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Chapter 315: Starvation II

Thankfully, the last one was somehow provided, for even through that thick \'fog\' I breathed in air that was unlike any other.

So I began with calm...

It had been about ten hours since I sat down; the time passed by in what felt like moments, while I couldn\'t cultivate, I still \'Pathed\' the abilities in my mind, repeating their intricate lines over and over again.

Eventually, fourteen more hours went by, with a few hours spent sleeping, and the first day was officially over.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

It was manageable... pretty alright, I\'d say.

Though I felt a slight hunger, my body, even without Aether, retained its divine nature, as that would never be lost.

Surprisingly, I didn\'t feel bad at all; it almost felt... real?

I wasn\'t sure how to describe it.

I had never truly experienced hunger like this before. Maybe I had felt it in the past, but I never paid much attention to that sensation, always keeping myself busy. So, this feeling seemed new to me, and I almost found a strange enjoyment in it.

The second and third days followed a similar pattern, but the fourth day marked a break from the routine.

My enjoyment wore off, it felt new no more, just boring if anything.

Pain kept knocking on the \'door\' but never entering, he was teasing me, expecting me to panic, yet I remained still, training my mind to pass the time.

As the first week concluded, a new sound visited me: my stomach... It growled, like a caged animal resisting its confines; this did nothing but remind me of its emptiness.

The pain began to ram up on the fifth week-not at a point where I couldn\'t handle it, but still, it was quite an experience.

My stomach constantly rumbled, and alongside that annoyance was a gnawing sensation of hunger that was hard to ignore. I never stopped practicing, and I slept more often, conserving energy while distracting myself at the same time. Yet even through all that, that feeling of hunger lingered like a persistent shadow.

It will pass, or so I told myself.

It didn\'t.

In the tenth week, the hunger intensified. It was no longer a distant rumble but a constant companion. Pain crossed the \'door\' and sat directly in front of me, giving me its regular visit, which came in a different flavor than usual.

I felt weak, drained of energy, with thoughts of food consuming my mind, at times even disturbing my \'Pathing.\' Simple things like the aroma of my mother\'s pancakes or the sight of them eating at our dinner table became torturous instead of a feast for my eyes.

It was similarly painful on the twenty-fifth; the pain didn\'t increase by much, but it didn\'t feel any better.

Fatigued and lightheaded, my body ached at every moment. It craved anything edible, imagining a taste of even the most basic of foods, a modest plate that even those from the slums would find unsatisfactory.

My senses were heightened, or so it seemed, as everything I felt was a million times more pronounced, and that was especially the case for my hunger.

Desperation set in on the fiftieth week.

My stomach felt like it was eating itself; I couldn\'t escape the persistent feeling of emptiness and irritation.

As if to match my surroundings, my mind turned foggy, thoughts jumbled, yet I still kept on \'Pathing,\' my futile attempts at escaping the all-encompassing hunger.

The hundredth week felt like hell.

I was but a shell of myself. Weakness had completely taken over, and I was on the verge of collapse, my body signaled its distress with each passing moment-moments that felt like an eternity.

But as the days went on, pain had finally left me, and looked at me from a distance, silently watching as I suffered from its presence.

My organs, especially my digestive organs, had long since dulled; their constant rumbles were a distant memory, and their protests, which fell on deaf ears, were no longer remembered.

Alongside them were my ever-slowing thoughts.

I felt my life dwindling with every passing eternity, like a planet suffering a monster tide.

My cheeks were hollow, and even though I constantly slept, my eyes formed deep, dark circles under them.

It seemed that I was on my last leg, that my body would die while my mind continued to fight, although barely.

But then a sudden thought reached me.

\'What was this for?\'

My answer didn\'t take long to form:

\'For the Embodiment Method, to find my \'flint—\'

No...

Dissatisfied with how I answered myself, I sat in silence for an \'eternity\' or two and then

asked:

\'Was this truly starvation?\'

\'Was I not muddying it by forcing myself to starve?\'

\'Wasn\'t the act of starving wanting to eat food but not being able to?\'

Yes...

That was starvation.

\'I\'m required to miss the act of eating itself, but...\'

\'That\'s something I\'m already doing.\'

What did I need to change?

Perhaps it was too basic, too simple-only scratching the surface.

I needed to immerse myself in the experience of a starving man, a normal one, to truly feel

what he feels, instead of whatever semblance of hunger I\'m experiencing now. For while it

was true hunger, it was forced, artificial.

Right, I am to starve-truly starve-to the point where I would unhesitatingly kill half of the planet for some of my mother\'s cooking.

And this was what I did.

My consciousness began to drift as I went through an out-of-body experience, observing myself in third person. Unfazed by the change, I continued, imagining myself as a poor,

starving man from the slums.

Gradually, my body changed shape, resembling what I envisioned, and eventually, it settled

into a form that I recognized all too well.

It was the very same man that Longshot had killed.

Faye\'s biological father.