In the giant's chamber, Belial sat cross-legged beneath the low hum of pulsing crystal veins that lined the walls like frozen lightning. Ether drifted faintly through the air—residual trails from his last feedings, stale and clinging like smoke. He was still. Silent. Focused.
For days now, he'd been trying to cycle the ether in his body—his own, the foreign, and the poisoned. A delicate, almost suicidal balance. Most wouldn't attempt something so reckless. Most wouldn't survive it.
His breathing slowed, barely perceptible. Inside, he could feel the dance—particles of ether spiraling like dust in wind, colliding, separating, reforming. The foreign ether had once torn through him like acid, eating away at his inner network, refusing to integrate. But now...
Now it changed.
At first, he thought it was his imagination, some trick of fatigue or madness. But it was real. His ether was stabilizing. It was reverting—mutating. Becoming something in between. A middle ground between the clean currents of his original form and the venomous, corrupted strands of the poisoned ether.
It should have killed him.
It was supposed to kill him.
And yet, here he was.
Everyone healed naturally through EMR—ether-matrix reconstruction. For most, the body simply took time to restore what was lost. Those who could manipulate ether actively accelerated the process, drawing on internal blueprints to replicate lost particles. A self-healing design—elegant in theory, basic in execution.
But Belial's blueprint had been overwritten. The poison hadn't just invaded his system it had tricked it. Corrupted the image his body used to rebuild itself. Now, when he cycled ether, the particles recreated were no longer purely his.
They came out tainted.
He raised his hand in the dim light, watching as a droplet of ether danced across his palm. It flickered faintly half clear, half black, like ink curling in a drop of water. A twisted beauty. Neither death nor life. Something in between.
He clenched his fist, banishing the droplet.
The pain never fully went away. It simmered behind his ribs and deep in his spine. A constant reminder that he was surviving something unnatural. Something that should have destroyed him. But he was adapting. Even if it hurt, even if it left him hollowed out inside… he was becoming something new.
And that had to count for something.
He stood, his breath slow but steady, and made his way down the narrow path to the lower basin.
The chrysalis pulsed faintly in its silken prison, suspended like a heart in stasis. It had grown since he first found it—larger, more alive, its shell marked with faint ridges that looked almost like veins.
Belial stepped forward and let his fingers hover over its surface.
He could feel it...how close it was to the edge. Teetering between life and collapse. It had grown strong off his offerings… but also sick. Each dose of poisoned ether he gave it was like feeding fire with oil. Powerful. But unsustainable.
Still… he had to try again.
He closed his eyes and summoned another droplet—half-black, half-clear. He let it drip from his fingers into the stone bowl beneath the chrysalis, where it shuddered before being absorbed.
The shell of the chrysalis twitched.
For a moment, Belial felt a pulse in his chest—mirroring the creature's. As if their hearts were briefly beating in sync.
And then it went still.
He frowned, his jaw tense. He knew the truth.
There would only be a few more chances.
A few more doses before the chrysalis either adapted… or died.
He turned away, his thoughts swirling like the black-clear ether inside him. Whatever was inside that cocoon, whatever it was meant to become—it was tied to him now. And he to it.
And if it died…his mission would be completed