The deepest part of the ocean was a place of crushing silence.
Millions of tons of water pressed down on me, enough pressure to turn a submarine into a tin can. But I didn't feel it anymore.
In the pitch black, my hands were pressed together.
For my entire second life, I had treated Mana and Miasma like oil and water. Mana was the blue light of civilization, of rules, of the System. Miasma was the purple static of the Abyss, of mutation, of Tenebria.
Mages spent their lives filtering Miasma out. Demons spent their lives corrupting Mana. They were matter and antimatter. If they touched, they destroyed each other.
That was the law of the universe.
But Tenebria had proven that laws were just suggestions for those with enough Will to ignore them.
'I am not a Mage,' I thought, the realization settling over me like a warm blanket in the freezing dark. 'And I am not a Demon.'
