Biting down on the pain. Every nerve ratcheted, every muscle straining. Teeth gritting, sliding, catching. Blood. He could taste blood. Could feel the cold, rough stone beneath the heels of his palms. Ragged breaths, whistling between his canines, hissing between his molars. There was so much pain here....
A fortnight. I told Gharen a fortnight.
Heaved with exertion. Turned his fist over until his knuckles pressed down against the hard rock. Lit a fuse that sent agony up his arm in a series of mind-blanking pangs that left his muscles inflamed, one after the other. Raised his fist. Let it fall.
A supernova of blinding white light shattered his consciousness.
When he came to, the weight was still there. Like a chain wrapped thoroughly around his gut. A weight so immense that it threatened to buckle him, to leave him a broken thing, a mere husk of a man, a shell with its very essence torn from it. That weight was suffering. Literal suffering.
I didn't know... I didn't know....
But he had. Or, at least, he had suspected. He'd misjudged, though. Miscalculated. Mis-whatever-the-ruttin'-hells. Hells. That's where he was now. Drowning in the eternal anguish and despair of hundreds. How long had these caverns been here for? How deep did this labyrinth go? He'd come here knowingly, willingly. He'd been relying on the ancient history here. He was here for its legacy.
He hadn't counted on so many...
"Th-th-the Sacral. H-here lies all the b-b-b-... BODILY desires of man... oh, gods... f-f-f-foodanddrinkandflesh, its works in tandem, IN TANDEM, oh sweet Menphina why...?"
Pointless drivel. He was going to die here. Here, where so many others had died, so long ago. Too soon. He'd come here too soon. He wasn't ready.
Balls to that. I have to be ready. There's no one else.
His hand flew up to his collar and tugged down, ripping the shirt, exposing himself to the cool, dank air. He was sweltering. Too much. He was taking in too much, too soon, too fast. Too late.
"Fulcrum. P-p-potent and un-, un-, unas-, un-, ASPECTED. Indulge. Indulgence. Indulgence and abstinence. Ssssss. Control. Release."
His eyes were squeezed shut, but he could almost see the words scrawled across the vellum, feel the ink beneath his fingers. Breathing. He needed to regulate his breathing. Everything else could wait. Wait. Weight. Gods, the weight.
One may flood oneself with aether, but to what purpose that aether is put --
"...that, that... that is imp-, impor-, important. G-given the w-w-w-w-will. WILL. Second... second..."
Wind.
"Second WIND, after near exhaustion. Orange is its color. Orange is its color."
Will.
"Survival."
Survival.
"Will."
He had it, now. Could feel it again. The pulse. Buried beneath the sorrow. Deep in the earth. He'd lost it for so long, his knees had gone numb and the pressure of his bladder was constant. He noted with surreal indifference that it was some sort of minor miracle that he hadn't just let go.
"Will and survival mix to become desire."
Desire.
Jameson Taeros had to die.
Osric pressed his forehead flat to the stone and screamed as he seized the aether of Halatali - left behind over the cycles by the horrific suffering and demise of all the beasts, slaves, gladiators, and men who had ever dwelt or fought or bled here - and dragged it up, pulled that power of the land into himself, and forced it through the second chakra.
He screamed.
No one heard him.
A fortnight. I told Gharen a fortnight.
Heaved with exertion. Turned his fist over until his knuckles pressed down against the hard rock. Lit a fuse that sent agony up his arm in a series of mind-blanking pangs that left his muscles inflamed, one after the other. Raised his fist. Let it fall.
A supernova of blinding white light shattered his consciousness.
When he came to, the weight was still there. Like a chain wrapped thoroughly around his gut. A weight so immense that it threatened to buckle him, to leave him a broken thing, a mere husk of a man, a shell with its very essence torn from it. That weight was suffering. Literal suffering.
I didn't know... I didn't know....
But he had. Or, at least, he had suspected. He'd misjudged, though. Miscalculated. Mis-whatever-the-ruttin'-hells. Hells. That's where he was now. Drowning in the eternal anguish and despair of hundreds. How long had these caverns been here for? How deep did this labyrinth go? He'd come here knowingly, willingly. He'd been relying on the ancient history here. He was here for its legacy.
He hadn't counted on so many...
"Th-th-the Sacral. H-here lies all the b-b-b-... BODILY desires of man... oh, gods... f-f-f-foodanddrinkandflesh, its works in tandem, IN TANDEM, oh sweet Menphina why...?"
Pointless drivel. He was going to die here. Here, where so many others had died, so long ago. Too soon. He'd come here too soon. He wasn't ready.
Balls to that. I have to be ready. There's no one else.
His hand flew up to his collar and tugged down, ripping the shirt, exposing himself to the cool, dank air. He was sweltering. Too much. He was taking in too much, too soon, too fast. Too late.
"Fulcrum. P-p-potent and un-, un-, unas-, un-, ASPECTED. Indulge. Indulgence. Indulgence and abstinence. Ssssss. Control. Release."
His eyes were squeezed shut, but he could almost see the words scrawled across the vellum, feel the ink beneath his fingers. Breathing. He needed to regulate his breathing. Everything else could wait. Wait. Weight. Gods, the weight.
One may flood oneself with aether, but to what purpose that aether is put --
"...that, that... that is imp-, impor-, important. G-given the w-w-w-w-will. WILL. Second... second..."
Wind.
"Second WIND, after near exhaustion. Orange is its color. Orange is its color."
Will.
"Survival."
Survival.
"Will."
He had it, now. Could feel it again. The pulse. Buried beneath the sorrow. Deep in the earth. He'd lost it for so long, his knees had gone numb and the pressure of his bladder was constant. He noted with surreal indifference that it was some sort of minor miracle that he hadn't just let go.
"Will and survival mix to become desire."
Desire.
Jameson Taeros had to die.
Osric pressed his forehead flat to the stone and screamed as he seized the aether of Halatali - left behind over the cycles by the horrific suffering and demise of all the beasts, slaves, gladiators, and men who had ever dwelt or fought or bled here - and dragged it up, pulled that power of the land into himself, and forced it through the second chakra.
He screamed.
No one heard him.
![[Image: 1qVSsTp.png]](http://i.imgur.com/1qVSsTp.png)
