The sound of rubber soles shifting against canvas echoed through the gym, mixing with the low thuds of fists striking pads and distant grunts from other training rings. But in the corner ring beneath the skylight, one man stood alone—massive, focused, and gleaming with sweat under the flickering beams of the overhead lights.
Gunloc, the once near-300-pound juggernaut, now stood carved like a modern-day gladiator at a clean and formidable 250. His new form wasn't just lighter—it was refined, dense, and explosive.
Gunloc
“Damn… haven’t felt this good in years,”
he muttered under his breath, flexing both arms before letting them fall to his sides. His body glistened, every vein and muscle line a reward for months of brutal self-discipline.
He grabbed the top rope, leaned forward, and let the sweat roll off his forehead to the canvas below.
“Two-fifty, all muscle... hell yeah,”
he said with a smirk. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, his breathing even despite the intensity of his solo session. He had already gone through heavy bag drills, resistance grappling dummies, and now rounds of in-ring cardio. No distractions. No nonsense.
Just him and the grind.
What he didn’t know—yet—was that he wasn’t alone anymore.
