Caught in this endless shitstorm of pain and suffering, I kept dreaming of kicking the bucket. No clue how much time has passed—there's no hint of it getting any darker here. Maybe this hellhole doesn't do day and night. Or maybe this fucking day just won't end, and that scares the piss out of me. These demons don't seem to know what tired means. I kept hoping that healer bastard's mana would run dry, but no dice. Is he some kind of freak, or am I just that pathetic? Who gives a fuck anymore…
Not long ago, I decided to off myself with magic. I shot a jolt of electricity straight at my heart, hoping to stop it cold. No luck. Turns out, I've got some built-in resistance to my own lightning. Shame there's no electrician job in this medieval shithole. I also tried frying my brain, but that was an even dumber move. Everything sharpened—senses, pain, even time slowed down, letting me savor the amped-up agony for longer. My heart nearly burst from the shock. Too bad it didn't, but I'm not itching to try that stunt again.
I also tried zapping my spinal cord, but same deal—nothing. Even if I'd pulled it off, Grok would probably patch me up like it's no big deal. I haven't got a fucking clue how healing magic works or what it can do. I'm stuck in a dead end. If I had earth magic, I could've conjured a clot in my brain. Air magic? Send a bubble through my veins. Water? Flood my lungs. Fire? Crank my body temp a few degrees till my brain melts. Lucky fucking me, right?
Despair swallowed me whole. My traitorous mind refused to check out, no matter how much I begged to lose my shit. Over this hellish stretch, they broke my fingers 34 times, my arms 8 times, my shins 7 times, my thighs 3 times, my ribs 12 times, and my collarbones a few more for good measure. I got third-degree burns on thirty percent of my skin twice. Twenty-eight deep gashes carved into my muscles, and the cherry on this shit sundae? One brutal hit to the nuts, all because Vyer got curious about why "some liquid" kept leaking from there. Nosy bastard. I'd kill to see him croak.
It's so fucking unfair. How does the universe even allow this? Yo, Krishna, you deus ex machina asshole! You love cows that much? You some kind of radical vegan? When I reincarnate, even as a fucking bug, I'm coming for you. I'll grind your blue ass to dust. I don't know what I'll do yet, but trust me, I'll have plenty of experience by then. My imagination's gonna cook up shit you wouldn't dream of, even high as a kite. Somewhere deep down, the thought of that fucker's many limbs kept me warm.
I remembered watching Man vs. Wild with Bear Grylls on Discovery. This is like the opposite—a "how to die horribly" show. If there's a system, maybe it's recording this shit. Right now, some sick fucks are probably kicked back on their couches, chugging cold soda and munching chips while watching me squirm. Fuck that. I never liked horror flicks or twisted reality shows. All that torture porn people jerk off to? Made me gag. Hear me, karma? Stop being such a biased bitch and do your job right!
But screw it. You having fun out there, huh? Enjoying my pain? I'll find you all. Next life, I'm coming back as a giant dragon or some mutated plague bacterium. I'll wipe out every last one of you!
In my desperate bids to die, I tried everything. Held my breath ten times, hoping to check out, but apparently that's impossible. My traitor body kept sucking in air, and I couldn't hack the system. Last shot: dying of thirst. From what I've seen, healing magic can replace blood lost during torture—no anemia here. But no matter how long it's been, I'm still parched and starving.
While Vyer was peeling the skin off my arm (turns out, Grok's magic can regrow some body parts—real handy for me, ha… fuck), he noticed my bony-ass frame.
"Hey, was he always this scrawny?" Vyer asked.
"Nah, I think not… Shit, I forgot again!" Grok said. "My head's like a sieve. Humans need food, or they keel over fast. Happened to me before."
"Food?"
"Yeah. Unlike us, they gotta eat all the time."
"Man, being human must suck."
"No kidding. They're gross to look at."
"Still, if they're so weak, why's the master busting his ass over them?"
"'Cause there's a shit-ton of humans, and some are tough. Plus, elves, dwarves, and other types—they're strong in groups."
"Alright, so what do we feed him? Rocks?"
There it was—a faint glimmer of hope in this dark-ass pit of despair. If they stuff me with rocks, I'm done, right? Right?
"Nah, they need flesh. And some liquid," Grok said. Glimmer snuffed out.
"What about this?" Vyer held up a chunk of my own skin.
"That'll do, but it's not enough."
"I'll get more," Vyer sang cheerfully.
"No, hold up. Grab one of those little mutts running around. It's got meat and blood. I'll heal him in the meantime."
And just like that, my last shot at escape went up in smoke. There's still a chance for food poisoning, but I'm done believing in death. Maybe it's not even a thing. The only silver lining? At least I didn't become the first living thing with a closed food chain. Small fucking victories.
I stayed conscious after the torture for once, so I got a front-row seat to Grok's magic. Soft red light poured from his massive hands, wrapping my body. Instead of searing pain, I got unbearable itching. Everything in this hellhole's unbearable. I couldn't see my arm, but the itching got worse. Then I felt the wounds from that rock in my mouth start to close. Weirdly, Grok only focused on my arm. His magic's strong, but his control's shit. Probably never thought about it, but for a healer, control's everything. If someone's got multiple injuries and they're bleeding out internally, his blanket approach is fucking useless. Too bad Vyer's careful not to give me fatal wounds, so I can't exploit that glitch yet. Just another reminder: controlling magic is fucking crucial. Control…
Control!
Control!
Control!
Control those damn electric impulses! Control my neurons! I can try… I have to! No, fuck it, I will! I'm gonna knock myself out cold! Sayonara, body. Today, I start my long, shitty road to becoming a vegetable.