She didn’t have the time to process it, but as she dove beneath the burning surface of whatever the hell she was swimming in, she couldn’t help but replay the moment in her mind.

Feeling her companion snap back like a whip, stop just as suddenly, and then just…

Vanish in the middle of falling.

She couldn’t feel it, no matter how much she focused.

Was it dead? Just like that?

Was she next?

Eventually, her air began to run out, and so she surfaced, [Telemantic Construct] propelling her up, just long enough for a single gasp of air, before she used it to push herself down just as the searing lick of flames against her skin was felt.

Then she heard the faint groan of machinery through the sound of rushing waters and the deafening siren, through the mucus protecting the inside of her ears from the chemicals.

The water around her suddenly began pulling at her, and as she hurriedly threw mana into the water, she felt the metal doors brush just a foot away from her shoulder as she was catapulted forwards, flanked by trash and the wispy plasma of fire lurking just above her.

She didn’t fight the current, she just curled up into the best approximation of a ball that she could make and allowed herself to race down, down, down.

Sometimes, her shoulders would break into the air, and fire would flash over her torn, gambeson-like shirt, and she’d throw herself just a bit deeper under the wave with [Telemantic Construct], holding her breath to the best of her ability.

The tunnel wasn’t steep. There was very little, if any curving. It was deep enough for her to not slam herself into something solid.

Yet it was no smooth ride.

Bits and debris constantly slammed into her, nothing too big but sometimes heavy enough to bruise. Figuring out what direction was right and left, up and down, became nigh futile for the vast majority of her fall.

She had to take a breath, she knew that, but even as her lungs tightened, she also knew that surfacing out into the open air for a breath was a massive risk.

She was on the brink of panic by the time she managed to find an opportunity to do it, when she knew the height of the water, the height of the tunnel, where the fire was, and everything else she needed to know through a burst of mana.

She was too disoriented.

Fire licked at the left side of her throat for a single long second as she rotated to the side instead of going down, before she fixed her casting and threw herself below.

The burn was agonizing. It felt like a million ants were chewing a hole through her throat.

Half a minute felt like half a day of constant struggle for her orientation, for safety from the flames above, for her mental stamina.

And then the tunnel shrunk, the waters pushed forward with even more speed, and from one moment to the next, she was tumbling through the air, feeling a wild, violent spray of water hit her back, the tunnel cutting off without warning.

Fire flashed over her limbs, for two long seconds, and she felt the skin of her left arm writhe from the heat, the rest of her adequately protected by remnants of her companion’s slime.

She didn’t bother flailing, nor panicking. She’d already been face to face with death. She simply stayed in her roughly curled position, and the churning waters embraced her once more.

For a moment, as she peacefully drifted down the strangely still waters, exhausted, frustrated, on the edge of despair, she was tempted to just continue to sink. To just let the water in, to just give up.

Then the waters she’d been in for so long mixed with something hotter, warmer, and she writhed in agony with a burbling cry, feeling something hotter than fire, eating through her skin.

A wild series of mana constructs propelled her out into the open air, meeting soft foam instead of flame, but the water continued to boil her alive, a pain worse than any fire.

Through the slime in her ears and the self-loathing whisper in her mind telling her to dive back down, she heard voices, human ones, yelling and hollering somewhere to her right, and without a second thought, she paddled through a sea of foam and churning, bubbling chemicals, wild bursts of mana along her torso and aching legs making her cut through the waters like a fish, a panicked, spinning, boiling fish that was spitting foam out of its mouth as it tried not to waste its breath with screaming.

Their voices grew closer, more aggressive, but she didn’t care, nor was she capable of comprehending words at the moment, gasping for breath and trying to wrestle her own body under control to properly paddle to safety. Wild bursts of mana turned to force continued to propel her, making her tumble through the water, straight towards the voices, until eventually, her right shoulder impacted stone with bruising force, her body crumpling upon chem-slick stairs.

She twisted, clawing up the stairs with agonized gasps, wriggling like a worm, her body twitching and spasming without her input, every scrape of her greaves against the stairs accompanied by pulsing, white-hot shards of agony.

The voices continued, growing more and more heated.

Soft, hurried footsteps rushed towards her.

Two gloved hands, small, like a child’s, grasped onto her hand, and pulled with a growling grunt, before one of them let go of her gaunt wrist, fisting into her shredded shirt’s nape, and pulling her onto dry, flat ground.

As she lay there, hyperventilating and spasming, two small hands brushed aside her melting hair, and two gloved fingers jammed into her lips, pulling her mouth open.

