Whyte Magic: Black Heart

Healing magic has gone by many aliases, each a narrow and mal-descript generalization of what the practice entails: White Magic, Alchemy, Holy Magic, Regeneration, Voodoo, Witchcraft, Miracles, Gifting, among many others. Healing magic is, at least, a ubiquitous term used by all who know of the practice and by those who perform it.

The art is perhaps the most difficult magical practice to gain an affinity for, much more difficult to master it. The flows required to perform any healing spells are derived in equal parts from Light, Earth, Wind, Fire, and Water magic; the "spiritual" opposition of necromancy. To make matters even more complicated: healing magic also requires reagents, either of the caster's make or, more commonly, the receiver's body, as well as the catalyst. A tremendous amount of concentration is requisite of any healing spell cast; it is tantamount to surgery, though can be far more effective.

In worlds where humans do not possess innate magical abilities, or their magical ability is lacking, the healing arts tend not to develop. Instead, the artificial practices and sciences which substitute the welfare of humans evolve - such as bio-engineering, bio-chemistry, neurology, various surgical practices, and any of the other menageries of doctorate sciences. We humans fear death so much that we will waste our entire lives attempting to prolong them.

Healers are often associated with miracles and divine nature or sending. Many of the practitioners of the magic, even, believe this nescient fabrication. As a result, in worlds where the magic is prevalent, orthodoxies, churches, beliefs, and even entire religions are founded and crafted around the exercise. This is absolute rubbish, in my opinion, however it is not without a certain empathetic understanding. After all, if you knew someone who could save your life from a lethal injury or terminal illness by merely "laying their hands upon you," would you not be inclined to believe in miracles? The blithe, unlettered plebs most certainly think so. Though, hardly everyone who practices the art is holy or divine.

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Needless to say, I've never been a very capable healer. Nay, even that is a gross exaggeration of my ability. Healing a cut on my finger with magic would take me longer than the natural process would. My tremendous affinity for Earth magic leaves me lacking in the other areas of a defined healer. I cannot conjure or maintain flows of the other elements long or strong enough to suffice for even the most basic applications.

I have found my way around this, however, in botany, hunting and true alchemy. All but the most severe of blows can be tempered with the appropriate amount of study, experimentation, and production of the proper chemical compounds and salves. Chemistry is the only healing I really know.

I have had need of the services of healers in the past, however. Not exactly regularly, but many times over the course of my long life. Every so many decades I am subjugated to a particularly fierce battle; often, but not always, with The Shadow. In spite of my near impregnable defenses and ageless body I am far from immortal; nor am I immune to mistakes. I accrue scars, deformations, fatigue and debilitation; I break bones, I sunder flesh, I lose organs… As prone to conflict as I am there is never a lack of enervation, and my special concoctions can only do so much.

One such instance landed me in an extremely precarious position, once, though ultimately it was my own weakness that lead me to one of the most deplorable chapters of my life.

-----

It was a fierce battle with The Shadow of the third summoning. Two of my allies were killed and the third was crippled from the waist down. For my part I lost my left eye; that entire half of my face charred with third-degree burns, and the use of both my arms; two of my ribs were broken and one of my lungs punctured.

After several weeks of recovery, my crippled companion - having carried both of us to a hospital – and I said my farewells and apologies for the last time. I was in desperate need of a healer. I ran out of breath easily, I could not move the blackened remains of my hands, I lived in agonizing pain, and I still had a duty to fulfill and a world to protect.

There was a widely renowned healer on that planet, a woman by the name of Holly Whyte, who typically only attended to the very affluent. Her services were in high demand, as she operated independently of the orthodoxy and was much more lenient in her clients; money was all she cared about. I knew little about her, having only taken a passing fancy in researching her after I heard a queer rumor that she was several hundred years old. My labors bore no fruit in the past, and so I gave up quickly, but I had a reason to reinvigorate my pursuit then.

While I was unable to move my arms in the traditional sense, I did manage to exhibit some semblance of natural motion by utilizing my stone skin. Much like when I was first learning how to use the magic I let the stone guide my body, not the other way around. It was strange, having to go back to actively thinking about moving my armor - I can only compare it to having to consider breathing for it to occur – but it functioned, however cumbersomely.

With a little strong arming I managed to get a noble to reveal to me the location of Whyte's facility; strangely enough located in the middle of a jungle on a continent halfway across the world. I boarded a boat the next day and departed, not taking the time to question this woman's queer choice of locale.

