When the sensations first came over me, I was indeed the pioneer. Most assumed the Kraken was a byproduct of the Gia, but no. It is of my belief they are opposites, the light and the dark, good and bad, altruism to cruelty. This is, of course, only theoretical, for it was said by the first elder, my predecessor, that at the dawn of creation there was but one. His babbling still echoes in my mind after all this time. Even now, twenty-five thousand years since, I can hear him. He tells me I'm no prophet, he tells me I'm a plague. The man is completely insane.
Dorian woke with a lurch as the sound of knocking at his bath door echoed through the chamber. He just had another dream, and though he tried to remember it this time, he knew he had to, but the memory of it floated away all the same. Damn, but why does it always feel so important?
Gathering his pruned body out of the lightly flowing bathwater, he questioned himself as to how long he had been unconscious. The knocking echoed again, Dorian replying, “just a second,” before dressing hastily.
The garb of an initiate could either be simplistic robes, grayish wool that had likely been worn by thirty or so different initiates over the years, or a tunic of varying color and material. The tunics were always private, whereas the robes were supplied by the Monastery. Volunteering to spend time out of leisure hours was the only way to earn Vega tokens, and if you wanted nicer clothes you generally had to work for them. Some people, however, had found ways around this.
Dorian wasn't one of the lucky ones who had been sent Vega from their own wealthy family, people like Danny and Malik could usually afford whatever they liked. Though the initiates never learned the identity of the sender, they certainly enjoyed the benefits of those gifts.
As Dorian dressed in his robes, he wondered if he might grow adventurous enough to buy himself a tunic, even Jack had his own wool tunics. Dorian wasn't so conceded as to buy the bright colored silk tunics some wore, but finally felt like the time for hiding away in his robes was at an end. Cotton sounded more like his style, maybe something with a red hue. Despite his inability to summon an appropriate amount of fire, he always loved the color. The red, orange, and yellow hues, sometimes bleeding into blue, always captivated him.
Another knock came, even just as before, and Dorian opened the bolted door. Malik stood behind it, broad smile in place.
"Well done, my new wealthy friend," Malik said as he reached into a pocket, pulling out three rolls of Vega tokens. "I assumed, since I made a fortune on you, I could front you your share now. Great show." He handed Dorian the rolls and patted his shoulder. Malik was friendly and popular, and Dorian suspected he got along with everyone for practical reasons. Malik tended to use people, which was not necessarily bad if the experience was mutual, but it made Dorian uncomfortable. He did not like the idea of a person being a means to an end. However, if Dorian were to be that means for Malik, he preferred a fair trade over a one-sided deal. Dorian smirked.
“I appreciate that, Malik.” Dorian nodded and returned the gesture, then began to take his leave. “Hang on, Malik. Do you have a sec?”
“Neither of us do, lunch is set to end in a half hour or so.” Dorian cursed to himself at the news, he had slept longer than he had hoped. “Can I walk with you?”
Malik thought for a moment and agreed.
As they headed out of the baths, Dorian asked, “do you know who I'll be facing in the next round?”
“Yeah,” Malik said, “Atticus.”
Dorian let his mouth twist off to the side, a sour taste suddenly on his pallet. “Do I have good odds?”
Malik shrugged, “not near as good as you got against Ingrid, that was the upset of upsets. Who would have known? Dorian, I've sparred against you, but I knew right away that something special happened when you stepped in that ring. You don't even want to know how much I made today.” He smiled to himself and rubbed his hands together, trying to vent out his excitement.
Raising an eyebrow and a grin at the sight, Dorian asked again, “so, my odds?”
Smile widening, Dorian received a thought from Malik, “to business then.”
Malik moved his hands as he spoke, “two to one, not near as good as Ingrid. A few bet on her taking the tournament,” he laughed loudly, smiling broadly. His perfectly white teeth seeming to glimmer in the green tinted light of the monastery. “Their loss, my friend.”
“Would you care to take another wager on my behalf?” Dorian asked, figuring he could use the extra leisure hours for his own research and practice. Malik's eyebrow raised, “plan on taking the tournament?” His smile became greedy, a glinting light to his eyes.
