Boxing not tied to a ring chapter - 4
Branthok sat alone in the dim hall, eyes fixed on an old, half-burned photo — a woman smiling beside him, one hand over her belly.
Mary's soft footsteps echoed before her voice did.
> "You're looking at her again."
He didn't look up.
> "She's all I ever look at."
Mary knelt beside him, her aura calm yet fragile, like light trying to touch darkness.
> "What's wrong, Branthok?"
He sighed — heavy, cracked with years.
> "She's gone. Took her life after mine. The pressure… our kid… they both fell to Hell."
"I don't even know what she looks like now — what Hell made her into. I don't even know if she'd want me."
Mary smiled faintly, though her voice trembled.
> "Of course she would. Love doesn't rot that easily."
He laughed, hollow.
> "You don't know anything, Angel."
She folded her hands.
> "Then tell me. Teach me what I need to know."
He leaned back, lost in the memories.
> "I was a boxer — underground fights, no rules. I fought the new bloods. Not for money — for feeling alive. My fists were how I prayed."
"Guess that's why I ended up here. Beat life too hard, and it hits back."
Mary listened silently, a holy figure among sinners, her heart aching not from disgust — but recognition
Though the difference was massive in heaven
Areli mad seems like she was overthinking something trying to figure out something their an executioner of her division and probably the only male one in her division same height as her stand as he spoke
> "Captain!!-"
"no nomram I am not in the mood today" she said tired and not in mood
As he said he knows way to make her feels better as then she asked his idea he respond doing the only thing she love
>"Breaking bones!!"
She rolled her eyes "its sparring but yeah I am down"
Heaven's marble corridors shook with the crack of impact. Ariel's sword smashed through her sparring partner's defense again and again until the man crashed into the wall.
> "Captain—!"
"Don't. Talk."
Nomram groaned, straightening his dislocated arm with a pop.
> "You hit harder than usual."
"Then don't volunteer next time."
He grinned through the pain.
> "You're strong, Captain. I don't think anyone could ever match you."
She sheathed her blade, gaze cold — but something flickered behind it.
> "The tough bitch Marmon did. He's… strong."
Nomram raised an eyebrow.
> "You admire him?"
She scoffed.
> "I respect him. There's a difference."
A pause. Her voice softened, almost human.
> "Still… I want to believe redemption is real. I felt something when I fought him. Maybe he could've been saved… stood beside me in Heaven."
Nomram hesitated, then said quietly:
> "But demi-sins can't be cleansed… right?"
Ariel's eyes widened — divine blue flaring.
> "How do you know he's a demi-sin?"
He stammered, unable to meet her gaze — but salvation came in the form of a soft chime.
> "Captain Ariel,"
said a serene voice.
"Seraphim Sera requests your presence in the upper office."
Ariel turned sharply, wings folding close.
> "Saved by the bell, Nomram," she muttered, and vanished in a streak of light
Back to Mary and branthok who were in street of hell central city:
They walked the city like two ghosts stitched together by purpose, weaving through alleys where the light gave up early and laughter sounded tinny and dangerous. Branthok's hands were folded tight at his sides; his jaw worked like an old mill.
"I used to prey on weaker fighters," he said finally, voice low, as if confessing to the stones. "I picked the easy ones — kids, men who'd come for one quick payday. If they cried, I called it passion. If they begged, I called it life. I wanted the rush. I wanted to be feared." He spat on the ground, and the spit hissed. "Some of them died. I told myself it was the ring, the rules. I lied to myself for so long."
Mary kept pace with him, silent but present. The halo of her intent didn't glare; it warmed like a hand in the dark.
"I wasn't a good husband either," Branthok went on. "I drank. I pushed her when she tried to stop me. I went to that last fight cocky—too cocky. The man I fought didn't play by those little rules. He broke me. I should have left it, but I didn't. I kept hitting. I made the fight about my pride until… I'm the kind of fool who dies on his feet."