After a few weeks of arduous and exhausting travel and mana scouring I was finally able to locate Whyte's mansion. When I say mansion, I mean a pseudo-palace. In the middle of a humid, mostly uninhabited, savage jungle was a massive clearing no less than 5 kilometers in diameter at the base of a plateau. To the north, about a kilometer from the jungle's edge, was a waterfall which fell a great distance, landing in a small lake. From the lake a river flowed through the estate, bisecting it between the small plot of farmland and the mansion proper.

After the bridge, following a road to the main gate, was a massive and elaborate garden complete with exotic flora and fauna. Grass and shrubbery were well maintained by what I surmised to be the former local populace of the land – a race of dark skinned people who unanimously wore defeated looks in their eyes and tattered clothing.

The mansion itself was a four story marvel of engineering and architecture. Erected entirely of stone, which shone preternaturally white, the residence was the epitome of vanity and extravagance; stained glass windows, gold embroidered tapestries hanging everywhere, numerous impractical ornaments crafted from any number of high quality precious gems and ores, hanging baskets of exotic flowers and vines enthralling the pillars to the balcony, and so much more that it pains me to remember the flagrant waste.

A quartz step dais lead up to the ornately carved mahogany door with gold hinges, doorknobs, and binding. Several of the serfs were performing maintenance on its pearly white stones, one of which saw me and shouted something in a language I did not know. Not a second later did the massive double-doors part ways, creaking violently with a display of power, and a gruesome figure hailed me.

This man… His existence was a horrendous and pitiable one. He was a tall, extremely muscular white male who wore no clothing save for a blood soaked undergarment. Littering his bodies were weapons of every make and size, and I mean that quite literally. Piercing his flesh were daggers, knives, swords, katar and needles; rupturing his skin were small axes and hatchets; the inside of his mouth had been wired together; his ears had been chained together and held throwing blades. The blades could be seen raising his skin, planted at an angle like a sheath of flesh; the axes were buried in between sockets in his bones; the needles and chains were positioned just so that, whenever he made a movement, he would be cut. This man���s mana signature was the most sickeningly agonized I had ever seen. His entire being was pain, each and every movement a deplorable suffering, each second a torturous existence.

"Who comes?" He flicked his tongue to speak in a pained grunt, but as that had been wired as well he spewed blood through his mouth and tears from his eyes. Not a second later did the blood recede, returning to the origin of his wound. I perceived an immensely powerful sustained healing magic, from an unidentified source, flood into the man.

"What in Gaea's name…" I uttered, holding my vomit.

The man moved his left arm, squinting his eyes in distress, and grabbed one of the longsword hilts embedded in his shoulder. He screamed as he pulled the blade free, blood and viscera along with it. No sooner had he pulled it free did that same flow of magic enter his body and recover his wound, not even a scar remained, "No appointment!" He cried through his bloody teeth.

"Let him in, Gunter." A sensuous voice emanated from the interior. The man halted his motion immediately and stepped to the side, signaling with his blade for me to enter, all the while groaning in torment.

I had a horrible foreboding, but proceeded regardless; my need was too great to let this opportunity slide. As I entered the house the sun glare reflecting off of the polished quartz subsided, and I was able to visualize the interior of the house to a greater extent with my right eye.

The foyer was laid out like a ballroom, though it was almost entirely empty of people. There was red velvet carpet lining the floor every square centimeter, and an ornate stairwell leading to the second floor at the far end of the room. On either side of the foyer were clusters of extravagant furniture, padded and buttoned, with red, blue, and yellow silk cloths draping each chair and couch. At one corner of the room in particular there was a hearth, which was empty and cold on the humid spring day, and half a dozen bookshelves lined against the wall. There were two pieces of furniture even more grandiose before the hearth, a couch and a love seat with a sanguine color and fancy craftsmanship. Antagonistic to the finery, the scent of death was powerful here.

Seated on the couch, leaning back with her bare feet kicked out and her eyes on a book, was Holly Whyte. She was an extraordinarily beautiful woman. She had long, stylized blonde hair with expansive bangs which she parted to one side of her face, obscuring her left eye. She was full figured, curvy and very voluptuous, and had lean legs which spread out into infinity. Her face was petite, with a small upturned nose which only made her look even more arrogant, and a naturally pursed mouth with pouty lips. Her irises were a crystalline blue reminisce of a youth in her late twenties, and her pale face was only obstructed by the rose in her cheeks. She wore a scantily thin white silk dress which exposed her pronounced bust, her smallclothes barely covering the indecency.

Gaea, how I scorn that visage.