Dorian frowned in thought, “If I win, who will I likely face in the following round?”
Smile vanishing, Malik said the one thing Dorian had wanted to hear all day. “Danny.”
Absolute in tone Dorian said, “I'll make it to the semifinals.”
Curious, Malik asked, “That sure? I mean I like the new Dorian, but Danny has a grudge.”
“He's not the only one.” Dorian's stare was flat, Malik's smile broadened. “All right, what would you like to put down?”
Dorian pulled out an entire stick of Vega tokens, twenty in total. “All on me for the first round, if I lose, I lose and don't worry about the second bet. If I win, all those winnings on me against Danny if he's the one I face.” Dorian put the stick of coins in Malik's hand. “Very confident, I like it. I'm rooting for you, but there is another matter.” Dorian's brow raised.
Malik's voice echoed in Dorian's mind, Malik's head tilting slightly as he stopped to look up at Dorian. “Surcharge?”
Dorian let out an “ah” in realization. “What's customary?”
Malik sent, “five percent, in advance. Would you like me to take it from the winnings? It'll lower your total bet though.”
Dorian shook his head, running the numbers. “Odds on Danny?”
“Five to one.”
A cool brow raised to Malik at that. Then, Dorian's boyish grin broke out on his face. Dorian pulled out the second stick of coins and placed it in Malik's hand. “Take the ten and one, for eleven. I wanted to ask, mostly because I don't know anybody who knows anybody…” Dorian rubbed the back of his head as he let the statement hang, feeling sheepish. Malik gestured, wanting Dorian to spit it out.
Dorian put a hand on his woolen robe, rubbing the material. “Do you know anyone I can get some clothes from, I'm tired of these old robes.”
Malik's laugh echoed through the hall as they came to a stop by the stairwell. “About time Dorian, you know I'm sure those robes are older than either of us.” Dorian shrugged, feeling abashed.
“I know some people, but nine tokens are a bit high for a tunic. Nine chips would be a bit high.”
“Ah, I appreciate that, Malik.” Dorian was being honest, he didn't know the first thing about the prices of clothing. He didn’t know how people managed to get them at all, just that the Elders of the Monastery turned a blind eye to it. Furthermore, he was tired of being the odd one out, and having his own cloths instead of the Monastery rags would help with that. Fitting in wasn’t really his worry, but he was sick of getting chided.
“I'll send somebody to get your measurements later tonight, any preferences?” Malik asked.
Dorian got pensive for a moment, but despite how bold the recent day had made him he erred towards simplicity in color but requested a few less than common additions that made Malik look at him sidelong. Malik smiled deviously, “sounds good, do we have a deal?” He offed his wrist to shake, and Dorian took it without a second thought.
Heading into the dining hall, Dorian knew there would be little time to get his food and eat. As he approached the serving area there was but one person waiting behind the counter.
“Running a little late, initiate?” The elderly Woman said from behind the stone counter.
“Y-yes ma'am. Sorry, I was caught up with physical education and needed thorough scrubbing. Any tarts left for the tardy?” Dorian was sheepish about being late, and for no reason seemed to give the people in the kitchens a certain level of reverence. Many of the other initiates were rude to them, but Dorian got a distinct impression that the servers usually got theirs in the end. In no way did Dorian want spit mixed in with his salad, or anything else the clever cooks could come up with.
“Yes deary, a few bits left. There's some roasted goat with grains, and I think I have some sweet bread.” She was lifting lids that had pans inside, underneath, Dorian had heard, were stone pipes that had scalding hot water running through them. Maybe it was where they got the expression “piping hot” from, Dorian mused to himself as he watched the older Woman rummage for his lunch.
“Oh, don't worry about the sweet bread, I'd be more than pleased with the roast with grains.”
The glare the older woman shot him was a bit confused, but she shrugged as she retrieved a stone plate holding it as she spoke. “Trying to drop some weight then?” A questioning look passed across her face, but her eyes never left her duty.
