Whenever you see a training montage in a movie or read about it in a novel, it is always full of breakthroughs, rapid advancements, and the like. The reality, most of them at least, holds a different truth.

THERE IS NO GLORY WITHOUT SUFFERING

The process of reforging yourself is similar to the creation of a blade. It is not a process done in haste.

It takes time.

It takes patience.

It takes repetition.

The price you pay isn’t just sweat and tears as the saying goes. The biggest price is the strain on your will, caused by constant, mind-numbing effort.

You get used to the pain, to stress, to difficulty. It doesn’t mean you stop registering it. It means you learn to handle it better.

The pain doesn’t stop, it becomes bearable.

The mind doesn’t get used to the effort, it adapts to suffer through it better, without interruptions.

Your focus becomes as sharp as a steel blade, once you have sunk to the bottom of the pit of misery you willingly chose.

That is always the biggest difference between individuals. Talent helps, and resources help. But it’s the will of a man that defines his success. It is easy to excel in something that you enjoy, that you catch on doing half-assed.

It is the mark of honor to choose to put yourself through hell, and not stop even knowing you are at a disadvantage.

The endless repetition continued. Mind and body flayed under self-imposed torture. Once the amount of filth and destruction became overwhelming Luke transferred beyond the Veil. The training became easier. The influx of foreign powers promised to enhance his healing. He denied them.

Closing his core from external power he churned and burned his inner self. There was no time, or sense in making the training more bearable if it stunted his growth. If his plan was to succeed he needed his reservoir to be as big as he could make it.

Casting off worries of damaging his home or making his new powers known he could release some of the pent-up emotions that boiled inside him.

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Standing on the roof, with the river as his witness he bled. He screamed. He wailed and thrashed as his skin peeled under the razor sharpness of his energy.

He cursed, repeatedly dropping to his knees once his muscles tore and bones cracked beyond his ability to handle. Laying on the asphalt cover of the building, feeling blood and spittle drip from his mouth he wished to stop. He just wished for the pain to stop. The infection bloomed a rose of pure black on his chest. Both his arms were tainted until the wrist. Now from the deep black void became visible the pure white veins that made up his power circuitry of the primordial. Total opposites fought and clashed on his body, wrecking an even bigger havoc on his mind.

Screams of unfiltered dread echoed within him. He swapped his will to live, to even stand up from where he lay. The energy pumped him full of instincts, rage, and hunger. All that he despised since his father's abuse started. To be a slave to your emotions and anger. It only made you more pitiful.

Like before, like now, he knew he had to stand up. There was no one to do this for him. No one to take care of the problems he faced. Failure is a privilege he didn’t have. He never could. Being on his own since he was 17, and leaving his house, life taught him that the only thing he can count on is his hard work.

So he worked even harder.

Smashing his fist into the floor, digging into it into like it was made from sand he pushed himself onto his feet. Ripping the surface layer of his skin that hung loosely from his chest he revealed the flesh that was his to command.

Focused only on the reasons why he put himself through this hell he started again. With even more force put behind his self-administered torture.

Within days of constant agony, with breaks only for food and keeping up appearances, he managed to cross several thresholds. Monsoon was right, while starting cultivation as old as he was put him at a disadvantage, his adult comprehension and visualization made certain things easier. His mind shaped by life could handle more stress.

Step by step, he improved.

Literally.

From being immobile when refining his vessel to taking small, measured steps around the roof. Just forty steps took him almost 20 minutes and three tries the first time.

He advanced. He became better.

After a few days, his precision and handling of power improved. His body became a puppet in his mind's control. His powers were a cowl that clad his physical self.

Adding to his current suffering he started trying to manifest his influence outside of his body.

Mana first, less fickle and easier to handle.

Telekinesis and electricity were the only things he knew, so that was what he tried.

Trying to latch telekinetically to the edge of the building somewhat worked. He did create the connection, but instead of pulling on the building, his powers still frying his insides flew incorrectly. Rapidly forcing his limb to the building and ripping his arm from the shoulder while flaying his bicep like ripping off a sleeve from a shirt.

A cascade of blood poured from the clenched muscles visible under the magical lights. Bulging and tearing in the moment he lost focus, blood vessels exploded. Barely clenching his artery in time he managed to smash it shut and force all of his energies into regrowing the lost flesh.

It still took over 8 hours for the regrown skin to be able to handle any movement.

The muscles radiated pain with every movement.

He almost killed himself just now.

Taking the first real break in days he let his mind rest. Recuperate and form some better plans on how to proceed.

Rejoining our world in his room he looked at the mess he created.

With his aching yet surprisingly spry body, he cleaned most of it in under 30 minutes. The cracks in walls and destroyed flooring and carpet will have to be taken care of some other time. Scrubbing the blood off the walls already ruined the paint on them.

He decided to only strengthen his core density while he finished all the books and materials he was given.

Flushing out his core from mana and running it through his body in cycles allowed him to stay fresh and focused. Once the energy gathered again at the core he molded it tighter, crammed it until it was denser, and sent it for another cycle. What returned was only a tenth of the original size, yet it was denser and free of impurities.

Delving into the Arcane knowledge meant for kids 10-12 years old, he learned what would be the foundations for his future.