Sorin’s mindscape shook as two peak entities forced their way into it, one through physical contact and the other through a crack in the warding left behind by Asclepius. The desolate landscape seethed and expanded as Wisdom and Strife added their own mental energies to them, asserted their respective authorities and creating a comprehensive meshwork of prediction and causality.

Their natures were such that the two beings overwhelmed Sorin’s mental presence and pushed him off into a tiny corner like a toddler being sent to their room for a time out. Above him, an owl of golden threads manifested to face off against a pounding heart that beat with the rhythm of war.

Sorin immediately understood their intentions. He was at their mercy, but he had one last task to fulfill before they devoured him. This task also happened to have the effect of strengthening him and maximizing his chances of escaping, so he had no choice but to follow through on his end.

His poisons and his sanctification were transforming on a fundamental level as he abandoned the notion of divinity and shifted everything to corruption. Ironically, by rejecting perfection, he was able to more easily approach it.

The Wise One was aware of the threat Azrakul presented from the beginning, analyzed Sorin as he made internal adjustments. She confident that I would allow her into my mindscape unimpeded since I needed a third party to deal with Azrakul.

Similarly, Azrakul allowed this development. An influx of Hubris is required to fuel the transformation of my poisons and my body. The Wise One sacrificed her body and Hubris to make this attempt at possession possible.

Those without power had little recourse in this world, so Sorin immediately got to work while the Wise One and Azrakul battled in the sky. He first started with the crucial point: if he was a fully corrupted entity based primarily on an aspect of Hubris, what was this aspect? Poison, without a doubt, but he felt that something was missing.

Poisonous was an insidious killer. It struck weakness and strength alike to topple down even the most powerful enemies.

Finding cracks and conflicts was what poison was good at. Turning the body against itself was how it excelled.

Simultaneously, poison was both a preserver of life and a bringer of death. Everything depended on usage and perspective.

Poison could be found in all places. It came from physical and mental sources, but also from relationships, and even history.

In the end, Sorin decided to keep the core that was Hubris strictly physical. It would reflect the overwhelming power of poison and how it affected body, mana, and spirit. It was the rigorous medical definition of poison that included the arrogance of science and its accumulated information.

The poisons in his body reacted almost immediately. His blood collapsed and began to rearrange itself. Acitoxins, Manatoxins, Neurotoxins, Necrotoxins, and Hemotoxins—These definitions were too strict and were therefore no longer needed.

From now on, there would be a single physical poison that encompassed all these aspects and would become the foundation for the eight other poisons that would follow.

Nine poisons were his current limit. A tenth was impossible until he figured out how to fuse the nine forms of corruption.

He would approach perfection with out reaching it.

Ophiuchan Simulation went into overdrive, consuming the vast amounts of energy so generously donated by the Wise One. His were ten times their usual speed with the Wise One and Azrakul extending their authority to supplement his processing power.

Piece by piece, Sorin assembled a new poison that would form the basis of all the poisons in his body. This poison was fully runic in nature, and therefore could incorporate poisons long-extinct, along with hypothetical poisons that could never manifest through natural means.

What seemed like an eternity passed Sorin by as a new spherical poison was created. Over then thousand lesser poisons were used to do so, making it a horrendous and inelegant monstrosity.

“Unacceptable,” said Sorin, rebuking the product as inferior. “Again!”

The poisons writhed as they furiously reassembled themselves, devouring each out of instinct and collapsing to form a denser, more compact structure.

This time, only five thousand poisons were required. A substantial improvement. Yet Sorin once again showed his disapproval, forcing yet another contraction.

Three thousand. Two thousand. Fifteen hundred…

Fifteen iterations were required until finally, a legitimate thousand-poison formed with only a thousand poisons remained. It was formed purely with Hubris and did not contain any other forms of corruption.

Sorin’s body transformed as it was reworked by this new poison. It hit a bottleneck almost immediately due to the blocked gates of Life and Death, but Sorin suppressed the urge to open them and focused on improving this new poison.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Since he had the core, it was time to work on the branches. These branches would expand in eight directions and represent the eight supplementary evils that existed on Pandora.

The first branch was Violence. On its own, it wasn’t a potent poison, but using Hubris to meld its features together, Sorin forged a poison that would provide frightening amplification. It was a necessary effect that improved the odds of survival for the many creatures of Pandora as they embarked on struggles of body, mana, and souls. No aspect was beyond the reach of Violence.

The second branch, opposite of Violence, was Madness. By using inconsistent and chaotic poisons, Sorin was able to fully manifest the nature of this necessary corruption that allowed living beings to ignore logic and rationality. It was, ironically, what made emotions possible. Madness, in a sense, was the most human form of corruption.

Branches of Hatred, Jealousy, and Strife followed closely. These were largely interpersonal poisons that warped the relationships and karma between sentient beings. Jealousy was the necessary force that spurred the actions of lesser parties. Hatred embodied history, while Strife instead focused on the essence of conflict that served as the foundation of individuality.

