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He didn't know when he got up.

...

Did it really matter?

His body felt heavy, his mind felt heavier. It wasn't that he was in a daze. No, if anything his mind was moving too fast. The events that recently transpired, his regrets, his desires, hell, the evils that man feared. His mind thought, his mind revisited them again, and again. Nonstop. His body moved on with him barely aware. 

Sometimes he stopped, stomach heaving as he felt sick again, barely able to keep himself from spilling himself in the manner of a drunkard. He was clammy and feverish all at once. the sound of the blood pounding through his head deafened him, and the light of the sun did not seem a comfort at all to his eyes that squinted as though the well-meaning and bright light seemed to be darker now that he knew the depths of the dark.

He wanted to fight on.

The war was with masters and servants. No one normal could ever stand up to Berserker... either one really. No one could stand up to [b]that.[/b] But no one said that he couldn't fight just because he lost a servant, right? It was dumb, it was incredibly dumb. What was he preserving this life for? for what purpose? for what promised day did he live?

If he didn't reach out for this, this chance that could give him a real life then he was already as good as dead.

Toshi walked with a vague destination in mind. He journeyed thinking of the church, dragging himself forward, deciding to continue on instead of just returning home, fueled by the trauma of recent events and the resolve that came with deciding that he wished to change his destiny. That obscene legend, that crazed girl. She managed to conquer [b]that.[/b] Then these simple eyes, these accursed eyes.
He could conquer them.

Yeah.

There was no point in saying that he was alive as long as he lived bound by their cruel destiny. 

How funny it was, that he saw hell and was now going to a church. It was almost like he was trying to be a convert or something. But there wasn't any time for that, even if it seemed as though the words of a convincing father, kind or cruel, would be intoxicating now. The embrace of god was nice, but what he needed was blood and glory. A wish, a wish. The others would kill and die for it. Was he really wagering something of his on their level? this shitty life of his?

Well, he'd just need to find more chips along the way. It didn't matter. He just needed to win.