Eren clambered to get himself up. Neither the twisting wretch of his stomach nor the piercing pain of his shattered ribs could dull the joy he was feeling right now.
The [Masochist’s Dream] had shown its true worth.
He’d spent so long searching for pain, embracing it, that he’d finally convinced himself that he savored it. Pain became something to look forward to, instead of something to avoid.
And it granted him an instinct. Just like how businessmen knew a certain move would bring them great wealth, or how an artist felt his own hand curve the brush sidewards to complete an even more masterful stroke of paint than he originally thought, Eren now had an instinct for pain.
Now, he detected any damage coming his way.
The signal was like feeling the radiation of fire. Even with his eyes closed, his body felt the heat emanating off of that kick as it got closer to him. He knew exactly which part of his body would get hurt, allowing him to dodge away just in time.
"Lucky...," the psychiatric patient muttered.
Eren twisted his body to the side as a leg snapped towards him. His unexpected dodge caused the Awakener to slip from his own momentum, making him tumble backwards.
The heat emanating off of that kick felt like it could incinerate Eren’s bones entirely. Meaning, if it had hit, his shoulders would have been shattered beyond repair.
"Hahaha... weird," said the psychiatric patient as he slowly got himself up. "I keep... missing."
Eren reigned in his excitement. Dodging two lethal blows was impressive, but it didn’t guarantee his survival.
He was a mortal, his opponent was an Awakener. A second clean blow would kill him.
The crazed Awakener writhed in his straight jacket, trying to get rid of his restraints. Eren’s saving grace was that it kept secure. His opponent would be without hands for the remainder of this fight.
"RAGGGHHH!!"
The straight jacket frayed into loose threads as an invisible power boomed out of the crazed Awakaner. The restraints loosened, allowing him to pry his hands free.
"Heishtå,"Eren cursed.
He didn’t have to know what Martial Manual the psychiatric patient used to know his next attack would be lethal.
A tingling sensation in his forehead warned him of a blow that would have cracked his skull clean.
The punch grazed his temple as he ducked out of the way. The psychiatric patient slipped on Eren’s vomit and blood on the ground.
Struggling to find balance, the Awakener awkwardly pulled himself up. And like his reputation, he began laughing out of nowhere. "Hahahahaha... Can you see me now?! Or shall I claim a life for you to be convinced?" the Awakener screamed to nothing and no one but the air.
Now, Eren’s entire body burned. It was his instinct warning him that the next attack would not be restrained. Ræzoň simmered atop the Awakener’s skin as he finally utilized his Ascension Art.
Eren had to ignore the sirens, the laughter of the crazed Awakener, the incoming heat of the pain. Everything was silent in his mind as he focused on his body. He only had one shot at this.
He bent his knees outward, assuming the stance of the Primal Strike. Trembling hands did no favor to his wavering strength. Even the adrenaline in his body could not overpower the fear in him.
Slick with blood and regurgitated grub, his feet found only shaky purchase on the floor.
No amount of theoretical knowledge and preparation and training could ever guarantee success on the battlefield. The Venerable Ursine King suffered his first defeat in a similar manner. Backed into a corner, feet shaking, body screaming.
But he was not him. He’d been given the knowledge to learn from those mistakes.
"Crazy... crazy... What more do I have to do?!" the Awakener shouted.
Eren shut his fear down his throat. "You have failed. And you know it."
He taunted purposefully. It focused anger towards his face and the mouth that uttered those words.
So, he knew to twist his head even before that tingling sensation of instinct warned him of the incoming lethal blow.
Air snapped chillingly close to the side of his head as the Awakener clawed forwards, missing Eren by just a hair’s breadth. Ræzoň-empowered, this strike would have pierced through his face like it was butter.
But it didn’t, giving Eren the chance to counter.
He planted his legs firmly on the blood-slicked floor, allowing imaginary roots to burrow on the ground, gripping the Earth itself as he twisted his left arm back and punched his right fist forward.
The punch created a thunderous snap that connected straight into the crazed Awakener’s face.
Eren’s Primal Strike blew his opponent back several meters, the back of his head skidding against the floor.
Shaky breaths came out of Eren as he watched the Awakener’s body laying on the ground.
A few seconds later, the psychiatric patient raised his head up, wiping the blood flowing from his nostrils with a perplexed look.
Then, he pushed himself off the floor, cracking his head side to side.
This was the culmination of Eren’s entire month of practice and cultivation. A bloody nose.
But he had done what he wanted to do. Achieved what he wanted to achieve.
The emergency exit doors burst wide open. Bodyguards, armored Awakeners, and hospital staffmen came rushing in from the other side.
Eren’s legs turned to jelly as the adrenaline drained from his body. He spent every energy he had in that Primal Strike.
He collapsed onto the floor just as they apprehended the psychiatric patient. Within seconds, they pinned him down on the floor and covered his eyes with metal goggles.
It didn’t take long before the doctors noticed Eren, lying on the floor, blood dripping from his mouth. They surveyed his condition, asked him questions as they applied first aid.
He couldn’t answer. Everything was muffled.
Dr. Reid walked past everyone and focused only on him. Her eyes were a mix of anger, worry, and indignation.
Eren’s vision turned weary and dark before she could say anything else.
And as the call of unconsciousness finally took its due debt, Eren couldn’t help but smile.
Mission completed. He’d risked his life, but gained everything he wanted for a reward.
The spindly touch of Ræzoň permeated his stomach, populating his core, reconstructing the organ that had been incapacitated this whole time.
By knocking on death’s doorstep, the [Masochist’s Dream] had been fulfilled.
And now, it had rebuilt his Dantian.