Stepping back into the Demon Realm feels… easier than before.
The air hums differently now. Not louder—clearer. As if the magic here recognizes me. My portal door seals behind me with a soft, satisfied thrum, and for a moment I swear the ground itself responds to my presence.
Glyph research accelerates almost immediately.
In the human realm, every discovery required effort—observation, trial, error. Here, it's like the answers want to be found. The Titan's influence is everywhere, woven into the land, the creatures, the very laws of reality. And because I'm part Titan now, those laws bend just a little more readily for me.
It's connection.
I feel it when I sketch. When I experiment. When I listen.
New glyphs emerge faster than I ever thought possible. Patterns reveal themselves naturally, symbols forming where my eyes instinctively linger. The illusion glyph comes first—a clever, subtle design that manipulates perception rather than matter. When I activate it, the spell doesn't just project images; it convinces. Light, sound, even presence bends to the glyph's will.
Next comes lightning—not merely fire repurposed, but its own distinct force. Sharp. Fast. Precise. The glyph crackles when activated, power surging through my arm with exhilarating clarity.
Using Phillip's journal as a reference—stripped of its arrogance and lies—I reconstruct the petrification glyph. I refine it, make it cleaner, less wasteful, more controlled. Where Belos saw a weapon, I see a tool—dangerous, yes, but useful in the right context.
Stone manipulation follows soon after. A glyph that doesn't destroy, but commands. Rock flows when I will it to, reshaping itself as easily as clay beneath my hands. Walls rise. Pathways form. Foundations become art.
At this point, I've practically dissected Phillip's journal down to the ink. There's nothing left to extract from it. Every useful idea has been improved. Every flawed assumption corrected.
But there's still a problem.
Titan blood.
My supply is dangerously low. My own hybrid blood works—but it isn't enough for the breakthroughs I know are possible. Pure Titan blood is irreplaceable. And then it hits me:
Time pools.
They exist. Natural anomalies scattered across the Isles, capable of sending someone backward through time. If I can find one—if I can control it—I could go back centuries. Four hundred years would be enough. Back when Titan blood flowed freely, before decay, before scarcity.
The risk is obvious.The reward is immeasurable.
I begin designing a device almost immediately. Not a crude locator, but a refined instrument—one that detects temporal instability, Titan residue, dimensional shear. Glyphs and science merge on the page as I sketch late into the night, equations spiraling around sigils that glow faintly under my fingertips.
If I succeed, time itself becomes another resource.
Another variable.
Another thing I can master.
I close my journal slowly, pulse steady, arm humming with dormant glyphs.
The Titan's echo is stronger here.And I'm listening.