"I only take affluent clients." She said, not diverting her attention once from the book she was currently reading.

I was stunned, the air reeked of blood and rot and behind me I could hear the labored breathing of Gunter. I wanted to empty my stomach of its contents but could not.

After a few moments of silence the woman peered up at me from beneath her bangs and above her book, "Cat got your tongue?" I couldn't help but remember the image of Gunter's steel perforated mouth spitting blood at that remark.

I held out my hand with the aid of my stone skin in response. I held my upturned hand in a cup, suppressing my magic with my strongest seal, and let the gold I had mined a week prior flow out from the deep fascicle in my thighs flow forth through my dead arms. Bullion after bullion of pure, refined gold appeared and grew on my hand until at last I had exhausted my supply. The woman raised an eyebrow at me, more out of curiosity than surprise, and said, "Well, I've never seen that before."

"I can see you are capable of regenerative healing…" I refrained from tossing my head over my shoulder to look at the deformed man, "I require your aid."

"I told you once, I only accept wealthy clients," I dropped my jaw; the quality and quantity of gold I barred before her would have been enough to buy a small town, "Don't flatter yourself; you aren't the first man who walked through my doors hoping to entice me with pocket change. Besides, you would need a god to fix that train wreck," She nodded in my general direction and turned her eyes back to the book, "Gunter, escort our guest here outside." She waved her hand.

I have no idea what "escort" meant in her vocabulary, but the large man made a quick motion from behind me. As shocked as I was, and as impaired as my body was, I did not react in time. His longsword crashed down on my shoulder. He was strong, and I fell to my knees and dropped the gold, but my diamond happened to be in that general vicinity at the time, and I suffered no damage.

The strange man grunted again and repeated the slash, crying in agony, and pushed me further and further into the floor. The stone beneath my knees crumbled and after the fourth slash I brought my diamond out through the pores in my shoulder. Operating by feel I adjusted the flows to alter the state of the carbon to something resembling liquid, and when he struck me for the fifth time I immediately hardened it before he could rescind his attack. The azure sea engulfed his blade and clutched it in its indomitable grip. He let go of the blade, which now hung over my shoulder, ensnared by my diamond flesh.

I rose to my feet and let the sword fall as I turned to face the man, drawing the diamond which flowed down my torso like a jelly of mana and matter into my hands in the form of a staff.

"Wait!" The vile vixen screamed as I lifted my staff high in the air. I attempted to raise an eyebrow reflexively, but due to the extensive burns on my face I was unable to execute the muscular command, "Perhaps I can offer you my services, in exchange for another."

I turned away from the sobbing, bleeding man, back to Whyte. There was a dangerous gleam in her eyes and a sadistic grin curling her lips, "What?" Was all I said.

"I want you to kill Gunter." My right eye bolted. The man behind me started laughing intermittently between the groans.

"What…?"

-----

The arena outside, behind the house, was not visible from the foreground. It was akin to a back yard in a residential district, fenced off and up against the plateau. The audience chamber was carved into the granite and shale a few meters up and seated one person upon a throne of gold and velvet, overlooking the carnage. It painted a clear picture: she had this built solely for her amusement.

Evidently the world's greatest healer, the self proclaimed "miracle worker," was also a deviant and a sadist. She offered me a complete restoration, regeneration, and organ reconstruction on the condition that I best her personal "assistant" in the blood arena.

I was far from the first to attempt to best Gunter in combat, as evinced by the numerous blood stains in the sand and the still-fresh severed head of a man on a pike at the far end of the pit. The pit was not very large, perhaps only a few meters in diameter. The mangled man of steel was clearly no pushover. Of course, he had never faced an uninhibited monster before, either.

Whyte mounted the elegantly carved, dried blood spattered ivory steps leading up to the promenade housing the throne, to my right at the edge of the arena. Her translucent, almost mist like dress brushing each step as her bare feet smeared and flaked the humor. She wore an imperious grin on her supple lips as she glared down at Gunter and I, swaying her hips with each jolting footstep. She wore an air of seductively vain pride. It appalled me.

Gunter kneeled when she seated herself elegantly on the throne, crossing her legs strategically, obviously aware of the thin fabric of her gown. The broken man shuttered and the blades raising his skin shifted with his movement, which looked awkward and extremely painful. He coughed between clenched teeth, "My master!"

"I grant you permission to release the third seal, Gunter," She addressed the bladed monstrosity, "This one won't die as easily as the rest, I can assure you."

