Chương 123: Mind-Splitting Headache

June flopped out of bed in a cold sweat and held in an urge to puke his guts out. The Nightmare was over, the preliminaries were over, but the pain of his defeat remained firmly in his mind. A psychological evaluation took place after he exited the sim, and according to his results, he was considered healthy enough to proceed into the next phases of the games, despite feeling otherwise.

The simulation, while being extremely realistic, had a few unrealistic normalities that every gladiator eventually learned to live by; habits that most wouldn't even consider habits were flipped within the simulation, and now that everyone was out, the aftermath of the preliminaries was immediately tackled. Gladiators had to participate in extensive physical rehab.

While the slurry sufficiently hydrated and fed the dormant participants within their pods, muscles had a tendency to atrophy when not in use, especially if unused for several days on end. Fortunately for June, a Flesh-Shaper could remedy that within an instant; most physical ailments that participants experienced were waived by his abilities. So short of a fever, June didn't have any major lingering ailments.

The problem plaguing him, on the other hand, was a uniquely novel one: his Will filled up faster in the real world, and his Flesh-Shaping powers felt fundamentally different. The simulation put shackles on him, and now he was in a weird state of not knowing how strong he was; his Flesh-Shaping abilities were especially more responsive to random thoughts as well, which was a jarring ordeal at times. Today was the second day since his exit, and the Voice still remained silent.

'He really meant it when he said he was taking the week off' A weird emptiness radiated within his body; he couldn't tell if he just felt lonely or if it was a side effect of the Voice's gift. The memory he was given felt like a lingering pang; it faded in his mind like a flickering flame, but never went out. He could barely remember anything from the memory other than select sensations and emotions; the payoff of the memories felt negligible, and to be frank, the memory left him more confused than anything.

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. June winced and covered his mouth once more. He wasn't in any real pain, but his mind kept on replaying his defeat again and again. He had died before, but his previous death compared to this one was negligible. A soft discomfort pulsed in his mind; he felt like he had the right to be furious or angry, maybe even scared, but he didn't feel any of those emotions.

The memory of death just gave him a headache; the more he pushed it deeper, the more it surfaced. His death was a cruel one, one that made the Harths furious and the event hosts splurge on additional custodians. He didn't feel much about it except a soft stirring in his head and chest; a little mania in him was spinning in a circle. His fight was short-lived, pathetic even; he managed to mar his opponent before losing, but he couldn't help but feel a bit of disappointment welling up inside.

June sighed and slowly stood up. He requested a copy of his fight, but in the meantime he wasn't sure of what to do, so instead of pondering what his day would entail, he plopped himself back into the bed and wrapped himself up in blankets and went to sleep.

June opened his eyes to a familiar black space, the void. He looked around to see nothing but the familiar blackness. The void felt small and boundless; everything looked distant and near since there was no shape to contrast the world around him. The Voice was nowhere to be seen, nor heard. He plopped back and fell into a non-existent bean bag chair and slowly sank in. The void was a lonely place without his friend to fill it. Then again, a void was a place of absence.

June lifted his hands in front of his face and tapped his fingertips together. It was a peaceful place, and an echo chamber for his thoughts. And June wasn't enjoying what his thoughts had to say. His death felt… like death. He struggled to define it: the feeling of losing sensation, of slowly fading and having the feeling that he wouldn't come back to life. His death this time was slow, painfully slow. He learned what it was like to have his intestines grow taut… then snap.

He learned what it felt like to have your skull crushed like a grapefruit bursting from its seams. He learned what it felt like to have cold mud seep into his skull, and violent rain pummel his brain. June opened his eyes; someone was knocking on his door.

'It's probably the recording I requested.'