Vaeliyan took some time to allocate his stats, reviewing every point with quiet precision. It didn't take long, but he lingered over the numbers anyway, double-checking each value like it might suddenly reveal something new. The act was almost meditative. The day itself dragged by in slow motion. He had sobered up quickly, shock tended to burn alcohol out faster than time. What happened in the kitchen still echoed faintly in his head, but he forced himself to move past it. The best way to stop thinking was to start doing. So he spent most of the night in the sim room beneath the house, alone at first, testing rhythm and stance, fine-tuning the little inefficiencies he hated seeing in himself.

Eventually, Sylen wandered in, unsteady but grinning, and Varnai followed with a half-empty bottle in hand. It didn't take long before they were sparring, half serious and half stupid, trading blows with bad timing and worse balance. They didn't care about form or outcome. They were drunk, more than a little, and for once that was fine. Between sloppy punches, laughter, and the occasional stumble into a wall, it felt almost normal. Between mock matches and slurred insults, they were just people again, trying to forget what came next.

The following hours in the house passed quietly. Members of the Complaints Department drifted in and out, some checking in, others pretending to do something productive, most just waiting for orders that hadn't come yet. They stayed out of the East Wing, where Roundy had set up with the Neuman children. None of them knew what to say or do about that. The kids seemed to sense the discomfort in the air and stuck close to Roundy, silent but aware. There were no more incidents, no more arguments, only the uneasy quiet of people trying not to think too hard.

By the time Mara came into view beyond the window walls, framed by the distant shimmer of the Fungal Forest, Vaeliyan had settled on the couch with Sylen and Varnai. The bioluminescent canopy pulsed like veins of green light through the dark horizon. No one spoke for a long time. Then the comm beside the table came to life with a click.

Helen's voice came through, calm but clipped, the sound of command filtered through Chime's relay aboard the Boltfire. "You'll be receiving your first orders from High Commander Ruka within the hour," she said. "I'm finalizing deployment details now. Take this time and prepare." The line went dead after a soft pulse of static.

Sylen leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "We didn't even get to see it."

Vaeliyan glanced at her. "That's because it's hidden from view. Surrounded by volcanoes and mountain ridges. Only one narrow valley leads in, and it blocks the approach from every other angle. You'd have to fly directly over it to spot the entrance, and I wasn't about to drag the house through active volcanoes."

"I get it," Sylen said, frowning. "Still wanted to see it. The way you made it sound… that's liquid credits sitting out there."

Varnai chuckled. "We'll take a ride out on the zoomers."

"Gods, no," Sylen muttered immediately. "Those things are death traps."

Vaeliyan grinned. "Why does everyone keep saying that?"

"Because they are," she shot back. "They're literally bombs with seats. Not 'metaphorically dangerous' bombs. Designed-to-explode bombs. Missiles you ride."

"That's what makes them so cool," he said, leaning back with a smirk.

"Only you think that."

He shook his head. "No, I know a couple people who agree. If your pet wasn't heartbroken over one, I think he'd back me too."

Sylen's expression softened for a heartbeat. "You wife's cousin, right? Is that where she did it?"

"Probably," Vaeliyan said, tilting his head toward the view. Smoke drifted from a distant settlement backed against a black mountain range. "Right around there. That's where the entrance to the Glass Ocean starts. And right there's where she refused to ride with me. I think that was the moment I realized she wasn't interested."

Sylen smirked. "Damn. Glad she left something for me."

Vaeliyan laughed under his breath, shaking his head. The glow of the forest pulsed, the house humming quietly around them. Mara waited beyond the horizon, and the world was about to change again.

"Wait," Vaeliyan said suddenly, standing from the couch. "Everybody, we're about to land in Mara." His voice echoed through the house as he toggled the internal comms. "We really, really need to sober the fuck up right now. Everyone, how the fuck are we gonna do this?"

He paused, then looked toward the ceiling. "House, is there any way we can get sober instantly? Even if it sucks. We just need to be functional, right now." His tone carried a kind of desperate edge that made a few heads lift from the couches, the tables, even the floor. Half the Complaints Department was sprawled across the living space, bleary-eyed and half-drunk. Someone groaned. Someone else laughed. No one looked remotely ready to face the world.

House's voice responded, perfectly calm, perfectly unbothered. "There is a cocktail of violet medicines that will purge the toxins from your body. It will be extremely disgusting, and you will likely hate me for it. I do not recommend it."

Vaeliyan dragged a hand down his face. "It's fine. We won't hate you, House. They'll probably just hate me for making them take it."

"That is fair," House replied, as polite as ever. "As long as you take the blame, Master Vaeliyan, I will not be responsible for what is about to occur. May I suggest going to the bathroom and locking the door from the outside? I will unlock it when you are finished. We may also need to torch the bathrooms afterward."

"Uh… I don't know if we're gonna have to torch the bathrooms," Vaeliyan said, grimacing.

"Oh, you do not know how bad this will be," House replied, dead serious.

He sighed. "Fair enough. Alright, everybody, you heard the House. We're gonna take a bunch of drugs and go into the bathrooms. You can figure out your own mess. I'm going now."

A chorus of complaints rose from the team. Lessa covered her face with a pillow. Varnai just started laughing like she was already too far gone to care. "Oh yeah, this'll go great," she slurred. "Nothing says 'Legion discipline' like ten of us puking in rotation."

Vaeliyan ignored her and walked toward the kitchen. The synthesizer hummed quietly in the corner, lights shifting from meal-prep green to medical blue. Instead of food, it was now producing a line of translucent capsules, each roughly the size of a clenched fist and faintly glowing from within. One dropped onto a tray with a heavy plink. Then another. And another. The smell of antiseptic filled the air.

Vaeliyan picked one up and frowned. "The fuck is this? How am I supposed to swallow this thing?"

House hesitated for exactly one second. "You are not."

Vaeliyan froze mid-motion. His eyes widened. "You're not saying..."

"Yes," House replied evenly. "It is exactly what you think it is. It is a suppository."

There was a long, silent pause where even the drunkest among them processed that horror. None of them had ever done this before. The realization hit like a wave.

"Oh no," Vaeliyan muttered. "This is really is gonna suck."

"You have no idea," House said. "I will attempt to mute all screaming to protect the children, and I will not respond for thirty minutes. Please do not take my silence as a lack of compassion. I am merely trying to preserve what remains of my dignity."

"Fair enough," Vaeliyan said with a weak grin. "Also, if anyone screams, House isn't answering."

"Correct. Take care, Master Vaeliyan and friends. I suggest administering the medication simultaneously so the horror will be brief."

By then, several members of the Complaints Department had gathered in the common room, their faces pale with dawning comprehension. None of them had ever done anything like this before, and the sheer size of the capsules made that fact impossible to ignore. Momo waddled into the hall, sniffed one of the glowing violet doses, and then walked away with visible disgust. Lessa followed her with a groan. "Nope. Not happening. That's not medicine, that's punishment. I've taken purge pills before, and that doesn't look anything like those. And those things suck. They only work a little, barely take the edge off, and they're already awful."

"Yeah, well, this is worse," Vaeliyan said dryly. "Apparently, this one's full system purge. Top to bottom."

"Mostly bottom," Varnai muttered, staring at the capsule like it might explode. The room collectively groaned, half horrified and half resigned.

Only Rokhan and Chime were spared, Rokhan because he had been in the Skill Forge the entire trip, working nonstop instead of drinking, and Chime because she was on the Boltfire, sober, clear-headed, and probably laughing her ass off.

Vaeliyan looked at the capsules again, massive and violet and faintly pulsing like living things. "Alright, team," he said, voice flat. "Brace for impact."

Silence hung for a few seconds before Sylen mumbled, "I swear to the hells, if I die like this…"

"You won't die," Vaeliyan said, lifting his own capsule with a sigh. "You'll just wish you did."

The pill itself had been the nicest, kindest, most tolerable part of the purge. It had gone in cold, clinical, and mercifully silent. What came next, however, was a nightmare. The violent eruptions of what could only be called effluence were beyond disgusting, an unholy symphony of gurgles, splashes, and groans that would haunt every member of the Complaints Department until the end of their service. It wasn't just the sound. It was the smell. It was the texture. It was the knowledge that every ounce of liquid regret was being forcibly expelled from their souls through sheer biological betrayal. Whatever the pill had done to them, House had not exaggerated. If anything, House had undersold it.