"Of course!" The man forced a feigned enthusiasm, spitting blood as the wire tore the roof of his mouth again. He garbled and the blood rose from the sand, flying into the jaw, only to disappear within his body once more. If I had muscular control over my arms I would have embraced myself in revulsion.

"And you," She rose a haughty finger towards me, "Zien, right? I want a good show, do not disappoint."

I tried to spit upon the ground, but my lips would not comply and the saliva came out in a spray. Gunter rose, turning and drawing the longsword from his shoulder. It came out in a fountain of blood as the motion was more vehement than the previous, and his epidermis fell to the sand. I was reviled when the strip of flesh, almost like a constrictor, wound its way up his side and affixed itself, not unlike a leech, to the self inflicted wound. Gunter screamed and lurched over as the white magic sutured the flesh together.

He didn't waste any time, though, and with his free hand gripped a hatchet embedded in his rib cage, pulling it out with a broken rib, throwing both at me with force. The hatchet, designed as a projectile, pelted itself to my own chest. The weapon did not bother me, my stone flesh easily handled the impact, but I was thrown into a shock when the jagged severed rib pelted my forehead, splashing his blood in my good eye.

I piqued both my magical sonar – a "feeling" of life through the earth – and mana perception a second too late, and the man came crashing down on me with force. I raised my arms reflexively only to be stabbed in the chest with an unseen blade and clubbed in the head with a blunt object resembling a mace, if my sonar was any indication. I fell to the ground, and didn't waste any time in submerging myself in the earth.

Sand, of any granulation or stone, is one of the more difficult substances to manipulate with Earth magic. In order for each grain to be manipulated mana must be sent through it with the appropriate flows. As the surface area of contact between each grain, a cluster of molecules, is minimized because of the nature of its volume dispersion, this can be a difficult task; the ability to manipulate sand separates the masters from the novices as far as Earth magic is concerned.

I buried myself quickly, though, and wiped the blood from my face while in a bubble of earth several meters below the surface, only to notice the rib still protruding from my skull. Before I even noticed the flows of Wind and Earth magic the bone snapped in two, either piece flying around my sides and gripping me in a vice.

Gunter was a powerful mage in his own right, adept at remote casting. His own bones were external focuses, like a mage's staff. However, conjugated with Holly's healing magic, the matter was still living, and as a result also qualified as a part of Gunter's body. Like I am capable of doing with my staff, the pained man of steel can use his own body parts to cast spells.

The bone chips fragmented further and formed a painful ring around my waist and lifted me through the sand, through my own protective barrier, and I surfaced in an explosion of granular stone. Before the dust had settled, as I was suspended mid-air, Gunter crushed my temple with the mace. I fell over to the ground, the bone rescinding its violent grip, and caught a glimpse of the monster first hand.

I tremble even thinking about it… It was truly the depths of depravity, the abhorrent accumulation of perverted healing magic and sadism. The already disgusting figure of a man could no longer be referred to as such; he was a construct of flesh and bondage. He had sundered open his own rib cage, exposing yet more weaponry, cleverly tucked inside open pockets of muscle, as well as his organs, arteries, veins, humorous fluids, and the extensive fruits of his "modifications."

Almost half of his ribs had been broken back, pulled out and tied into his body with steel clamps, so that his gaping, bloody chest cavity appeared as if it were a maw of some unfathomable beast. He severed his lower jaw, exposing the wires tying his mouth together. They were far more extensive than I had initially surmised, each stainless steel wire a tendril from the Kraken. They were suspended by his own magic, a feat which should not be possible considering the pain he must have been in.

A torrent of severed flesh, broken bone, and humorous liquid spun around him, the center of the hurricane, in a barrier spell of some sick instauration. The blood which spun around him in thin streams of razor sharp orbitals left the severed arteries exposed in the gape and returned, transitively, to exposed veins; his blood effectively being cycled externally. His left hand had been lopped off, likely a part of the maelstrom now, and a thin pata blade revealed itself instead. In his right hand he still hefted the longsword, now donning so much crimson that less steel was visible than blood.

I noticed a peculiar movement inside the cavity before combat resumed, a violent undulation. Beneath the exposed trachea were the severed fibers of the larynx, bounding vehemently. He was screaming, but no sound emanated. If Whyte had the ability to keep something alive through this torment, she most certainly had the ability to sedate his pain… and yet she did not. Gunter forced himself to slice out his own vocal chords to suppress the cries of agony; he mutilated himself so that he could focus on the objective at hand. I promised myself to end his misery as swiftly as possible.

