Adamantine Steel


Chapter One

Adam Steel was a small teenage boy, standing at five feet tall, weighing 100 pounds soaking wet. His coke bottled glasses helped to complete the Clark Kent/nerd look he had.

"Look, it's Adam Ant!" a muscular boy called out from among his friends, some of whom dressed like cowboys while others proudly wore their letterman jackets. "Where do you think you're going, little man?!"

Adam ignored the red headed boy with freckles and kept on walking. The boy who called him out ran up to him and shoved him to the ground, causing Adam to drop his books. "Oof!" The smell of the freshly cut grass permeated the young boy as the his adversary pounded on him.

"Geek! How dare you keep walking when I call you?! Next time I'll hurt you even more!"

"I don't have to do anything. Now leave me alone!" As the little boy got up, he kicked the big boy in the shins.

"Aargh! How dare you hit back?! I'll fix you!" the large boy who weighed more than 250 pounds threatened as he struck Adam hard in the face, breaking his glasses and nose in the process. "Bitch! You'll do what I tell you to do!" He then kneed Adam in the groin which caused the young boy to come crashing to the ground.

"Oooh!" Adam moaned as he lay on the ground clutching his groin in pain.

"I showed you!" Then the large boy walked over to his friends who laughed at the hapless boy on the ground. "I've ruined Adam's balls, guys!"

"Did he ever have balls in the first place?!" another boy called out.

"Good one, Rob!"

As the boys walked off, laughing, Adam searched for his glasses. "That's the third pair of glasses broken this month! I've tried telling my teachers and the principal what these guys have done to me. But they never do anything. They always look the other way!" Adam stumbled to get up. He thought the day's beating was over. Then a large shadow looming over from behind him and blocking the out sunlight was a harbinger that the Adam's woes had just begun.

"Hold it, you wimp! We're not done yet!" an even larger boy demanded, grabbing the teenage boy by the head with his left hand. He squeezed him so hard that it looked as if his fingers were digging into his Adam's skull, causing him to see spots.

"Ungh! That hurts!" Adam moaned as his face got red.

"Of course it hurts, you idiot! You thought you could get away from me, little man?"

"What did I ever to do you?"

"Shut up!" the large boy demanded, slapping Adam hard across the face. "Who says you had to have done anything? Now shut up and take your medicine."

"No!" Adam screamed in pain.

"Nobody says no to Bubba Jack Waller!" The large, hefty boy stood at six feet ten inches tall, weighing 400 pounds. All of his body was rock solid, roid powered muscle that showed through his bare shoulder strapped overalls. Bubba Jack's family had many large men in it who were unusually big and strong, but Bubba surpassed them all with large meat hooks for hands. The red headed young man looked at the boy with an evil, toothy grin. His face was so close to him that the young boy smelled his tormentor's beer laden breath. Adam could even see the stubble on his tormentor's face and chin which help to make Bubba look like a hillbilly from the Ozarks.

"Let go of me!" Adam exclaimed, trying in vain to kick his tormentor.

"How dare a Yankee like you try to attack me?" Bubba threatened, slapping him again.

"Ungh! Yankee?! I'm from California, and I'm a Los Angeles Dodgers fan!"

"That's not what I meant, smart ass!"

At that point the large boy undid Adam's pants, pulling them off including his underwear!

"What bitch ass you are! You're not a man at all! Just a little wanker."

"Leave me alone!"

"Ouch!" the large boy screamed in pain. Adam had grabbed one of Bubba's fingers, violently pulling it from the rest and forcing the larger boy to let go of his head. "Bitch! Now you're gonna get it!" Bubba struck Adam with a fast paced, forward punch that quickly sent Adam a few feet back. The blow had further broken Adam's nose and sent the boy into a world of hurt and then unconsciousness.

While this was going on, a n average sized boy walked to the school. He was leaning forward as he bobbed his head downward and back up again with every step. He lazily allowed each foot to hit the ground, making a loud and annoying clopping sound.

