Here goes! My other Batterie one-shot. This one is intentionally short. Sorry! OFF does not belong to me, but to Mortis Ghost instead.
Sweat dripped down his face, his breath coming in hot gasps beneath the cover of his mask. The strain was getting to him, building up in the too-tense muscles of his arms as he forced his body to continue working in its seemingly effortless rhythm. Zacharie had to finish, just had to - if he didn't, the Batter would be so ashamed of him. So disappointed.
The merchant mustered up the last of his fading will, hoping desperately that it would assist his waning strength. He could vaguely hear the voice of his companion, urging him on. The noises coming from felt like wordless pants. In reality, they were probably coherent sentences, but Zacharie was not paying that much attention.
He was so close to achieving his goal, so close he could taste it. Or perhaps that salt was the beads of moisture still caressing the sharp edge of his jaw. If the A.C. was not broken, those last few motions would not have been so torturous. Zacharie idly kicked himself in the gut in reminder to fix the damn thing.
The heat was rising, curling, tensing so viciously that he could swear he heard his very bones begin to groan underneath the pressure. The Batter continued to urge him on; Zacharie's last shreds of strength and will were being pushed to their limits. When it felt like he could go on no longer, was so close to collapsing and succumbing to the burn, the purifier scolded him roughly.
"Just a few more," he said, "You're so close, Zacharie."
Against his screaming body's every protest, he marched on. His merchant's body, so skinny and weighed down by his massive backpack of wares, was not used to strenuous activities like this. At long, long last the Batter spoke the words that allowed him to buckle.
"You're done for today."
Zacharie groaned. Every joint gave out on him and he just crumpled to the floor in a sweaty, sticky, thoroughly gross mess. His muscles were shrieking in a cacophony of agony, but he did not give one fuck, no sir. He had finished, had hit that one high point and had achieved his goal. He was very, very proud of himself. Very satisfied.
"300 push-ups. Not bad for one day's work," the Batter commented nonchalantly. The floor-struck merchant gave a grunt of agreement. "I'll raise you to 310 tomorrow."
"Too bad this is only a fanfiction," Zacharie managed with his trademark chuckle. "I might actually be able to get there. It'd also help if a certain someone would stop chewing on his left thumb nail."
"I'm not going to ask who you're talking about."
"Good idea, friend. Good idea."
END.