Painfyre

It barely took five minutes of tossing and turning for me to decide that I would not be returning to my slumber anytime soon. I had always been an insomniac in my past life so I wasn’t exactly surprised, though I’m far from glad to see that hasn’t changed.

With Paranoia I don’t even need to open my eyes to be staring at nothing instead of sleeping, but inevitably my gaze is drawn unerringly to the new mark on my hand. My eyes snap open as they’ve been wanting to since I started trying to sleep, the faint ache of exhaustion in them ignored with practiced ease as I brought my hand to my face. I could see my new brand almost glittering under the oil on my palm, looking as if I were gazing upon some shiny metal through an ocean of murky, dirty water.

I could feel a taint to it, as if it had stained me down to my very soul; even the stars behind my skin were stained pink by its presence, glittering maliciously in the endless dark. The seemingly innocuous symbol seemed to almost radiate malice and cruelty, just looking at it made pins and needles radiate out from my eyes until I looked away. A glance at the identical symbol carved into the wall above my bed showed me it wasn’t the symbol itself that caused the reaction, the symbol causing none of the unease or pain of it’s twin on my palm. This, of course, left me with the conclusion that it wasn’t the symbol itself but the manner in which I got it that made the difference. Obvious, perhaps, but I wasn’t about to dismiss the possible power of runes, sigils, and symbolism just yet.

A check of my stats showed what "Silxazar Touched" meant.

Silxazar Touched: Your left hand bears a brand burned in by a demonic ritual, and from it you can summon the tormenting flames of the Lord Of Agony. By Silxazar's blessing, you are healed by the pain and suffering you inflict on others and your sense of touch is heightened.

I frowned consideringly at the description, ignoring the icy chill that slithered down my spine from realizing I've accidentally bound my soul to what appears to be a demonic god of pain and suffering, and set about judging how I could use this; my soul was already damned anyway if half the sins I've committed in the last week alone count for anything. Eternal damnation aside, it seems mostly useful; enhanced touch could be something of a bad thing depending on how enhanced it was, but given the blanket around me wasn't flaying my nerves I could guess that wouldn't be too much of a problem.

Healing via causing pain and suffering could be extremely useful, if somewhat less convenient than just a straight life steal effect. If things ever get nasty, all I need is to find a soft target and gut them and I should be okay. Coupled with Silxazar's flames, depending on how effective they are, this could be a quite literal life saver. Having a method of active healing is always a good thing.

Even so, I have no idea how to actually use my new flames. A distant part of me questioned the wisdom of trying to conjure up magical flames inside a mostly wooden building, the rest of me was too curious to heed such warnings. I focused on the symbol, concentrating on the feelings it radiates and trying to ignore the parts of my mind screaming to chop off my hand to remove the corruption; it was far too late to be worrying about that…

I have no idea how long it took me to get a grasp of what exactly the brand radiated, the bone tingling surface level proving almost more distracting than the angry buzzing of the flies in that limb. Eventually I realized that it wasn’t just pain that the brand radiated, but a lust for pain and suffering; it wanted pain, wanted to cause it, wanted to feel it, wanted it to just exist in general regardless of the source. I focused on that, focused on a desire to cause suffering, focused on the wellspring of sadism boiling beneath my hand until it burst forth.

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Skill Unlocked: Conjure Painfyre

I hadn’t even realized I had closed my eyes until a stinging warmth hit my eyelids. My eyes snapped open, staring in mildly horrified wonder at a small, pink fire dancing in the palm of my hand. For a long moment I simply stared, entranced by the small flames as they swayed in my hand, dancing along the brand like an excited puppy eager to explore. They licked at the air, jumping and swaying as if longing to reach out and caress the world around me.

I wanted to let them. I wanted to set them free and watch them sway to their own soundless tune, wanted to see them consume everything and laugh right along with their crackling and cavorting. I stared into the magenta flame until I could feel my eyes drying, before a stinging pain at the base of my neck and center of my chest jerked me out of whatever trance I had fallen into.

