Somehow, he felt the pill flowing through his body, coursing through his esophagus and settling in his stomach. It resembled a miniature blazing sun, crackling with pent-up energy yearning for release.

As it gradually dissolved, he envisioned the energy slowly seeping out, akin to single water droplets etching into hard cobblestone over an extended period. A tantalizing tickle coursed through him. And then, like water finally wearing down stone, it cut through and the energy burst forth, exploding like a supernova.

It surged through his body, unfettered and unruly, and Anthemion sensed it slipping beyond his control. He had to regain control over it.

In his mind's eye, he conjured hands and extended them toward the shimmering energy within, trying to touch it with his metaphysical fingers, attempting to grasp it. It resisted, slipping through his grasp like quicksilver, escpaing his fickle touch.

So, he tightened his grip, imposing his will upon the energy. His imaginary fingers dug into it and slowly drew it back toward the center of his being. It proved a gradual process, and his control and concentration wavered more than once, but with time, he managed to stabilize it.

A substantial sphere of energy hovered near the level of his spine, rotating clockwise while wisps of it flickered away like tongues of flame. Instinctively, he knew it was sufficient to trigger his Rebirth. There was just one more task left for him: a gentle push.

Once more, he extended his imaginary hands and enclosed the energy sphere within his palms, enveloping it completely. Then, he applied pressure.

It demanded his utmost effort as the sphere resisted, yearning to remain expansive and uncontrollable, fighting him with its pure yearn of freedom. However, his will gradually gained ground, shrinking the sphere until it was the size of an egg.

When it reached the dimensions of a pea, it halted, and the pressure dissipated, fading away like fatigue after a restful night's sleep.

Because it was enough. With a mental click, the small, compressed pea of energy remained in place, devoid of wisps and crackling outlines. It transformed into a smooth sphere. That began to crack. In a final effort, his spirit reached out to the Scripture resting in his lap and the two Essences near him, and clung to them. Blue and green light shimmered. It engulfed him, flooding his body and soul.

The last image he beheld was a simple black door, bound by an uncountable number of dark chains within an expansive, white void.

A single chain loosened and drifted into pristine oblivion.

Waves of crimson and violet washed over him, a desire of consumption and gluttony.

And then, he blacked out.

When he awoke, the first thing he noticed was the unbearable, gut-wrenching stench. His nostrils flared, and his body recoiled in disgust. As he opened his eyes, he encountered slight resistance before his lids broke through the thin layer of black crust covering him entirely.

The noxious substance clung to his entire body, fluid in some areas and adhered to his skin with the hardened consistency of mud in others. He resisted the urge to peel it away.

Now, he understood why Lucian had insisted that he perform his Rebirth in the bathtub. Advancement was the path to perfecting the body, after all. All the impurities within him had been purged and expelled, leaving him with the putrid aftermath before him.

Glancing around, he observed that Lucian had already vacated the room, evidently aware of the Hell Anthemion's advancement would unleash in the bath.

He turned on the showerhead and felt the tension drain from his muscles, the filth washing away beneath the soothing cascade of hot water.

It was a moment of pure peace and happiness, and he smiled in triumph.

It was done. He had succeeded.

He was a Conduit.

----------------------------------------

"One more," Anthemion pleaded, doing his best to mimic a puppy with beady eyes. "Just show me once more!"

Lucian sighed and glanced around, as if searching for an escape route, but he couldn't conceal the smile creeping onto his face. Then, he slowly assumed a secure stance, widening his footing, and extended his arm in a shadow punch.

Anthemion could feel the energy surging beneath the man's skin. His sense of the spiritual, which had been barely existent before his Rebirth, now much clearer. It was as if he had been submerged underwater his entire life, only now finally emerging into the sweet air.

This newfound clarity allowed him to sense the energy flowing through Lucian's channels, seeping into his muscles, bones, and tissues, empowering his attack.