The familiar pungent taste of a healing potion on her tongue ceased any attempts she was about to make to pull away, and she greedily clamped down on the vial with her teeth, gulping as fast as she could.

The searing chemical claws flaying her skin retreated, just enough for her world to be more than agony and noise.

Then something slammed into her cheek, whipping her head to the other side, and the vial’s top broke into her mouth, the rest of it clattering away onto the stone. The distant noises turned into the distinct sounds of a heated argument as the side of her head rested against cold smooth stone, dazed.

“The hell are you wastin’ healing potions on dead meat for, huh!?” A voice above her hollered, and the sound of a meaty thud accompanied a yipped croak, the sound of fabric hitting stone.

She spit out the broken top, coughing weakly as she tried to regain her bearings.

A pulse of mana from her hand provided an image that made no sense.

A guard loomed to her right, hunched over, his hand fisted in a cowering goblin’s hair as she lay sprawled out on the ground, a club held in a tight grip on his other hand.

A stone walkway that transitioned into stairs, most of which were under the waters. The usable part was just fifteen feet wide, flanking the pool of chemicals at her back, ending just twenty feet to her right.

And just to her left, an extremely irate man in a worker’s uniform was arguing with another guard, something about a curfew, their body language on the brink of violence.

Then the man’s head turned, and she felt his teeth grit, his brows furrow.

“Don’t you touch my property you jumped up rat-fucking maggot!” He screamed, his spittle flying through her mana, taking a step towards the guard to her right.

The other guard didn’t waste a single moment to swing his club at the man with a sharp crack at his ribs, and as violence erupted, it wasn’t so much a fight as it was a beatdown.

She rasped out wheezy breaths, still twitching and shuddering in agony, bits of foaming spit trickling out onto the stone below her half-melted, chewed-through lips.

The healing potion’s merciful numbness receded, and she let out a strangled gurgle of agony as she felt the regeneration fade, the chemicals continuing to chew through her skin, melting her alive.

The uncaring steps of the second guard rushed past her to join the first, and as she wheezed and twitched on the floor, the man’s yells turned to coughing, to agonized wheezing, to silence, one meaty thud at a time as he was beaten into the floor.

One of the guards spit out loud, and she didn’t dare use her mana on them, trying to stay as silent and motionless as she could manage, gritting her teeth into dust as [Pain Resistance] Leveled up, allowing her another moment of evading their attention.

“Tsk, the people on this floor are ridiculous. Nobody fucking listens. On the second, at least they knew their fucking place. Nothing but disgusting fucking gutter rats down here.” A gruff voice said, the one who’d kicked her.

Another meaty thud, without reaction.

“I’m with you, but I… think you killed the guy. This is kind of bad, isn’t it?” The second guard asked, a more hesitant, ratty voice.

“Eh, not really. Nobody will care about a random dude disappearing.” The gruff voice snorted. “Go strip the goblin for me while I toss this guy into the sump, will you? I’m taking dibs on first round.”

“Let me go first one goddamn time. I don’t wanna shove my dick in a used hole.” The second guard complained as he walked back towards the goblin.

Her nerves continued misfiring like fried wires, feeling like a blender made of a million blades was scraping her flesh off. She could do nothing but force a hissed, wet croak between grit teeth, feeling foaming spittle exit her mouth as her abdomen and chest convulsed.

She wanted to laugh.

No, she wanted to fucking cackle.

All her hopes of rescue amounted to this.

The man walked past her, and she let out a small burst of mana, feeling the way the goblin seemed to realize her fate, crawling back, her head snapping around for an escape that wasn’t there.

Her skin flashed between searing heat and spine-curling cold, and she could do nothing but feel a shard of glass be ground to dust between her teeth as she clenched her jaw.

“Then use the back once I’m done. Unless you wanna fight me on it?” The first guard replied rhetorically, and she suppressed the bubbling laughter, the nausea, the bile rising up her throat, the rage.

An audible, rough heave of effort, and something splashed into the sump.

The man didn’t wake up as the hissing waters drew him to their depths, and never would.

Just like that.

She sent out light pulses of mana again, as conspicuously as she could, feeling with phantom fingers as the second guard, a skinny, gaunt man, used a knife to cut through the goblin’s clothes as he held her down by the throat, growling threats at her whenever the poor thing wriggled too much.

It felt like she was holding his hand as he cut through the goblin’s belt.

