Damian leaned against the wall, his arms crossed to his chest. His eyes followed your fists, as you beat the punching bag to a pulp, its chains squeaking and groaning with each hard hit.

“Your forms off,” he grunted, pushing off the wall and going behind you, hands going to your elbows to better align them.

“If you hit somebody the way you were before, youd’ leave this…” he pokes your rib cage. “Wide open. Instantly shattered. Game over,”