For one hundred kiloters, Atlas suffered in fire. For the one hundred kiloters that ca next, he suffered from the torture of labor.
He was forced to push the boulder in front of him up the mountain he'd arrived before. He had to follow its natural body shape and carefully plan his movents in order to keep the boulder from falling or leaving his control.
He was not allowed to let go of the boulder. If he did, his body would experience extre pain until he was touching it again. If he lost the boulder or lost his strength, the boulder would roll back and flatten him into the ground.
Atlas felt the sensation of death over and over again. Did it beco numb in his mind? Not in the slightest.
Anyone who said that the feeling of death beca numb after experiencing it multiple tis was lying.
It was only the thrill that faded. The excitent of walking the edge of life and death went away, leaving only the cold and dark reality of death.
It wasn't numbness at all. The fear of death may have beco muted, but that only ant they could co closer to it without backing away.
Still, in the end, they would always back away. In the end, when it ca ti for death to truly claim them, all of them would show fear.
Atlas was no different. He pushed that boulder endlessly. The strength of his cultivation was completely removed from him, leaving him as a mortal in eternal tornt.
The boulder was far too heavy for his ordinary hands. He pushed it by so miracle, but he was never fated to reach the top of the mountain.
His entire world was on the slope of that great being. He would never see its peak.
Over and over again, he climbed the mountain while rolling that boulder. Over and over again, he corrected the mistakes he previously made to reach higher positions.
And, over and over again, sothing stopped him. Whether it was his own fault, the curvature of the mountain, or even a sudden breeze that randomly appeared to sweep the boulder away, sothing always stopped him.
When he stopped, he felt death, and he returned to the bottom of the mountain.
Compared to the burning of those soul flas, it seed like a much tar punishnt. At the very least, Atlas wasn't constantly being pushed to the edge of breaking his mind.
However, such thoughts were naive.
Every step he took carried a burden beyond the mountains he had been carrying in the pathway. Every ti he was crushed by that boulder, his mind was truly broken. It wasn't just driven to the edge of breaking.
The ways of this plane of existence were the only reason he was still alive. For the sake of torturing him more, the world itself preserved his soul and allowed him to exist eternally in this tornt.
One hundred kiloters took several hours to walk, probably sowhere close to half a day.
Yet, to Atlas, it felt like he had been pushing the boulder for decades before the world around him changed.
His soul body was instantly cooled by the sensation of liquid water. Atlas' body from the neck down was subrged in a pool of water. Above his head, there was a low-hanging tree branch from which a beautifully ripe fruit hung just out of reach.
'Is this a break?'
Was he being granted a mont of solace in all of this torture?
With such thoughts floating in his mind, he lowered his head to take a sip of the water.
Then he lowered his head again.
And again…
'Why?'
He looked down at the pool below him. There was nothing odd about the water, so why?
He pushed his head into it as fast as he could, but the sa situation repeated itself.
No matter what he did, no matter how he tried to reach it, the water he was subrged in refused to enter his mouth.
'This…'
He looked up at the fruit hanging above his head. The look on his face was not joyous.
If he was correct…
He raised his body out of the water and tried to reach out for it, but it was exactly as he expected.
No matter what he did, that fruit never ca into his reach. The wind blew it away, it randomly bobbed upward, and sotis it even moved as if it was alive when he got too close.
By whatever mystical ans provided to them, both the water and the food refused to interact with him despite being the closest things in his vicinity.
And his body…
Atlas still had the body of a mortal being.
For several hours, he was able to use his ntal control to persevere. However, after half a day went by, he felt his hunger and thirst increasing.
'I am not hungry.'
He hadn't been a cultivator for that long in this life, had he? Was he supposed to forget what it was like being a mortal?
Even when he was a child on the streets, when eating for a day was not guaranteed, he never got hungry so quickly. He was able to persevere for more than a day if he needed to. He needed to eat eventually, but not this soon.
'My hunger is being influenced.'
From a ti ago, he'd already understood this torture thod.
Only, he couldn't fully accept it until he felt it himself.
When an entire day went by of Atlas quietly ditating and trying to control his instincts, it beca impossible to do that.
His body was in physical pain. He was groggy and woozy, unable to think or see straight. There was a pulsating pain coming from his chest and stomach that felt like he was being pierced by swords within his body.
He raised his arm to try and reach the fruit again, but it was never going to work. His head was down, his lips trying their best to kiss the water as his arm fought against fate to acquire food.
That was why he didn't realize it.
Until he lost all of his energy and had to stop; until the water beca peaceful enough for him to see his own reflection…
He raised his arm to his own face.
When did he start looking like this?
His mask was gone, naturally, as this was a soul body. His face was skinnier than it had ever been when he was an orphan. His body was entirely bone. His skin stuck to his skeleton as if it would fly away if it didn't cling so tightly to a surface.
His fingers were like sticks that fell off of a tree. He could hardly imagine that he was able to move them. His lips were dry and cracked, sporting a blue and purple color that almost made him gag.
"Heuk…!"
No, he did gag. His eyes widened as spit traveled up his throat, coating the inside of his mouth.
No matter how disgusting or painful his condition was, that feeling was undoubtedly a beautiful one.
One hundred kiloters could be traveled in roughly a day. Atlas spent only double that amount of ti in this punishnt realm.
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However, the two days of hunger and thirst he experienced here were worse than even the years of torture he experienced on the mountain.
It only made him dread what ca next even more.
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