I shed a tear for his sake and withdrew my diamond, melding it into a short staffed halberd – I only had so much to work with, and I felt I would need every ounce of granite within my body to repel his attacks. I lunged at the man, sending a thread of mana out to the ground at his feet, causing a shift in the sand, which tripped him. Though he fell to his knees, a stream of blood draining down his groin, he maintained the maelstrom.

Bone pelted me so harshly that I was forced to close my right eye for fear of losing it as well. Flesh bound up around me, constricting my movement like cordage, and blood suffocated me; a fine mist violated my orifices. Yet I pressed on. I hefted my weapon, suffering his pata fist to my leg, through the anterior of the Vastus Medialis, the stab was so strong that it punctured me down to the femoral artery. I opened my eye one last time and witnessed the man gazing up into me. There was no fear in his broken, bloody eyes - only relief.

I nodded, bit my tongue, and cleaved his skull in twain. No amount of healing magic could repair that before death.

-----

"You are much stronger than you look," The twisted succubus initiated small talk, going about her preparation, "He wasn't the best for conversation – not the brightest bulb in the bunch – but if anything Gunter was a competent fighter."

I was seated on a thick iron operation table, still bleeding, the rivets and joints creaking under my weight, in a room on the ground floor hidden behind the large stairwell in the foyer. The room itself looked like a cross between a surgical O.R. and an alchemist's laboratory. In the stainless steel cabinets mounted on the wall were hundreds of vials and beakers – each labeled in some elegant script and containing various chemicals and raw elements. There was a large brazier emitting an eerie glow, a bright and illuminate white light from a Lumina spell. All about were various instruments, some of a less savory nature, and rolling steel tables. Oddly enough the wallpaper of the room was still a mellow crimson, much like the rest of the mansion. There was a porcelain sink on the far end of the room, stained red with use, and hovering over the bed where I sat was a large magnifying glass on a pivoting, swivel arm.

"Humph," The woman pouted, glaring at me askance while fishing around in the cabinets, "You aren't one for conversation either, huh?" She removed a handful of vials and set them on a rolling table, "I suppose it's a trait of you strong men. No brains, all muscle. You're probably proud of all your scars, aren't you? Bleh," she spat, "such unsightliness is not befitting of a gentleman."

My arms fell limp on my lap; I was so mentally fatigued that I could not focus on the magic necessary to move them. I stared emptily at the polished hemlock floor. Why did he fight for this creature? I remarked, "I want the scars removed, the muscular and cardiovascular systems restored, the gash mended, and the eye regenerated. I need to be at peak physical condition."

"You do speak?!" Whyte mused sarcastically. She removed two more beakers and set them on the table. She rounded, her translucent dress spinning with a delay, flicking a finger and casting a Telek spell, closing the cabinet behind her with a nonchalant display of magic. She bent over, obviously attempting to place emphasis on her bosom, and started rolling the table over towards the operation bed.

"I've nothing more than business to discuss with you." I stated bluntly.

She grunted, "Humph, very well then. A pragmatist, I see. To business, then - I'll have you remove your kilt if you please."

"I shall do no such thing, harlot." I retorted with a growl. What on earth was that woman's problem?

She pursed her lips, "It is necessary for the procedure."

"It is necessary for your perverted fetishes, demoness. I am no ignorant troglodyte, wench; I am well learned in the procedures of the healing arts," I rose to my feet, regretting the action as the wound in my leg had yet to clot, and tried to cast a finger at her, only to remember that my arms were without use, "There is naught for you to remove lest it is required for the regeneration of missing body parts or instances where external reagents are required. You are clearly a capable healer, and I find it difficult to fathom you remaining ignorant of this elementary practice. You are no field surgeon."

"What do you know of the human body, boy?" She squinted her eyes and twitched her petite nose in agitation.

I pulled mana into my arms and manipulated the granite to force my finger cast at the table of vials, "The primary components of the human body, in elemental form" I pointed at a beaker with a crusty white substance in it, "Calcium," at the vial with a yellow powder, "Sulfur," Around in the air, "Oxygen, hydrogen, nitrogen," I went down the vials one after another, "Carbon, phosphorous, potassium, chlorine, magnesium," one after another, "I know the chemical compositions of every lipid, every protein, every string of D, T, and RNA. I know every muscular group and have a fair comprehension of neuropathy. I've extensively studied the genomes of several species of humanoids. I've torn enough people apart with my own two hands to know you are full of shit, " I growled, "I know that healing arts require Earth magic to bond the elements, Light magic to assimilate the dead and living tissue, Water to bind and rejuvenate the cardiovascular system, Fire to bind the flesh and muscle, and Wind to revitalize and oxygenate the blood," I sat back down vehemently, bending the iron table even further, "I know that external reagents are only required for extensive damage, and that there is absolutely no need, with the exception of regeneration, for the removal of clothing!"