“Uh, not really ma'am. Respectfully, whomever is making the sweet bread is doing it in the wrong order.”
That got her attention. She lifted a brow as she handed him the plate. “And how is that?”
“Well, first off the dough hasn't fully risen yet, and the sweet aspect is added while making the dough rather than layered over the dough before its baked.” Dorian said without thinking.
“And how would you know that?”
“Can't you taste it? The yeast is spoiled by the sugar.” Dorian gestured to the bread. The older server took a bite, scowled, and threw the rest away. “Tell you what, uh, what's your name initiate?”
“Dorian, ma'am. Yours?”
“Clarice. Tell you what, if you can come in here and show us how to do it, I'll get you a few tokens, and get you access to some of the finer cuts. What do you say?”
“When?” Dorian asked, oddly excited.
“Tonight, or tomorrow, we won’t be cooking any more until sixth day.”
“You've got a deal.” Dorian smiled broadly as they shook. She turned, finished loading up his plate and handed it over. “Just head on down during leisure hours, we serve the entire evening, but we should be able to make some time for you. If you have any problems, just ask for Lester or myself.”
Dorian nodded, thanked her politely, and left to scarf down his meal. He found his friends quickly and wasted no time in devouring his surprisingly large serving. It was always good to be good to the people that handle your food, today it seemed to pay off double.
Jack just watched as Dorian, unbelievably famished, ate with reckless abandonment. Jack's face went from curious to horrified as Dorian ate. When Dorian looked about, he noted the rest of his friends staring oddly as well. With a mouth full of food, he managed to grunt out a “hmm?”
Benny spoke first, “uh, well, first off, would you like a shovel?” Jack and Ken both laughed at that, but Dorian just chewed, trying to get enough down to reply. Alas, his speed wasn't enough, because Ken followed up, “I think there's a feeding troth we could get you instead.” Jack and Benny laughed, but Dorian had finally finished chewing enough to explain.
“I have private tutoring in a few minutes, and Brother Michael is going to be there. I don't want to go through the next few hours hungry.” A few flashes from the lights signaled a five-minute warning. It basically meant if you weren't in class, you should be heading there. Damn.
The three others got up, but Dorian was too hungry to leave the last half of his meal unfinished. He took a few more bites as the others said their goodbyes. “Goodbye Dorian” called Benny, “I'm off to shaping, I'll catch up with you guys later.”
Jack nodded at that, “I should get going too, I guess I'll tell you later, but it looks like you'll be the strongest in the class now.”
Dorian coughed as he swallowed, drank some water and said, “you can't leave on a note like that! Short for now, tell me more later.”
Jack thought for a moment, then smiled, “Nah,” he said, dragging the word out. The bastard left, Dorian shaking his head as he shoveled a few more bites into his mouth. He stood, still chewing, and headed over to place his tray with the other dirty ones. Ken waved at him, and he waved back before dropping off his tray and scurrying out to see Sister Brenda.
Dorian moved with all haste as he headed for the courtyard. He knew he was nearly late but didn't want to show up sweaty, nor did he want to deal with the other consequences. He made his way through the stone archway just as he saw the lights flicker and go out. Getting lost in the halls wasn't fun, though he had been lost in the dark before. It was a surefire way of catching anybody that hadn't made it to class on time, if a bit cruel. When Dorian had been lost, he had the most unnerving sensation, almost the same way he felt when he thought about the dimming lights, it was creepy. Not to mention there was something incredibly disconcerting about not being able to see your hand in front of your face, it was something Dorian now avoided like Brussels sprouts. No force in heaven, hell, or earth could inspire Dorian to experience either again. Brussels sprouts were disgusting.
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Brother Michael was already out by the large tree that centered the courtyard. Around the edges, with the exception to the side displaying the fantastic view of the valley, Dorian noted a new addition. Bushes had been grown into the shape of monastery monks in their robes. Hands tucked in to their sleeves, heads lowered in supplication to the Gods, it made the beautiful courtyard ominous without repute.
The conversation between the Sister and Brother was surprisingly heated, Sister Brenda's distant voice emanating from behind the large oak. Dorian moved closer, but didn't want to get caught eavesdropping. He decided the politest thing to do was move to a location that was visible to both, but not interrupt, thus allowing them to continue without him hindering things. Dorian usually felt like that, like he'd step on everyone's toes by simply existing.
So, as not to intrude, he found his customary viewing point at the edge of the courtyard, the wind muffling the sound of the argument and washing away Dorian's worries. He thought on the day thus far and assumed it must just be his luck. Rather, his lack of luck. The reason Dorian didn't like the games of chance that the two Tanner brothers, Ken and Benny, enjoyed was because he felt that his luck was shoddy at best. “Unlucky” was just another amazing quality Dorian thought he had; his timing had always been impeccable in that regard. He preferred games of skill any day over a game of luck, he could do something about his skill.
Almost on cue to his thoughts, a leg cramp sent a spasm of pain across his calve. He let out a small shout and fell to the ground, extending his leg out as far as it could until the cramp ceased. Looking back, the two elders were staring at him. He waved, ushering them back to their conversation. After taking a moment and rubbing at the back of his leg, he got up and leaned on the thick stone balcony. Despite the overcast, the view was excellent. The sun lighting the clouds over the expanse of forest to the southwest, grassy flatland extending beyond the monastery farmland, the Monastery temple, where the Grand Elder stayed, cutting off the horizon. The sight let his mind wander at silly things, thoughts of adventure, and what it would be like to be outside of the Valley. Most of them would find out, he knew, when they all ascended. Perhaps it was more than just a valley like their own, perhaps an unending expanse of world lay beyond. It couldn't all be uninhabitable mountainous terrain, surely there must be other places like this one in the world. Perhaps larger.
The thought sent his mind down a rabbit hole of possibilities. What would it be like to adventure out there in the unending expanse of the world? Not just a map, but to really be there? Would it be scary or thrilling or both? No, it wouldn't be scary, he'd have company. He could drag his friends along, and they could go see it all. They could come back to the Valley, praised as adventurers and explorers all. His companions would become legends of the valley, perhaps even a bit of fame onto his own person. He could hear it now, the people speaking about Jack the Giant, Benny the Bold, Ken the Kind, and Dorian the... Dweeb. No, don't do that, Dorian chided himself. He had been having a good day, and for the first time that he could remember he felt like he should think better of himself.
Dorian the “what” then? Dorian the Debased? Derelict? Deranged? He sighed, not able to come up with any “D” words that were apt or positive. Dumb ass? Yep, that would have to do for now. He sighed and daydreamed as to what was needed for an adventure. Damsels made a good addition, he thought. The image of Ingrid's smirk ran across his mind, and suddenly he felt a flush at the thought. Damsel didn't fit that one, if anything Dorian was the damsel between the two of them. No, she isn't a hero, he told himself, he couldn't allow himself to see her in a positive light. They had a fantastic match, and she should have won, Dorian had been lucky, or gifted, or perhaps it had simply been his day. Still though, Ingrid the Insidious sounded like a great name for a villain. Even as he thought this though, his mind added “Ingrid the Incredible, Ingrid the Immaculate, the Iridescent, the Illuminating.” Damn his thoughts, she didn't deserve those compliments. She had humiliated and insulted him, she had been like the rest and thought him stupid. And yet, he felt he had glimpsed something there, a fiery soul that matched his own, and for a time in the ring Dorian found a place where he wasn't afraid of showing himself to the world, for his entire world was within that ring. In that ring with Ingrid, the Irresistible, his mind added without his consent.
Dorian laughed. It was dark humor, but being alone so often, he needed to entertain himself to avoid going crazy. He did chide himself afterwards, not willing to give those rotten teenage harridans the satisfaction of being right. Ingrid was something else, but outside of the ring they weren't the festival dancers they were in the ring. They didn't acknowledge each other, ever. There was no kindness to be shared between them, no mutual friends, and no reason for them to ever come into contact. Well, maybe he was wrong about the latter as one of her primes was in Cultivation, but her class was advanced even for her age. Then again, the odds of Dorian making it to that class before his eighteenth year was about as likely as them going to the Equinox Festival together.
The thought of the Equinox Festival was a whirlwind of hopes. The initiates only had one every two years, which finally made sense as time was different inside the Monastery. The place influenced him, something about being inside those walls gave him a sensation he didn't like. Every time they gathered in mass in the main hall, or saw how they were formed, tallied, and with passionless precision measured into black and white categories, he had an unnerving sense that something was incredibly wrong. He couldn't tell why, all his memories were of this place, but there was something about it that upset him and left him on edge. Despite himself, that mask of docility he drew was slowly becoming his face in earnest. Recognizing this left him bitter and angry, and slowly Dorian's daydreaming was more of day-brooding.
“He's one of eight classes I have for his age, one of eight! I'll pass all of them this year, that's three hundred and sixty, and this will be my twentieth year! In all that time do you think I've ever been overridden? Even once?!” Came Brother Michael's voice, interrupting Dorian's reverie.
“It doesn't matter! He has two more years! What do you want me to do? Break custom? You know I can't do that!”
“If you don't, I'll do it my damn self! You're cheating him and yourself and putting the lives of others at risk! What happens when-” the conversation calmed enough that the wind began to muffle the sounds once more. Dorian turned to see Sister Brenda nodding at his words.
They made eye contact with Dorian, and he began to look away again when Brother Michael called him. When Dorian looked over, Brother Michael waved him down, but Sister Brenda's scowl could have cooked the hair right off Dorian's head. He looked to her and she nodded, so Dorian gathered himself by taking a deep breath and strode their direction.
“Dorian, how is your control on your Gia progressing?” Asked Brother Michael, broaching the subject tactlessly.
Dorian looked down, hands clasped behind his back. “Not very well, Brother Michael. I've increased how much I can draw three fold, but I had very little to begin with.”
“I see your manors and rhetoric have improved,” The Brother looked to Sister Brenda derisively then back to Dorian. “But that's not why I'm here. Can you show me?”
Dorian nodded and presented his hand. After a moment of concentration, a near handful of green light emanated from his palm. The mass moved like water but behaved more like a thicker substance. It had no actual weight, but it was there all the same.
His expression was grave. “Is that all you can muster?”
“It's the most I've attempted, Brother Michael. Any time I try for more I get lightheaded, and I feel like I'm going to lose consciousness.”
“Have you ever lost consciousness, then?”
Dorian shook his head, “no, not from this, sir.”
“How do you feel otherwise? Do you feel happiness or joy at summoning your Gia?”
Dorian thought for a moment and concluded that he did feel just a bit happier when he summoned the substance. That, and a few other feelings, though muffled. “A little bit, I also feel... safe? I guess I'm not very sure.”
“How about control, can you reach it out and touch my finger?” He said as he raised a finger. Dorian nodded, whipping out the cord to make a wet sounding slap against the mans raised pointer.
“Excellent control, and you don't seem to have a hard time opening the gates as it seems.” Brother Michael looked thoughtful for a moment. “Okay Dorian, please leave us to discuss a little while longer, perhaps your well-intended tutor and I can come to a compromise about something. Go on now.”As Dorian walked away, he could hear Brother Michael tossing out question after question. “Has he been given ample minerals? Has he shown any signs of...”
Their voices faded as he caught sight of something floating through the air. As he stared at it, just a floating spec in the distance, it reached an extremity out at a patiently slow speed. Dorian didn't know why but he felt nauseous as he watched the thing just hovering there. A mass of light erupted from the spec and at speeds that likely wouldn't have been visible at a regular time scale, Dorian watched as the Grand Elder shaped. The Colosseum, a megalithic structure even larger than the Grand Elder's sanctuary, was flattened in less than a moment. Dorian could feel the entire mountain shaking beneath him, and somewhere in his mind he had the faint fear the mountain would collapse.
Brother Michael and Sister Brenda were suddenly there beside him, watching in wonder. The trace of a swirling black line sank from the Grand Elder, and from that, pulses of light flowed. Snapping out of the ground in beautiful spirals, columns rose. From the columns, walls stretched out, connecting to each other. It was a stunning sight to behold, never in Dorian's wildest dreams had he ever seen such awesome power. A sinking feeling churned in his guts, a light hum pulsing there for a moment.
Brother Michael came into his frame of view and looked at him. “Eat something that didn't agree?” Dorian shrugged. Brother Michael looked curious for a moment then sighed. “Not every day you see a Colosseum built in front of your very eye.” Dorian nodded, not sure what to say. It was unbelievable to behold, but something didn't feel right about it. He felt unclean about this for some reason.
Breaking Dorian's thoughts, Sister Brenda spoke. “As much as I'd like to watch this all unfold, we have work to do young Dorian. Do you know why Brother Michael is here?” Her tone was instructional, not reprimanding.
“He said something about when I shouted at Danny.” Just mentioning the lanky bastard's name brought a sour feeling, but he let it pass. For now.
“Indeed. Do you know what you did when you shouted at him like that?”
“Uh, not really. I was a little busy, and I might have lost my temper a bit. He's pompous, and selfish, and to be honest he rubs me the wrong way.”
An eyebrow lurched as he said it, and he already knew what he had done wrong. “My apologies, Sister. I mean to say, Danny and I have different views on how we ought to treat people, at times those differences led us to petty arguments that have compounded. He misinterprets my intentions, as I'm sure I do the same to him. I fear that the rift between us is broad enough that it can't be amended, and even if it could I doubt we would have enough time before the final trial to aptly correct these perpetual misinterpretations.”
“Very good Dorian, but there is still the matter of what happened. You lost your temper a bit, you said, but I don't think that's all. What you technically did is overpower Brother Michael's dampening field. Now, I want you to elaborate and do so honestly. Don't worry, you won’t be punished here, we just need to know exactly how you felt.” Sister Brenda was stony, and as usual absolute in her command.
Dorian, initially, hadn't felt comfortable around her. He felt like he was always an inch away from crossing some line with her and she'd be throwing him off the balcony shortly thereafter. To his surprise, Sister Brenda wasn't the same person in private as she was when she taught classes. She was still strong, structured, and cultured, but she could laugh and smile just as easily as the next when you got her talking. She had a surprisingly twisted sense of humor, once you understood it. She could even be silly from time to time if the mood was on her, but today the mood wasn't on her one bit.
“I, uh,” Dorian looked to Brother Michael, then back to Sister Brenda. She nodded, and Dorian continued. “I was outraged by that two faced pig. He had no right to humiliate Ingrid, and no right to put himself into the match. I know what it’s like to be mortified by a classmate in front of the class, and in the heat of the moment I just couldn't stand the idea of somebody intruding with that in the midst of whatever was happening in that circle. For a while, there wasn't anything else. I felt, well,” Dorian rubbed the back of his head searching for words. “I felt like I was really myself in there, not the person everyone expects me to be but myself, whole and true. Then he had to find an excuse to ruin that, and he didn't have any right to, save for his own self-importance and need to objectify anything with two legs. He's a Gods forsaken mis-” Sister Brenda patted him on the arm, cutting off his harsh words.
“Wait,” came Brother Michael's voice. “Sister, I have an idea.”
Sister Brenda looked over scowling. “I think I know where you're going with this and I'm not sure I like it.”
“Humor me.” His stare was just as flat as hers, and Dorian wondered if he'd be roasted alive if he stayed between the two long enough.
“Dorian, turn to me and summon your Gia, as much as you can. Quickly now.”
Dorian did as he was told, staring up at Brother Michael.
Surprisingly animated, Brother Michael instructed, “continue what you were saying, but hold on to your Gia.”
Dorian was confused, and he looked at Sister Brenda. Still grimacing, she gave a slow nod and Dorian turned back to Brother Michael, not sure what to say. “Uh, where was I?”