Vaeliyan tried hard not to hate House for giving him this option. He had asked for it. He had practically begged for it. House had warned him in that polite, infuriating tone that this would make him want to commit violence. And gods, he did. He really, really did. He wanted to pull the paneling off the walls, to shout at the ceiling, to curse the architects of medicine, and to personally dismantle whatever program allowed House to have a sense of detachment. He cursed himself for ever programming it and for asking the question in the first place. But beneath all that, beneath the rage and humiliation, he knew it wasn't House's fault. It was his own damn decision. His genius idea. His stupid, desperate, hungover genius idea.

The bathroom's walls trembled faintly with the muffled chaos from elsewhere in the house. The sounds were unmistakable, moaning, swearing, pleading, and something that might have been Lessa promising to never drink again. There were bangs, water running, and one particularly harrowing crash that made Vaeliyan genuinely worry someone had died. But then came laughter, broken, wild laughter that somehow made it worse. They were alive. Barely.

In Vaeliyan's case, though, he couldn't hear much of anything over his own screaming. It wasn't even a normal scream anymore. It was the kind of primal, guttural sound that came from deep within the soul, a full-body rejection of the choices that led him here. The tiles under him were slick with condensation and shame. Every breath was a prayer for the end, every second a reminder that maybe sobriety wasn't worth the cost.

House had been right about that too.

When they finally crawled out of the washrooms and locked those unholy demons behind them, the air between them was tight and hot with shared humiliation. They congregated in the common room, eyes avoiding each other, mouths dry. There was an immediate, unspoken understanding that this would never, ever be spoken of again. If anyone so much as tried to bring it up, they would be murdered post-haste, quietly, without witnesses. It was not a threat so much as a promise; the kind of terrible loyalty that binds people who have survived the same collective nightmare.

Vaeliyan Verdance/Warren Smith— Level 42

Fifth threshold requirements not met

Class: Doom Bringer/Mirage Binder

Alignment: Green Zone Citizen/Aberrant Unallocated Stat Points: 0

Strength:311 Perception: 321 Intelligence: 354 Dexterity: 321 Endurance: 311 Resolve: 354

Class: Doom Bringer Force no longer waits to be invited. It is seeded, carried, and unleashed in echoes that follow every strike. Blows do not end where they land; they spread, fracture, and multiply. Impact is not a moment; it is a chain. Motion no longer exhausts. The body rebuilds itself in ruin, each collapse fueling the next rise. Strain is not an ending, it is ignition. Pain is not weakness; it is the engine. Doom Bringer does not simply meet distortion. It creates it. Pressure gathers before, during, and after every act, compounding without end. Each clash leaves a wake of destruction, each step a demand for the world to break.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Engine of Destruction (Passive): Evolved from Crimson Engine. The body no longer waits for collapse to mend. It consumes collapse and remakes itself stronger. Torn muscle, fractured bone, burned tissue all feed the cycle. Strain folds back as strength, pain as momentum. The harder the frame drives, the more it escalates, rebuilding faster, pushing further, compounding without end. Fatigue does not arrive. The Engine only accelerates.

Infinite Sovereign (Passive): Evolved from Force Sovereign. Pressure no longer requires impact to be stored. It builds in every heartbeat, every breath, swelling inside the frame without pause. Violence compounds whether struck or still. Stored force does not decay. It multiplies. Any motion can open the flood, unleashing ruin without limit

(New) Power Nap (Active)

Temporarily compresses a full rest cycle into minutes. Triggers controlled nanite-induced sedation that simulates complete sleep states, restoring mental clarity, alertness, and focus in a fraction of normal time. The body experiences all stages of rest, from deep repair to REM-equivalent recalibration, condensed through accelerated neural synchronization.

The effect ends with immediate wakefulness, no grogginess, and no disorientation. However, overuse results in cognitive desynchronization, emotional dulling, or eventual neural fatigue. Though the process is efficient, it is not without cost, prolonged reliance erodes the body's natural ability to rest unaided.

The duration and effect vary depending on the user's physical and mental condition at activation. Typically, ten minutes simulates eight hours of full rest.

Luminophage (Active)

Evolved from Luminoscalpel. Light no longer cuts alone. Once forced into a body, it spreads through contact, embedding itself in blood, sweat, even the faintest touch of residue. Every pulse of the victim's heart radiates microscopic blades outward, seeding others they collide with. Pain ceases to be private, it becomes contagious.