"Bubba, look what the cat dragged in!" The boys turned to see Sam Hill staggering his way to class in a punch drunken state, wearing raggedy, dirty clothes which made him look like a homeless bum.

"That's an insult to cats, Mike! I get the point though. Sheesh! I can smell his reek from here!"

"Let's go and beat him up some more and put the fear into him like we do the others."

"We've already beaten him up enough to make him despair. He's such a punch drunkard that. He doesn't even care anymore. You go ahead if you want. I'll pass on that. My nose can only handle so much."

I hear that another bully interjected, pausing in the beating of his own hapless victim. "I bet his brains don't even work anymore!"

"Yeah. Beating up on that schmuck has gotten boring. I smashed his head in with a baseball bat after I hurt my hand, punching Sam Hill and get this. The bat broke on his head. That was my favorite bat too," the home run hitter said, upset. "One of these days I'm going to get a much stronger bat that won't break. Then I'll really give that guy a good wack on the head." Harold Roscoe Trainer, nicknamed H.R. for his exemplary skills as a power hitter as well as for his first and second initials. H.R. was a shoulder length, light red haired young man with broad shoulders, muscles, and a handsome, smiling face that helped to make him physically appealing.

"It's like kicking a dead horse. I so hate it! I want to cause that coon enough pain even he can feel. I'm going to make him wish he was never born!" a cruel looking, young man snarled, making his way towards the hapless Sam Hill, stomping his way through and prompting everyone there to get out of his way.

Billy Bob Hatchet was a tall, lanky individual with corded muscles, making him look like a broad shouldered scarecrow. In addition to all this, he had a short beard which helped to complete the redneck look he had. In fact he looked more and sounded more like a redneck than any other redneck within a ten mile radius, a fact of which Billy Bob was proud. His features were fairly handsome, but the perpetual look of hate on his face marred his good looks.

Running over to Sam Hill, Billy Bob kicked him in the back. But despite the bone crushing strike, Sam Hill kept on walking, oblivious to the attack. "Stop there, boy!" Billy Bob demanded.

"Yes?" Sam Hill said, turning around with a smile.

"I'm going to bash your brains in."

"What brains?" Sam said with a smile to the laughter of the other boys within ear shot.

"He got you there, Billy Bob!" a boy from the crowd called out. He stopped short when Billy Bob shot him a vicious glare that almost made the boy wet himself. Then Billy Bob turned back to his intended victim.

"Think you're funny, boy?! " Billy Bob spat out upon violently slapping the punch drunken boy . "I'm going to make you suffer pain the likes of which you have never imagined."

"There's no pain for scum of the earth," Sam Hill replied , smiling at his frustrated tormentor.

"Oh, yeah?! I will show you pain!" Billy Bob said, getting into Sam's face. He gave the beaten boy an intimidating look that would have frightened most boys but had no effect on the witless, Sam Hill before him.

"You can't destroy what's already destroyed. He he."

"You don't know destruction yet!" Billy Bob abruptly struck Sam with a roundhouse kick he had learned while training in Thai-Kickboxing, causing his target's head to snap violently towards the right.

"The stars are so pretty."

"Fall, dagnabit!" Sam's head snapped back as Billy Bob struck him with an elbow strike to the chin that might well have killed most people. The punch had landed accurately, but Sam just shrugged it off, standing there in a daze.

"It's obvious the hard headed idiot's given up," another guy called out. "He doesn't even cry out in pain like Adam Steel and the others."

Billy Bob turned towards the offending voice with a harsh sneer, causing the other boy to cower a little while his friend, Bubba shrugged his shoulders in resignation. Then Billy Bob walked off in a rage.

"Don't fret none about it, Billy Bob!" Bubba called out.

At that point, Sam Hill staggered his way to class, his hideous form revolting everyone who saw him. His appearance had become worse than ugly from all the more recent beatings he had taken, which included some knife attacks. Often times bullies of the school and even some others who did not go to the school had thrown Sam into the trash which helped to increase his stench. His hair had practically disappeared, having fallen out when someone had poured acid on his head. He was a flea and rat bitten curmudgeon with all kinds of scars and wounds.