Whyte's eyes had steadily widened as my rant proceeded, though slowly. Her blue eyes displayed a mild surprise, and she clapped her hands sarcastically, "Well, well, it appears as though you aren't a total ignoramus. No need to be so volatile, though," she turned around and grabbed the vials of calcium, sulfur and phosphorous, "It was merely a jest, of course." I wanted to throttle her.

She turned back towards me and added, "I will require you to remove your… encumbrance, though. It will be a hindrance in my work, and believe me when I tell you this." I grunted and grumbled - she was right about that, at least - though I never felt comfortable with no stone or diamond in my body.

"Fine." I stretched my foot and ejected my entire supply of defense. As the stone flowed out of the sole of my foot, it accumulated into a massive rock which hardened in layers after if rescinded contact with my flesh. By the time I had expunged all of it, there was a stone roughly the size of three heads, topped with my diamond on the floor at the foot of the table.

"I need the space…" She grimaced at the display. I sent flows of Earth to the ground, and the stone, through my rump and the iron bed, and the diamond laced stone rolled along the ground like a wave of pudding off into the corner; not so far that I could not use it in the instance of conflict, "Thank you," She tilted her nose up at me, and scrutinized, "Where do you store it?"

"The superficial fascia, mostly," I explained unenthusiastically, "During combat I bring it to the dermis through the arterioles and subsequently the capillaries, reinforcing my skin. To excrete it, as I'm sure you know there are no capillaries in the epidermis, I break the molecules down and eject it through my pores. In the case of my eyes, I merely have contact lenses of diamond coating the weakness."

She raised a thin eyebrow, "Fascinating, I've never seen such an ability. But through the capillaries? Wouldn't that rend your vessels apart? You make it sound as though moving stone were as natural as blood. You must have considerable affinity with the earth too be able to manipulate stone and diamond so easily without error."

"I'm not here to answer your incessant queries, woman."

She clenched her eyes and grinned violently, "Whatever, lie back," I fell back on the table, my left arm flopping over to the side; I no longer had a means of controlling them, "I'm going to administer the anesthetic, now. See you on the other side."

"No! I'll be damned, Whyte. You shall not put me under." I blurted out. In all honesty, I was frightened of her. I could not permit her to operate on me without supervision; I might very well have ended up like Gunter.

"You are insufferable!" She shouted, "You're going to suffer excruciating p-" She stopped herself, and a maniacal glimmer light up in her eyes. She licked her thick lips and smiled.

"I'll suffer it. Just start."

I almost wish I hadn't said that.

-----

I passed out from the pain for a brief moment when she reconstructed my eye with synthetic stem cells and attached it with no lack of force. I was able to maintain consciousness for everything else; the muscle reconstruction, the skeletal repair, the flesh mending, and the other dozens of procedures. I screamed the entire way, and Whyte reveled in it. For every decibel my screams increased another laugh would emanate from her gaping maw. I lost vision halfway through the surgery, but could feel her groping me more than necessary for the magic to take effect, splattering me with the external reagents in excess, and laughing in my ear as she whispered, "You wanted this." Time and time again.

She never even once tried to sedate the pain; I knew damn well she was capable. I could not protest, however, as my voice was thinning and my focus on the pain. When at last I woke from the operation I noticed almost immediately that I once more had a secondary outlet for ocular input. As my senses returned to me, slowly, I felt an extreme discomfort and a pressure on my lower half. I lowered my gaze, and in the haze, I saw the vague outline of Whyte at my groin.

I threw myself into a rage, clumsily falling out of the steel bed and blindly grasping at its structure to stabilize myself; I noted that my arms were functional again. Whyte fell off of me in a tumult and cursed. I tripped over my kilt, which had been pulled to my ankles, and turned around on my back. I glared at the whore before me, stripped down to nothing but her supple flesh, and the erect shaft at my base. The vixen was grinning sensuously, some of my blood from the gash in my leg spattering her hands. She approached once more, crawling on all fours, and in my instinct I fell back, frantically wriggling backwards until I hit the wall.

"Nothing to be ashamed of, love." She purred.

