A rancid breeze remained in Azoria’s place. Circe’s heart pounded furiously. The poison circulating through her veins reached the marks. Left sole opened. Right sole opened. Back of the right hand opened. Back of the left hand opened. Forehead opened. They all opened in brilliant violet hue. They glowed so strongly that Circe herself unwillingly became a purple mage light. A pulsing beat thumped in her head. Crawling vines of violet glow reached the mark on her chest. It cracked open. Glowed like a gem. The pain, magnificent.

  Circe imagined that nobody had ever experienced such unified, soul exalting pain. Every fiber of her flesh offered itself to the marks. Circe waited for the pain to subside. Several minutes passed. It didn’t subside.

  How was she supposed to function like this? She hyperventilated, growled like an injured wolf. Despite pain as if she had no skin, not just the few truly flayed spots around her hands, she managed to stand. An energy, a hyperactive, unfocused, raging insanity merged with her pain. The pain. The insanity. The depression. The energy. The hyper-activity. The paranoia. The rage. All these forces needed to be kept in check.

  Her gut twisted. She retched. Her psyche felt stronger than her body, far stronger. Her poor body. Circe started to sniffle, then cry, as she looked at her right hand.

  This was the hand that her father held, the hand that pat her dying grandmother’s cheek, the hand that balanced her when she practiced gymnastics, the hand that had taken notes in her beautiful cursive that everyone used to praise. It didn’t deserve to be severed.

  Droplets of salty water hit her palm as she made the trembling fingers twitch. The pained glow radiated from the marks. Circe trembled. Twirled. Bare feet pushed into the slushy soil. Hands went to her knees. She hyperventilated. Stomach tied itself in knots. She just needed to ignore the pain, but as her back froze in tension she realized it was easier said than done.

  “If I don’t level up, we all die!” Circe croaked, “Can’t you lay off!? Pleaaaaaase!”

  Shoulder bashed into the uneven wall. Circe sensed the impact, but it simply blended into the pain soup. Azoria was a dumb bitch. Azoria had never experienced pain like this. No one could ever experience pain like this! Circe put both hands against her head and looked up at the ceiling as her knees splashed into the soft mound. Time would soon run out. This pain. This pain. Soon she’d be dead and there would be nothing.

  No! This pain meant she lived. Alive. Her hand caressed her cheeks as they slid down her bloody face. Alive.

  “This pain means I’m alive. I’m alive. Hahahaha! Alive. I’m alive. This pain. It’s my pain. All mine. Nobody else can have it. Six brands. Six brands. Six brands. Six brands. We’re special. Me and my six special brands.”

  Each mark erupted with violent violet energy. Even her open mouth glowed. And then...

  She heard something from outside the roach wall.

  On her hands and knees, she went. Pain continued to pulse through every fiber of her being as her ever present companion. It felt like a small drill dug into each and every one of her remaining teeth. No passing out, no going unconscious. The marks wouldn’t hear of such things. Hee! Hee! Hee! Ha! Ha! Ha! Delectable AGONY!

  The sound from outside dissipated into the nothing. The wail of a dying mite in the distance came and then went. Hopefully, it was nothing. Paranoia. Circe’s eyes twitched apoplectically. Then she heaved, spit, and broke into a cold sweat. Somewhere, drowning under all this pain, was a functioning brain. A strange brain. But a good brain. She needed to use it.

  She needed a hug.

  No sense in crying about what she couldn’t have. Focus on what she could have. What she could do. There was a new power. Maybe she could do something with it. What was it? Circe clawed through the film of agony to refresh her memory. A minor buff or debuff. A small alteration to a living being. Once per day. But she had used it twice today?

  Did it mean once per day on the same living being? No, it felt different, like she bent the system and skipped steps. That’s what the pain was for, to keep her distracted, to keep her from learning her true powers. Circe doubled over. Forehead buried itself into the grossness as she cried, “It’s working. But I can still move.”

  The roaches moved in single file under her fingers. One-by-one, she decided to increase their intellect. They were her only allies. She literally hid behind them, depended on them for everything. Hopefully, they weren’t using her like everyone else. Minutes upon minutes passed with one roach after another receiving her blessing, and yet her mana felt inexhaustible. Twenty minutes, twenty roaches. There was no sense of the passage of time otherwise. Circe felt like she should be moving. Hiding here behind the wall of roaches would only lead to her death. Leveling up her useless powers was just an excuse.

  Slowly, her head tilted upwards to peer at the wall of roaches in front of her, “It’s too colorful. I could have least, made it camouflaged.”

  The green roach crawled out of her pocket. It skittered to the agglomeration of shifting roach flesh to meld with it. Suddenly the color palette shifted, the reds, oranges, browns, purples, and greens melded to create a dull gray and brown shade more closely resembling the cavern walls. Circe sniffed through deeply pained breaths. It was funny because she wouldn’t need the wall much longer. Or, what if she wore the roaches? She could sneak around with nobody being the wiser. Was it fair to keep using them like this?

  What choice did she have?

  If she hid here, the massive stimulant pumping through her body would fade, and she would die. But that didn’t mean she should leave as she was, without a plan. Deep gasps gurgled from her throat as she summoned the screen.

  She’d only needed the information about her powers but ended up scanning everything anyway, just like her. Even in this situation, distracted. The injuries looked bad, yet Circe knew the spiritual creatures living in her six brands glued her together. She wouldn’t succumb to her wounds while stimulated by Azoria’s mixture. With her luck problem solved, for now, Circe allowed her roaches to cloak her form. The swarm crawled over her body. Into the darkness of the septic swamp, the princess of the reviled stepped forth with a blissful laugh.

  Every step was hot coals mixed with broken glass.