As Adam got up and made his way to class he noticed Sam Hill. "I hate all this. But despite all that's happening to me, I won't back down . I'll always have my pride. I'll get even someday. And more importantly, I'll never turn into that poor idiot, Sam Hill. He is a walking showpiece for what a bully will do when teachers look the other way. These bullies treat Sam like crap and bitch and moan when he smells like it. How can he cope?"

"Da, tada daa! Da, tada daa! Da tada daa! Da tada da!" Sam Hill babbled as he clopped his to class idiotically, staring off in space with a witless smile on his face. Then Adam curiously walked over to him.

"What's the matter with you?!" the small boy demanded as the punch drunken idiot stopped and turned towards him, giving Adam a good look at his horrific appearance. "Why do you just walk off as if nothing has happened? What's wrong with you?!"

"There's nothing wrong with scum of the earth."

"You don't even care!"

"There's no caring for scum of the earth."

"You've given up. Why aren't you angry?!"

"There's no anger for scum of the earth."

Adam looked at the hideous boy with a sense of shock and dismay. "Why are you referring to yourself as scum?! Stop saying that!" he screamed, the tears coming out of his eyes. "The guys who beat us up with impunity are the scum of the earth. Doesn't the pain of what's happening bother you? Where is your pride?!"

Then Sam turned around, facing Adam, singing a parody of an old song.

The time when I cared about pride was so long ago.

After a couple of brutal beatings I let it go.

I could never get by if I felt things through.

Therefore I can always stand to just lose.

To me everyone says, "no pride for you! No pride for youuuuu! No pride for you!"

I could have never been someone who was like you.

You cry and you're very upset when a jock runs you through.

If I had more of a brain I could not go on.

Nothing's too short; nothing takes too long.

But I always hear, "no pride for you. No pride for youuuuu! No pride for you!"

Well it's over now.

No need to fret about it.

Best to be insane.

Because if you're sane you feel the pain.

In your head, in your jaw.

Then you just can't stand the pain.

Should we care? Should we care?

When all caring is in vain.

No pride for you! No pride for youuuu! No pride for you!

There's no way I could get through all this with a lot pride.

I was already born a loser and that's all right.

Everybody says I have to lose.

There is nothing else that I can do.

Everybody says, "no pride for you! No pride for youuuuu! No pride for you!" (1)

"What?! You're not making any sense!"

Then the misshapen boy's eyes looked serious for a moment. "It does make sense. As soon as you've given up and stopped caring, you won't feel any pain either. They've already destroyed me. Wherefore, should I care anymore? Stop caring and be destroyed. Then you'll stop suffering." With that the punch drunken boy walked off.

Adam stared off after the boy. Then he made his way to class.

While this was all going on, a beautiful young woman with long blond hair and a busty, slender figure hid in the shadows, taking stock of all that had happened, videotaping everything she saw. Then slipping away into the shadows. "Wait until the people at ABC see this! I'll be a famous reporter in no time!"

B efore he could get to class , he noticed a somewhat large, barrel chested, broad shouldered, muscular boy who stood at six feet two inches tall , weighing 200 pounds. He had medium length, bright red hair that stood up, almost giving the appearance that his hair was fire. His natural good looks gelled with the look of contempt on his face as he leaned against the wall several meters from Adam's first class. "Get beat up again, punk?" the boy said with a grating voice that resonated with ruthlessness and power.

"Roy Drager?"

"Yeah, that's me," the arrogant boy snapped back.

"Wasn't there a time when people beat up on you too?"

"They used to. Then I wised up."

"What did you do?" Adam asked with interest.

"What I've done is work out hard in the gym and learned street fighting, brutal kickboxing, and wrestling techniques. I was in the hospital, doing a lot of reading and studying about combat after some jerk beat me within an inch of my life. My hate and anger helped to propel me further than I could have done otherwise while I got bigger, better, badder," the boy answered with a harsh sneer. "


"Yeah! I didn't bother wasting too much time on over rated martial arts like karate, kung fu, and tae kwon do that are actually worthless on the street anyway. It took me less than a year to make myself street lethal and invincible. Eventually I was able to win the most brutal underground street fighting bouts in the country."