If she let her mind wander, searching for an escape, she could almost feel his hands turning to steel, the goblin’s hair turning into wolven fur, holding hydraulic claws within her mana as they slammed into the wolf’s chest.

A friend that might not even be alive anymore.

The first, bulky guard walked past her, and she felt him give her a side glance before continuing, entirely uncaring, crouching by the stripped goblin.

The chemicals seared her nose and clawed at her throat with every breath, lit her neck on fire with every pulse of her blood, slowly gouged out her flesh as she lay on the stone, twitching.

She was dying, within and without.

A memory came to her, one of comfort, of how it felt to drink the wolf’s blood, that feeling of invincibility, of the world being vivid and clear despite her lack of sight. The warmth of power, raising goosebumps on her skin, soothing the weakness within her as it flooded her gaunt limbs. The sensation of feeling every single strand of her clothes brush against her skin, hearing her heartbeat, feeling the rush of blood move within her, that comforting certainty that she could bend an iron pipe with her grip alone.

Blood.

Blood, that taste of copper and life.

She needed blood.

A fistful of mana washed over the ongoing scene just a few feet to her right.

She felt the position of their weapons, the strength of their builds, the stability of their positions. She felt how the thinner man turned around and crouched down on his haunches to stare out into the frothing sump, how the stout, taller man tried to maneuver the goblin into position, his pants around his knees.

A choked series of convulsions wracked through her chest as she fought to keep the hysterical laughter down.

She wanted to be rescued. She expected it when she’d swam towards civilization. Another strike of naivete, a subconscious thought that people, out of the goodness of their heart, would help. That was just like her. Always naive, always expecting better of people for no reason.

There was no rescue, and there was no one to help her. Nobody human.

Not when she’d lay crying face down in an inn bed, rope marks around her wrists, not when crushed beneath gnawing teeth and fur, not in the tunnels, and most certainly not now. Because there was no one but herself to rely on anymore.

The wolf was gone.

So she would save herself. She’d take what she needed from those who couldn’t stop her.

The croaking cries of the goblin heightened while she wriggled and twisted under the increasingly irate guard as Emhreeil’s mana faded from the air.

Her twitching fingers curled into a fist, her fingernails digging into her hand.

Blood dripped onto stone from crescent cuts into her palm as she drew her arm in, pressing her knuckles into stone, and began pushing down, lifting her uncooperative body, utterly confident that nobody was glancing her way, any sound her shuffling was making being drowned out by the hissing waters and the struggle just teen feet away.

Constructs of mana, turned to physical force, braced around her legs.

Every drop of mana inside her body was converted into power for a single cast of [Haste].

The world turned to acrid glue.

She felt every fiber of muscle. Every tear, every tiny injury. Every contraction. The complex mechanisms of bone and flesh and tendon as she flexed her ankles, fighting to balance her body as she dragged herself upright. The way the shards of bone in her legs, half-healed and connected with fragile tissue, flexed and ground precariously as she stabilized.

Her head limply hung from a neck without strength, chin to collarbone.

A small surge of mana left her fist, washed over the scene to her right. A sickening scene, one that almost symbolically embodied exactly what her experience in the Dungeon had been like so far.

The goblin was giving the guard hell at least, bucking and twisting constantly despite his bruising grip, his snarled threats. His heartbeat was so loud, his frustration pumping more blood into the vein of his forehead than the one in his dick.

It was a sickening scene.

But it was also fucking hilarious to her, for some reason she couldn’t understand.

A broken, mangled imitation of a laugh finally left her bleeding lips, turned into a hysterical rasping cackle as her lips curled into a face-splitting smile filled with rapidly clicking teeth, her jaw twitching and gnashing as her muscles fought the searing poison.

The guards jerked in surprise, tried to turn.

Much too slowly.

From an eyeless visage, she glared with hatred, dashing forward in an instant, her fingers unwinding. It was clumsy, her right leg buckled with a random spasm, forcing her to slam her knee into the rock and use it like it was her ankle to continue her momentum, but her aim was true.

With [Mana Touch] giving her an accurate feeling of everything around her, it was hard to miss.

Her cupped hand slammed into the guard’s ear, his head half-turned towards her.

A [Sparkburst] burst through his eardrum and popped his head like a melon, a wild mass of sparks, smoking brain matter, misty blood, bits of bone and viscera flying through the air in all directions.

For her audience, it happened in less than the blink of an eye. For her, it was a process. A process of feeling the sparks annihilate his eardrum, gather in his cranium, turning his brain to mush, and blowing through the skull with a million little explosions that vaporized or separated everything in their path into fine bits.

