He snapped at nothing.

As he tried to get up, another whooshing sound emitted from above, and it came down on him so fast that he had no time to react. It thumped him on the top of the head so hard that it knocked him down and out.

When he awoke, Mr. B was leaning over him with a stupid smile. Alacard turned away from the blinding lights that had come on as well, covering his face with a hand as if woken from a stupor after a night of drinking.

“Hey, man, shut off the lights,” he growled with frustration.

Mr. B slapped him on the shoulder.

Alacard glared. “Don’t hit so hard.”

“Don’t be such a pup,” Mr. B said.

“I’ll show you who’s a pup,” Alacard said, rolling over and staying on all fours for a moment, shaking off the drowsiness. The residual from that freaking two-by-four left him with a throbbing headache.

“Ugh.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mr. B said, ushering him out of the room. “We hear you. Now, rest up and get ready for your next round. Vincent?”

Vincent stood at the ready and saluted.

“Yes, sir. I’m ready to go in, sir.”

Alacard mouthed the same words Vincent did, giving a mocking little salute as he plopped down on the couch, then frowned and grimaced as if he was going to cry from the pain, a shock moving up and down his spine from the splitting headache. Still, he wouldn’t let it show, so he gritted his teeth through it and clenched his body till the thudding subsided, then leaned back and almost passed out.

Vincent moved into the room, his arms loose at his sides, hopping in place to ready himself as he tensed and transformed. At least he was getting that down more, but this time he felt a bit more drained and lower on energy. Still, he wasn’t going to let that stop him.

“Okay, I’m ready,” he growled with an elated smile.

Ears alert, tail swishing about, arms and body tensed, he listened as he was ready to strike at anything that came at him. With Alacard’s challenge, he was hit by some long two-by-fours which were strewn about, whereas his first round was those cursed pieces of large disc-like pieces of oak. It didn’t seem fair. The two-by-fours didn’t seem all that hard to –

A swooshing noise – did the opening noise even happen? – and something was flung at him, long and light and – it hit him on the shoulder, but he reacted just in time to turn with the hit. Avoiding the impact, he slapped a hand up into a defensive, parrying motion, making the two-by-four clunk to the ground.

“That was close,” he said, chuckling and turning in a slow circle.

Another swoosh from above, and he stepped to the side and swiped upward, knocking it away. When he hit the beam, it broke in two, and he snatched up a piece in each paw, using them like weapons to deflect the next ones.

“No rule against that,” he said with a sly smile, feeling cool like Alexander. He spun around, swinging the splintered wood at another object that came flying at him, knocking it out of the way, his arm rattling from the impact.

“Okay, maybe not such a good idea.” He dropped the objects then turned as two more shot at him in the darkness, and he moved on them, smashing them in two with quick, successive movements.

Was he getting stronger? No, it must have been a trick, so he readied himself for ones that would come faster and harder, maybe even more than two.

And that is exactly what happened. Three more shot at him, and he was able to somehow break through one and dodge the other two. But by the time four shot at him, followed up by a fifth, he was pinned by two-by-fours after getting knocked around and dazed.

Alacard took another turn, this time getting the barrage of what Vincent had experienced the first round, and doing well.

“Is that all you got?” he snarled, holding his claws at the ready, broad smile on face.

Another round of two-by-fours met him, which got to the point of when Vincent met his end. One shot at him quicker than anticipated, startling and dazing him. Then two shot in just the right way, pinning him against a corner. He snarled, breaking free of them, splinters bursting in all directions. Then, something new came. A ball of thick wood that could fit in the size of his palm, smooth and sanded down, shot at him. He smirked and caught it, tilting his head as he looked down at it. “Is this some kind of joke?”

Five shot all at once, pelting him from different directions. He spun around and snarled. Three more came from the darkness, except these ones were larger, too large to hold in his palm, like the game he to love playing in elementary where you’d throw rubber balls at other kids. And he enjoyed pelting the other kids, especially when he got kicked out of a school and sent to another one. He pelted some kids good during those times. Sent a few to the nurse’s office. These balls, while they were the same size, were not rubber. They were pure wood, thick and solid. While he would be able to dodge or destroy one, destroying three was just not possible. Still, he wouldn’t back down, and as he got pelted by two, he took out one. And the next round of three he was able to smash two and deflect the third. The final round got him though, because they just kept shooting out – four, five, six, seven, and on and on, faster, stronger, and harder. When one knocked him in the noggin, he was done. He staggered for a moment, then two smacked him in the back, sending him flying forward, sprawling against the ground, and he was out.

Each of them took a few more turns, rotating between two-by-fours, thick discs of wood, and the smooth, wooden balls that grew in intensity and size and speed and numbers.

Eventually, though, both became worn out by repeated rounds, bodies and minds bruised up good. Mr. B had given each boy a Magician’s Friend and some huge batches of beef jerky. While the Magician’s Friend bars weren’t the tastiest, they did the job of replenishing their strength. The beef jerky was the real gingasend as a tasty and filling addition.

“All right,” Mr. B said with a big grin, his thick arms folded across his body.  “Let’s try something else.”

.           .           .