His hand curled into a fist as if to feel the weight of what he'd been. He looked decades older than his years.
Mary stopped, touched his shoulder lightly. "You're telling me because you want something different now," she said. "Because you don't want your story to be just pain."
He chewed his lip. "Maybe. Or maybe I just want to know if she forgives me. If she could ever… want me back."
They searched all night. Mary asked questions at soup kitchens and gutter shrines; Branthok stared at every woman who stepped from shadow like a man waiting for lightning to strike. Once, he froze at the silhouette of a mother cradling a child, chest aching, only for it to be a stranger's grief.
At the edge of morning, when sleep ghosts drifted and the city exhaled, they turned down a narrow alley where the smell of rust and oil hung thick. A little group of thugs had cornered a woman and a child against a shuttered storefront, laughter like a threat.
Mary didn't move fast. She didn't need to. Her presence folded the space around them into a small, unavoidable mercy. "Leave them," she said. The men looked at her like a crow looks at a flame.
"Move on, lady," one sneered.
"Let them go," Mary repeated, calm, bone-deep sure.
The lead thug blinked, annoyed. "Who do you think you are?"
Mary turned her head slightly toward Branthok and gave him a look that meant more than words. Permission. Redemption. A chance he hadn't dared ask.
He stepped forward and the alley cleared the way. Branthok didn't think as he hit — the hit was muscle memory, a fist trained for blood, but now it moved for a different reason. The thugs scattered under his force—one sent flying into a stack of crates, another staggering against the wall. The rest fled, howling, as if the alley exhaled them out.
The woman's eyes widened so wide Branthok thought they might shatter.
"No," she whispered, then louder, incredulous: "You fight like—like my husband." she was conflicted she wanted to go forward but also to escape she didn't know till
Branthok stopped mid-breath. The world narrowed to the sound of his pulse and the woman's voice. He staggered closer, vision blurring at the edges. For a moment he wasn't sure the ground was real.
She stepped forward, unafraid now. Her face was older, marred by Hell's touch, but when she opened her arms the shape of her was achingly the same as the picture he carried in his pocket.
"I… I didn't think you'd come back," she said, voice cracking. "I thought you were dead. I thought—" She let the rest fall away as she dropped into his arms, sobbing like the sea. The child clung to the hem of her dress, peering up at him with wary wonder.
Branthok's breath left him in a terrible laugh, and he had nowhere to put his hands. "I—" He had rehearsed apologies in bed for months, prayers to a god he had never known. They evaporated. All that rose was a raw, stunned joy he hadn't earned.
The woman's embrace crushed him. Tears soaked his collar. The child reached a tentative hand and touched his cheek, small fingers exploring the ridges of a stranger who might be father.
Mary watched, quiet and full, the light of her conviction steady. She had not promised miracles. She had only given a place where chances could begin. Right there, in that filthy slice of alley, something like a chance began: a man who had broken things, holding the pieces, the woman who had not yet turned away, and the small, bewildered life between them — a life formed by consequence and love that refused to vanish.
Branthok's voice came out raw. "I don't deserve you. I won't make promises I can't keep. But I'll try. If you want me."
The woman's answer was a single, wet laugh. "I fought to survive for him," she said, nodding at the child. "If you can live with that, then maybe… maybe we can try."
She looked to Mary, offering a smile that trembled. "Thank you. For not letting me be alone."
Mary stepped forward and placed a hand on both their shoulders. "This is only the beginning," she said. "It will be hard. But you showed up. That is how it starts."
As the morning light eased into the alley, Branthok held the child at arm's length, looking at the small face like a man who had found proof he could still be human.
They walked back toward the facility together — a broken family that had not known they could be whole again. Behind them, the city rolled on, full of coal and ash and second chances that hadn't been asked for yet even a kid who died in the womb would be a sinner blood stained blood.
(Warning if anyone liked branthok remember his arc is just way to show how bad his actions don't be inspired to be him after all he's the reason his wife death of widowessm and his kid first glance was inside hell)