She ‘watched’ in slow motion, felt every tiny piece and blood drop flow through her phantom fingers, every tiny piece of gore and blood that splashed onto her face and arm, an intimate understanding of what she’d just done.

She thought she’d feel some kind of revulsion, disgust, guilt.

All she felt as her hand dashed down to grab his club with superhuman speed, was catharsis.

She felt the man’s body ripple from the force, from his neck to his legs, the explosive power and the smack of her palm sending him tumbling off the goblin before the first drop of blood had hit the stone.

As she used her left leg and [Mana Construct] to forcefully halt her momentum before she tumbled over the goblin and the corpse, with her fingers clutched around the base of a metal club, she turned with all her strength, all the added Speed, feeling individual muscle fibers tear from the violent motion, and whipped her arm around to the left in a wide swing, spinning on her right knee.

The second guard, still half-crouched, awkwardly half-turned towards where she was a moment ago with wide green eyes, one hand fumbling for his club, had no time to react.

The moment the club left her hand, she used a short, explosive burst of [Mana Construct] outwards from her palm to add to its momentum, using the last shred of the mana in her core.

She hadn’t aimed at all. She didn’t know where she was even throwing it, her fingers numb and barely functional. All she had was an intimate feeling of where everything around her was.

It was a perfect throw.

It didn’t slam into his face, as much as it slammed through from the side.

The handguard cracked through his eye socket, and the club landed across his eyes with a guttural snap and a popping sound, blood and viscera bursting into the open air, the club embedded into his face, a solid inch deep, his face caved in like paper.

His head whipped back violently as the club’s momentum carried it out of his face and into the sump, and with her balance lost, they both tumbled to the ground, slaves to gravity and momentum.

She tried to catch herself with a hand, but it crumbled with barely any resistance, her stomach convulsing with choked giggles. Her right shoulder hit the stone, then her chest, and the left side of her face followed.

For a moment, she stayed there, trying to fight through the agony, wheezing giggles being forced out of her convulsing body as she tried to stop the laughter and breathe, put some air into her abused lungs.

Her attention turned to the cut belt next to her foot, the singular healing potion still sitting in a fabric sheath, and with a weak burst of mana, it tumbled next to her waist.

Lethargically, she wrapped spasming fingers around the frayed, cut end of the belt, and dragged it above her head. She grabbed onto the vial’s sheath, and clamped her teeth around the top, throwing the belt aside and quickly uncorking the vial with her shivering jaw clamped tight around the wood, spitting it out and shoving it back between her teeth.

For a moment, she simply held the bottle in place, hatred and adrenaline funneling out of her system for a brief moment.

It was the simple act of drinking something that wasn’t the wolf’s blood.

Her giggles mixed in with an ugly sob, some vague spark of hope in the back of her mind being the only thing that prevented her from crumpling to the ground and staying there to wail her eyes out.

With stuttering breaths and choked, coughing sounds that could barely be identified as any sort of sound of amusement, much less laughter, she tightened her jaw, ground her bloodied fist onto the ground, and lurched to the right, over the stump of her right arm, rolling onto her back.

As the slimy, thick taste of a hundred different things washed over her tongue and down her throat, she simply tried to keep it all down, one gulp at a time, fighting through the nausea in her stomach, through the pain and the hysterical laughter trying to bubble out of her throat again.

The temperature slowly fixed itself with every gulp, no longer flashing between ice-cold and flame-hot, new skin and scar tissue growing under her sloughing skin, like a snake shedding its hide. Strange shocks of electricity, nerves misfiring, it all faded.

She still heard two heartbeats that weren’t her own.

As the morbid amusement of the situation faded, the vial ran out, so she turned her head to spit it out onto the ground and swallowed, her chest heaving with deep, wheezy breaths.

Breaths that dragged out endlessly, each inhale and exhale feeling like it was drawn out for ages.

Outside of action, high Perception seemed more like an annoyance. A maddening annoyance.

Or at least, something she had no idea how to reduce.

The world still felt like moving through half-dried glue. She wanted to rip her clothes off and peel off her skin because it was scarred and didn’t move right against her muscle fibers and the scant amounts of fat she could feel on her body. She could feel the tiny motes of poison sinking into her lungs with every breath, clinging to the tissue within. Every tiny imperfection was laid bare and felt, judged by her own mind.

She brushed it all aside, once again swinging herself onto her front, torn muscles and melted skin finally repaired, the agony halved to a constant, throbbing pain.

