I woke up again floating in breathable liquid. The feeling of it rushing down my lungs, filling them up, spilling out my throat. It was everywhere. In my ears, my nostrils, my eyes, holes I didn’t even know I had. It was a lot like water but there was just more of a ‘presence’ to it. I could feel it against me.
Cool, rejuvenating, and very slightly viscous. It also dried quickly the moment you came out and didn’t seem to like being apart from itself. There was probably a good reason I’d only heard of healing tanks and not something you could drink or spray on. It simply didn’t act like a liquid that would work that way.
And I hated it. Although less than I did yesterday.
A soft ding, cold concrete, and a white belt, underwear, and gi on a chair.
Same as yesterday and the day before then.
I walked up the stairs, my eyes drawn to the area around me. It had quickly become normal, but spending a few days in one area would do that. I grimaced. I wasn’t always a homeless bum. I’d had a job and a shitty ‘apartment’. It was by far, worse than living on an island with a house. I had no idea how people lived that way for their whole lives. When I’d finally stopped working and couldn’t pay rent, I started to understand. The wilderness was too dangerous for any normal person, let alone me, and living homeless in the city was… rough.
Very rough.
This city had destroyed its wilderness, put human civilization over it like a toxic poison, and then made it nearly unlivable. And then got angry at those less fortunate that were just trying to survive because they were dirty and ‘uncivilized’. Well, at least the people did with me. I’d seen strong beggars that others had both given generously to and avoided like the plague, lest they end up dead. Strength above all huh…
And now I had the closest thing to a home. My bed was a healing tank and my days were spent in agony but at least that was better than being spat on and kicked around. And there was even someone that at least somewhat cared for my well being. Adding in the fact that I was making real, tangible progress to getting stronger and this was practically a paradise. It honestly was the best situation I’d been in since… since Vega.
I was going to kill him. And that started with training till I couldn’t anymore!
A quick walk brought me to the same room. The punching bag hung there, same as it always did. With a stern expression on my master’s usually casual face, he said the fated words.
“Punch it.”
.
.
.
“So, master.” I said, in between punches.
“What?”
“I… am I really the only person you could find to… kill whoever this person you want dead is?”
“Of course not. You’re not the first student I’ve trained.” He said, raising an eyebrow in slight disbelief. “None of the others made it that far though. Like I said yesterday, people rarely live up to their potential.”
“Oh.”
That put a damper on things for a bit. It made me feel… far less unique. So I wasn’t the only one that master had trained and the rest just… hadn’t made it? Is that what awaited me if I didn’t go far enough, try hard enough? To “only” get a little strong but never reach the levels I needed to beat Vega?
I hadn’t thought about that or considered it. About what would happen one day if I… actually grew any stronger. What would I do if I finally grew stronger, only to reach the level of the gang members that had nearly killed me? What could I do? My life would be a lot easier since I’d finally reach the level of a normal human but… but I’d be so far away from my goal. Would it really be any different… than being this weak? One or a hundred… what did it matter if I couldn’t reach the heights I needed to achieve?
“Get your head out of the clouds and punch the bag. Harder. Faster.”
I focused back up. It didn’t matter. I would break those limits if I reached them, just like I would break this one now!
******
I… I woke up again.
Today felt, off. The liquid came in and out and I floated in a daze before finally being practically forced out. It must’ve been on some sort of timer or something. I went slow today. I wasn’t feeling as good as I had before. My body was fine but my mind… this was difficult. This was so difficult. But it would all be worth it.
I did some stretches, a lot of stretches, before finally putting my clothes on.
Cold concrete, white clothes, stairs.
Never any socks or shoes. Not even any sandals. Should I ask for some?
I shook my head, following the same pattern as always.
This time, when I looked at the bag and my master, the only thing I had on my face was a grimace.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“Punch it.”
Those words felt like shards of glass scraping against my soul. I breathed deep, letting it out slowly, before firming up. Just another day. Another few days and surely, there’d be a change. I glanced at the number at the top of my head real quick to see if there had been any change.
[1]
Right. Of course not. I had to keep going. Onwards. I had to break these limits!
.
.
.
“Master… don’t you get bored just standing there?”