This transformation was not met with enthusiasm by the soft pillow on the receiving end of his ruthless punch. It promptly exploded into a flurry of drifting feathers, joining the small craters left by its unfortunate siblings on the floor and surrounding area.

Wordlessly, Anthemion moved forward and mirrored Lucian's stance, anchoring his feet firmly into the ground. After taking a deep breath, he focused inward on the raging fire of his energy inside him. He tugged at it, tapped into it, and asserted his will over it. He guided it.

He felt it surging through his new channels, from his abdomen up to his chest, and into his arm in a warm, powerful flow of energy, resembling a fast but controlled river. With a fluid motion, he executed his punch while simultaneously infusing his arm with his spiritual energy, reinforcing it and filling it with power. His entire body quivered with excitement as energy brimmed. He felt invincible. He was -

His punch landed harmlessly against the soft pillow, bouncing off and dangling loosely by his side as a tingling sensation spread all over it.

No matter what he tried, it obeyed none of his commands. He had lost all ability to use or feel it.

Lucian burst into uncontrollable laughter.

"Damn, man. Did you really have to be so brutal?" he asked between fits of hysterical chortles. "It's almost inhumane."

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Anthemion grumbled but paid him no further attention. What had gone wrong? He had called upon his spiritual energy exactly the way Lucian had told him to. He had carefully guided it through his channels and timed it perfectly with the forward motion of his punch. Where had he gone wrong?

Lucian's Scripture didn't have a whole-body reinforcement spell, or so the man had told him. This meant he relied on the pure infusion of his energy into his body to enhance his general physical prowess.

Using spiritual energy directly without the guidance and finesse a spell offered always reduced efficiency and power output, but it worked nonetheless. Under the influence of his technique, he was faster than a car, more durable than steel, stronger than any mortal humanity could ever produce, possessed the stamina of a young stallion, and could heal injuries at rates visible to the naked eye.

And he still had some reinforcement spells, even if they only covered empowering him when punching things, which aligned perfectly with the theme of his Path.

Basic, pure reinforcement was the standard technique, the one everyone learned at the beginning of their advancement. It was the easiest way to gain a grasp of the more subtle control mechanisms of one's spiritual energy.

Keeping it flowing through one's channels and into one's physique in a steady rhythm was the most essential technique one could master, for its versatility was unmatched.

Anthemion could feel the energy rummaging inside of him, but until he could give it an outlet, it remained useless.

But no matter what he tried, he was unable to concentrate his power in specific areas, such as his arm during a punch, let alone control it effectively throughout his entire body.

It was frustrating, but he did not give up.

So, he assumed his stance once more and focused.

And failed again.

"Man, you need to relax a bit," Lucian commented from the kitchen, briefly pausing in his cooking to look up. He had already lost interest in watching Anthemion. It had been amusing to witness his initial failures, but after twenty attempts, it had lost its novelty.

"I'll admit, you underwent your Rebirth much faster than I anticipated, but you can't brute force your way through this. Mastering the spiritual requires time and patience. Or incredible talent, like in my case when I was in your position."

Anthemion was breathing heavily but didn't look up.

Yes, he had time. Yes, he could take it slow. But he didn't want to. He could feel the power hovering just beyond his grasp, and he yearned to seize it, claim it, and make it his own.

So, he strained and began anew. Lucian sighed and returned to more pressing matters: cooking.

Anthemion lost all sense of time as his mind delved deeper into the intricate layout of his channels. Lucian had revealed to him some interesting spiritual secrets, namely that these channels were not of a physical nature but operated on a metaphysical plane of existence.

They were intricately connected to his body, delicately woven into his being, with the physical and spiritual aspects of his being relating to each other like two sides of the same coin. He could feel the energy coursing through his body as if it were flowing within his very flesh, for they were so closely connected, even though it was, in reality, traversing his channels.

These channels were tethered to a different realm - the home of the soul. This was precisely what made his current practice so challenging; he had to call upon his own reserves from what was commonly referred to as the Beyond and materialize them.

