Shockwave

The room shook with the intensity of their fight, each clash of fist and blows sending shockwaves through the walls. Lobo, a towering figure of raw power, had never known defeat. His name alone struck fear into the hearts of those who dared to challenge him and that was because he never gave room for disrespect. Yet, here he was, locked in a ferocious struggle with Zeeb, a whose strength and determination matched his own.
They were brothers but at that moment, they fought like foes. They weren't best of friends but something had changed, driving a wedge between them that could only be settled in a fight. Lobo's eyes blazed with anger and frustration as he grappled with Zeeb, the room around them a blur of motion and destruction. Hus pride was taking a toll on him but he still wasn't going to back down.
Zeeb's face was a mask of grim determination. He had trained for this moment, pushed himself beyond his limits to prove that he was better than Lobo. Not because of pride, but because Lobo was getting pit of hand. With a sudden, unexpected twist, Zeeb managed to gain the upper hand, pinning Lobo to the ground. The impact reverberated through the room, a moment frozen in time as both men stared at each other in shock.
Lobo, for the first time, felt the cold sting of fear. He had always been invincible, unstoppable. Yet now, with Zeeb's weight pressing down on him, he realized that he was not as invulnerable as he had believed. The witch who had given him his power had promised he would not be overpowered by anyone, but now that promise seemed like a cruel joke.
Zeeb's eyes widened, mirroring Lobo's disbelief. He stood up abruptly, as if the sight of Lobo defeated was too much to bear. Without a word, he backed away, his footsteps echoing in the suddenly silent room. Then he turned and left, leaving Lobo alone with his thoughts.
Anger surged through Lobo, mingling with the fear and confusion. He had never felt so vulnerable, so exposed. With a primal roar, he began to destroy everything in sight. Tables were broken, chairs shattered, and ancient artifacts were reduced to rubble. The room now lay in ruins, a reflection of Lobo's inner turmoil. He felt so much anger within him.
As the last remnants of his rage subsided, Lobo collapsed to the floor, his chest heaving with exertion. The room was silent once more, save for the sound of his ragged breathing. And in that silence, memories began to surface, pulling him back into the dark recesses of his past.
He saw his father, a towering figure of brutality and dominance, standing over his mother. She was crumpled on the floor, her face bloodied and bruised. Lobo, was just a boy at the time, watched in horror as his father raised his hand to strike her again. His childhood was one he never liked to remember.
"A woman is never meant to be above a man," his father spat, his voice filled with venom. "Remember that, boy."
Lobo's small body trembled with fear and helpless rage. He wanted to protect his mother, but he was too weak, too powerless. Tears streamed down his face as he ran from the room, seeking refuge in the only place he felt safe.
Zeeb was waiting for him, his own face etched with worry. Together, they hid under a blanket, whispering their fears and promises to each other. "We'll kill him," Zeeb vowed, his voice fierce with certainty. "We'll kill him and save our mother."
The memory shifted, and Lobo saw himself older, standing over Ashina. His fists were clenched, his knuckles bloodied. He had struck her, just as his father had struck his mother. The realization hit him like a physical blow, leaving him breathless and horrified. He fekt like a monster, he did the same thing to his wife.
"No," he whispered, shaking his head as if to dispel the vision. "I'm not him. I'm not my father."
But the truth was undeniable. In his quest for power, in his bid to never feel weak again, he had become the very thing he despised. Overwhelmed by self-loathing, Lobo ran from the room, desperate to escape the memories that haunted him.
Outside, the night was dark and cool, the air filled with the sounds of the pack house. Lobo ran blindly, his thoughts a chaotic whirl of anger and regret. His breath came in ragged gasps, his vision blurred by tears he refused to shed. He ran until his legs gave out, and he fell to the ground, his hands scraping against the rough earth.
It was then he noticed the dark vein on his hand, a mark that pulsed with an unnatural energy. He stared at it, horrified, as it seemed to spread, branching out like a creeping vine under his skin. The power that once felt like a blessing now seemed like a curse, a malevolent force eating away at his humanity.
Panic set in, a cold, clawing fear that he couldn't shake. Lobo clutched at his hand, as if he could tear the darkness out by sheer will alone. But it was futile. The power was part of him, a gift that had come with a terrible price.
With a shuddering breath, Lobo forced himself to stand. He looked around He couldn't run from this. He couldn't hide. He had to face it, to confront the darkness within himself and find a way to overcome it.
His mind continued its unwilling journey through the corridors of his past. He remembered the promises made under that blanket, the resolve to kill his father and end the cycle of violence. They had succeeded, he and Zeeb, but at a cost. The act had left a stain on his soul, one that no amount of power could wash away. He felt like there was no redemption for him which made him loose it.