Kalon Bloodborn’s POV

Fingers trembling, palms slick with sweat, I let the mana mimicry magic dissolve like smoke fading into the air. Though it was born from me, the magic felt alien. The fission of the heart into foreign mana, even in trace amounts, gnawed at me, leaving exhaustion in its wake.

The runes on the storage pouch flickered with a faint glow, accompanied by a low hum. The pouch was a demanding artifact—its access bound to the pattern of its user’s mana. I could only unlock it through the lifeblood of Dregol’s heart. The artifact consumed that essence like a ravenous beast, ceasing its function the moment the flow was severed.

From the storage pouch, the corpse of a demon ogre lumbered into the open. Its appearance was grotesquely altered, a distorted shadow of what it once was. The ogre’s frame had swelled with unnatural bulk, every muscle stretched taut like ropes wound too tightly. Below its left arm, mutated stumps sprouted like gnarled branches, outgrowths from some twisted evolution. Its hide was thick and coarse, a shell of stone encasing flesh. Lumps spread beneath its torso, snaking down toward its groin—a grim testimony to the unnatural forces that had reshaped it.

Damon watched in stunned silence, his hand absently stroking his jaw as he took in the grotesque form of the mutated ogre. I understood his reaction—these demons were always more unsettling in reality than words on a page could ever convey. The mutant was a far cry from the descriptions etched in ancient tomes.

Proteus, standing to the side, seemed lost in our shared unease. His expression was a blank slate, unreadable.

“A mutant ogre… It’s so different,” Damon murmured, his breaths shallow and uneven. “I’m not even sure how to proceed.” His voice wavered like a thread pulled too tight, on the verge of snapping.

The door was shut tight, sealing us in. We had asked for a private chamber, giving no hint of our true purpose. What we were doing ran against the grain of tradition, a silent rebellion we all knew too well. But still, I chose to move forward.

A pattern born from the past should not dictate the course of the future, I believed. If we succeeded, our actions would chisel a new path through the bedrock of old customs, setting a precedent that others might follow.

“I’ve never doubted your wits, so don’t start now. Truly, the only way to learn is through practice. We’ve done this a thousand times before—though only with their original forms. We’ll follow the same procedure.”

In sync, we channeled blood mana into the demon. Though lifeless, the body resisted us fiercely, as if clinging to the remnants of its former self. Piece by piece, I mapped its flesh, tracing every fiber and sinew. It was then that I noticed a subtle shift—the resistance fluctuated, stronger in certain regions, like a river’s current growing turbulent around hidden stones.

Not wanting to ignore the anomaly, I sharpened my focus. Increasing the flow of blood mana, I attempted to manipulate the demon’s cells, calling to them. But they refused to answer my will—silent and inert, as though they belonged to something beyond my command.

I had expected even the faintest flicker of response, but none came.

The binding and tearing of flesh had always been second nature to me, a dark art perfected through countless trials. Yet now, faced with this lifeless resistance, I felt displaced. The nature of these demons was unlike anything I had known.

The only thing driving me forward was the glimmer of hope that still lingered—because I could feel its form with my blood mana. There had to be a way to unravel the mystery hidden within its being.

But every effort felt like striking stone with bare hands. I suspected the resistance had roots in something deeper—spirit energy, perhaps—a force interwoven with its essence, keeping it just out of reach.

The clanging of metal against metal reverberated through the room, a harsh symphony that echoed in my ears as Proteus fumbled with the tools meant to dismember the demon.

Guided by the pulse of my infused mana, I sliced through its flesh, each cut a deliberate stroke in this grim dissection. Time blurred as we hurriedly divided the creature, separating its parts like scavengers dismantling a carcass. I carried pieces over to the wooden table, scrutinizing them under the dim light.

Yet, something about the cells of its flesh unsettled me—a strange complexity, as if they held secrets that danced just beyond the edge of my understanding. No matter how deeply I searched, I couldn’t grasp the essence within them.

I needed a different perspective, a new way to approach this enigma. Stepping away from the table, I lowered myself to the ground and crossed my legs, centering my breath. The piece of flesh – minced from the mutant – rested in my palms, heavy with unanswered questions.

Seated in meditation, I sought to quiet my mind. I needed to feel beneath the surface—beyond muscle and sinew—into whatever lay hidden within this demon flesh.

Damon watched me with uncertainty etched on his face, but he did not question my actions.

The chamber around me dissolved, melting into a vast, endless void, where distant stars flickered like forgotten memories scattered across the night. In this astral realm, the piece of flesh remained steady in my palm, an eerie anchor in the emptiness.

I sensed it immediately—a subtle shift in space, as if the air itself thickened. An unknown weight pressed inward, building in response to the presence of the flesh. The force surged against me, prying the fragment from my grip, and I watched as it floated a few feet away, caught in the currents of this strange place.

