There was an old story about a man who sought to eliminate all suffering in the world. He traveled across the land, gathering all the anger and sorrow he encountered in a small bottle.

Despite the man's good intentions, things did not go as he wished. No matter how much agony the man sealed away, there was always more. Even worse, the suffering he bottled away grew ever more resentful and malevolent the longer it was left to fester and steep.

The man continued his futile quest, until one day the bottle broke. All of the terrible things that had been bottled up had grown monstrous and powerful. In the end, the tide of horrible emotion turned against its captor.

I had always assumed the moral of the story was something about acknowledging negative emotions rather than hiding them away. I had never imagined it was to be taken literally. Now, like the foolish man from the story, I had a malevolent terror in a jar.

I watched the rocking urn in horrified suspense. I had really been hoping that harvesting the mana would have been enough to destroy the wraith. As the pot jerked about, I realized that that had been a foolish hope.

Nothing was ever that easy for me.

If the wraith escaped from the vessel, there was little I would be able to do. I was pretty much completely out of mana and only one wall of my sigiled shelter was still standing.

Not sure what else to do, I approached the violently shuddering urn. As it rolled about on the ground, I caught a glance inside.

Neither the darkest nights nor the deepest caves could compare to the roiling black void within. I shuddered at the sight.

I tried to pick up the urn, but found that I couldn’t. My hands slid off the barrier of invisible force created by my sigils. The barrier was likely the only thing keeping the wraith contained, but it was also preventing me from interacting with the vessel.

The only thing I could do was sit back and watch while my mana regenerated. Even with mana, I wasn’t sure what I would be able to do. I didn’t know any way to destroy mana beyond using it to fuel magic. If I was extremely lucky, it was theoretically possible that the mana being drawn into my sigils would eventually sap enough of the wraith’s power to stop it, but I wasn’t about to count on that happening.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

For the next several marks, I watched the urn roll about in the mud. At some point I drifted off.

As I blinked in the morning light, I was momentarily confused. The sigiled urn was nowhere to be seen. A thousand possibilities ran through my mind before I noticed the sound of tapping coming from elsewhere in the ruins.

Upon investigating, I found the pot a few buildings over. I wasn’t sure to be relieved or horrified that I still had the wraith trapped.

On the one hand, I knew exactly where it was. On the other hand, I knew it would inevitably escape at the worst possible time. I needed to figure out what to do with it.

First thing though, I needed breakfast.

While roasting some tubers, I considered my options. If I started climbing immediately, I would probably be able to reach the bottom of the cliff before nightfall.

I didn’t particularly like that option for a couple of reasons. I hadn’t finished repairing my equipment or prepared any traveling rations. There was also the fact that I was sure that the wraith was going to inevitably set itself free and come after me.

I didn’t know what to do about the captured wraith, but I really didn’t want it at my back. Burying it was unlikely to do much good, considering that the wraith was able to pass through solid stone walls without slowing. Launching the thing all the way to Sanctuary Valley with invisible force was similarly problematic. The horror could move faster than I could even see. If it wanted to come after me, no amount of distance would protect me.

I considered leaving the urn in a ring of sigils and runes. It would certainly be able to slow it down further, but it would eventually escape that as well if the jar couldn’t hold it.

I figured that my best chance was probably to try exposing the wraith to the sun. The horrors of the night always fled before the light of day, so it probably harmed them. It was the only thing I could think of that would have a chance of working.

Besides, if I broke the urn myself, it would take all of the dreadful uncertainty away. Even if there was a chance that the wraith was truly trapped, I would be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life if I left it behind.

I hid from the titan, and it waited outside for days for the chance to kill me. After killing the terrible thing, its horrific remnant decided to get revenge. It was probably a little paranoid, but I was sure the wraith wouldn’t rest before I was dead.

Deciding that a combination of tactics would be best, I started tracing out a circle of sigils. If I was going to try to kill an otherworldly horror with a bit of sunshine, I figured it would be a good idea to keep the thing still as long as I could.

A mark later, I was ready. Luck seemed to be on my side for once, because the clouds parted shortly before I finished my last sigil.

Pushing the urn into place was quite awkward. I couldn’t get a grip on the thing and it kept jerking and rolling in random directions. Pushing with my arms practically wrapped around it, I managed to get the pot into place.

Silently preparing myself for the wraith to ignore the sun and enact its revenge, I prepared my invisible force spell to smash the urn open.