"You did?"

"Yeah! And I didn't care anything about rules or fairness either. I won a whole lot of money in those tournaments, my training and ruthlessness helping to carry me to the title. I love the money. What's most important to me is the pride I got from being proclaimed the Prince of All Fighters. Nobody here in this school can beat me. I've gotten used to the thrill of victory while guys like you only know the agony of defeat."

"Oh. I see what you mean." Then Adam changed the subject. "Speaking of breaking the rules, a lot of people say you got bigger and stronger by taking steroids and growth hormones. Is that true?"

"What if I did?"

"Don't some people call you Roid Rager, making a play on your name of Roy Drager?"

"What?! Anyway, what I've done wouldn't work for a milksop like you," Roy answered arrogantly.

"Why wouldn't it?"

"Because you're too soft hearted! You simply endure what these jerks do to you."

"I fight back!"

"You fight to win and survive. I fight to kill and destroy," Roy said. Staring at Adam, his hate and rage became more obvious as the beaten boy noticed how emotionally hostile the boy was. "Are you willing to brutalize and torture someone who has pissed you off for the slightest reason?"

"Um. No, not really. But I..."

"That's what I'm talking about! You're weak. I don't mean just physically either. You are mentally weak as well. You don't have what it takes destroy someone. You don't have any inkling of a killer instinct. That's why you and the other wimps of this school get your asses punked."


"It's not just about getting revenge on bullies. It's necessary to beat up on anyone at anytime. People have more fear and respect for someone whose willing to attack and destroy some helpless wimp for no apparent reason than someone making a half assed effort at defending himself."


"Yeah! That's how it works, and that's why you'll always get F#ed over." That having been said the dangerous boy walked off.

"Gosh! Am I going to have to keep from being picked on by bullies by turning into someone like that?" Adam thought to himself walked into his homeroom.

"Why are you late, Adam?" the world history teacher demanded to know as the little nerd stumbled into the classroom ten minutes after class had started. He was a mess from the beating he had recently taken with his clothes torn and his glasses broken up as he dragged himself into the classroom.

"It's not as if you care, Mister Look-the-other-Way." The world history teacher was a rather large and plump man who was bald on the top of his head, sporting a beard and glasses.

"That's Mr. Hathaway! And I do care. Now answer me!" Several of the football players in the class smirked loudly as Adam fidgeted in his chair, still smarting from the pain of what had happened to him recently.

"What do you think happened? Your bullies beat me up. Can't you tell by looking at me?"

"Watch your tone, young man. For all I know you fell. Now go to the Principal's office!" As the teacher handed Adam the hall pass, many of the boys and not a few girls laughed at him, watching the beat en-yet-still-defiant boy on his way out.


During lunch a couple guys were having a quite discussion. Both of them were in tip top condition. The taller one was more muscular with a harsher look on his face, his natural ruthlessness showing through his blond haired good looks and ice blue eyes. The shorter one who was of average height with brown hair had a more thoughtful look to him but was not devoid of ruthlessness himself.

"I can't wait until the next tournament, John," the shorter one said.

"I understand what you mean, Charlie. I have an idea," the taller one replied.

"What's that?"

"Why don't we and the guys get some more practice?"

"What are you talking about, John? We've been practicing our kung fu hardcore for weeks now. What more do we need?"

"I was thinking of finding a new punching bag since I broke my last one."

"Master Fleetwood was both proud and upset with you when that happened."

"That's why I'm going to find another punching bag to use that won't upset him so much if I break it."


"Over there. You see that guy over there, dressed up like a bum and stinking up the place?"

"You mean, Sam Hill? That guy's a walking piece of garbage?! I don't want to even touch him!" Charlie exclaimed.

"Do you want to become a better martial artist or not? The upcoming tournament is taking place in an underground circuit and it's full contact. We need to test our punches and kicks against a living person."

"What if we severely injure him?" Charlie asked.

