Untamed and empty lay the wastes. Dark the sky, dark the ground, bright still the eyes.

The pain had stopped, Chaden felt that it all was over now, it must have been the reversal of entropy. He sat in the dark, waiting for reality to return. It was neither cold nor warm, there was no smell, the ground was even, not hard, not soft, not rough, not smooth.

Conceptual nothingness was broken by conceptual groundness and Chaden himself.

After waiting for so long, the emptyness of scarcity woke the demand for scarcity.

He tried moving as to get hungry and weak, but his body did not tire easily, his body grew adaptive and every movement reduced the scarcity, imbued with energy.

There was no thirst, there was no hunger, just the emptyness and time. The denial of scarcity could be taken as scarcity itself, but it did not quite work the same, it was the opposite. Chaden tried to inflict pain in himself, punched the ground, bit his fingers, ripped at his eyeballs. Solid ground caved like sand, flesh steeled, eyeballs firmly embedded, slippery and unfeeling. He had to seek more limits, he ran to find the end of the wastes, find a wall that could not be broken, find a challenger, an unrelenting competitor, the absence of scarcity was by far worse than the pain of impending nothingness, it did not stop.

The ground beneath changed, there were hills and holes, none could stop him, buried under the loamy ground, a singular movement would make it rinse off his body, like an hourglass on fast fowarward at first, but then like dust in the wind. Breath held would only make it apparent that breath was as unnecessary as food and drink. As he did not find a wall to stop at, he tried jumping, touching the empty ceiling of the void, something that could break him. Alas it was an empty hope, merely did it release the grasp of gravity, the ground was no longer, it was no longer a sky above, it was Chaden and the void.

Stolen story; please report.

Chaden was sure, if he continued his path either he or the void would vanish. In his attempt to progress, he had become the reversal of progress, the reversal of borosism, reborosism.

The absence of anguish laid upon him, numb, meaningless, more hollow than the impending doom of nothingness. Such deepness in his psyche was it burrowed, the desire to compete.

The psyche dominated by life without the access to death and suffering, to not bring suffering upon others and oneself was the absence of primal purpose.

Even knowing that the remaining degrees of limitation could be taken away forever, the desire acted out. A scream rippled through the body, a scream of pure pain, fast, way too fast it turned into a minor ringing, then despite not having stopped, it became inaudible.

Was he too weak to hurt himself or too strong to be hurt? It did not matter as both did not appeal to him. He could no longer tell the void of existence, his body had become all.

Suddenly something touched, not like dust, not like a jaw, it was something that could not be overcome. Like a blind man given sight, Chaden became alert and miserable.

There were others, there were those that felt like they could not be overcome, the escape that he had sought. A wave of force rippled through Chaden, he felt the pain, overwhelming all senses, it did stay within and slowly became lessened, condensing into meaning: "Are you a steaker or a meatballer?", was the meaning of what had been merely a sentence.

Chaden spoke, too silent for himself to hear, but at the full force he had at his disposal.

A punch shook his very being. They didn't seem to like steakers, these overpowering entities, they were meatballers.