That fucking rock I'd cursed a thousand times was finally yanked out of my mouth. Grok held one of those smaller creatures that had stalked me on the way here. They called it a "dog-thing." It looked like hot garbage—a cross between a hunting hound and a rat. Dark red skin, not a hair in sight, with a few small, symmetrical growths on its head instead of horns. Long fangs jutted out a few centimeters, like a saber-toothed cat. With his massive hands, the demon tore a chunk of flesh from the still-living thing and shoved it damn near down my throat. Then he doused me head to toe in its blood, hoping some would trickle into my stomach. I gagged instinctively, trying to puke up the nastiness, but Grok, the seasoned bastard, clamped my mouth and nose shut just in time. I prayed the mess would come out my ears, but no such luck.
I'd been banking on dying of thirst. It seemed like a solid plan since I hadn't seen a drop of water in this shithole. There was some liquid nearby once, but when I accidentally touched it, I got a nasty chemical burn. Back in my old world, people were obsessed with chugging a gallon of water a day. Every dipshit with a blog debunked that myth, but folks still bought into the bullshit because they thought they were smarter than everyone else. Truth is, you get enough liquid from food and other drinks. You only need water when you're thirsty. But a diet of raw flesh and blood? Your body's gonna throw a fucking fit. No idea if science says you can survive long on that crap. It's more likely to fuck you up than do you any good. I once lived off pizza for a whole week and didn't die, so maybe there's hope. But honestly? I figured there was no way I wouldn't croak. The air here probably tries to kill me every second. Sad to say, I'm still fucking alive.
After my gourmet dinner, Grok decided to shove my favorite rock back in its cozy spot. I saw my chance and tried to stop him.
"Wait, wait! Don't do that!"
"Huh? What're you on about?" Grok looked a bit thrown.
"Use a piece of cloth instead."
"Cloth? What for?"
"It'll be quieter…"
To my shock, the demon listened. Guess he's got a thing for peace and quiet. Fucking pacifist asshole… So now I had a chunk of my own pants in my mouth. The sharp tang of piss told me, with about 80% certainty, exactly which part of the pants it came from. Small potatoes, really. Could've tasted worse. Never thought I'd be thrilled about chewing on my own piss-stained rags.
Finally, Vyer fucked off somewhere, muttering about "business." Fucking entrepreneur, my ass… I hope he stubs his toe on a rock. Oh, wait, he's got hooves. Fine, let him grow a toe first, then stub it. Grok was just sitting there, doing jack shit. Guess his mana ran dry. Turns out, it's not infinite. I decided to make use of these precious minutes of peace. The next few moments were make-or-break. It's now or never—either I stay me, or I'm done. I gathered what little fucking willpower I had left. I needed to focus. No, scratch that—I needed deep-ass meditation. I had to feel the electric current in my body. A human can generate up to 2000 watts of energy. Thanks, Morpheus, for that useless fucking fact. It didn't help plow fields, but I'm grateful now.
I closed my eyes. That single move maxed out my daily physical activity. My eyes are about the only thing I can still move. Alright, let's start big. Right now, billions of nerve impulses are firing in my brain. Countless neurons connect through electricity. Come on, let's do this… Fuck… It's harder than I thought. It's like trying to smell your own scent. Back in my New Fantastic Life, that wasn't an issue—hygiene was so bad I could enjoy my own ripe sweat 24/7. Okay, focus. I've got no time to waste. I need to hurry. Calm down. I've got this. It'll work. But I gotta move faster. That bastard'll be back soon, and I'll be too fucked to concentrate. He'll start peeling my skin or snapping my bones again. I'll be screaming for death in agony. Oh, great, now I feel so much calmer… Shut your trap and focus, you idiot! It's already shut, dumbass! Fuck off, we don't have time for this! Wait, wait… Didn't we agree not to lose our shit yet? Go fuck yourself, you crazy prick…
In total darkness, I kept searching for a black cat in a coal cellar. Where the fuck are my 2000 watts? Am I defective, or was Morpheus full of shit? Knew I shouldn't trust a guy in leather. Hold up… Nerve cells are basically ready-made circuits. What if I add a little juice? The current should flow through the neurons. Like an angiogram—don't ask what that is. My brain's a warehouse for the world's most useless trivia. Why did I remember that word from House M.D. instead of "everybody lies"? Why the fuck…? (It's when they inject contrast into a vessel to see it on an X EA scan.) Anyway, if I don't blast it full force but send a weak current, I might feel the circuit. Here we go… Easy does it, nice and slow… A little more. There it is! I feel it! Like a big-ass tangle in my head. Now dial it back, bit by bit, until I lose the signal. Gone. Again. I'll keep cycling through this until I boost my sensitivity. Once I can feel the circuit without external juice, I'm one step closer to nirvana.
Cycle after cycle. Over and over. I kept at it like my life depended on it. I've got enough mana since I'm only using a trickle. Plus, zapping my brain helps me focus better. Better focus means better sensitivity. Higher sensitivity means better brain-zapping. It's probably the first positive feedback loop in my New Fantastic Life. Crazy that it's happening in this hellhole.
It got easier with time. I could sense my brain without magic, but only as a faint, blurry trace. Then a fucking tidal wave of energy slammed my head. I opened my eyes to see Vyer carving my chest into a goddamn Union Jack. HOLY FUCK, I WAS FOCUSED! I didn't even hear him come back. I was totally out of it. That's… that's a win! My brain's doing some next-level shit. Sure, I'm not about to unlock telekinesis—that's for Lucy's screenwriters—but I'm basically one step from being a goddamn superhuman. Even these brutal torture sessions hurt less now. Wait, no, scratch that… still hurts like a bitch.
No point dreaming of training while this sadist is turning me into a bloody expressionist painting. Gotta wait for the artist to finish his masterpiece. I need to stay conscious. Turns out, Grok spends a chunk of time healing me. That's my window for heavy training montage shit. His healing's as unbearable as the torture, but I've gotta try, or I'm stuck waiting for these random moments of peace.
I don't know how many damage-heal cycles passed, but I finally got another breather. I stayed conscious a few times, but as expected, focusing was a pipe dream. Only at the tail end of healing, when the itch and pain dropped to zero, did I get a small window to experiment. I dove back into meditation. This time, the results were better. I'd say I took my first step toward freedom. Spiritual freedom, obviously—I'm not nuts enough to think about physical escape. Hold up, you sure you haven't lost your marbles yet? Fuck off. Wait, what if this is all just your fucked-up imagination? Shit, how many times did you fall on your head as a kid to dream up this nightmare?
I'm starting to think pain's the only real thing in this world. Everything else? Just my broken mind's fever dream. If that's true, I'm closer to the truth of existence than anyone. But who the fuck needs that?