"Give up! Come see us, come into the darkness."
...
"Like hell."
Aether gripped his blade, thrusting it into the darkness, the blade piercing the air with its sharp tip, dividing it in two.
"Eighty-five..."
Until failure, that was his goal. How many days has it been until now? Sixty? He has stopped counting, since it reminded him of the agonizing days he has been going through until now. How much he has pushed his body to last five more seconds than before. It wasn't normal; it wasn't how building an immunity worked. And yet,
He didn't care.
There were times when he had almost passed out, and that would mean his death.
Yet, it was more important to build a tolerance, even more than his health. And it wasn't like it was the first time he had forced himself and his body, even if he had not wanted to do so; it wasn't for him to choose.
Sixty sorrowful days, where he had nothing but pain, but had it been worth it?
