Kael's left forearm throbbed. He risked a glance. Spectral rot, like a bruised shadow, crawled just beneath the skin, veins pulsing a sickly purple. He could almost feel it spreading, a cold, itching numbness that sharpened every nerve ending around it.
"Pathetic," the Aether Codex whispered, its voice colder, harder than before, a thin layer of rasp in its usual metallic pronouncements. "Struggling against what you are becoming. The Bloodrot Curse embraces you. It is merely... efficient."
Kael clenched his jaw. He kept walking, one foot after the other, across the cracked earth. Sylvara moved ahead, a silent, black-clad shadow. Ragnar lumbered beside him, his gaze sweeping the desolate landscape, but Kael felt the man's eyes flick to his arm more than once. The air felt thick, heavy with the scent of decay that suddenly, impossibly, felt personal, like it emanated from his very bones.
His vision blurred. A flash. Not the Crimson Wastes, but a crumbling alleyway, wet with rain and something darker. A man screamed, his face contorting, then dissolving into a grey dust. Kael stumbled. Ragnar's hand shot out, catching his elbow with surprising gentleness.
"Steady, Breaker," Ragnar grunted. "What did you see?"
Kael shook his head, pushing the image away. It was gone as quickly as it came, leaving behind a dull ache in his temples and a metallic taste at the back of his throat. "Nothing. Just the dust playing tricks." It was a lie. The vision had been sharp, vivid, and felt like a memory, yet it was alien.
The rot on his arm pulsed. He could feel it, a subtle shift in the tissue, a microscopic tearing. A tremor ran through his hand. He fought the urge to clench his fingers, to crush something. Anything. This was the Bloodrot, the Codex's cruel gift. It enhanced his senses, sharpened his instincts for combat, made him quicker, leaner. But the cost was raw, unbidden rage, a gnawing hunger for violence that wasn't his own. It was a borrowed madness.
"The thirst deepens, Anomaly," the Codex hummed. "A natural progression. Embrace the urge. Power requires... sacrifice. Your empathy is... inefficient."
Kael's teeth ground together. "Shut up," he muttered, low enough that Ragnar wouldn't hear.
The ground shuddered. Dust devils danced across the horizon, but they seemed too controlled, too deliberate. The Crimson Wastes were always hostile, but this felt different. It felt like the land itself was reacting to him, mirroring the chaos inside.
"The environment responds to its champion," the Codex continued, its voice a dry whisper now, like rust flaking off metal. "Your unraveling invigorates the realm. A true symbiosis."
Kael's skin crawled. He gripped the hilt of his sword. The steel felt cold, solid, a grounding weight in his hand. He focused on the familiar pressure, the texture of the wrapped grip. It helped. Barely.
Another wave of sensation. Not a vision this time, but a profound, sickening urge. To run Ragnar through. To snap Sylvara's neck as she walked. They were slow. They were weak. They were holding him back. His breath hitched. He fought it. This wasn't him. This was the rot, seeping into his mind.
He remembered the sandstorm ambush, the scout begging for mercy. He'd killed him. Had it been a pragmatic choice, or had the curse already begun to twist his judgment? The guilt, a familiar weight, now felt amplified, distorted by the rising bloodlust. The curse didn't just give him urges; it fed on his regrets, twisted his past into a weapon against his own mind.
Sylvara stopped suddenly. She turned her head, eyes scanning the horizon. Her movements were precise, economical, but Kael saw a flicker of tension in her shoulders. He respected her for it. Her cold stoicism was a shield. But even a shield could bend.
"Something comes," she stated, her voice flat. "Fast. Many."
Ragnar moved, drawing his own axe with a low growl. "Blood Coven?"
"Likely," Sylvara replied. "Their hunt is relentless."
Kael felt the familiar rush of adrenaline, but beneath it, a dark excitement he didn't recognize. He craved the fight. The raw violence. The chance to let the rot take hold, if only for a moment. He bit down on his lip, hard, drawing blood. The pain was a sharp, clear anchor in the swirling madness. He needed to be clear. He needed to be himself.
The Codex laughed, a sound like grinding metal in his skull. "Such futile resistance. The Bloodrot Curse is irreversible. Its effects are cumulative. You will not recede from this, Anomaly. You will only... deepen."
He saw it then, clearly on his forearm. A tiny, spiderweb crack in the skin, a dark line that hadn't been there before, originating from the spectral rot and creeping towards his wrist. The physical decay wasn't subtle anymore. It was claiming him, one microscopic fracture at a time. The pain sensitivity from the curse flared, making the spreading rot feel like a burning acid under his skin.
"Your body accepts its fate," the Codex whispered, drawing out the words. "Your mind will follow. The Marcus Chen you cling to, the empathy you cherish… they are fleeting. Watch them dissolve."
Kael stumbled again, his vision swimming, the landscape around him momentarily warping into a kaleidoscope of decaying flesh and screaming faces. His head throbbed. He fought for breath, fought for clarity. He was losing. He was falling. The whispers of the curse were growing louder, blending with the Codex's taunts, demanding blood, demanding submission.
Sylvara glanced back at him, her frost-like eyes narrowed. For a fleeting second, Kael thought he saw a hint of true concern, an unacknowledged worry, before her expression hardened. She was too pragmatic to let that show, too focused on survival. The divine whispers, demanding his death, must be a constant torment for her. He wondered how she stood it. He wondered if he could.
He stared at his arm, at the dark crack spreading. The rot wasn't just under his skin; it was etched into him, a permanent scar. The knowledge was a lead weight in his stomach. No clean path. No redemption from this. He was marked. He was unraveling. And the Codex had promised it would never fully recede.
The ground vibrated with a rhythmic thud, growing louder. Not dust devils. Not just wind. Something large. Something with malice. Kael raised his head, fighting the urges, fighting the visions, but he knew. The hunt was far from over. His transformation had just begun. He was stuck on a path with no way back.