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Saws are too big, too gory. He liked it, it was kinda fun, but not viable long-term. He really doesn't wanna sever something important. Swords are too heavy, too unwieldly. How is he supposed to cut himself with a huge thing like that? TdL likes blades that are easier to control. If he makes his diamond chisel perfectly, it's good enough to use as a blade. Like one side of a shear. It's perfect. He sharpens it better, turning it into a glorified razor blade. Iron probably would've been a better resource to make it out of, but it only has a 66% return rate in crucibles and diamond has 100%. Also, it's a flex, because fuck everyone else. Also also, it's more durable, just in case he wants to keep it.
Everything about this fucking sucks. He's a fucking god. He's a fucking god. He doesn't have to deal with this peasant shit. This is stupid. Better Than Wolves? Yeah, he fucking is. This is easy. The only difficult part about it is finding a goddamn reason to keep going, because this grind is downright stupid.
Okay, that makes him sound suicidal. He's not. Gods don't die. Neither does he. He's not gonna die, not when he's put somewhere close to 200 hours into this run. Jesus fucking Christ. TdL is tired of this shit. He's not even in midgame. This is peasant shit. Why is he still dealing with peasant shit.
Right. Because this game fucking sucks.
Nothing even touches him anymore. He takes no damage. Four zombies, a spider, and a spider jockey on the other side of his portal. Only did two and a half hearts of damage.
Being a god is fun, but he's miserable. He doesn't- He doesn't feel anything. The fucking 30-some caving arcs he went on were more enjoyable than this. Goddamn.
Maybe that's why hurting himself is so intriguing. It's new. It's special. It's something he can control and feel and enjoy.
He's safe in his base. Taking off his armor and rolling up his sleeves still feels like welcoming death. Paranoia creeps back in, a reminder of every death he's had. Caves blocked off, only for death to come from above. What run is this? Somewhere close to 200. Maybe closer to 190. Fuck it, it doesn't matter. Peasant shit. This is the run he fucking wins. This is fucking easy. MEA was death. In MEA he would've been dead the second he even thought about taking off his armor.
But this isn't MEA, and he's the fucking Better Than Wolves god.
Holding the blade against his arm feels like standing next to his nether portal. He commits. He backs out. He commits. He backs out. Panic envelops him every time the cold blade touches his skin, too similar to nausea and suffocating heat wrapping around him when he stands in his portal.
Deep breath in. He doesn't exhale for a moment.
He carves the blade across his arm.
He exhales.
TdL has never felt something so good.
Pain has always been immediate and terrifying and bad. It's always meant death, soon. This... this is new. This is something else, something he doesn't know what to do with. It feels too good. He feels like electricity is coursing through him, filling his veins, rewiring his nerves and his brain.
The rational part of his brain says everything about this is wrong.
The rest of his brain looks at the blood filling up the cut, rolling down his arm, and says nothing has ever been so right.
He does it again. Several times.
Before the blood fills up the cut, he can see what's beneath his skin. It's so wrong to see. In a gross way, it kinda reminds him of people cutting open those weird rubber ball things in videos. A lot of different colors splitting apart, making way for what's underneath. In this case, it's a lot of red. The first one he made was a pale white color that quickly filled up with blood. The next few were weirder.
This last one is the deepest, and also the best. It's red before blood has the chance to overflow, and he knows he hit muscle. It's so wrong. It's so fucking good. His arm pulses, blood pouring out, staining his skin, his clothes, his floor. Everything. God. God. Holy fuck. This is so good. He stares at it for a moment, watching the blood pour out, absolutely entranced by it. He knows he should bandage it, but he's got other things he's focused on right now.
Fuck. Something is so wrong with him. He shouldn't be feeling turned on right now, but here he is, blood rolling down his arm, and holy hell he wants to get off so fucking bad. He makes a few more cuts just for the rush, because god he needs it, before dropping the blade to the side. He barely even registers what he's doing, so focused on the electric feelings rushing through him.
He feels fucking alive, holy shit.
He cums way too fast, all fucked in the head from whatever the hell he's doing.
God. What the fuck is wrong with him.