Chapter 3: New Skills You Must Discard, New Skills You Must Master.
Training was a fun endeavour. The feeling of constantly becoming stronger would definitely sway a person, tempting them to become drowned in the feeling of strength.
The past few days had consisted of Azazel testing his bodies limits. The many various forms of push-ups accompanied his solace, none of of the slaves were in the mind state to talk.
They had not overcome the feeling of impending doom, however, did nothing to stop it either.
'This should be a reminder of what never to become. An empty husk of your former self.' Azazel sighed, 'They have adapted to their surroundings too much.'
Azazel moved to a corner, made his, simply from the fact that he came back alive. These slaves seemed slightly scared, witnessing the amount of training he conducted, like an alien had entered the surroundings, they were interested. But simply left him, keeping slightly wary.
'My understanding of my body has gotten much greater. It's ability to grow and discard, both needed and unneeded muscle is a great boon, that I must take advantage of.'
The Hanma bloodline was surely a cheat. It tailored the body for battle, understanding exactly what Azazel needed.
But this cheat needed to be trained.
'Perhaps I can use classical conditioning to cause certain bodily responses, which can assist me in training?' Azazel had this idea for a few hours now. But currently he had no way to try this method.
"Boy! Its you again." A guard once again came, letting Azazel know it was his time, "Because you are Lord, Saint Dustin's warrior, I shall tell you what you're fighting today." Of course the guard didn't forget to sneer at the sight of the slave.
"Also because you will die today." This line perked Azazel's ears. If worst came to worst, he would have to implement his plan slightly earlier than intended. This did not scare him, or impede it however.
For he was water. Formless and changing.
"Wh-"
"Don't speak! Lowly scum!" The guard postured, as if he was a king talking to a lowly commoner, "You will fight 50 times in a row. The crowd seemed to like you, so you will show them all you have."
'50 times...? Fuck.' Azazel knew his limits, and the chances of him making it out alive were slim, depending on the opponents. But the chance he would become a much stronger person after, also afflicted himself.
Azazel got up, taking a deep breath, and walked out onto the battleground.
What faced him, was an opponent that was calm. But Azazel could see the ripples in the ocean. No words were exchanged and the opponent, a middle aged man, walked toward him, sword out.
Azazel, first sent a kick, tempting the man to attack. The kick was dodged as the man leaned back, readying his sword for a stab into the midsection.
But attacks like these were the easiest to counter. Especially with his current body. Azazel spun around the attack, kicking the man's foot, taking him off balance slightly. He then firmly placed both hands on the man's arm.
One on the forearm, the other on his bicep area. He then brought his knee up explosively, slamming it into the man's elbow joint, cracking it, making it limp like a well done spaghetti.
The man screamed in pain, uplifting his previous demeanour, one that Azazel had already seen through.
And judging by the gritting of the teeth, and twitch of the muscles in his left arm and hand, he knew an anger influenced punch was coming, aimed directly for his face.
Not wanting to explore this fight any further, Azazel directly punctured his hand through the man's heart. Ending his life crudely.
Azazel had to think of what the next fights would bring. He would never assume that the owners of such place would send in the same weak opponents.
And for this, he would have to be ready.
The next opponent came...
Dead.
And another...
Dead.
And another...
Until it was down to the last 10.
The bloodied field of death, thrilled the audience, who's screams aimed to drown the never ending body of water, that stood, spotless.
Azazel had taken little to no damage, befitting of the martial god's apostle. But he knew the next opponent would be a tough one.
After many battles, he could somewhat sense, and analyse his opponents strength. But of course, he would never rely on such a method, instead it was done warily, never underestimating, nor overestimating their prowess.
His opponent scoured the field, noticing the amount of bodies piled up, and the lack of roughness his opponent had. Kids? Adults? They were all bound to fight each other for the rest of their lives, or succumb to the embrace of death. This case wasn't any different.
'He isn't underestimating me?' Azazel smiled, 'A somewhat worthy opponent has appeared.'
In his stance he stared into the man's eyes, "Become water my friend."
The man looked stifled as he couldn't understand the essence of the words. However, deeming them as words of a corrupted kid, he rushed with his spear.
'Most think that the sword is the king of all weapons. Of course, the body and mind is the ultimate, but they fail to understand the greatness of a spear. I need to be careful.'
But, Azazel was thinking in Earth terms. In the world of one piece, he was unsure if there were ranks to spearmen. Ranks that would solidify your strength, some of which could send out long range attacks, capable of cutting anything.
The man rushed forward, doing the most obvious attack of all.
'If my opponent were to be like water, then he would be unpredictable.' A sigh escaped his mouth.
The opponent thrusted forward, surely trying to poke a hole through his stomach, 'Also aiming for a non-vital area.'
The Asura moved his torso, twisting it, dodging the attack. But what followed after, was a barrage of swings, alternating their path each time.
The neck.
The head.
The legs.
The shoulders.
All attacks failed to touch this elusive opponent. This made the man furious.
'Getting angry so quick? He is just like that fake Bruce Lee.' Azazel whipped his leg, into the mans mid-section, sending him tumbling back, slightly startled.
"I was going to kill you quick." The man lied, "But NOW you will die a slow death slave."
"Aren't we all slaves here, old timer?" The boy huffed a deep breath, "The only difference lay between us, is how unattuned your mind is for the martial way."
"Shut up you brat!" The man jumped into the air, swinging his spear in a frontal attack, "The only difference between us, is that one is dead. And one is alive! Die!"
*Spurt*
"Once again, another has succumbed to their wrath." Azazel flicked the blood off his finger, which previously pierced the mans jugular.
He then took another deep breath, awaiting his next opponent.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone