I’ve done something stupid.

My final thought before existence became a thing of torment was to blame myself, and it was only by holding onto the fury and self-loathing that the words were able to become a buoy to hold onto. I floated in a sea of devastating pain with the lighthouse of hate allowing me to keep a whisper of ego. Not enough to work with yet, but the eternity of enmity stretched onwards. The first silver lining appeared.

I had time to brood on this offence.

For a while, as much as time had meaning in this place, I was a mote of dust on the winds of fury which hounded my every moment. There was no sleep, no rest to hide from the situation, and absolutely no forgiveness. Although I could no longer recall my name, my life or even the idea I had been alive, my mind clutched white-knuckled to the truth that this was my fault in some way. I existed as a furious little speck of insignificant and unending rage in an ocean of anguish.

But I existed all the same.

Slowly, consciousness forced itself upon me despite the supposed all-encompassing agony. I lamented the truth that my mind could handle cogent thought alongside the inferno tearing through the world. If I could think, then that meant the pain was not a universal truth. Other things could exist except for the oblivion. The addition of cognisance was a blessing and a curse. Having access to ideas and words meant the pain was no longer a blanket of unending torture, but its many facets could now be understood. With a silent groan and a heave of mental effort, I forced myself to grab onto this new state of things.

I was probably screaming, if the body I normally inhabited was capable of such things at this moment. The detachment I felt from its plight did nothing to lessen the psychic trauma of the pain, but my focus had been shaved into a pinprick of attention and I couldn’t spare the sympathy. Like a stubborn motor, I spun angrily, fueled constantly by the initial thought that my current penance was a result of my own actions.

For a new eternity, and another besides, I drilled furiously against the reality I found myself in. Even for the white-hot rage being I had become, there was a point where it was time to stop. When I finally threw away my stubbornness, I encountered frustration. Try as I might to mobilise my turgid thoughts in some misguided attempt to find clemency from the pain, the eradication of my composure with each brutal stab through my soul derailed every train of thought which I forced out of the station. The next move was instinctual, and thanks in part to my recent breakthroughs in understanding the power of emotion. If I could be angry, frustrated and confused, then I had authority over something.

If anger, fear and patience didn’t work, then I had to feel other things. The process of changing my sentiments was a slow one, but if I had anything it was time. Finding it easier to remain in the negatives, I decided to feel stupid. I had been messing with dangerous materials beyond my understanding and now it was time to pay the price for such frivolous decision-making. Although it was hard to remember what choice I had made to bring me to this point, I didn’t deny the truth.

From feeling dumb, I moved easily into piteous. While I still hated myself above all, it was a simple thing to feel sorry for the pathetic lump I had been weathered into. I cursed the existence which demanded I experience this. I wept, both from the pain and for the wounded creature which would be left behind after it. It would be so easy to let go and be washed away by the unending, unforgiving flow of pain.

My concentration almost slipped as pity tried to become acceptance. It had been a close thing, too. Numbing blackness had appeared to dull the blinding white and it had allowed more complexity to influence me all at once. Desire to be free from pain and comfort with such a decision were encouraged with a whisper in my own voice telling me all I had to do was let go. Except…

Giving up isn’t an option.

My first real thought was one of defiance, and I snatched onto the positive drive like a lifeline. Whatever I had done to get myself in this mess, it was probably the best choice I had at the time. If I wanted to punish myself, I needed to survive whatever was trying to kill me first and to do that I needed more. More defiance, though that one was easy. More consciousness, an increasing challenge as the pain once more returned in full. More power…

Mana.

As I called its name, the energy came rushing to my command as though it had been waiting for my call. An ally in the horrible darkness, I found my core as I began to swirl the mana around over and over. The repetition became a way to push back the pain, each revolution shoving away the agony ever so slightly. At least, until I tried to recover my body with the power.

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I gasped as the slightly crystalline essence within my body began to push against the blockages in my mana channels. All throughout the magical pathways a solid, rock-like material had taken root like plaque in an artery. My mana was like a pressure washer, destroying these calcified impedances viciously. I didn’t take the time to be gentle with myself, considering it payment. I returned more and more to myself as the punishment I inflicted started to clear out the obstructions.