However, his own energy refused to heed his commands, resisting to enter the physical plane. It had taken considerable time and brought forth much frustration, but he had managed to establish a flowing energy circuit within his soul - an energy flow within a closed, circular system.

Yet, bringing it forth into his body proved an enormous challenge.

Lucian had said it would become much easier once Anthemion had achieved it for the first time and established a true connection. But the hurdle was high, almost insurmountable. Almost.

He reached out, not to his blue-green tinged energy, but to the natural one floating in the atmosphere all around him. He grasped it and drew it closer, envisioning himself as a black hole, endlessly gathering and devouring energy.

Lucian's brows perked up as he sensed the energy in the surroundings converging on Anthemion's position and paused in his cooking. This might actually prove more interesting than the fascinating task of chopping onions, even if it was a close race.

The boy had already surprised him greatly once. He had imagined it would take at least half a week for him to collect enough energy to trigger his Rebirth, even with the assistance of the pill. Yet, he had accomplished it in just one short night.

That was unheard of, at least in the circles he was familiar with. Perhaps some shiny, polished noble might surpass this feat or consider it as mundane as a daily cup of water.

He had closely observed Anthemion during his meditation, primarily to ensure the safety of his investment. It had been an eye-opening sight. When a young aspiring Conduit took an Awakening Pill, energy surged within them in a grand explosion. It was more than mortals could handle, so naturally, a significant portion of it escaped their control and flowed back into the atmosphere. That was simply the way things worked.

Attempting to control such large amounts of energy before undergoing Rebirth was considered insane, but that was precisely what Anthemion had done. Lucian had felt almost no energy leaking from his body, as if he had been a tightly sealed container filled to the brim with water, not spilling a drop. But that wasn't quite the right analogy. It was more like he had been a barrel riddled with holes, overflowing with water that was too much to be contained inside, yet he somehow managed to seal those leaks with sheer willpower.

It was as if the energy itself had been drawn to him, assisting him, nurturing him.

So, he watched with great excitement to see what miracle his friend might accomplish next.

Anthemion wrestled with the almost sentient will of the energy around him to roam without constraint, which seemed on the verge of breaking free, escaping his control. It was a bitter struggle, but his efforts were well rewarded.

He gathered the energy around his soul, condensing it until the pressure felt nearly physical. It was a violent tide, held back only by the small barrier of his spirit - an obstacle he wished to overcome. With a mental gasp, he released the pressure on the energy surrounding him and urged it toward himself.

It crashed into his soul like a slap to the face, wreaking havoc on his spirit. In a tremor of pure dominating energy, it tore at his channels and the very substance of his soul, grinding everything into nothingness. But he persevered; it was exactly what he had hoped for. Well, except for the splitting headache threatening to plunge him into unconsciousness.

His spirit was full, attempting to expand its capacity to match the new energy flowing through it, but he halted the process. He didn't allow his spirit the freedom to adapt; instead, he pressured it into persisting.

The pain grew more intense and profound with every passing moment, the barrier of the physical and the spiritual keeping him from frulfilling his mastery of reinforcement.

It was a battle of endurance. It was the perseverance of his spirit against the integrity of the wall that separated entire, fundamental realms of all existence.

He felt it crumbling—himself crumbling—everything crumbling. His mind stretched and tore apart, and suddenly, he was adrift in a vast expanse of empty space, keeping distant constellations company.

Then, a flash of blinding white light,

a glimpse of an abyssal door,

and the world shifted.

An eye, burning with the radiance of a red giant,

above and below amended,

and a prison of unimaginable beings encircled him, closing in and -

With a rush of pain and power, he jerked back into reality and lost all control, the energy slipping from his grasp.

"No," he stammered through the onslaught of piercing agony, barely able to part his lips, and collapsed to the ground as if he were a puppet without a master.

Then, he lost consciousness, - again - and the cold embrace of the shadows enveloped him.