Death and Disease came next. They were made up almost exclusively of Necrotoxins and Hemotoxins respectively along with large doses of their corresponding corruption. One represented finality, while the other represented endless proliferation.

Humanity and other mythical populations could be considered a form of Disease that spread without end. In the end, only Death awaited them when they reached the limits of finite resources, or they encountered another more adaptable disease that had the strength to displace them.

The last branch Sorin formed was naturally the branch of Hope. It was the poison that drove people forward, that allowed them to ignore history in favor of forging a better path. It was also the branch that had enabled him to move on despite the many setbacks he’d suffered.

Ironically, this branch was the most intricately tied with Hubris. It was likely for this reason that Hope had latched on so firmly to humanity in the first place.

A pulse ran through Sorin as the nine thousand-poisons were completed and connected. Each increment of a thousand doubled the potency of his base poison, completely shattering the concept of scaling in cultivation.

Its mere presence caused the Gate of Life in Sorin’s body to quiver and crack open. The breakthrough would come whether Sorin wanted to or not.

Despite the inevitability of the result, Sorin clamped with his cultivation and pulled it away from the creaking gateway. Almost immediately, voices whispered into his ear, egging him onward, urging him to complete the transformation.

The minute I finish is the minute they take over, thought Sorin as he analyzed the concurrent struggle between the Wise One and Azrakul. This is all just a game to them. Everything is going according to their calculation.

Sorin was not the type of person who would allow himself to be bullied. He would go along for a time, but only to gain a future advantage. What he needed to do now was disrupt the situation and upend their carefully crafted scenario.

His first idea was somehow making use of Lorimer. Unfortunately, he discovered that Lorimer had already drunk a droplet of his newly improved blood and had entered hibernation. A tiny crystal had also appeared inside the rat and was actively fusing all nine energies in his tiny body. It was only a tiny portion of his energy, yet its potency already outstripped that of the nine other energies put together.

I could do something similar if I was a demon, thought Sorin as he inspected his body. Unfortunately, humanity’s nature is shackled. That applies doubly so for those with potent bloodlines like myself.

Breaking open the Gate of Life would likely allow Sorin to remove some of these shackles. Assuming he survived. Unfortunately, the Gate of Death was a huge problem. He’d already analyzed the Death Tincture and confirmed that it would be insufficient for his purposes.

Since Lorimer was unavailable, Sorin would need to seek external help. To that end, he forcefully wrestled away a portion of his body and made to step outside the chamber with Astley and the crumbling history tablets.

Runic lines lit up within the chamber, suppressing him. The Wise One clearly deserves her namesake. While I could maybe break through these restrictions by unleashing all my poisons, there’s the issue of Astley. Her inclusion into this conversation wasn’t a kindness. Instead, it was the introduction of a hostage to sow doubt and confusion.

If Azrakul were still corrupting him actively, Sorin might have ignored Astley’s plight. Unfortunately, he now had to deal with his humanity. No, his Hubris. Sorin refused to compromise and harm Astley from the very core of his being.

His path was the correct one. He would not deviate.

That said, outside interference isn’t completely out of the question, thought Sorin. There’s one more entity who’s closely watching all of this?

Grinning manically, Sorin withdrew a lighter from his Hero Medal. It was a common lighter used to convert demonic cores into wish-fire.

Sorin used Violence to amplify the flames and Hope as a medium. He didn’t have an altar, but he had the requisite items to make a crude offering.

“I!

“Silenos Avjerinos Asclepius!

“Offer in my name!

“The accumulated History of Pandora,

“Tablets containing the untarnished Truth of the world,

“Hints of memory unspoken,

“As a humble offering to the Lord of Humanity.”

White fire consumed the precious historical artifacts in the room, including the device at the gate and those historical fragments explaining the origin of the Titans. Only Astley and her corner of the room were spared.

“I implore three!

“I beseech thee!

“I beg thee… for Hope!

“Hope for survival,

“Hope for escape,

“Hope that my path be completed!”

A vortex of wish-fire shot through the warding formations and into the colossal maw of a chained fox, who mirrored Sorin’s grin as he pulled up one of his chained paws.

“Your offering… is accepted!” said the fox in a rumbling voice. “I grant thee… Hope!”

The paw smashed down despite the chains binding it, passing through the room’s warding without harming them and even passing through Sorin’s body. It slammed down into his mindscape on the spot where the Wise One and Azrakul were warring.

The two shocked souls froze in time. Their past was non-existent, so their future was undetermined. “You have three seconds,” spoke the fox as it vanished.

To most, three seconds wasn’t much time at all, but to Sorin, it was an eternity.

He briefly pondered calling for outside help before deciding against it.

“Perhaps its Hubris,” muttered Sorin, “but in the end, I can only rely on myself.”

He reached out to the power bubbling up inside his transforming his flesh and forced the Gate of Life open. Then, he did something suicidal. “Gate of Death—Open for me!