With a growling grunt, she forced her knees below her belly, forcing [Mana Construct] to form two braces around her half-broken legs once more, feeling her core slowly drain what she had deemed as her ‘reserve’ mana with every passing second.

She pushed down with her fist, and used the momentum of her torso to swing herself up, staggering in place.

Without using her Speed bonus, every motion felt like moving through sludge. The world was just too slow.

But it wasn’t like she could balance herself by going faster, so she endured for a few seconds, fixing her center of balance to the best of her ability, focusing on the man dying just a few feet away.

She felt no remorse as she stumbled atop him and unsheathed his knife.

She felt no disgust as she cut a clean incision into the side of his neck, right against his fading pulse, and held his bloody hair in her clenched fist as she drank, and drank, and drank. The taste was so much more vivid, the sensation of the slimy liquid running down her throat so much more soothing.

She felt no shame as she stripped her melted, torched, torn rags off her body, shed what felt like a thousand days of suffering and companionship off her frame, removed the metal cages around her legs, clothed herself in the underclothes of the man she’d just killed, in the audience of a single horrified goblin, frozen in fear at the edge of the platform, just a foot away from the sump, as far as she could retreat.

As the [Haste] boost faded and the world returned to normalcy, she took a deep breath, feeling the energy and strength that had infused her limbs.

It was pathetic, compared to a single mouthful of the wolf’s blood.

But the wolf was gone. Maybe dead, maybe not. Even if that thought felt like nothing but a coping mechanism, it was the one shred of hope she refused to let go of.

She’d search every corner of this oversized hellhole before she gave up.

A light pulse of mana drew her attention to the still-warm corpse of the burlier guard, and she picked up the compass and the golem core off the ground, shoving them into her new pants’ pockets, golem core to her left hip, and magic compass in the left knee’s pocket. She sheathed her new knife, seven inches of well-forged steel, on her new belt.

And leaned back on her knees, fully aware of the precarious way her half-healed leg bones strained as she shifted her weight, letting her head hang backwards, ‘staring’ up at nothing.

The ambient scent of rot, death, and chemicals filled the air, thick enough to taste, to feel against her nostrils. The sound of roaring, rushing liquids continued, one tunnel spewing one thing, while another spewed something different. An alarm turned off.

She was exhausted. Mentally, emotionally, physically.

She felt numb as she forced herself upright, staggering and gritting her teeth through the pain in her legs. The healing potions hadn’t healed them enough to put too much stress on them.

With her mana regeneration, she could employ a semi-permanent brace of mana, so she did. Casting [Mana Conduit] as soon as it was off its cooldown period was as automatic as breathing by now. Two perfect tubes conformed to her legs and flattened her pants against her gaunt limbs.

She shuffled over to the second guard, lowered herself down, straddling his midriff as she turned off the constructs. Hacked open one wrist, drank, then did the same with the other, a thin trail of crimson running down her neck from the side of her mouth and onto her chest and ribs, staining her new shirt.

She sucked everything she could get out of the cooling corpse, and turned to leave, bracing her legs for the painful process of getting up, palm on her left knee.

And she paused, turning her head a little to the side by sheer habit, sending a weak pulse of mana out towards the goblin. Shivering in fear, cold, trying her absolute best to limit her breathing, pretend she didn’t exist, hide from her. Wearing nothing but two worn rags around her feet and two grimy little gloves.

She once would call people who did the things she’d done here, monsters. And it was an assessment she couldn’t refute.

Even if she was a monster however, that didn’t mean she had to be a monster about it, did it?

She carefully peeled off the guard’s jacket, an exhausting, frustrating endeavor that took her several minutes. It took several more to use the knife to scrape off the badges and insignia, cutting off pieces of reinforced cloth or messing up a sewing job by scraping the tip in ‘x’ shapes continuously.

Putting the jacket on herself, one armed, was much less frustrating than she had thought it would be.

Removing the shirt from the burly guard’s corpse was much easier than the jacket.

She only held the oversized shirt in her hand for a moment, phantom fingers feeling the fibers, the crust of blood on the collar.

Without turning, she balled it up as best as she could, tossed it at the goblin’s feet, and turned around, staggering down the pathway.

She didn’t know where she was going, and she didn’t put much thought into it. The poison in the air felt like it was choking her through the regeneration, through the remnants of the healing potion in her body.

Stone turned to metal stairs, metal stairs to empty walkways within silent hallways, free of poison.

