Nixion Strange punched the bag with ferocity only someone like him could muster. Someone with so much pent up anger, so much rage, that they would take it out on anyone who got in their way. That was a good description of Nixion.
He went for two low punches and a high one after. He didn’t want anyone predicting his moves in a fight, so he practised using different techniques. Then he hit the punching bag once. Twice. He forgot about being unpredictable, and just punched it again, and again and again. Every punch just made him angrier. Every punch brought back another painful memory. Punch. His kidnapping. Punch. The torture. Punch. The brainwashing. Punch. The murder.
Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. Nixion roared and jumped at the punching bag. The rope connecting it to the ceiling snapped. He and the bag went rolling across the ground of his dojo. The bag never stood a chance. Nixion stoped rolling, and realised he was on top of the bag. He delivered devastating blows. In a matter of minutes, the bag was ruined.
Nixion got up, and panted. A few seconds later, he noticed he wasn’t alone in the room. Standing in the corner of the room, were his… friends.
There was Zathract Mist. Nixion just called him Mist, and he pissed him off to unbelievable amounts. He had once saved Nixion’s life, and he would never let him forget it. His black hair fell over his ears and back of his head. He had emerald eyes that would seem to look into your very soul. It was very… weird. He was a necromancer, an elementalist, and a person who viewed anyone as a ‘bad guy’ to be despised. Since Nixion used to be a ‘bad guy’, it was safe to say that that he and Mist argued. A lot.
Next was Kali Nole. She was the oldest here, a full sixty-two years old. Though, if you looked at her, she would only seem twenty-two. She had the odd adept ability to turn her hands into small weapons. Nixion had seen them become knifes, guns, and even a small bomb, which she threw at a group of sorcerers. Though they seemed to have a limit to the number of bullets, and bombs she could make. Knifes were by far the easiest to make, and her favourite. She had shoulder length gold hair, brown eyes, and had a good sense of humour.
After her was Thomas Phillips. He had the ability to bend metal with ease, as if it was tinfoil. His ability ranged from different types of metal. But he could bend, or brake, most metals. He was slightly younger, and shorter, than Nixion. Blue eyes and blonde hair, and wore what normal thirteen year olds would. He was a good fighter. One of the best. Still, Nixion was confident he could beat him. It would only take a single touch.
He shook these thoughts from his head and looked at the last person. At the end was Mahogany Reen. She was an old girl, to say the least. She loved to use magic in everyday life, but hated to use it in a fight, unless faced with no other option. She seemed intrigued by people’s personalities, and was, by far, the kindest of everyone here.
“Why are you guys here?” he asked, looking at each of them. Mist grinned, Kali pretended to pout, Thomas rolled his eyes and Mahogany frowned at him.
“Trouble,” said Mist, still grinning. “And you’re not gonna like it.”