“Eh, I’ve had to stand for longer doing worse. Once, I had to stand in a rainstorm of falling meteorites that tore off chunks of me and poisoned the air for thirty eight days. I was entirely purple by the end of it. Couldn’t move a single muscle the whole time.”
“Wh- but why?”
“Oh, someone with some real balls hit me with a paralyzation array. Real fancy piece of magic. Anyway, yeah, they’d timed it right with the meteor storm. Well, maybe it was man made? Never found out one way or other but it’s kinda hard to tell. Lots of interesting pieces of nature out there.”
Once again I was left mostly stunned by some casual words. Wait, was magic real? I knew there was Ki but… was magic real? How was it different from Ki?
My head hurt.
I punched.
*****
I… I was so tired today. I hadn’t even gotten out of the healing tank and I already felt like I wanted to go back inside. What was once awful was now starting to feel really comforting. I just… I just wanted to go to bed. But I had just woken up…
I stumbled out of the tank as it drained and released.
My body felt great, as it always did nowadays. Like all the time I’d been abusing it had vanished. I felt healthier than I had in years. But I also felt… so tired. The healing tank, apparently, didn’t heal my mind.
This was so hard. Every day, just, just endless punching and destroying my muscles. So much exhaustion every day. I looked down at my knuckles. They hurt. Phantom pain. Even now, healed up, they hurt. My body wasn’t the same one I’d entered this place with. I wasn’t exactly strong enough to punch hard enough to leave calluses or scars but still, there was some change. The skin looked a little different than the rest. Who knows, maybe in a few months I might actually develop slightly stronger knuckles. I breathed deeper, my body felt better, my heart beat steadier. If nothing else… I was getting used to it all.
But…
[1]
It was the same.
No matter how much I adapted, I wasn’t really growing stronger without that. My durability would remain the same, how much I could lift, my speed, my stamina, this world usually rewarded constant exercise with power but it had never done anything for me. Without that… you could work out all your life and there’d be no change. Even now, it simply… conditioned me better to do more. That was still good. That was good…
Tired.
Cold concrete, white clothes, stairs, and-
“Punch it.”
I didn’t whimper. I didn’t. But a single tear may have rolled down my eye as I looked at the bag and heard those words.
Just… how long was I going to have to do this?
*****
Tired. Tired. I leaned against the tank, barely able to stand. The pod had drained. Nothing was wrong with my body but… but I was so tired. I wanted to sleep for a week. I’d never been so tired in my entire life.
Deep, deep breaths. I glanced upwards.
[1]
No change.
This was, this was intense. Every day was like the first day. Every single day. None of it was getting that much easier. No, no in fact… it was getting harder every day. It was, the work was endless. My body hurt, the sweat, the feeling of exhaustion, my blood starting to feel more like it was pumping lead, my heart beating so hard, my arms feeling like they’d fall off, all of it, every day, again and again.
It hurt. It sucked. How long had it been? I, I felt like I’d been doing this forever…
White clothes, cold concrete, stairs.
“Punch it.”
Fear and… something else arose up in me. Ah. I’d felt this one before.
Despair.
*****
[1]
White clothes.
Concrete.
“Punch it.”
I did. I felt like I was an exhausted human piloting a robot. So tired. So, so, boring. It was just, just endless punching. On and on and on and on and on. Over and over again. Till I fell. Till my muscles pulled wrong. And then right back up again, in pain, doing it over and over and over again. So much time to think, so little to think about. Tiring but not stimulating. Drudgery.
“Master… when… when are we going to stop?”
“Stop?” My master raised an eyebrow.
“I’m… I’m so tired.”
I put my arms down. I stopped punching, looking at my master.
He frowned.
“Then leave.”
“Master… please.”
“I will make you strong but I told you. You have to do your best. If you want to quit, then go quit. I don’t need someone with such a weak will. No, I can’t have someone with such a weak will. Do I look like I have that kind of time left? Do you think killing Vega is going to be easy? Do you think he did training this easy? You either toughen up or you give up. Which one is it going to be?”
“I…”
I looked at the punching bag. Hatred flared but… it was dark, bored, and tired. More like an oil or a poison in my blood than a flame.
I punched.
“Harder.”
I punched harder.
“Faster.”
I punched faster.
“Punch it.”
I punched it.
The days… the days began to blend together.