When I moved closer, I was met with resistance—a barrier, invisible but impenetrable, standing in my way. I pressed against it, but the force retaliated, hurling me backward in a spiraling motion, as if the void itself had flicked me aside.

Determined, I tried again. This time, imbuing the space around me with blood mana, letting it flow into the barrier. The reaction was immediate—the force began to unravel at its core, weakening until my hand slipped through effortlessly. But the moment I released my mana, the barrier struck back, sending me hurtling through the void once more.

‘What cursed force is this? Perhaps another method will yield better results...’

Enveloping myself in mana, layering it over my skin like a second sheath of flesh. Pushing forward, I felt the resistance soften, allowing me to drift past it, inch by inch. The sensation was strange, the force pressing against me like water—thick and resistant, a sharp contrast to the usual weightlessness of the astral realm.

Ambient mana seeped into the flesh, and I reached out with my mind, seeking connection. Instantly, my perception shifted—a new world unfolded before me, a vast aggregation of cells pulsating with life.

A blinding pulse of light surged through this realm, like lightning streaking across a stormy sky. The cells stirred in response to its brilliance. But in scattered regions, the rhythmic peristaltic flow abruptly stopped, as if seized by an unseen force.

Curious, I shifted my focus toward these still zones, hoping to unravel the mystery. The cells in these regions appeared grotesquely deformed, their shapes twisted beyond recognition. Another flash of light surged downward, racing through the layers at breakneck speed. But just as it reached the deformed region I was examining, it halted, as though repelled by an invisible barrier.

‘I see… It all makes sense now. How did I not realize this sooner?’

But my questions would have to wait. The cells were threaded by intricate paths—channels for mana, woven like delicate strands of silk. Yet, these paths were tainted by spirit energy, and the mana recoiled from it, avoiding contamination. The two energies stood in opposition, each negating the other, like oil refusing to mix with water.

‘How could a Celestial survive without the flow of mana?’ The thought struck me hard, the answer chilling. This disruption could explain the madness that afflicted Celestials—those robbed of mana spiraled into a crazed state. And if the corruption spread through their entire being, including the mana heart… they would become wraiths, cursed to exist in a hollow shell of rage and despair.

The knowledge sent a shiver down my spine, but there was no time to linger in fear. My presence in the astral realm was fleeting, and every moment here slipped through my fingers like grains of sand.

Focusing on the infected region, I anchored my blood mana to the cells. It felt as though I were grasping the handle of a sealed door, straining to pry it open. I could sense the flesh beneath my hold, but manipulating it was impossible—the spirit energy clung to it like chains, resisting my every attempt.

I poured more of my will into the flesh, engaging in what felt like a contest of strength. The pressure built, and under the force of my intent, the flesh warped and twisted. At last, the spirit energy unraveled, slipping through minute gaps and dissipating from the cells.

The vision of the flesh-world dissolved, and with it, the astral realm. My senses returned to the chamber, now vivid in my eyes—the sight of Damon and Proteus hard at work over the table.

From the fragmented enlightenment I had gained, one truth became clear: spirit energy and mana were opposites in every sense. Mana was the energy that birthed us, the essence that allowed magic to bloom—at least, that was what we had always been taught. But there had to be more to this story.

Spirit energy seemed beyond our control, not just foreign but hostile to our very nature. It clashed with mana like fire meeting water, each negating the other’s essence. Through the astral realm, I had glimpsed the delicate patterns between these forces. It was enough to allow me to forcefully correct the corrupted cells—but at what cost? What meaning was there in freeing a wraith from spirit energy only for it to die in the process?

The pace at which mana-shift ravaged Celestials was terrifying. It moved too swiftly, leaving little room for meaningful intervention.

Taking a deep breath, I steadied myself and walked toward the table, drawing the attention of Damon and Proteus.

“Have you gained any enlightenment?” Damon asked, his gaze sharp with curiosity.

“Somewhat. But I need to test it first,” I replied. Shifting to the side, I could feel his watchful eyes lingering over my shoulder as I channeled mana into the demon ogre.

My perspective shifted again, allowing me to peer into the intricate world within its flesh. With this newfound clarity, I easily adjusted the deformed cells, though they withered and died in the process. The mutant limbs shrank, folding back into the ogre’s torso as though it were undoing a curse.

I turned to meet Damon’s expectant gaze—his eyes hungry for the knowledge I had uncovered. Without hesitation, I explained everything I had witnessed within the astral realm. His expression flickered with excitement, and without a word, he dropped into meditation, eager to pursue the same enlightenment.

The ability I had just discovered felt monumental—a breakthrough with the potential to change everything. If perfected, we could heal those afflicted by mana-shift.

Though it might still be beyond our reach to restore fully turned wraiths to their former glory, this was a promising beginning. A grin spread across my face as the idea of a name for my newfound technique danced in my mind.

“Godeyes,” I whispered to myself.