips.