Pandora Unchained - a Cultivation Progression Fantasy

Not even Hatred was spared. The wild corruption that had been burrowing into his body became an easy target. Over half of the corruption was obliterated in a matter of seconds. What remained of the corruption joined the Violence and Madness in Sorin's body and rallied against a common enemy.

Herald of Strife indeed, thought Sorin as he lost control of portions of his body. Gradually eroding my senses and rendering me unaware of my predicament. He lowered my guard to the point that I used both my divine poisons in battle and struck when I was in a weakened state.

Sorin reached out to Ophiuchan Simulation, only to discover that his mental processing aid had also been unknowingly corrupted. Threads of Strife now filled the constellation, subverting the divine skill in favor of more sinister calculations.

Barely in control of his body, Sorin pulled out the only thing he could think of that could tip the balance: the pink crystal he'd been awarded in the harpy dungeon. Slowly absorbing it was out of the question, so he bit down on the crystal, filling his mouth with glass-like shards. Dense streams of Jealousy filled his body, joining Madness, Violence, and Hatred in a bid to oust the more powerful corruptive element inside his body.

Fighting poison with poison is an effective strategy but one that can often backfire. Even if I win, will I still be in control of myself?

The crystal of Jealousy slightly increased his odds of survival, but it was clear that this much wasn't enough. Fortunately, Sorin had another source of poison to draw on. He reached out to his bracelet and directed the two remaining doses of Achlys's tears at Azrakul's growing spiritual form.

The herald cackled mockingly as the divine poison burned away his spiritual torso. "I told you already, my victory is inevitable. I have accounted for all possibilities and eventualities. It's the same for those corrupted crystals you're reaching for. Why resist when the result is a foregone conclusion?"

Tainted energy poured into Sorin's body as he stabbed the dozen divine crystals he'd collected into his thigh. Potent corruption and divinity poured into his body and attacked Azrakul, further weakening the spiritual avatar. As for the foreign substance corrupting the crystals, there was no controlling it. It attacked Sorin's body indiscriminately, leaving Azrakul little choice but to expend some of his energy to destroy it.

"This is the end of the line," said Azrakul, weaker than ever but still strong enough to take Sorin out. "You've exhausted all your options. Your rat is restrained thanks to my covert manipulation of his internal corruption. What's more, your companions have fully fallen out with you. They won't regain their senses before I've completely taken over.

"Now stop resisting and cooperate with this Herald's possession. If you make this easy, I'll be sure to fulfill your last wish and unleash vengeance upon those who wronged your parents. Don't you want to find out what happened? Don't you want those responsible to pay? I can make that happen, Sorin. In fact, I might be the only one who cares enough to act on the clear karmic links pointing back to the perpetrators."

"Drop dead," spat Sorin, his emotions getting the better of him. Madness, Violence, Hatred, and Jealousy bubbled inside him, pushing away all rationality. He hated his family. Hated the Grand Elder. He was Jealous of Fineas and half-mad, given the erosion of his mind. Violence was the only answer he could think of, but even this all-powerful tool was failing him. He was clawing desperately for a handhold but was slowly sinking into the mire that was corruption.

"So be it," said Azrakul. His spirit grew as large amounts of Strife were extracted from his prison. The hole grew larger, and Azrakul grew increasingly corporeal. "Prepare to meet your maker, Sorin Abberjay Kepler!"

His spirit body pounced on Sorin's and ravaged the divinity and corruption clinging to their host like armor. Even with these firm defenses in place, waves of spiritual energy leaked through, weakening his soul little by little.

"Let the ninth evil be born," whispered Azrakul, sucking in the four motes of corruption and using Sorin's blood as a catalyst.

"I am the corrupt divinity, the relentless Evil called Persistence.

"I am the patient shadow lurking in the minds of men.

"I am the Redeemer, the Rekindler of Fates.

"I am Unstoppable.

"I am Inevitable!"

His words were like a spell that melted away all resistance in the four bundles of corruption. Meaning suffused Sorin's mindscape, a purpose that caused all five energies to begin fusing.

A tiny speck was born then. A small seed at the center of their fusing mass.

A new evil… was emerging.

Sorin's world was darkening, and his mind was spinning. He thought back to his actions and efforts, his unwillingness to give up. His memories fused with Azrakul's experiences of imprisonment in Delphi's dark catacombs and his lengthy struggle to break free.

Persistence was the answer.

Persistence was all he needed.

Then, all was white. A painful arrow pierced into Sorin's mindscape, blasting a hole in his sea of consciousness. A voice rattled Sorin's mind as it pronounced a long-awaited judgment.

"As your watcher and your friend, I cannot stand by any longer," came Gareth's angry voice. "Today, I fulfill my duty. Sorin Abberjay Kepler, I pronounce you irredeemably corrupted. Accept the sweet embrace of a quiet death."

A white wind blew in Sorin's mindscape, silencing the voices and stilling the crumbling pieces of his mind. The wind was damaging, but thanks to his partially divine nature, Sorin was able to hold on.

The same could not be said for Azrakul. The arrow had not just pierced through the embryonic speck of a new evil but had also placed a target on the Herald, the most powerful source of evil in Sorin's body.

"What is this arrow!?" exclaimed Azrakul as the horrifying arrow hole expanded and violent energies of Punishment and Tribulation entered his spirit body. "The gods are dead! That temple of the Furies was almost completely drained. This much energy could have nurtured an inheritance, but instead, they chose to throw away the future to exterminate a single threat!?"

Even Sorin was surprised by the power of the arrow. He'd been fearful of it, to be sure, but hadn't given it a second look. Also, the arrival of the arrow was far too timely for this to be a coincidence. Did that wily fox's plans really stretch so far?

Sorin's soul might be frail, but this was still his body. With the arrow attacking Azrakul one-sidedly, Sorin was able to muster up a small amount of divinity and corruption. He attacked Azrakul's unstable soul with a python forged entirely of corruption and manatoxins. Five poisons and five corruptions coiled around the spiritual avatar to hold the Herald of Strife in place while the arrow worked its magic.

Unaligned Strife leaked out of the herald's body, which the python gobbled up and processed via Toxic Metabolism. Sorin's poisons grew alongside the Madness, Violence, Hatred, and Jealousy in his body that had banded together with his small amount of personal Strife.

Individually, these weaker clouds of corruption were insufficient in the face of a mighty herald, but together, forming a cycle of five, they nipped away at Azrakul's spiritual avatar until not a hint of it remained.

The last of the herald had barely vanished when the five corruptions began turning on themselves. Enough! Sorin commanded. Hatred and Violence continued their assault on Strife, but Madness and Violence obeyed.

Sorin's wounded but powerful spirit bore down on the disobedient portions of corruption. This is my body. It is by my grace alone that you can exist without being attacked by my tarnished divinity.

Azrakul is gone, but he will return. Any mutinies or attempts to gain dominance will be met with crushing force.

Hatred and Jealousy hesitated for a moment before ultimately backing down. Still, they were restless, and for good reason. Violence and Madness were a part of Sorin's being, but these two poisons weren't.

That needs to change. Already, Strife was pouring out of Azrakul's cracked prison at an alarming rate. Violence and Madness alone couldn't keep it in check. Sorin needed Hatred and Jealousy to balance things out.

Having made his decision, Sorin approached the two parts of corruption and offered a tentative connection. Isolated and unable to escape, the two parts accepted.

Memories flashed in Sorin's mind. Upsetting memories. Memories of injustice and mistreatment.

How dare his clan take away his inheritance? How dare they plot against the main bloodline.

Sorin resented their actions. He didn't know if they'd murdered his parents, but he found that increasingly likely.

He hated the smug Fineas, resented his closeness to Sorin's former student, and craved everything the spoiled brat had.

Sorin's mind was already weakened from the extended battle with Azrakul, and this infusion of corruption once again brought it to the brink of collapse. The only reason he was able to maintain his sanity was due to a very real, very painful, and very physical anchor—the white arrow of judgment jutting out of his chest.

If I don't regain control, I'll die, Sorin realized as he analyzed the situation. The wind and lightning, having lost track of their original quarry, were currently attacking the tarnished aspect of his divinity.

Ophiuchan Simulation was operational again. The odds it gave Sorin were not encouraging. Should he fail to absorb these two new forms of corruption, there was only a five percent chance of him pulling through.

The corruption intuitively understood his predicament, and the two sources of foreign corruption, having left their mark on Sorin's mind, relinquished a part of their control. This was a balancing act, where a single component falling out of place would lead to ruin for all.

As the corruption in Sorin's body adapted, Sorin's poison also adjusted. They formed a cycle of the five varieties of poison: acitoxins, manatoxins, necrotoxins, neurotoxins, and hemotoxins, forming a wheel of divinity that rotated in a direction opposite to the five sister masses of corruption.

No sooner had these wheels formed did Sorin realize a very real problem: his poisons were too weak. The corruption in his body was far more powerful than the accumulation of five hundred poisons.

In the long term, Sorin would need to somehow strengthen his poisonous side, but for now, he gathered the corruption in his body to resist the arrow's divine punishment and supported the assault with his weaker divinity.

Corruption took the brunt of the blow, greatly reducing in volume. Balance was slowly restored as the arrow's remnant arrows dwindled.

Finally, the remaining energies were purged. Sorin opened his eyes and pulled the arrow out of his chest, glaring at Gareth, who still couldn't believe he'd just shot his friend.

"Dammit, Gareth," Sorin growled. "You shot me. You shot me in the chest!" He swooned as he stood up. The loss of blood was really a problem. "I don't suppose you remember everything that just happened?"

Gareth looked to Stephan, Astley, and Daphne and shrugged. "I'm sorry, Sorin. It looks like everyone knows your dark secret now.

"More importantly, how are you? When I drew that arrow, I was under the influence of Strife and Hatred, but my mind cleared halfway, and I sensed a dark presence intruding on you. I managed to alter the trajectory of the arrow to target that presence."

Having asserted control over his mind and body, Sorin was now able to better rationalize his situation and reach out for the help he needed. "I'm mostly fine," Sorin said, fingering the hole in his chest that was already closing due to his impressive regeneration. "But I do have a bit of a ticking time bomb in my body now that the Herald of Strife's prison is cracked and leaking."

"The what?!" exclaimed Gareth. "Explain. Now."

"It's a bit of a long story?" said Sorin sheepishly.

"We have time," said Lawrence, who was leaning on a tree, eating an apple. "There are still dots on the map. Plenty of time for us to head to the center."

"More importantly, you're half dead," said Daphne. "Did you bring any recovered poisons into the dungeon? If not, I thought to pack a few."

"That's amazingly thoughtful of you," said Sorin, accepting a small box.

Daphne smiled. "That'll be three divine crystals. The interest is 20 percent per annum, compounded monthly. Take your time to pay me back."

Sorin nearly choked on the Emerald Heart Stopping Ginseng that he was halfway through wolfing down. "I thought we were friends, Daphne."

"We are," Daphne insisted. "It's why you're getting such favorable rates. Otherwise, it would be loan shark rates. Three hundred percent per anum, and I break your knees if you don't pay me back on time."

Toxic Metabolism quickly broke down the poisonous root, adding a new poison to Sorin's repertoire and filling his body with life force. The grievous wounds he'd suffered began to heal, and even his soul was showing signs of stitching back together.

"I'm not sure where to begin, so I guess I'll start with Physician Marcus and the events in Governor Marsh's manor. I was desperate, and one of the few people who'd shown me kindness in the Bloodwood Outpost was on the verge of collapse from Marcus's forbidden experiment. I took a chance and broke the first divine chain, tarnishing my divinity in exchange for strength."