I screamed in a bellicose fury, still delirious from the shock, and kicked upward. I struck her in the face with my heel so violently that she flipped up and fell backwards, and when she lifted herself once more a stream of humor vacated her nostrils. I put my hands on the stone, which I just realized was at my side, and returned my rampart as quickly as I could muster the flows necessary.

"Ungrateful bastard!" She shouted. I returned my gaze to her, fear painting my visage. She lifted a finger to her nose and it lit up; the blood retreating once more back into her nasal cavity. I jumped up to my feet and fell over again, my equilibrium in shambles. I hadn't noticed her rise to her feet, either, but I did feel her soft toes dig into my throat.

She was placing a considerable amount of pressure in my suprasternal notch, clutching my trachea. I was suffocating, "I bring you back to better condition than you ever were, you insufferable wretch, and you deign it reasonable to strike me?!" She sealed my mana, somehow, with a powerful spell of her own. It would have been a trivial matter to dispel it, had I been more cognitive, "That damn eye of yours was one of the hardest things I've ever had to work on! Did you know that you have a mutated inferior oblique? You have a broader range of vision than most people; it was a nightmare to reconstruct that!" I couldn't breathe, my hands were gripping her foot but she must have been using physical attunement because it would not budge, "I even got rid of your stigmatism! Your left eye is probably the strongest natural human eye in the world, right now, you prick!"

"You're a rabid dog, boy! I can tame you!"

"NO!" As I was about to pass into unconsciousness once more I felt a surge of mana well from within me; I managed to instinctually break the seal on myself and physically attune the muscles in my arms. I tossed her foot to the side with no lack of strength, and she toppled atop me. Her soft skin rubbing against mine was like a knife rending my flesh with jagged teeth. I scooped her up in my left arm and threw her aside; she rolled across the room several meters and crashed into one of the rolling tables.

I rose to my feet, the mana welling within me in a violent maelstrom. I brought the diamond to my fists, encasing them entirely, and poured almost all of my mana into my left arm. I threw a punch at the ivory stone and brought the entire wall down. I never looked back, I was so frightened, and I fled as fast as my heavy feet and disoriented mind could permit.

-----

That woman was far more twisted than I could have ever imagined. She was sick, and I was glad to be rid of her. Or so I thought…

-----

While her mind might be deplorable, her work most certainly was not. Whyte did not lie when she said I had one of the strongest left eyes in the world. My vision was magnificent, and a real asset in the years to come.

Almost immediately after my regeneration I assaulted a city in the western continent of Nitarra which was dangerously close to manifesting a mana cannon for the purposes of military superiority over their prolific neighbors. I was confident enough in my work, and left the nation unsupervised for several years after the fact, rarely turning my gaze to that sector of the world.

It was a grievous error on my part, as somehow the department in charge of the weapon's development had eluded my ire. Half a dozen years after my initial assault on the city I began perceiving intolerable fluctuations in the mana equilibrium in that country once more. I made for the capital and bid the current monarch, the son of the man I slew in my earlier demonstration, a cessation to their activities and development. I was "received" with equal part enmity and omissive disregard.

Being the "considerate" individual that I am, however, I granted the king a single year to dismantle their projects ere I officially declare war against the nation. I told him I would not forgive his transgressions a third time, and that his entire nation would suffer my righteous wrath should he not heed my advice. This, he took seriously, at least, though in no good grace or reasonable suggestion.

The imbecile actually prepared for war. So strong was his odium for me that he would jeopardize the lives of his entire charge all for the sake ending my life. Very well, I indulged his ignorance; I will show this vile world the wrath of nature. So proud I was, to act in proxy to nature's equilibrium.

At the year's end I approached the city's walls, only to be met by a considerable force of opposing infantry. Thousands of the nation's finest soldiers, armed with polearms and swords and longbows and ballistae and cannons, were arranged in legion before me; not a single one of them had forgotten what I was capable of, and no one would underestimate me.

-----

I erected a podium of stone, just out of archer's range, several dozen meters up in the air; a sheer column of all the nearby granite, quartz, shale, and igneous rock within the area. It saddened me to think of all the life which would have been lost in this battle, of homo sapien, animalia, and plantae nature. The crossfire would inflict massive damage, and I would not be able to fight conservatively if I hoped to succeed.

"I seek passage into the administrative facilities of the Division of Technologies. I do not seek open conflict!" I shouted at the top of my lungs. "It's times like this I wish I were proficient in transmittance spells," I mused to myself.

