The added weight wasn’t so much that the two weren’t still able to move, but it was enough to cost them nearly all the stamina they had left just to disappear behind another row of shelves. Jace’s muscles screamed as he fought the pressure trying to drag him down to the floor, but he clenched his teeth and fought through it. The General was far away, only identifiable by the glint of his medals and the pressure that he seemed to call down at will. What was up with that anyway? Was he seriously able to control gravity? Behind the fear of death, he couldn’t help but find that to be the coolest thing he’d ever imagined. The sound of crashing shelves started again. Jace and Satch both grunted as they pushed their legs to the limit to escape. They cleared the row of shelves before noticing that they were heading towards another row of crashing destruction. They skid to a stop, scrambling to turn around only to find the row they just exited crashing over itself with a shockwave of pressure. The dust and noise both settled with Jace and Satch standing like two tall blades of grass left uncut in a field facing down a rumbling lawnmower. Their bodies shook as they battled pressure, fatigue, and fear. But they kept running anyway. They were out of time and options. They needed to do something, and quickly. Even though they were running in the opposite direction, the pressure bearing down on them was increasing. Jace was reaching his limit. Then he slipped on a loose bit of debris. He fell forward smashing his sack of vials between him and the floor, shattering the glass within. His enhanced weight pressed him against the broken shards, digging new wounds into his flesh. But a rush of adrenaline replaced pain. Time seemed to slow down as a thick mist of every color drifted out from under him. Satch turned towards him with a face stretched in horror. Once he stopped running his knees buckled under the pressure and he dropped to the floor. Then he started straining to crawl towards Jace. The idiot wasn’t going to leave him. It was a heart warming gesture but that wouldn't help either of them at that moment. It was better if at least one of them got away. “So about that plan?” Satch said, voice quavering. There was no plan. He hadn’t thought of anything. He had no memory, so what could he even draw from to help them? He had no experience in anything, just faint outlines of ambiguous concepts. For a split second he understood how Satch might have been feeling this whole time. So utterly hopeless that the only thoughts that came were all the ways he was about to die. He saw a body hanging in the air, drifting back and forth. No. That wasn’t helping. He had mana now. He could do something, anything. He needed to reign this in. He knew these thoughts were pointless. He had a little bit of time left alive and conscious with some foreign power inside of him. Jace fought against the pressure crushing his lungs and took a deep breath, as deep as he could. But he didn’t get much air. Instead, he took in a mouthful of the mist that settled near to the ground all around him, tendrils of color swirling into his nostrils and throat. He gagged as a sensation like molten metal, thick and hot, entered his lungs. His head started spinning, awash with absurdly heightened senses. It was as though he could see the waves of sound that moved through the air. Although seeing wasn’t the right word, he could simply hear so sharply that it was like seeing. Then he coughed like he was trying to push a horse through his throat. Pain shot through him like lightning, enveloping him as though every vein and artery in his body carried nothing but pain. Clouds of color puffed out of him until he wretched from the overwhelming sensations. What was happening? Did he breathe in mana on accident? The pain in his blood was increasing even as his breathing slightly steadied. It was as if his blood were trying to escape his veins like a frenzied prison break. His insides raged and he ground his teeth to keep himself from screaming. Satch was saying something, maybe he was screaming, but he couldn’t hear it among everything else. He heard so much that Satch’s words seemed to be lost in an ocean of information, an ocean that was drowning him. Jace was on his feet now, gripping his ears and swaying. Satch was dropping further to the ground. Amidst the chaos of his senses, the display of the casting app stayed steady and in place, the only thing changing was the number of his mana. But as that number climbed, the display got glitchy, parts of it phasing in and out of static. Critical Warning! Mana Overdose! Refine Mana Immediately! As Jace stumbled around he saw the General approaching. He could only catch quick glimpses of him and couldn’t tell how close or far away he was since his vision seemed to be telescoping at random. Still, certain death was on its way. He needed a plan. Satch put his faith in him. He needed to focus. He was out of time. Focus. Jace stomped in a desperate effort to steady himself and felt his foot sink into the solid floor as if made of mud. Then he yelled, yelled with so much force that the remaining mana pooled over the ground spread out as if pushed by a shockwave. It felt like his consciousness was leaving him. He reached for it, but that was like trying to catch an umbrella in a hurricane. His mind was a maelstrom of chaos. But while reaching for consciousness, he latched onto something else in his mind's stead, something flaring bright and burning in his chest, a primal sort of feeling, something deeply familiar, like an instinct of the spirit that had been passed down for generations and untouched by whatever stole his memories. It seemed to relish in the chaotic storm within him, and as he leaned into this instinct, his sensations of pain began to translate into something else. He felt... power. A power that ached with yearning. If he could just release the power, the suffering could end. It begged him. Begged him to destroy. *** Julius Voldenic was well aware of the risks he was taking. The very nature of his life and role as General of one of the great armies of the Kingdom was not about choosing risk wisely, not avoiding it. Risk was inevitable to the great. He had risen to his station because he was willing to bet everything for it. Of course, competence, power, and lineage had a great deal to do with him rising to his station, but more than all of that was his willingness to sacrifice. Capturing these monsters disguised as children in order to bring them into the kingdom was the second riskiest plan he had ever orchestrated. And due to him trusting Cornelius, a worst-case scenario was emerging right in front of him. Maybe he should have told Cornelius the truth of who, no, what these children were. Then he may have slain them on his own accord before even receiving the order to do so. But as events played out, Julius knew better than to linger over regrets. Hindsight always showed a better choice. What he had to focus on now was what was right in front of him. He had a mess to clean up. One of the Key Demons that Cornelius had foolishly protected was shifting. The boy screamed and flailed, stomping cracks through the floor and summoning gusts of debris with the swinging of his limbs. His veins glowed with a myriad of mixing colors, the raw toxic mana merging with his flesh without purification. The colors combined to form blackness from once vibrant hues. Once the monster's veins were dark as night, he dropped to all fours, poised like a predator of the wilds. The black from his veins bled over his skin like an ink spill. Then the blackness reached the Halo. The glorious ring of light that should never have graced this monsters' heads was being tainted before his eyes, sickening black mana spreading through it like venom and turning its golden glow dark and sinister. He would watch no more of this. He dismissed his Domineering Presence ability and poured his will into his Halo. His vast Artima ignited at his request to Cast, illuminating the room in a flash of brilliant light. “Mortal Judgement.” Triggered by his words, the Artima connected with the blueprint of Mortal Judgement, a cast thoroughly perfected over years of meticulous effort. With a hand outstretched, Julius set the origin point for the cast to begin. Pure energy, something like a light that let none of its luminescence escape, collected in the shape of a bead. From there it expanded into an orb wider than Julius was tall. Then it burst, leaving the shape of a glowing scythe at its center like a sculpture left from a hunk of marble. The remaining pieces of the orb began to bend and warp not just themselves but the space around them until they were sucked into the scythe with a rush of energy followed by a sound like a resonant gong struck by Artideus Himself. A series of intricate symbols wrapped around the weapon, turning the condensed light as solid as steel and bright as silver. Julius closed his hand over it and the symbols made their way over the long curved sickle, its blade glistening like starlight. Once it had finished forming, he spun it in a circle, shearing space itself with its edge. This was the weapon conceived from the mastery of all Artima disciplines. Julius had its cast created from the efforts of the finest Imagineers the Kingdom had to offer. It was a weapon fit to be wielded by death itself. Its cut spelt pure elimination. While it had been created as his trump card for something specific, over time it had been too useful to hide. Times when he needed to be quick and thorough. Confronting a Key Demon within kingdom borders counted as such a time. He would cast divine judgement on the scourge that tainted this world. Major Caps caught up. He must have rushed over after hearing the commotion. That was a shame. He slowed near Voldenic, looking from the divine weapon to the figure encased in blackness. He sputtered in shock. “A Demon?! General how--” With a spin of his scythe, its edge cut through the Major’s head with as little resistance as air. Space itself distorted from the slash, sucking the poor man’s blood into the abyss to leave the floor without a drop. Once the spatial tear closed, the body crumpled to the ground, head before body. Compared to the loss of Cornelius, Caps was of little consequence. But it was still a shame to lose a playable piece in this game without any reward. However, giving the Major the chance to share what he had seen was not a risk worth taking, but a sacrifice worth making. He would of course write a heartfelt message to his wife, letting her know that her husband gave his life for the glory of Artideus. There was no finer honor. With a spin he readied the scythe in both hands, preparing for the demon’s technique. With its memories stolen away, he could be sure that it wouldn’t know any true Fell Arts, but if the demon could absorb mana into what appeared to be an enhancement technique, Julius would be wise to expect anything. The demons were driven by mad bloodlust. Most of their techniques he had faced before focused on internal enhancement and alteration, making sure they were able to feel each kill with their own flesh. They were mindless monsters deserving extinction, never knowing or caring when outmatched. They desired nothing but destruction and lived only for chaos. So Julius stood stunned as the demon scooped up the other child and ran.