I'm in the middle of experimenting on the limits of my dungeon, in early midmorning, when it happens.

A searing pain hits the front of my head, and I nearly fall over from the shock.

Platinums and paladins, what was that?

Instead of going away, it intensifies, and I curl up into a fetal position. Opening one of her trapdoors, Theory hurries out and taps my limb, wondering what's wrong. Opening my mouth to respond, I'm hit with a pulsating sensation that spreads throughout my entire head, solidifying behind my forehead and eyes.

Grimacing, I stand up and work my way over to the door, the symptoms worsening as a dull throb hits my gut. It's almost enough to make me start... crying? The word is crying, yes. Why did my mind fail to give me the right word? What in the world is happening!?

Opening the door, I head painfully downstairs, looking for the Mother. I find her in the kitchen, preparing a sumptuous breakfast. Stumbling towards her, I whimper, "Mother, help."

I hate it. I hate everything about having to ask for help, and I almost reconsider the request.

Then my eyes started itching.

As I literally fall over from shock and pain, the Mother catches me, a worried expression on her face. Pressing the back of her hand on my forehead, the worry increases and she says worriedly (good grief, what is wrong with my vocabulary!?), "Oh, honey - you have a fever! I think you should go up to your room. I'll call the school and let them know you can't come today."

Nodding blearily, I turn around to go back to my room, trying to ignore the distinct sensation of my mind collapsing in on itself. None of the words I've learned over my life seem to be making sense, or coming out correctly. Licking my suddenly dry lips, I pull myself up the stairs using the... the stair bar thing.

Making it to my room, I practically drag myself into my bed and fall into it, hot, sticky drops of liquid rising to my skin and soaking into my bedding. At this point, I'm literally wriggling in agony, my hands clenching at the soft materials and unclenching uncontrollably.

In a panic, I literally blast myself with dungeon mana, striving to expunge whatever contagion this is, and for a brief moment, it works. Relaxing slightly, I sigh in relief.

And then it returns, far worse than before.

Rolling over with a groan, I mash my face into the pillow and scream at the top of my lungs, something I never would have done if I'd thought anyone was in range to hear it.

Vaguely, I can feel Theory sympathetically patting my back, but I'm too far in my own head to pay attention. Why are humans designed like this!? I'd been starting to appreciate the perks of having hands, and legs, and potentially friends (although that's a can of worms I'm far from willing to dive into), but if their species suffers from 'fevers' as often as it feels like they do, then I want no part of it.

In my desperation to be rid of this, I attempt something I never would have considered.

Focusing all of my mana, focusing it into a four-inch sphere, I create a dungeon core. Its perfectly smooth crimson surface, floating above my palm, does little to assuage the agony I'm in, and I grit my teeth as I work on the next part.

My entirety - my soul, if I have one - has already been transferred across entire universes to reside in this human body, so moving it to a core - temporarily, of course - seems like an excellent option.

Feeling around with my perception inside myself, I look for my core and find it in only a few moments. Seizing the supply of mana inside it, I examine it as carefully as I can under the circumstances.

At its basis, mana is free-flowing energy. I don't fully know what it is, where it comes from - the only thing I do know about it is that I can absorb it from otherwise minute sources and that I can give it to others. It's both abilities that I'm attempting to use.

Opening my eyes, one hand feebly clutching at my stomach, I grip the core tightly, channeling every ounce of mana I have in my possession down my arm.

A slight contact interrupts the process, my mana freezing inches from the core. Looking down, I see Theory staring at me, a strangely obvious expression of concern on her dark face.

I pause, stopping for a moment as I consider what I'm doing. What sort of half-baked plan had I been about to execute? There's no way to be sure that the core in my palm functions properly, or that it would be possible for me to transfer my soul into it even if it was.

Setting it down, I lie flat on my back, glaring at the ceiling. Why are decisions so hard? Why can't something be easy for once!?

Theory taps my wrist, and the unexpected surprise jolts me a bit. Not very much - only a faint tap.

But the mana in my hand is already charged, and it unleashes upon the nearest target.

The core.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

My eyes snap open, and the first thing I wonder is is it over?

Sitting up, I have the odd sensation of seeing in multiple places at once. On one hand, I'm looking at my knees, sweat (I remember the word!!!) still dripping off them. On the other, I'm looking at the entire room from an exterior perspective, the doubled perception increasing my already persistent headache. It's not entirely different from my mana perception, but involuntary.

Shaking my head, the perception remains the same, and I wince from the expanded view. Reaching down, I pick up the discarded core and stare at it in surprise.

It's glowing. Not a small, dim glow, either - it's a full-blown crimson shine, faint tendrils of mana coming off of it as it absorbs mana from the air at a rate I'm unable to perform myself. At the same time, I can distinctly feel my own hands touching... myself?

I hide it underneath my bed, and my perception doesn't change.

Those emotions that I had worked so hard to repress now seem more vulnerable, closer to the surface of my mind. It grants a surprising clarity into how I'm feeling, contrasting the other part of me.

The other part of me, the core now under my bed, is analyzing myself with a cold, almost clinical view. Carefully and precisely considering my emotional state as a detached existence, almost prodding. It's a perspective that's significantly more similar to how my mind had once operated, back when I was only Argus and not Jason.

Am I...

Am I split?

Or was I split to begin with?