Dead Tired - Volume Four - The Competitors Two - The Jim Rat

The Competitors Two - The Jim Rat

Once, some two generations ago, a wandering elder of what was then a small but humble sect of young men merely looking to improve themselves came across something strange in the Steppes. 

A deposit in the ground, scoured by wind, and yet brilliant all the same. Gold. Enough to build a humble home, or fund the start of a grand sect. Next to it were fonts of lava, oozing from the soil and boiling hot. 

This elder reached out to his kin, and after much debate, then decided to make the site of that deposit their home. 

The warming fire, fresh from the molten earth, was a gift. The gold, mined and treated, was a boon.

That was generations ago. Since then, the Lava Fist Sect had prospered, growing its ultimate goal of helping each and every one of its members reach their peak, reach the point where their strength was enough to lift the heavens themselves. 

He was a third-generation member of the sect, and quite proud of it. His corded muscles strained, tightening, forcing, as he pushed upwards.

The barbell was gold-wrapped around an iron core. The plates themselves, each as thick as his muscular thighs, were pure gold as well. 

They didn’t care that these riches could buy them a kingdom. No. Gold was dense and heavy, and what mattered more? Great wealth, or the opportunity to push oneself just a little further.

He grunted, feeling the veins in his neck and forehead bulging as his pushed for all he was worth. 

A few of his brothers in muscular arms glanced his way. There was no shame in trying, only shame in giving up. And yet a brother would always be there to spot a bro if the time came for it.

But he didn’t need their help, not today. Taking in a huff of warm air, he filled his lungs, then grunted all the louder. The weights rose, slowly, surely, until with a great clank, then passed the bar and he was able to set them down. 

“Ah!” he said. “This is a good day for my muscles.”

Just then, a familiar young man jogged into the gym. He was one of the bright-eyed youth of the sect, an outer disciple still, but he was well on his way to starting the long journey towards the perfect form. “Brother Jim,” he said. “Did you hear?”

“Hear what?” he asked as he sat up on the bench. He grabbed a towel and wiped the sweat off of his chest, making sure to get it out of the tense curves of his muscles. “Did something happen?”

“Yeah!” the young disciple said. He reached into a pouch and pulled out a folded scroll.

He took it, unrolling it before himself before squinting at it. There was plenty of art that immediately told him what this was for. “A tournament?” he asked before he started to read. He was happy that he’d spent so much time reading recently--mostly imported medical texts, to know the names of his muscles and to better understand the function of his body, but also some texts by the last generation of the sect, their techniques and accomplishments. That practice made it so much easier for him to scan through the scroll.

It was an invitation, one directed to the Lave Fist sect itself, but also to anyone who wanted to join in. The tournament would be held relatively soon, in the nearby city of Yu Xiang. 

“Hosted by the new empress, huh?” he asked. 

He’d seen that girl when she passed through here. A scrawny young woman, with barely enough muscles to stand around and gawk with. He hadn’t been impressed. Still, he’d heard of her accomplishments later.

There was a well-respected text in the sect that said that the brain, also, was a muscle. 

He’d never exactly figured out what kind of routine would help him train it. Like, what did one do for that, and how many reps?

The prize was nice. Immortality?

Yeah, he believed it. That little empress girl had that lich with her, and he was powerful. No muscles, though, which was a shame.

Imagine someone with infinite time to build themselves? Millenia to get things right, to build each and every muscle out to its perfect form, to find out the exact nutritional balance? 

“Yeah, I like this idea. Good job little bother,” he said. 

“Are you going, Brother Pressley?” the outer disciple asked.

A few of the others in the gym glanced over, interested in his answer. If he went, he’d be representing the Lava Fist sect. He wasn’t the strongest practitioner here, but... he had some amount of talent, and while he didn’t master the Lava Fist arts as some did, none would claim that he hadn’t brought his body up to a standard that few could match.

Few could match... here, in his sect and home.

But what about elsewhere?

The Lava Fist sect hadn’t just sprung up from thin air. The elders, the old bros, were cool guys from across the Jade Empire who’d come here to train and find peace in perfecting themselves.

But if they came from elsewhere, then what was to say that there weren’t others like them? And if there were, could they be better?

Imagine the gains if he found others with new techniques to try out! 

“I’m going to do it,” he said.

“You’re going to try to win?” the little sect bro asked.

“What is the point of doing something if you’re not doing it to win?” he asked in return. “I’m going to try, little bro. I’m going to put my all into it. I’m going to show the world what being part of the Lava Fist sect is all about. Huh!” He flexed.

Yeah, he was going to go out there and see if he couldn’t make a name for himself, and grow that much more perfect.

“Yeah! You can do it, Brother Jimothy!”

He was gonna do it! With the help of his bros, and his huge biceps!

***