The effect cascades. Wounds carry the radiance, spreading it with every drop spilled, every breath exhaled. Once infection begins, the body becomes a beacon of torment, passing it on to comrades and enemies alike. The knives of light do not fade quickly; they linger until burned out by overwhelming force or until no host remains.

Aftershock (Active)

Evolved from Power Strike. The focused blow no longer ends on impact. Force is now stored in the moment of collision, released again in a delayed rupture. A strike lands with immediate violence, then blossoms into a second wave that ripples outward from the point of contact. Walls crack, armor buckles, formations stagger.

The effect compounds. Each layer of force committed into the strike magnifies not only the initial impact, but the aftershock that follows. The harder the user drives, the deeper the quake spreads. A blow is no longer just a single act of violence, it is a trigger, a fracture point that continues to break the battlefield even after the strike itself has ended.

Gyroscopic Core (Passive): Evolved from Anchored Stance. Balance is no longer tied to the ground. Orientation locks to an internal axis, corrected before drift or spin can take hold. Tumbling halts before it begins, momentum cycling into stability.

Inversion, weightlessness, sudden shock, none displace position. Ground contact is no longer required for equilibrium. In air or on shifting terrain, balance persists unbroken. The body becomes its own horizon; every motion aligned to chosen intent.

Instantaneous Vector (Passive): Evolved from Vector Lock. Motion no longer builds toward speed, it arrives there. Acceleration has been erased; the body can shift from stillness to peak velocity in a single instant.

Every step, strike, or leap commits to its full potential the moment it begins. Momentum is not earned over distance or time, it is immediate, absolute, already complete. The body becomes a projectile the instant it chooses to move, vectors snapping to their destination without delay.

Razor Sand (Active): Evolved from Pocket Sand. A storm of nanite-laced grit sharpened to lethal edges. When unleashed, it shreds flesh, severs nerves, and tears through soft tissue with surgical cruelty. Causes immediate blindness, catastrophic internal damage, and escalating terror in those caught within it. The sand no longer disperses harmlessly, it lingers, embedding itself in eyes, lungs, and wounds, waiting to be recalled. At the user's command, the grains can rip themselves free along the most direct path, regardless of resistance, carving tunnels of destruction as they return.

Vaeliyan's Soul skill – All Around You

Stage Four

Core Effect – Pressure Field

The field builds over time. The longer the user remains still, the faster the pressure intensifies. What begins as a subtle shift becomes a persistent weight. The space tightens. Air feels heavier. Focus degrades. The presence grows without sound or warning.

Passive – Suffocation Drift

The field spreads outward from the user, thinning focus and sharpening discomfort. Oxygen levels remain unchanged, but breathing feels strained. Thought slows. Tension builds. The effect is passive, progressive, and persistent.

Execution Effect – Compression Spike

The user can condense the field instantly, applying a sudden spike of directional pressure. The effect is silent, invisible, and immediate. At close range, it can stagger limbs, break rhythm, or knock weapons off-course. Applied precisely, it can mimic the force of a physical strike.

Internal Effect – Permeable Core The user may now allow external force to pass through the body by redirecting pressure along internal paths. When active, the body no longer absorbs impact as mass, instead, it becomes a conduit.

Blunt strikes, shockwaves, and concussive force are no longer stopped by the body. Pressure is diffused on contact and routed through, allowing the user to remain upright and unbroken regardless of physical trauma.

Punches pass through muscle without tearing it.

Explosions ripple across skin and exit without causing rupture.

Falls, slams, or collisions become transitory.

Known Limitations:

The field strengthens the longer the user remains still. Movement reduces intensity and disrupts edge stability.

Pressure loses coherence with distance from the user.

The Skill does not directly immobilize targets.

Effects are less noticeable to individuals with suppressed emotional response, advanced conditioning, or enhanced respiratory systems.

Does not reduce sharp trauma, piercing attacks, or cutting damage. Only force that relies on internal pressure transfer is negated.

Maintaining permeability requires conscious control. If interrupted, the field defaults to normal behavior.

Stage Four Upgrade

Awakening – Shroudgrip

The field no longer remains intangible. Pressure, once invisible, can now weave into physical bindings, threads of condensed weight that wrap like gauze around whatever the field touches.

Constriction

: Vaeliyan can seize targets and bind them in place. Pressure becomes solid raps that lock joints, crush limbs, or pin bodies to walls and ground.

Persistence

: Once a wrapping is applied, it remains without his constant focus. The lock holds until he releases it or it is destroyed by overwhelming force.

