When Anon slipped from the ladder, he instinctively braced himself for the landing.
Weirdly enough, there was no need.
It was akin to the firm ground being replaced by a deep pool.
His surroundings morphed into the depths of a golden ocean, and his body was unmoving, aimlessly drifting through this sea.
There was an elusive feeling, as if something was pressing down on him, yet also feeling perfectly free, free from all things, all worries, physical and mental limitations.
Akin to a mountain resting on his shoulders, causing him to drop to his knee, and at the same time, he was light, so light that any restrictions exploded into mere concepts of the past, as if his body could just lift off the ground and soar high into the sky.
But there was no sky, no ground, no mountain, and no feeling.
The golden ocean churned.
His eyes were open yet felt closed.
So, though he saw, he could not truly see.
Simply put, he knew what was occurring even if he didn't see it with his own eyes or feel the changes with his senses.
In the golden ocean, golden arms and hands with five fingers and palms had formed.
Above him, below, to his left, and to his right.
The three hundred and sixty degrees that surrounded him, and what did not surround him.
Instinctively, he felt that even if he could evade an attack coming from all directions at the same time, he would still be unable to evade whatever this was.
And as if to prove this…
They came rushing towards Anon from all directions, and were present even in dimensions that transcended direction.
Since he was stuck in a state that was neither moving nor unmoving, in a state where he could, see, feel, sense, and not see anything, feel anything, nor sense a thing, he was but a piece of meat on a chopping board.
A golden palm landed on his body.
One single palm completely swallowed his figure, this single palm was tens and hundreds of times bigger than his body.
Two, three, thirty, these palms swallowed him whole.
They crushed his body.
Grinded his bones to dust.
Exploded his organs into a pulp.
Burnt his blood into a smoky red mist.
And at the same time, nurtured his body, healing him.
He was stuck in a perpetual state where death could only be considered as a state of release, one he'll not experience.
He could neither live nor die, scream nor cry, cower nor hide.
He could not…
He could…
"A-A-Arghhhhhh!!!"
Anon abruptly shot up from his bed, bellowing in pain.
He had swarthy-colored skin, yet his blood boiled to a point that his skin was visibly red.
Anon dug his nails into his chest, in a successful attempt at tearing the skin apart, causing blood to spurt everywhere.
Groaning, he crawled out of his mattress on all fours before falling over, onto his back, as he then clenched his fist with such tightness that blood was squeezed out.
Staring at the white ceiling, he clawed at his face, hooking his nails under his skin and pulling at his flesh, at the very least, attempting to forge another form of pain to block the pain from within his body.
Such pain was akin to being skinned alive.
His bones released a sensation, as if countless ants gnawed at them.
Anon's flesh, he saw an illusion where giants stomped on it, squashing and crushing it into minced meat.
The boy's eyes were blood red, and for him, it felt as if his blood was being boiled in a furnace by fire capable of melting the sky.
He opened his mouth to bellow and wail, but he choked on air.
Air?
Air!
"Urghhh…" "Ughhh…" "Ugh…"
Finally, reason returned to his brain, and he remembered to breathe.
His rapidly thumping heart slowed, and he caught himself.
The wounds on his chest, in his palms, and on his face as well, they were all nowhere to be seen.
Staring at the bloodstained mattress, he closed his eyes and sighed, his body trembling.
Reopening them, the bloodstains were nowhere to be seen.
Frowning, he mumbled in a croaky voice, "It's these damn hands again!"
It was relentless.
It appeared more often than it did not.
If asked when was the first night it appeared, Anon couldn't say.
It was as if it had grown conscious and forged a veil out of sheer pain, preventing him from ever remembering its origin.
Though he could walk through this veil and see the truth, he did not even approach it, as walking beyond this veil was to relive all this accumulated pain in a single moment.
More than fear pain, it was something that would simply shatter his mind, making him no different than a corpse.
The death of the mind was the truest form of death.
Like this, his nights went by filled with pain, and if he acclimatized to it, there would be a short break, and it would come back stronger than ever, desiring to hear his agonizing screams.
So, during the day, he slept as much as he could.
The torment prevented him from a good night's rest, and even drained him mentally.
So, no matter how others saw him, they didn't know what he went through, hence, he couldn't care.
On the night after meeting Seth for the first time, Anon fell asleep more than seven times, waking up in agony just as many times.
By the next morning, his bed sheet was completely soaked in sweat.
In a couple of days, it would begin to smell, but luckily, he had a washing machine and drier.
School began at seven, but Anon was up since three.
In the darkness of his room, multi-colored particles permeated the air and were controlled mentally by him.
They formed into one giant cluster before splitting into three groups, one going up, another down, and one to the right.
They continued their merry way, though very slowly.
After a while, they began trembling before bursting into multi-colored light.
Anon released a breath of pent-up air, "Maybe it's because I'm exhausted mentally, but this is horrible."
He sighed.
The average human could only focus on one task at a time.
As one awakened, and became a stellar fighter, even the most average ones could easily do two tasks simultaneously.
Right now, Anon was barely able to complete three tasks.
Now, compared to two tasks, doing three was a giant step, after all, a human brain was split into two halves, and a third task required a third separate thought process.
This form of training, it was known as cultivation, and incredibly slow.
As one commanded the stellar cosmic energy in the air to do differing things, one would exhaust their spirit, but also attune it more with stellar cosmic energy, so as the spirit recovered, it'll also be nurtured slightly by stellar cosmic energy.
Doing it repeatedly, eventually, a substantial change would occur, allowing the spirit to bear the pressure of accomplishing three tasks.
Still, on a normal occasion, Anon could accomplish three complex tasks, especially in this exercise.
The next thing he did was command the cosmic energy to once again split into three clusters.
One cluster took on the appearance of a triangle, another a circle, and the final one, a square.
He could only hold it for thirty seconds before they broke apart.
His brows knitted, currently, he was soaking in sweat.
'I can't do the third exercise…' Anon deduced.
Meditation.
It meant entering a state of thoughtlessness, allowing the spirit to recover with the help of stellar cosmic energy.
Though sleep was the best choice, meditation was akin to a lesser version, but it was more than useful, especially if a stellar fighter wasn't in the safest environment, it would become the best choice, better than sleeping.
Overall though, sleep would be the most desirable course of action.
It is said that in sleep, the spirit is embraced by mother nature, the world's will.
A mother's love is akin to a healing elixir.
After he was satisfied, he exited the bunker.
Currently, it was already minutes past five, it was time for another day of school.