“Tell me why you don't like Danny, tell me what you feel when you have to altercations with him.”
“Well,” Dorian cleared his throat. “Well, he's an outright bastard. That son of a Gwendian bitch treats people like crap, especially if he thinks it will get a girl’s attention.”
“Good, that's good. Keep going.” It was odd to hear the Brother's voice so calm, he was usually shouting in short clipped staccato statements, this was a different side of him Dorian didn’t know existed.
“He'd throw away his own kin for women or tokens, he's a Gods damned degenerative low life, living life to the fullest off of the coin of some family he'd never care about even if he did remember them. He's kicked me out of my own room before, humiliated me, called me fat and stupid, and for whatever reason thinks I'm lazy. That lanky pile of stacked shit doesn't know the meaning of hard work or honesty and yet has the fucking audacity to tell people nonsensical lies behind my back. He's a coward, a lecherous mongrel, a parasite to the community of women in the monastery and a disgrace to the codes of honor written by our prophets. He has never been punished for his misdeeds, never once paid in full. When I get the chance to fight him, I'll rend from him every ounce of flesh needed to balance the scales of my indignity!” Dorian was getting really worked up, but the two instructors just gestured him on. With little pause, he continued. “I'm tired of being his whipping post, and as Gwendos as my witness-.” Something was happening to his hand, something squirming had appeared there. Whatever it was, it hurt, hurt like every pain he'd ever suffered was happening at once.
“That's it Dorian! I knew it! Pull on it, Dorian! Pull on it hard!” His choppy commanding voice was back, and in full control once more. Dorian did as he was commanded, and waves of vertigo washed through him from the pain. Tears began forming, then fell down his cheeks. The shame of it pushed more out of him.
“Yes Dorian, embrace it, embrace that sensation. Go!” Brother Michael's voice was shrill in the whirlwind of his mind.
Dorian let out a cry and embraced the pain. All his pain, the everyday pain of existence, the shames, the fears, the indignation, both physical and the psychological, he embraced it as his own. In an odd way he took responsibility for them, and in a way felt that they were all deserved. The waves of agony quickened, and then something gave. A torrent of power, driven through the pain, centered on his hand. The black that Dorian could blearily see solidified, and by the Gods did it hurt. It felt the same way Gia had, in the sense that it was an extension of what he could feel, but that's where the resemblance ended. Where Gia made him giddy, happy, and self-confident, this made him feel dirty. It made him feel like he should be ashamed of it, and the pain reminded him, over and over. The floodgates that had been opened couldn't be stopped now, it flowed freely, the solidified forms interlinking and covering his upper arm.
“Okay Dorian, that's enough now.” Came Sister Brenda's voice.
It may have been enough, but he couldn't stop it. Dorian looked at Brother Michael, but where there was excitement before, fear had somehow replaced it.
“Dorian that's enough!” Brother Michael shouted in his face, but it couldn't stop this. There was so much more there, a lake of it. An entire valley of it, he knew now that he had only found the beginning of the stream that led elsewhere, but still, the stream couldn't be stopped now that the damn had been breached.
Doing did all he could to shut it down, and he wailed in agony for it. The pain stretched across him, and suddenly his arm was covered in a writhing blackness. Then his chest, his neck, his torso. It solidified, curving around him, molding itself to his body.
“Make it stop!” He wailed, then screamed before his head was engulfed and he toppled over, writhing in agony. Then more came, extending itself around him, consuming all it touched. He could feel the grass die beneath him, then the oak. The extension from himself encased the trunk of the oak and began climbing it. He screamed as best he could, but the entire world was numb to him. Just the pain, just the torment, and this power. This overwhelming, abrasive, painful power. The thrumming in his heart was all he could hear now and then waves of ecstasy attached themselves to the pain. And still, he had only made his way to the river, the lake was still a way away, and so he swam on.
A nudge on his mind came then, like a pounding at the door. Dorian opened the door, seeking escape. The shock wave hit him, forcing him into unconsciousness. Eventually, he found safety in that oblivion, where everything, the world included, faded away.