I Fought The Man Who 💀 My Dad #3danimation #animationart #digitalart #hisytstory #creativecontent animationtrends creatorsearchinsig hts

I threw a weak right hook at the punching bag while dad held it for me. I'm gonna be champion one day. I laughed and threw a sloppy jab while he smiled. Yeah, you will, son. We came home still talking about my technique when we saw a teenager in our hallway pointing a gun at us. Give me everything you own. Right now, dad raised his hands. Take whatever you want. Just don't hurt my kid. I trembled in fear as he took Dad's wallet and snatched his championship belt off our mantle. He went to leave through the back door and I breathed a sigh of relief because we were safe. But then the teenager turned around. Actually, your witnesses. I can't keep you alive. He fired his pistol at me before I could react. But Dad jumped in the way. The bullet hit his chest as he slumped on the ground. And I dropped to my knees screaming Dad's name. My world was already ending as the teenager laughed. Now you two kid say goodbye. He raised his gun. But then I heard sirens. Crap. He sprinted outside. They cuffed him. But I didn't care. And just held Dad as he bled out, stroking his hair and promising I'd be champion. At the teenager's trial, I testified while crying every few sentences. But he was a juvenile. So when the judge banged the gavel, I watched him walk out smirking at me with just five years. For those five years, I trained every day. Motivated to become championed by the photo of my Dad at my bedside. But then one morning, I walked into my gym and my blood ran cold. The teenager who killed him was standing at my usual bag, throwing combinations. I felt every cell boil and marched over, caulking my fist back to swing. But my teammate dragged me backwards as I was about to punch. I thrashed screaming that I'll kill him. But he just laughed at me. You don't want to end up like your Dad. Don't try me. He threw a punch. And that night, I stayed awake, wrapping my gloves, planning to beat him to a pulp. But next morning, he wasn't at the gym. So I simply grit my teeth and kept training. Five years later, I turned pro and won my first 12 fights. So they offered me a shot at the belt. I immediately said yes. Because this was my chance to fulfill my promise to Dad. But then they sent me the poster of the champion. I didn't even know who it was as I'd been so focused on my own training. But my jaw dropped as I realized it was him. He was holding the belt, smirking that same smile as when he killed my Dad. And I was about to fight him for the belt. At the press conference, he set a framed photo of my Dad on the table beside a mini coffin. I already took one out of this guy's bloodline. Now I'm making it, too. My blood boiled as he dropped the microphone and walked off, thinking he'd got inside my head. But when the fight came, his hands were shaking and mine were steady. I was angrier than ever. But I put all my rage into pure technique. I imagined Dad in my corner as the first Bell rang and immediately ducked his first shot. I buried a hook in his liver, then dropped him with a straight left. He got back up punching his own gloves. And I smirked because I didn't want this fight to end. Over the next ten rounds, I picked him apart, turning his face blue and purple. And even talking to him in the ring. Before the twelfth round, I looked up at the sky and said, "This one is for you, Dad. I came out and for the first time ever he opened his mouth to say sorry for what he did." But I didn't care. I threw the hardest right hook of my life, connecting to his jaw. He dropped so hard his mouth guard bounced from his mouth. He lay there unconscious as I dropped to my knees while they wrapped the belt around my waist. I got up and looked down at the man who killed my father. Then up at the sky one more time. I did it, Dad. I'm the champion.