The Poppy War, book 2.5 : The Drowning Faith

She’s the only divine thing he’s ever believed in. The only creature in this vast, cruel land who could kill him. And sometimes, in his loveliest dreams, he imagines she does.

In all of his worst nightmares, she’s dying. She’s fading away in his arms, helpless and whimpering, while hot, dark blood spills over his fingers.
This, he tells her.
He doesn’t tell her that his hand holds the blade.

Pain. Pain so bad he doesn’t know how much more he can endure. Nezha stopped associating pain with death long ago, since pain can’t kill or maim him because he’ll always come back. He wishes he wouldn’t; that his body wouldn’t always stitch itself back together no matter how viciously it was rendered apart. He wishes pain bad enough would mean things were coming to an end. But he’s known for a while now that he would always live through it; that he would always heal, survive, and return to suffer more.