It still ate away at her regardless. She didn’t know how she felt it, but she did. It was a sense of wrongness in her lungs that traveled up to her head.

Her mana lessened with each step, so she turned off the constructs, her pace slowing further in exchange for ‘sight’.

A cubic staircase that she barely climbed without falling, and she heard the faint sound of small, muffled footsteps, rapidly getting closer.

She sent a pulse of mana behind her, then braced herself against the wall with a fist, feeling dizzy, like her head was stuffed full of cotton.

The goblin girl padded behind her, clad in an oversized, bloody shirt, wearing it like a dress, and stopped, some six odd feet away.

She didn’t have the energy to question why it was following her, so she didn’t, instead pushing off the wall and continuing to stagger meaninglessly through metal hallways.

Minutes passed in what felt like seconds, a vague, dizzy fugue of activity.

A slight tug at her jacket forced some notion of awareness back into her mind, and she stopped, half- stumbling in place as she sent a weak blast of mana around her.

The goblin was holding onto the empty sleeve with her left hand, the right pointing down a corridor she was about to walk past, jabbing at the air insistently, while simultaneously looking tense enough to bolt at the slightest hint of aggression.

She just turned, and followed wherever the goblin led her to.

It gibbered at her, shook her awake whenever she’d start keeling over from exhaustion, barely perceptible bursts of mana giving her enough of a mental picture to avoid stumbling into anything.

Her mind wandered off, to topics unrelated, hopes and dreams, comforting and discomforting memories. Like a snapshot between each one, she’d realize she was in a completely different place than before, but could hardly care.

Then she walked through another door, exhausted, and felt the metal and stone walls give way for cobbled stone beneath her new boots, an open expanse around her she could not feel.

Without the goblin hanging onto her sleeve anymore, she continued blindly into the Dungeon, easily recognizing the third floor’s decrepit depths.

She’d likely landed in some waste processing facility. She hoped the wolf had as well.

Before long, the fog in her mind grew too much, noises and voices muddling and sticking together like glue, melting into an incomprehensible mess.

Her legs buckled, and she only made the barest effort to not land face first on the ground, the gibbering croaks of the goblin growing frantic, pulling and tugging at her.

A hazy memory of her curled up on her bed with Katherine awkwardly sitting by her side as she taught her how to read surfaced, and she replayed it in full, a little smile pulling at her lips.

It might have lasted an hour or a minute, but as the memory faded, she felt hands, human ones, turn her over onto her back, arms hooking under her frame and carrying her away, hushed voices in her ears.

She was too tired to know if she was in a dream or reality anymore.

She brought up the system screen, almost an afterthought, brushing aside the level ups and updates in favor of simply seeing something rather than feeling it.

And stared in exhausted, mute amusement at the empty space where ‘Kindhearted’ used to be, her head lolling around in time with the people’s movements.

-Species: Humanoid

-Race: Elf

-Name: Emhreeil

-Paths: [Infuser] Level 17

Base Attributes:

Strength ( +0 )

Speed ( +0 )

Dexterity ( +0 )

Endurance ( +3 )

Perception ( +2 )

Resolve ( +2 )

Intelligence ( +4 )

Soul ( +2 )

Available: 4

-Racial Skills: [Attuned], [Quick Learner]

-Acquired Skills:

[Magic Resistance - Level 5]

[Mental Resistance - Level 6]

[Poison Resistance - Level 13]

[Pain Resistance - Level 24]

[Illumina - Level 8]

[Sparkburst - Level 19]

[Haste - Level 20]

[Mana Perception - Level 23]

[Mana Manipulation - Level 25]

[Mana Tank - Level 8]

[Mana Conduit - Level 8]

[Mana Touch] - Level 10]

[Tough Skin - Level 7]

[Infection Resistance - Level 4]

[Disease Resistance - Level 2]

[Telemantic Construct - Level 15]

-Acquired Traits:

Vampiric (2 / 2): You have sustained yourself on nothing but blood for many days and have taken many steps towards the path of vampirism. Blood is extremely palatable, sustains you as well as any food, severely hastens your natural healing and stamina recovery, and drinking the blood of others gives you a temporary boost to all attributes. Duration and attribute boost amount depends on the amount of blood you have consumed and its quality.

Enduring (1 / 5): You have felt the chill of death multiple times, and survived. You are slightly tougher.

She fell asleep dreaming of wrinkled hands tugging off her clothes, whispers of sound and the scent of medicine and herbs all around her as the letters faded from her mind.

-

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