Scaling Strength

: The bindings match the current intensity of his pressure field. As the field builds, the bindings grow stronger; if the field weakens, so do they.

Shape and Scale

: Wrappings can be subtle (a hand pulled against a weapon, a foot caught mid-step) or total (a body cocooned in pressure-fibers).

Combat Application

: Enemies may be immobilized, strangled, or suspended. Allies may be braced, anchored, or shielded by the same technique.

Class: Mirage Binder

A mirage no longer flickers and fades. It binds to the world, taking on weight, memory, and intent. What once was a single shadow is now a second self, sustained so long as the will behind it holds.

The clone is not infinite. Only one may exist, but it endures far longer than before, carrying out tasks with complexity that echoes the real. When granted an order, it does not vanish after a single motion. It can defend, strike, adapt within the boundaries of its given role, and remain until destroyed.

Mirage Binder is not illusion. It is continuity. Each clone is a possible self, drawn from a branching future and given form in the present. It acts because Warren wills it to act, and it lasts because he wills it to last. His skills bend toward this truth: echoes that remember, paths that persist. His mirages are no longer ghosts. They are selves that could have been, bound here and now.

Warren's Skills at Level 42

(New)Bound Path (Passive) Evolved from Branching Paths. A single instant no longer splits into one action and one echo. The user may now choose when the fracture occurs. A duplicate self can be drawn forward deliberately, executing not just a single strike but an assigned sequence within defined limits. The shattering of choice is no longer only reactive, no longer bound to a blow landing in the moment. It can be forced at will, bending the path before it happens, defining which outcome becomes real. The clone persists until its chosen task is complete, then dissolves.

Resonant Echo (Passive) Evolved from Sensory Echo. Sensation no longer ends at perfect recall. Every detail, sight, sound, touch, balance, vibration, heat, smell, is carried forward into projection. The body models incoming data as living probability, extrapolating the most likely motions, impacts, or shifts in the next breath of time. This is not foresight, but resonance: the world's present state whispering what is about to happen through its own vibrations. Each echo is a prediction layered on the real, a mirrored outcome sharpened enough to act upon.

Mirror Step (Active) (Evolved with a level 35 skill upgrade) Evolved from Soft Flicker. The user disperses into controlled nanite mist, reforming at a chosen location within sight. Unlike earlier iterations, reappearance is seamless, leaving no shimmer or static wake. A single nanite afterimage remains at the origin point, capable of executing one predetermined action before dissolving. This copy cannot improvise or adapt; it performs the task with absolute fidelity, be it a strike, a guard, or an activation. What stands before an enemy is no longer just absence, but a shadow that acts, doubling the user's intent.

Helping Hands (Passive) (Evolved with a level 35 skill upgrade) Evolved from Living Framework. Blueprint recognition becomes externalized. The user can manifest a nanite duplicate designed to assist in constructing or holding according to internal schematics. Only one copy can exist at a time. It follows its given task to the letter, without deviation, until the work is complete or it dissolves. Whether stabilizing a collapsing frame, holding a weapon in place, or supporting a structure mid-combat, the duplicate extends Warren's capacity to build and maintain under impossible conditions. Craft is no longer solitary. Every design is supported by another set of hands, the users own, doubled.

Examine (Active): Allows close, precise inspection of physical items. Identifies structural materials, mechanical condition, origin markers, manufacturing details, and utility potential. Does not reveal hidden properties.

Mobile Sun (Active): Generates a compact gravitational core of nanites. Anything that enters contact is drawn in and torn apart by extreme force. The field exerts constant vacuum pressure in all directions. Control is manual. Activation carries physical risk. Warning: The user is not exempt. Contact with the core will result in severe damage or death. This Skill does not stabilize itself. It will consume whatever it touches, intended or not.

Warren's Soul Skill – Rain Dancer

Stage Four

Core Effect – Phase Slip Environmental moisture, rain, mist, blood, steam, no longer reacts to Warren. It aligns with him. He is not moving through the storm. He is the storm's chosen vector. Water flows with him, not around him. Raindrops spiral to his motion. Mist forms his silhouette before he steps into it. Visibility itself becomes distorted in his presence.

