Many things burdened Kieran, but he could withstand them. He could not, however, withstand losing himself because of what he discovered.
Grisly battle was the only way to ignite the Flas of War.
It was indeed a bizarre fire, sohow capable of supporting life through incurred savagery—a death-defying feat that Kieran didn't think possible. Not because immortality, reincarnation, or resurrection was an unattainable myth and unrealizable legend… but because of the Flas' properties.
Kieran possessed firsthand knowledge of it. He could attest to and recount the Fla in all its glory. Whereas the thods to arouse the Fla were wicked and cruel, the fire was remarkably pure and pleasant, offering power and presence.
The irony in that was… hilarious and disconcerting. Really, the thought made Kieran laugh or at least attempt to, forcing him to guffaw in his mind. The ntal laughter grew maniacal and continued for quite so ti before Kieran recovered a piece of his corroding sanity.
That morsel of clear thinking in the darkness provided a severe and critical line of thought. It was possible but also frightening to consider.
'Maybe the Fla is responsible for the continued survival of this faith… and its birth. Yes, this Fla is pure! Pure corruption!'
The Fla's purity and remarkable convenience dampened the victim's suspicions. It used insidious cunning to subvert any attention drawn to its intent to corrupt and parasitize. By the ti the victim beca aware, it'd be too late from the buried intention to rise from the depths of feigned irrelevance.
It would beco the victim's reality.
But Kieran could feel its nefarious influence burrowing deep into him, attempting to drive him mad. He would not budge. He vowed not to!
Vows, however, could be broken… for vows were not oaths. They were not tied to crippling Significance and bore no weight. That ant Kieran was free to renege on that vow.
And he already was.
Kieran's lip quivered as he lay in bed, immobile and hurting.
The exquisite ecstasy the Fla provided was too attractive, too addicting. It could intoxicate with its matchless purity, leaving its euphoric victim in an aroused and manic condition. The Fla was a demon, an enrapturing demon.
Kieran cursed it. But he wanted it, too. The demon's influence was power; it was salvation.
'…I need the Fla. But that Fla is the Devil!"
His grasp of the Fla's corrupting influence might have been lacking, austere, and just being brought to bear, but that didn't detract from Kieran's understanding of the inevitable.
After all, he had resigned himself monts ago. The Fla was powerful, and he was pitiful. Without the assistance of this peculiar fire, there was no path forward for him. His future was incredibly bleak alone. That was the fact of the matter.
'Condemned…'
The echo of that word and kernel of understanding sprouting in his mind angered Kieran, making him want to revile the Fla of War entirely. But he couldn't. He was utterly powerless. Due to that powerlessness, he had sipped from the fountain of the Fla's power, which was exquisite.
There was a saying that power tasted sweetest to those who were deprived of it. A droplet was enough to form an addiction because its intoxication was irresistible. Kieran could reason with that thought now.
The sentint resonated with his situation and depicted it with alarming clarity.
'It's too enthralling. I want to look away from it, but I can't.'
Kieran clenched his jaw.
Sparks of fury flickered in his dark, somber eyes.
To the powerless, attaining power was a heavenly windfall. They could ask for no better blessing. Power was the gateway to freedom and the ladder to a higher station the powerless could only dream about.
That included Kieran. He was amongst the powerless, and he was amongst the tempted.
'It's too attractive… I can't turn away from it.'
His hands bawled into tightly clenched fists. If he was any stronger, Kieran would have drawn blood with the tightness of his grip. The ambivalence of his thoughts was tearing him in half.
He desired and despised, welcod and shunned… pushed and pulled. The opposite forces drove him mad, ripped him up inside, and made him yearn for the calming his Mystic Gate supplied.
After so ti, Kieran returned to working out the puzzle of his soul, primarily searching for the disparate pieces that bore the markings of his Mystic Gate. Realigning them to piece together his Mystic Gate was an elephantine task and a two-step process of growing difficulty.
First ca the gathering, then ca the sorting. The fact Kieran could only do this in small bursts before tiring, feeling weakened, and feeling susceptible was unfortunate.
And it was elucidating.
Kieran learned things about his soul, or maybe souls in general, that he had no business understanding this early on.
The soul had built-in defenses that guarded against incursion. He didn't know how those defenses ca to be or what determined them, but he did know they were there.
Those defenses had tried to expel Kieran from the Realm of Self several tis. But he learned those defenses only activated when he left vacancies in his soul, and he did that frequently. What he was doing with his soul was akin to performing surgery in the dark and doing it without a dical license.
One fuck up was all he could bear, but that, too, was questionable. He'd be crippling the utility and perhaps the viability of his soul if he damaged an integral part.
Luckily, he was only collecting the pieces touched, soaked, or drenched in mystical essence. Those were the only pieces with the potential to recreate his Mystic Gate.
After making so progress, he ran into a wall and stopped completely. A few immovable pieces were held in place by what he believed to be Significance. Not his own and not what the Imprints had embedded within his soul.
This Significance felt pure, but there was sothing eerie and perverse about that purity.
'I knew it! The Fla is the Devil. Look at what it's doing to . Unhand ! Unhand my soul!'
At this mont, Kieran prayed for the Fifth Syllable. He wasn't religious, but he prayed to the Gods for them to stop insidiously tornting him. This went beyond reason. His every escape was being taken from him, and he was powerless to stop it.
If he wanted power… it would co at the cost of the Fla corrupting him, intoxicating and enrapturing his mind with serpentine allure.
What was he to do? If he couldn't wrest control of his mind, thoughts, and reason by the ti he healed… the Fla would consu more of his soul with the next Culling.
Brainwashing suddenly seed far more mild in comparison. He was wrong about the Order of War and Fla. It wasn't the followers that were unreasonably mad—it was the Fla!
'Actually… they're probably to bla too. The Fla can only take what is given willingly. They're insane for letting it in.'
From what Kieran gathered, the Fla was parasitic but innately inactive. It was significant but also dormant, only flaring during bouts of crazed battle. The destructive glee and War's aftermath were its fuel. It fed on Death… it fed on Destruction… and thrived in Blood.
Kieran gazed at the parts of his soul corrupted by the Fla and squinted.
'What are you, Fla? My undoing? No… no. I'm yours.'
As if answering back, the dormant corruption was aroused and vibrating with a taunting frequency, encouraging Kieran to act irrationally.
Kieran didn't fall victim to it, but his thoughts were tinged with petulant vitriol. He intended to see this fla burn. If it could.
'Not burn. I'll drown it… in blood.'
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