Two years...

Six more months in the magical grind, and the Merciless Underworld had become a routine of pickaxes, rocks, and my nightly disco of mana shenanigans. Progress was slow, but hey, I was still standing.

The underground chatter took a dark turn when another slave tried to make a great escape – emphasis on tried. The poor soul met a fate as grim as the shadows that surrounded us. It hit everyone like a punch to the gut, and suddenly, magic didn't seem like the beacon of hope it once was.

"Another one bit the dust, huh?" Dave muttered as we gathered in the shadows, our faces reflecting the grim reality.

Whispering Will chimed in, "Maybe we're all just chasing ghosts. This magic thing's a joke."

Mary shook her head, "I've been talking to my skin for months, and it's still as silent as a rock."

As we soaked in the bitterness, the Merciless Underworld turned into a pit of despair. Even my comrades, who once shared my enthusiasm, now regarded me as the court jester of magical failure.

"Look at ol' Alex, still trying to be a wizard," Dave sneered, a bitter chuckle escaping him.

Will added, "Mate, magic won't save us from this hellhole. Better stick to smashing rocks like the rest of us."

Mary, once the skin enthusiast, muttered, "Magic? More like tragic."

I became the internal joke, the guy who believed in the unbelievable in a place where hope was a rare commodity. The Merciless Underworld had a way of snuffing out the spark in the darkest corners.

Meanwhile, Mr. Macho, the not-so-pleasant overseer, had long clocked my magical disco. In his gruff voice, he'd throw in a comment every now and then. "Still trying to be a wizard, eh, Alex? Well, as long as it doesn't interfere with rock smashing, I couldn't care less."

And so, in this underground circus of despair, I kept dancing with the shadows, hoping that one day the joke would be on them. The Merciless Underworld might think it had broken my magical spirit, but I had a stubbornness that ran deeper than any mine.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I cracked it. The first magical node in my veins – a tiny triumph in the Merciless Underworld. My nightly disco had paid off, and I felt like a wizard who had just cast their first spell.

"Did you see that, Dave? Will? Mary?" I yelled from my cell to theirs.

Dave squinted, "See what? Another one of your magical farts?"

I grinned, "No, mate, the real deal. I did it! I've got a mana node in my veins!"

They exchanged skeptical glances, but I could see a glimmer of curiosity in their eyes.

"Okay, Alex, spill the magical beans. How'd you do it?" Mary asked, a hint of hope in her voice.

So, I shouted my magical disco journey, the trials, the errors, and the stubborn determination. For the first time in months, the Merciless Underworld echoed with something other than the clinks of pickaxes – the sound of my victory dance.

As I leaned against the bars, reflecting on the more than a year I'd spent in this underground carnival, a strange sense of normalcy settled in. The routine of rocks, pickaxes, and nightly mana shenanigans had become my bizarre version of everyday life.

"Over a year," I mumbled to myself. "Who would've thought?"

The Merciless Underworld, with its magical mysteries and endless rock piles, had become my twisted home. The familiar darkness, the distant echoes, and the silent screams had all woven into the fabric of my existence.

Yet, as I stared at the tiny glow of my mana node, I realized something – maybe, just maybe, the Merciless Underworld hadn't broken me. Instead, it had shaped me into a stubborn wizard who danced in the shadows and found magic in the most unlikely places.

So, another year dragged its sorry self in this Merciless Underworld, and the kid I used to be turned into this grizzled version of an adult. My hair's a rat's nest, and the dim light in this cell does me no favors. The mirror reflects a mess of a face, shadows playing hide and seek with the lines that have etched themselves into my skin – a silent testimony to nights spent wrestling with magic.

But it ain't just the outside that's changed. My eyes, once wide with uncertainty, now gleam with a hint of... well, let's call it survival wisdom. The constant mana dance hasn't just sculpted my look but also the vibe I give off. Call it magic mojo or whatever.

Checking myself out in this dingy mirror, the reflection staring back isn't a success story; it's a survival story. The veins in my arms, yeah, they're more like a roadmap of "What the heck did I get myself into?" Nodes multiplying like rabbits, turning this body into a magic experiment gone wrong. What used to be a confusing maze became a routine I could do in my sleep. Mana's my BFF, flowing through me like a stealthy stream, doing my bidding like an obedient puppy.

Meanwhile, my buddies in this underground circus aren't having it as easy. Dave's beard got scruffier, and the weariness in his eyes could write a novella of failed attempts. Whispering Will, with his perpetual ear-to-the-mana whispers, seems to age faster than the rest. Mary, the skin enthusiast, eyes her reflection with a mix of frustration and resignation.

"Alex, how the heck do you do it?" Dave asked one day, his voice bouncing between awe and surrender.

I shrugged, "Just keep dancing, mate. The Merciless Underworld might throw curveballs, but we've got our own magic to counter it."

So, in this underground makeover, I stand as a reminder that change is possible. Locked in this cell as a slave, I'm still the wizard who's seen better days. Call it resilience or sheer stubbornness, but in this Merciless Underworld, I'm the one refusing to be just another shadow in the dark.