I was met with silence; at first I thought because no one had heard me, but was soon corrected when a volley of high tension ballistae rounds and three cannonballs sundered my platform. I sighed as the platform crumbled and I fell to the earth, and brought to arms my diamond staff. As the substance is effectively an extension of my own body, I am able to use it as an internal focus even when it is distanced from my body.

Halfway in my descent to the ground, I threw my staff will all my might into the heart of the crowd. I remotely cast a Terra Khara Procella spell with no lack of mana. The earth sundered, splitting in twain at the point of impact, and great waves of stone, soil, and bodies ruptured outwards.

I struck the ground with a grunt; not because of the force, but because I slew no less than two hundred men and four hundred plants and animals in that single attack, their mana signatures fading away like small candles in the center of a torrential deluge. No matter: I would not relent, I would not show mercy, I could not afford to. The world itself was at stake should I have permitted such sinful technology to persist. I would bite my tongue and strike decisively.

-----

Morale fell quickly. I raced all about the field, swinging with my staff, cleaving with my halberd, stabbing with my arm blades, tearing with my claws, biting with my teeth. Corpses seemed to manifest from thin air with each step I took, life faded time and again. They ran but I offered no succor, no solace save that of the cold comfort of the grave. They shot at me with cannonballs which, more often than not, missed entirely and destroyed their rearguard, they pelted me with bolts which deflected off of my empowered skin, and they slashed at me with their swords which shattered into pieces.

I was a god amongst men, a vengeful and demonic deity of malignance and destruction, an angel of death… But they had an ace in the hole, they had prepared for this.

The gates flew ajar, not two minutes into the contest, and mounted on giant tracks of steel and rubber was a creation of abhorrent sin. The piece of Magitechnology in question, the piece they had been working on for the past decade, was an armored mobile artillery unit. Its apparent design was not meant to level castle walls and city gates, as I had initially surmised – and as is typically the case with these weapons – but rather it was an anti-personnel armament.

There were several men mounted atop it, and even, given the presence of the mana signatures, a few inside it. My eyes bolted with fear; this despicable creation was intended for me. It appeared to be a prototype, and I knew that demolishing it was the only course of action. I rushed the machine, my heavy and slow feet thundering the ground in violent quakes. It occurred to me, after the fact of course, that I would have been better off attacking from a distance and attempting to dodge the rounds.

I was too late, however, by the time I reached the tank. The armament had charged – so much mana absorbed and lost – and discharged when I was no more than a few meters away from the muzzle. I could not dodge, and I suffered the brunt of the attack.

-----

The machine was so cataclysmic that the collateral damage managed to destroy not only the artillery, but also a good quarter of the city. I was thrown several hundred meters back; alive, but barely. Inflicted upon me were six broken ribs, two punctured lungs, a punctured arch of aorta, a severed subclavian, a battered heart, a blown off right arm, and very extensive organ damage and internal bleeding.

I was ready to bleed out, or suffocate, whichever came first. I would not last more than a minute at most. I was already losing consciousness. Fate, that malicious machination of destiny, is cruel, however.

My vision was blurry, and I could barely see the figure standing over me amidst the numerous dead bodies; the sole living being beside myself within a kilometer radius.

"Look at you, love," The horridly seductive voice… That vile temptress, "Look at you! You're a right mess…" I felt like vomiting, but even my gag reflex had been canceled. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't see… I was fading, "What do you want to do, hmm?" I heard her dress shuffle as her voice drew closer to me, down near my ear, "You'd have to give yourself to me… What do you value more? Your life, or your pride?"

I don't want to die…

"Tick tock, love," Her voice rang with glee, "Do you really have the time to think about it?"

I can't die… I can't die!

You are a coward.

"Oh, you're such a disappointment," She stated coyly, "I wanted to make you my apprentice."

I'm afraid!

And in the end it was my fear, the Fear which dictated my decision. I hate it, and hated it more after the fact, but I need it. With the last of my strength I lifted my left arm weakly, extending it toward the origin of the voice. I felt her hand grip mine, bringing it to her face. Compared to the pain the rest of my body was experiencing her supple skin was virtually tolerable, "Good boy." She whispered and dropped my arm.

My head fell to one side and I was prepared for death, hanging on by a thread. A matter of seconds and it would be over… sweet release. I felt her small fingers gently stroking my torso, rubbing what I could only assume was my own blood about my chest, ��This is going to hurt," She said conversationally. She shifted once more to my ear and whispered delightfully, "a lot…"

She pressed down on my breast right above the heart and her mana surged into me. The agony made me wish for death.