I shook my head, gripping my forehead with my right hand as a splitting headache overtook me from nowhere. I snapped my fist shut, seeing the pink flames spill out between my fingers for a moment before dying away with my lack of focus. The flames did not so much as sting my hand, let alone cause actual damage; hell, the thick oil coating my palm wasn’t so much as disturbed by the bright flames.

Conjure Painfyre +1

I breathed in slow and deep, rubbing my temple as my headache came in vicious, pulsing waves that seemed to spread throughout my body and leave a soul deep ache behind. A glance at my status gave me a good idea of just why my everything hurt so bad; my Mp was almost zero, ticking slowly back up from nothing. I grimaced, but took the knowledge into account; better to find a weakness now in a relatively safe environment than in a fight to the death.

I continued breathing deeply, feeling the malaise over my body slowly fade as my Mp ticked just as slowly back up. It stood out to me that running out of Mp hadn’t actually stopped the spell I was channeling, though the pain it caused made me somewhat disinclined to actually push that envelope too far just yet; messing around with something I don’t understand is a good way to wind up dead, especially when it comes to actual magic. For all I know, I can technically keep casting forever so long as I can withstand the pain… or, trying to keep casting when I’m out of Mp could burn up my soul as fuel instead. Too many questions, not enough that I can safely answer for myself.

I leaned back, sighing as my headache faded. As I lay in a borrowed bed upon which who knows how many corpses and dying men once lay, a memory drifted into my mind unbidden. I slowly allowed my gaze to drift back to my hand, a description of my Blighted nature swimming in the back of my thoughts. I can channel the Blight into my abilities…

I carefully didn’t allow the thought to fully form in my mind, keeping it as a gestalt mass of ideas in the back of my mind lest something be spying on my thoughts and the mere idea earn me a fate worse than death. Even so, I couldn’t stop a grin from slowly spreading across my face as I stared at the mark on my hand with malicious humour. I clenched my fist around the mark, feeling it beneath my fingers as I chuckled darkly to myself.

Perhaps I wasn’t quite as doomed as I thought…

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Zildan didn’t know how long he had walked through these dark tunnels, alone save for the beating of his heart, the shuffling of his boots, and the distant roars of twisted abominations beyond the reach of sanity or reason seeking to tear him apart and suck the marrow from his bones. He had decided, what he guessed was hours ago, that should he make it out of this, he would be asking for a more leisurely assignment after his mandatory recovery period; a nice, simple outbreak of one of the less dangerous diseases sounded right up his alley just then.

He quickened his pace ever so slightly, sensing he was getting closer to his destination and wanting to get this over with as swiftly as possible. He knew just reaching the aetherium wouldn’t be the end of it, not even just because the return journey would probably be just as wretched if not significantly worse, but because he knew damn well the Blight never leaves aetherium unguarded.

He rolled his shoulders, feeling spikes of sucking cold across his body as he attempted to relax his strained muscles. An outbreak as young as this shouldn’t have anything too dangerous, but then again neither should it have any aetherium yet. While he kept the possibility of a Blighthulk or worse in the back of his mind, he was more worried about whatever abominations may have stumbled upon the chunk of ruined heaven and fallen prey to the Blight.

He would hate to have to fight another Ravermaw, let alone something worse.

He cracked his neck, sighing as some of the built up tension in him seeped out. It was only as his eyes gently fluttered open from his brief stretching that he noticed that the dark grey stone ahead of him was shot through with growing lines of an altogether duller, almost insidiously boring grey.

A sardonic grin spread across his face, his cracked and bloodstained teeth clicking together as the simmering anticipation in him took on a lethal edge. Hellfire danced around his fingers as he cracked them one by one with his thumb, a cool sense of eagerness settling over him. Purging the Blight may be dangerous, but it was also the highest calling of his Order and he relished the opportunity.