Constant practice over an extended period of time made that uncomfortable feeling vanish slowly.
He began to embody what he wanted to embody.
Instead of feeling like he wasn’t himself, he started feeling like he was becoming someone new.
It wasn’t a bad feeling.
And finding references to different shows and novels he used to love in his everyday life brought some flavor to his monotonous life.
Things were looking up.
And then, something new happened.
He felt a strange sensation when he looked at a certain beast.
Something that he felt would help him regain his humanity even more.
That was the only reason he saved it.
Because he was curious about this new stimulation he was receiving.
But that was enough of a reason.
New stimulation was always welcome.
So he saved that beast.
He killed hordes and hordes of beasts that chased it while doing so.
He missed the feeling of being drowned in the blood of his enemies.
It had been a good amount of time since the last time he was able to feel it.
After he did so, he grabbed that beast and ran.
It was exciting.
His blood was boiling, but in a good way this time.
He was being chased.
It was a real dragon. An existence he had only seen in fiction until now.
And on top of that, it was an entity at a level of strength that he couldn’t even hope to win against.
He felt like he was back to being the same pathetic person he was when he first arrived in this hellish place.
That pathetic weakling had returned.
Except, this feeling only excited him more.
It was the feeling of death encroaching on him.
It was intoxicating.
He almost stopped running to face that beast. He almost couldn’t control his desire to feel death.
Wasn’t it so exciting?
The boundary between life and death. Walking a thin like that could lead to his demise at any misstep.
Wasn’t it riveting?
The feeling of being crushed by an opponent and still managing to regain the upper hand. The feeling of blood intertwining as both sides piled up injuries.
He almost stopped in place.
He wanted to die while feeling that feeling.
It was exhilarating. It was a drug that he couldn’t curb his addiction to.
He wanted to die at that beast’s hands, but he also wanted to live.
As he found himself stuck in a conundrum, he felt a new stimulation.
A new sensation.
His attention was quickly grabbed. He went to find the source of that sensation.
And he found himself in a man-made construct. The first one he had seen in a long long time.
As expected, following the new stimulations he received would always lead him to something fun.
Having fun was the best. It was the only thing he lived for. Even if he escaped the dungeon, he wanted to keep having fun and finding new stimulation like this.
It led to a life that was worth living.
He sat in a chair. It was a good chair. He loved the feeling it gave him.
He looked at the beast he saved.
Should I kill it?
He wanted to kill it.
His body craved its death. His eyes only saw red.
But there was a sensation. A stimulation that he wanted to follow.
That was telling him to keep it alive.
So what should I do?
He stood up and walked over to that beast. It was small. His single hand was easily enough to crush its neck.
If he squeezed a little harder, its bones would snap like twigs.
What a satisfying sound that was.
What a satisfying feeling that was.
There was no blood, but it was still a greatly cathartic feeling.
But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
His curiosity was too strong.
A new stimulation. What would it bring him?
He realized that he only had a single arm.
It had been too long since he lost it. He had gotten used to the feeling of imbalance.
But it had almost led to his death a few times in the beginning.
Not that he minded much.
Death was something he loved to feel.
There were books all along the walls.
Could he still read?
He didn’t remember.
But he still went and picked up the books.
Another stimulation.
Information about a world he didn’t know, about many things he didn’t know.
He became intoxicated with reading. It turned out he could still do it.
He didn’t know how much time passed. At some point, that beast woke up.
He had gotten an idea from a book he read.
A companion.
It was an unfamiliar concept.
To have someone else with him. Someone who he could speak to. Someone who he could play with to relieve his boredom.
A companion.
It sounded nice.
It was much better than killing the beast.
Because killing it was only temporary stimulation.
But if he took it as a companion, it could entertain him for years to come.
It was a great idea.
He praised himself for thinking of something so genius.
He spoke to that beast. He was surprised that it could understand him.
There hadn’t been many beasts that could do so until now.
He knew from experience.
He talked to the beasts often.
He held conversations with them while they fought.
Or at least, he tried to.
But those beasts were stupid. They couldn’t understand his words. A few could, though, but it was a shame that they all died by his hands not long after.
Now there was a beast that could understand him. And he wasn’t going to kill this beast.
It was exciting. Especially when the pact was formed.
He could feel the beast’s thoughts. It was like he could finally hold a conversation.
He didn’t just have to talk one-sidedly.
It was nice.
He became friends with the beast soon enough. They became teammates who hunted together.
He fought the dragon. It was a good fight.
The dragon let out its breath.
Dragon’s breath felt good on his skin.
The pain was amazing. He almost forgot to defend.
His left side was burned to an unrecognizable state. The feeling of burning was new. Not many beasts could use fire in the dungeon.
It was searing hot, but also extremely cold. How could those two feelings exist at the same time? It was interesting to feel it personally.
The dragon was eventually defeated though. He couldn’t help it.
He loved death. He wanted to feel it all the time. He wanted to embrace it lightly. But he never wanted to actually fall into its clutches.
So he had to kill the dragon. It turned out to be a Wyvern instead of an actual dragon, but it was close enough.
Now what?
He had become a 2nd class. He had become more powerful.
But now what?
Continue to descend?
It was getting boring. He wanted something new.
But descending was good.
He saw it in the subspace.
He could escape as long as he kept descending.
Escape.
It was something he had been craving for so long, but why did it feel so empty? He almost didn’t want it. He liked his life in the dungeon. He could have fun and follow his desires without any consequences.
The outside world was difficult. Humans were difficult. He didn’t want to associate with them and get caught up in their problems.
But wasn’t he human as well?
He didn’t think of himself as one.
His thoughts were chaotic. He didn’t want to leave. The dungeon was comfortable. He knew what would happen every day. There were no surprises.
The outside world was hard. It was new. He would have difficulty adapting.
But what about his mother and his revenge?
It was tedious.
No, he had to do it.
He had to do it.
He was reverting to how he was before.
He was becoming no different than a beast again.
He had worked so hard to fix that. He had worked so hard to become human again even in the slightest.
What was the point of those efforts if he refused to leave the dungeon?
In the end, he descended.
He went against his desire for comfort.
Because the outside world had more stimulation.
It had more fun things that he didn’t know.
Even if it was cumbersome, it was still better than his current monotony.
So he descended.
And he finally left the dungeon.