“Ah!” Azeal screamed, his body flailing on its own accord. He tried to sit up, but no matter how hard he worked he was too weak. As though his body muscles had atrophied from fear; if at all possible. What madness had he found? What evil existed in this realm he happened upon? And how was it connected to anything he had experienced, truly? These were questions he could not find answers for, no matter how much he desired them. Azeal was shaking, his heart thumping like a drum, and his ears seemed incapable of absorbing sound. The world was glazed in a dull fog to his eyes. It all meant one thing he wished he could say otherwise too - Azeal was afraid beyond anything else in his life.

Then, with a sudden popping sound, pain bloomed within his entire body. It was as though his senses had been returned, in synchronicity with the crazed flailing of his body. Slowly it increased and increased until he could hold it no longer. “Ah!” he screamed again, but this time with more hoarse voice and in a longer duration. It was all an amalgamation of pain that began to separate, becoming their own entities. In turn, the pain assaulting Azeal increased three folds.

The first was on his core -- sternum until his groin. He felt spikes tearing him apart, ripping his innards to shreds. This was the greatest of them all, as vast as the mountain he had seen in the black realm. It almost eclipsed the others, only the strange and unique flavors each pain had differentiated one from the other. The second was a burning in his arms, a fire that demanded it consumes everything in its path. It felt like lava had been injected into his blood streams - eating away at the tissues and everything in between. The last, when it had become apparent, it came with a surprising effect that made Azeal subconsciously remember the Vampires black world. It came with a blackness that covered his eyes and struck needles into his brain. Scratching at his mind from the physical world.

But once the blackness came, Azeal began to cry in fear once again. “No! No! No! Please, not this again!” Through the pain, he forced his hands to clutch at the helm that covered his face, an act he had forgotten to be fruitless - forcefully attempting to take it off. Straining with all his might, the pain incomparable to what he was already enduring, nothing happened. Again and again, he would push and pull, desperately clawing at it to be removed. He needed the light of day, or the very least a candle to shine in its lonesome - hope where hope should not be. At the top of his lungs, he screamed in force, his words gurgled from the strain to his vocal cords and throat.

Yet, the harder he tried, the more something would whisper. Ignored in the beginning due to its lack of strength. But slowly it built up until it was impossible to miss. The words were hollered in his ears, from what seemed to be closer to than his own yells. There were many words he could not understand - a language filled with too many ‘I’s and ‘Z’s. Gibberish to the one it attempted to speak to. It continued to flow, as Azeal flailed and rolled, finally falling off his bed. There he lost his voice, his throat too sore to be used to speak, but then it healed when he his screams became voiceless. A far cry from the loud and booming voice he had used to tell the world of his pain.

Through it, all the voice whispered constantly. Repeating its hypnotic song without concern to those that would hear it - all the while getting louder and louder to Azeal. It was like a Latin song to those that did not understand the language - a mysterious melody. Until finally, its droning voice ultimately overshadowed the pain. Its demands becoming more evident every time it repeated itself. Forming into a language recognizable to its wielder. The words were simple and instructions to what one must do. And so it spoke to Azeal and he without full control of his body, yelled the words it demanded he let out to the world.

“Seraphimizus Recitozenous!” A password the carrier of the Helm must call, once all conditions are met, to take it off. And put it back on after the duration of freedom from its grasp ends.

And all of a sudden, the helm became loose on his skull. Too big even with the horns that adorned Azeal’s head. With shaking hands that had seemed to have lost all strength, he pushed it off - or used the momentum he had built to slap it off. With a clink, it hit the tiled floor of his room. But, unlike what he had hoped there was no reprieve from the black ink that had covered his eyes and the pain that had demanded it take its toll on his body. Tears began to slowly streak down his Raug face, for it was all unbearable. The mental and physical torture he was suffering was too much to handle - all of it coming after his encounter with the Vampire in its own realm.

His hands, eventually fell to his side, almost giving up to what seemed to be an eternity of pain. But with a sudden boom and a spray of wood shrapnel, the door to his room was blasted open. With a hurried pace, Roland, Harold, and two men unintroduced entered, trying to find the enemy that had snuck into their allies room. Only to find Azeal, flailing with elemental overload and corruption. From his arms were a burning and bright red fire that had caught the bed sheets in their unending desire to consume. From his waist and chest grew solid rock, yet somehow still flexible enough for him to flail the way he did. Pieces had been broken as he had fallen off his bed, covering the ground under him. And lastly, was a black cloud that covered his entire head. Within it were bright flashes of white and red, two colors none in the room understood.