"So what? Nobody cares about him anyway. Besides, that guy gets beat up all the time."

"He gets beat up by a bunch of rednecks who lack any serious skill in hand to hand combat. Those guys are just a bunch of cowboys."

"You're right, Charlie. However, this guy survived getting hit in the head by a baseball bat from a baseball player who hit 40 home runs last year! He can take it."

"When are we going to practice on this guy?" Charlie asked, becoming convinced.

"W e'll do it tomorrow after school when Sam Hill's on his way home."

"Sometimes the guys on the football team like to beat up on him right after school. What if they get in the way?"

"I thought about that. We can have more guys from our studio show up there as well. If the football players decide they want to fight we'll have more punching bags, plenty for everyone," John stated with a confident smile.

"We have to be careful, John. Don't you know how revered football players are here in Huntington, Texas?"

"They're not the Dillon Panthers! The football team here is over rated. Everyone knows the 95 season wasn't a good year for the Red Devils."

"They did well, John. As it was they got as far as fourth place. Even if they got clobbered in their last game, people here still love them. Football is practically God here."

"I know all about how important football is here in Angelina County. Just keep in mind that the jocks in this school are cowards. All they do is pick on the weak. I'm willing to bet that just you and I could take on the whole football team empty handed."

"Let 's hope it doesn't come to that. Not all the guys on the football are as cowardly as you think. Besides, the captain of the football team, Bubba Jack Waller, is one of the strongest guys around. It's even rumored the guy's on some serious steroids."

"No surprise there, but we still need to prepare for the upcoming underground tournament."

"All right. Let's do it." Charlie then regarded the subject of their discussion.

"What's so interesting?" John asked.

"Look at Hill over there," Charlie replied as a couple of bullies took the hapless boy's lunch.

"What's he gonna do now?"

"I don't believe this!" The two boys watched in awe and shock as Sam Hill continued to "eat", the air, actually using an imaginary spoon, putting imaginary food in his mouth, chewing and swallowing as he went on.

Then one of the teachers walked over to the air eating boy. "What are you doing, Sam?" the annoyed teacher stood at six two inches tall. He was a husky man with a huge beer gut and a must ache. As he glared at Sam with a sense of open hostility, the boy looked up at him with a stupid looking smile on his face.

"I'm eating my lunch."

"You're eating air. What's wrong with you?"

"I guess that makes me full of hot air. Hee hee."

"Is all of this a big joke to you?"

At that point, Vinnie Fontaine spoke up. He was a light brown haired, medium sized boy with a slightly puffy face. "Mr. Snyder. Some of the guys took his lunch from him. You didn't care what happened, so what do you want him to do?"

"Why you two faced, interloper..."


"Shut up! No one's talking to you. So why don't just mind your own business?" Then the teacher turned back to the object of his disgust. "I really wish people like you weren't allowed in this school, Sam. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"There's nothing else to say. Mmm. That lunch was pretty good," Sam Hill said, rubbing his stomach as if he had enjoyed a good meal. At that point the teacher walked away in revulsion at the mentally challenged boy.

"That guy is so crazy. He doesn't even know what's going on. Why is he even allowed in this school?" John stated.

"This is a public school, John. There's nothing anybody can do about his presence here. Despite that, there's going to be a PTA meeting some time in the future about Sam Hill."

"Is it going to be about how he gets beat up?"

"No. Just about how he stinks up the place after he gets beat up and how his hideous appearance is ruining the look of the school."

"I see. We need to act quickly, Charlie. I overheard that the beatings and bullying that go on this school have become so well known that ABC News is going to investigate. The last thing we need is to be on television beating this guy up."

"Right. We need to take him into a dark alley before we practice on him. We can't afford any prying eyes."

John nodded happily as his cohort got serious about their plans.

(1) The name of the parodied song is called Good-bye to You by Scandal, Patty Smythe.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: If you've enjoyed reading this, let me know with a review. After getting some reviews about the huge length of my stories, I've decided to cut my chapters in half. Thanks to those who gave me reviews that helped me to write on this website better.