The stone floor of the training yard was already marked by small cracks, not from direct impact, but from the absurd repetition of force being applied to the same point thousands of times.
The air still carried the morning's freshness, but that made absolutely no difference to Victor, whose body had long since surpassed any common notion of physical fatigue.
His arms visibly trembled, his muscles contracting and relaxing in involuntary spasms as he descended once more, his face just inches from the ground before pushing his own weight upwards with an effort that seemed torn directly from his own will to survive.
"...Nine thousand... nine hundred and ninety-seven..." he murmured, his voice faltering mid-number, more of a drawn-out sound than a proper count.
