[Push-ups: 500 Remaining]
Sel swore under his breath when Bahamut moved again. He couldn't understand what was going on with him. If only he knew he had a timer on him.
Bahamut rolled onto his stomach.
Every movement felt delayed, like his nerves were arguing with his brain about whether this was worth transmitting.
He planted his hands.
Pushed.
His arms collapsed immediately.
He slammed face-first into the floor, teeth clicking together hard enough that Ren flinched.
"…Again," Bahamut whispered.
He pushed.
One.
Two.
Ten.
By fifty, his arms shook harder than his legs had.
By one hundred, his elbows screamed with sharp, grinding pain as microfractures spidered through bone and tendon alike.
Blood dripped from his palms.
Two hundred.
His core failed repeatedly. His body sagged, then forced itself back up. Each repetition looked less like an exercise and more like a man refusing to die out of spite.
Three hundred.
His regeneration was no longer keeping up.