There was an alien substance in my channels and apparently it was my fault if I could believe my initial thoughts. Knowing what the problem was, it was easy enough to fix. It just made the pain even more acute as I blasted the foreign debris off the walls of my mana channels. Each removal left behind something close to internal bleeding, and the chunks floated in the ether of my energy, waiting to be dealt with more thoroughly.

I could only ignore the detritus while I worked. Now that a portion of my channels had been quenched, the flames of drought elsewhere intensified. I had been in my own stoicism, but when faced with the conflagration assaulting my body any pretence of calm was shattered. The progress was slow, despite my desperation, but the real issue was when the mana reached my first skill pattern.

Any anger which had managed to ebb away returned in full as I inspected the damage. I wasn’t sure whether to blame myself, or the circumstances which lead me to such brutal damage. I would decide that once I had saved the skills from destruction. The strange material I found clinging to my mana channels was all over the skill, encasing it entirely. I couldn’t even tell which skill it was, but I knew that the pain I was feeling was coming from these choked patterns.

As I tried to press some mana into the design, everything went black. More than an eclipsing pain, I felt everything slip. An inky void waited alongside me, hopeful at pulling me in. Another inch of pressure and I would have fallen. If I was in true control of my body, it would be shivering from my proximity to the end. It quickly became clear I needed to change my method, as returning from that darkness multiplied the pain already felt by placing an obnoxious headache on top of it.

Unable to blast with pure force, lest I rip the whole pattern apart or worse, I was stumped for some time. After making some headway, the cessation I now felt was more choking than my empty mana channels. I churned mana back and forth in the cleared area around my torso. If I couldn’t go forward, I could at least shake apart the sediment which had appeared. It might take time, but I could do it. At least, that was the idea in theory.

In reality, the chalky material was annoyingly durable. I could rip it free from the walls, but like sand in my boot, the chips and chunks rubbed against the channels. Pure indignation fueled my actions as I focused, harder and more acutely than I had ever managed before. I controlled each particle together but with some effort, I could reverse the direction in places. Within the flow of my mana, I created tight spirals, even as the bulk of it continued moving back and forth through the barely open channels.

Those spirals became battlegrounds. Without a tight hold of my place in my own body, I was able to slip deeply into the mana and watch as the unwelcome pieces of non-native something crashed into each other. With perhaps too much pleasure, I observed the demolition closely. Whatever this stuff was, breaking it up wouldn’t necessarily be a good thing. It was just the only option I had.

Spirit.

The word came with a burst of hope and knowledge, even as my shredded psyche was attacked by the release of caustic aggression from the first shards I managed to destroy. The stuff clogging up my channels was Spirit, as well as mana, though neither of it was my own. Something antithetical and detrimental to my health, but not necessarily useless.

As the shard of malformed magic shattered, the venomous mana at its base tried to dilute my own. I grit my metaphysical teeth and did it again. The first time had been a surprise, and the second I was too slow, but the third was my renaissance. The mana flowed out of the destruction site, but it was not the only thing. The Spirit was much less damaging, and eager to escape. The energy laughed at me as it dispersed, the final insult of Reysault, Scorpion Queen.

If I hadn’t had weeks to play with the odd energy, I would have been without recourse but with a flick of attention, I found her Spirit in my clutches. Reysault’s final assault had been lethal in every sense of the word. Only a quick and poorly planned use of Catalyst had saved me, though I wondered if it was worth it as I turned the stolen Spirit into a weapon.

No, I corrected myself, not a weapon. A tool.

Magic may have been weaponized, but it wasn’t a bludgeon. It was… freedom. Carefully, the drill was expended on the first clog. Compared to the dozens of eternities I had been drifting in the agony, the action was over in a heartbeat. Barely a chip had been removed from the skill pattern blockage, but the amount was more than had been used to shear it away. I could feel my lips curve, my teeth bared.

I tore the meaning from her assault and kept only the power, stealing the strength of the Scorpion Queen’s final attack and using it to free my skills. Slowly, agonisingly slowly, I smashed the bundles of poisonous mana and Spirit before morphing the Spirit within to my own devices. In the shadowy agony, unceasing in the face of eternity, I toiled for my liberty.