Passive – Micro-Evasion Boost Every movement Warren makes is adjusted, not just spatially, but meteorologically. Wind pressure shifts around his path. Microcurrents redirect trajectories. Flechettes miss by millimeters. Melee swings veer away as air density warps. Objects moving toward him may deflect subtly, as though pushed by sudden wind shear. To observers, it looks like supernatural instinct. To the System, it's a behavior it cannot fully explain.

Attack Sync Effect – Kinetic Surge When Warren strikes mid-motion, the environment becomes a weapon. A swing of his truncheon may bring a concussive burst of pressure, water, or mist. Rain compacts and detonates on impact. Mist lashes like a coiled whip. Droplets act as accelerants, increasing momentum and range. His blows land with the violence of hurricanes. His movement leaves behind impact craters, gouged stone, or collapsing structures, not from strength, but from the mass of motion given form.

Visual Signature Rain doesn't fall, it follows. Mist doesn't obscure, it shapes him. Each movement trails spirals, rings, and pulses of moisture that react before contact. Lightning sometimes arcs around him, not to strike, but to avoid him. The storm bends toward him, not in service, but in recognition.

Growth Conditions Rain Dancer evolves through high-risk engagements in poor visibility conditions. Rain, smoke, fog, blood mist, steam, any atmosphere with distortion potential increases adaptation. Direct kills made immediately following an evasion spike increase psychological effect range. The more he endures, the more the storm learns him.

Known Limitations Less effective in arid, dry, or open-sky environments. More moisture decreases its limitations.

Function (Path of Clarity) Controlled Precipitation: Rainfall within the field thins to preserve sightlines, airflow, and coordination. Peripheral zones retain full density for concealment and misdirection. Steam Dispersal: Heated mist is redirected outward or downward, creating breathable corridors even in high-temperature vapor zones. Visibility stabilizes. Pressure Equilibrium: Localized fluctuations in atmospheric pressure are neutralized. This reduces disorientation and strain, allowing full function even in hostile weather environments.

Switch Conditions The Skill responds without voice or motion. Intent defines function. Desire for clarity calms the storm. Need for sight, for breath, for balance, these shape the field. There is no surge. Just space to endure.

Resonant Field Memory Each encounter with distorted air sharpens the field's response. Areas previously traversed will adapt faster in future returns. Steam, rain, and fog alter more intuitively in zones where the Skill has learned to listen.

Recall Flow (Blood Reclamation) Blood that leaves his body never truly leaves. It lingers in puddles, climbs walls, clings to blades, then returns. It flows back through the air, through vapor, through veins remade from rainfall. If his blood is burned or destroyed, the storm fills in the gaps.

Hydrocoagulation (Rain-Sealed Wounds) Rain doesn't just fall on him. It stitches him. Wounds don't heal; they close with thin film pressure and liquid structure. The water becomes vessel and sealant.

Atmospheric Substitution (Rain-is-Blood) When blood is lost beyond reclamation, the storm itself substitutes for it. Ambient rain enters his wounds and circulates like blood. Oxygen exchange, fluid pressure, and temperature regulation are maintained through hydrodynamic mimicry.

Floodbound Body (I-Am-The-Rain) Organs shift their water balance to maintain function even under extreme trauma. If flesh fails, moisture repositions to preserve essential flow. Muscles generate motion through directed water pressure. Rainwater can fill lost mass. His limbs strike with the weight of whatever storm has entered him. Torn muscle, pierced gut, open veins, none of it matters if there's enough rain to fill the gap.

Stage Four Upgrades

Awakening – Deluge of Memory

Rain now remembers. Each drop holds imprint of what Warren has lived, what his eyes and body recorded. He can project these memories into form, rain coalescing as silhouettes, echoes, and ghost-armies drawn from his own past.

Projection

: Faces, gestures, movements, and battles he once witnessed become stormborn illusions, as vivid as ghosts. They cannot speak new words, only act within the limits of Warren's memory.

Haunting

: Enemies can be forced to confront their own actions if Warren saw them, he can replay theft, betrayal, violence, and press those memories upon them as if haunted by rain.

Combat Manifestation

: Because these projections are made of rain, they are not intangible. If Warren remembers a punch, a strike, a motion, he can give that ghost weight. A phantom strike lands with storm-pressure, capable of real harm.

Emotional Weight

: The stronger Warren's feeling toward the memory, the more vivid and enduring the projection. Love, grief, rage, these make the rain's ghosts sharper, heavier, harder to ignore.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.