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Azeal knew someone had entered his room, and with a desperate call, he raised his hands, stretching in hopes they would respond. Even with the Raug limiter, this was beyond his new capabilities. “Please, help me.” he finally croaked, somehow speaking through the fog as though it was never there - the sound undisturbed. With urgency, Roland ran to his side, grabbing his hand while doing so. “It’s going to be okay, I will heal you,” said Roland, attempting to ease Azeal’s struggles. But he knew better, considering the elemental corruption was given so much time to run rampant, he would have to whither great portions and heal them anew. So, he put Azeal to sleep to stop the flailing and the incoming pain from causing him any more damage mentally.

And so that was what he did, purple energy began to seep from his hands, covered with a bright light of healing - hiding it from all the world which knew not his truest capabilities. The world that new not his horrible past. Slowly he stared with the fire, which died the quickest, luckily it mostly took great hold on the metal outgrowths that grew on Azeal. With a flash of blinding red, the fire corruption was dispersed. Yet, the damage had already been done, it would take a while before he would be able to wield it again. It gave to questions none had asked before. How had Azeal used mana during the fight against the bandits? Or more recently, how was the massive dome of darkness created?

Corruption of any element happened in two situations, the first was when someone that had not opened his affinity or used it suddenly had it ripped open. A great rushing of the element would ravage the entire body, and if one had more than one element, a specific place it would call home. The second happened when one becomes baptized in the element of choice. If the person is not prepared or too weak to handle the flow of mana, they would be consumed and corrupted whole. They would turn into Golems of their respective element.

Removing any thoughts from his mind, Roland continued his task. Moving on to the earth corruption that had taken place all around his chest and waist, down until the middle of his thighs. This was much harder to removed simply due to the strength and density the growths had. This proved once again to be a catalyst for more questions Roland choose to ignore for the time being. How strong must his affinity to earth be for such density and mass? At the very least, it must have been a ‘Stronger Affinity’ if not higher.

With a blast of dust, causing everyone in the room to cover their eyes and faces, the earth corruption was removed. He moved onto the dark cloud that had taken home on his head. Roland extended his hand, but as he touched it, an image took over the world from his eyes. A black realm clashing greatly with one of white light. Within the blackness stood a likeness to Azeal, but decrypt and pale. A desire to consume the world radiated in a transparent and frightful purple aura. While on the other side, within the white light, grew a sphere of golden light. Massive wings that covered most of everything in that world, spread from its back. All the while the golden orb pulsed slowly, releasing a demand that it be bowed to. Similar to a king sitting on their ornate throne.

But, as suddenly as it had appeared, it vanished leaving Roland reeling from the great passion and desire both exuded. But he, having done this too many times to ever count, subconsciously removed the corruption that had inflicted Azeal’s head. Finding himself staring in awe at the Raug, he quickly put on a stoic and tired face. This was something to hide, a secret the world in its entirety would war over -- no matter how peaceful the race would call itself. Within the single being, the ability to give birth to a Higher Race was given. What nation would not want a hold of such valuable assets, to force him to give it to one brainwashed, and then they would breed them like cattle. Creating an army the gods themselves would fear, and even the forgotten ones would be wary of.

“How is he?” asked Harold, concern written on his face. “It is done. He will not be able to use any of his affinities for a time,” said Roland in response, giving Harold a meaningful look. He turned back towards the other two occupants of the room. The first was an older man with bright brown hair, wearing warm colored and loose clothes. He had a combed beard that reached the center of his chest, with two braids that hung on opposite sides. Lastly, he carried his trusty sword - the reason he gained a noble title for his family; a veteran of the border war far to the west of Orbes. He was the lord of the city of Thols - Lemer Frank. Next to him was the family guard, a man they helped bring from the world of poverty he had been forced into. He was of an extremely tall build and wore a black set of full plate armor he had been used to keeping on. His name was Gregarious Hanson.

“A Raug! Your close family friend is a Raug!” said Lemer in a harsh whisper. “Is he a slave? Or did you free him?” he asked, though he spoke with a demand to know, respect was still lined in the military man's voice. What person who had ever been in a single battle did not have the utmost respect and worship for The Great General?

“He is free and a friend. Treat him well and keep this a secret. Just as you did not know before this, none should find out other than the two of you,” said Harold. Stepping forward, he gestures for the others to follow him out of the room. “Let Roland deal with this mess for now. We will have time to speak of such matters later. Right now, we need to finish our discussion on the accommodations you forgot to have prepared, Lemer.” The group left, leaving Roland all alone to his thoughts, and an unconscious Raug. One of the most prominent thoughts consuming his mind was a simple one. “How am I supposed to pick up an eight-foot-tall Raug from the floor?”