The Oracle continued,

{A skill is different. It is an internal structure creature, woven directly into an existence. Most of the time, it is an intrinsic property of the being or entity it is attached to. However, the Heretic is a unique case. With the Blessing of the Black Body, and the nature of the Heretical Eyes, he possesses the ability to absorb the essence of the skills of other beings. When the Heretic acquired Vineheart and Shadow Shift, they were inscribed into your soul, becoming part of what the Heretic is. They do not require external construction because they already exist within the Heretic now, as a piece of your existence}.

Nero hummed, "Then they are permanent..." Nero said.

{In a sense, they cannot be removed or forgotten. But they can evolve. As the Heretic grows stronger, and as his understanding of his own nature deepens, certain skills are liable to adapt and change, some for better and others perhaps, for worse}.

Nero thought about it for a moment before speaking,

"If that is all the difference, then skills are created from runes as well..."

{All power stems from the Divine Language. Runes are the written form of that language. Skills can be thought of as runes inscribed directly into the soul rather than onto stone, parchment or flesh. When you use Shadow Shift, it can be seen as the Heretic activating a runic structure that exists within him— like moving an arm, or his heart moving the blood in his veins}.

Nero's eyes widened slightly. "So if I understood that right, the runes that make up Shadow Shift, could be recreated as a spell..."

{Theoretically, yes. But the complexity would be far too immense. Skills are compressed, optimized versions of spells, distilled into their purest form. To recreate Shadow Shift as a spell would require hundreds of runes arranged in precise sequence, spoken or inscribed perfectly, with flawless Ein Sof control. A single mistake would cause the spell to fail or worse, cause catastrophic backlash}.

Nero frowned. That sounded difficult, incredibly so...

But for some reason, he didn't think it impossible.

"Then Vineheart..." he asked.

"Vineheart is a passive skill, integrated so deeply into the Heretic's existence that it functions without conscious thought. Think of it as a permanent enchantment carved into the very core of being. The runes that comprise it are self-sustaining, drawing ambient Ein Sof from your surroundings to fuel themselves}.

"So it doesn't drain my reserves?"

{Correct. Passive skills use ambient energy. Active skills like Shadow Shift draw from your internal reserves because they require sudden, intense bursts of power that ambient absorption cannot provide quickly enough}.

Nero sat back, processing this information.

Skills were runic structures inscribed into the soul. Spells were runic structures created externally. Both used the Divine Language, but in fundamentally different ways.

"Can I learn to inscribe skills into myself?" he asked.

The Oracle's presence seemed to shift, almost as though it were considering the question carefully.

{That knowledge is beyond your current understanding. The process requires not only mastery of runes but also the ability to perceive and manipulate your own soul directly. Very few beings have ever achieved such a thing. The Grigori could do it, as could certain ancient human sorcerers who devoted lifetimes to the study of the Ein Sof}.

"But it's possible?"

{Possible, yes. But it is highly unlikely for the Heretic}.

Nero filed that information away. It was something to work toward, even if it seemed impossibly distant now.

"One more thing," he said. "The runes in the Book of Mephistopheles, some of them cause me a headache when I look at them."

{Those are Divine Runes, the original language before it was simplified for mortal minds. Your consciousness cannot process them directly because they contain concepts too vast, too complex for human comprehension. The result is neural damage, physical pain, and potentially madness if exposure is prolonged}.

"So I'll never be able to read them, huh..."

{Not unless the Heretic transcends his current state of being. As he gain more Seals and as your ascension towards the ideal deepens, your mind may adapt enough to perceive fragments of the Divine Language. But complete understanding would require becoming something other than mortal entirely}.

The void-space began to dissolve, the Oracle's presence fading.

Nero found himself back in the cell, the damp cold settling over him once more. The Book of Mephistopheles still lay open in his lap.

He settled into the darkness once more.

He looked down at the Elder Futhark symbols, the mortal versions of the Divine Language. These, he could study. These, he could learn as they were much simpler than trying to combine them to represent fleshed out concepts.

Nero closed his eyes and focused inward again, trying to sense the essence of the skills the same way he could sense Ein Sof.

For some reason, he thought it would work that way. However, he was quickly given a reality check.

When he closed his eyes, all he saw was darkness.

When he opened his eyes again, they had gained their signature golden glow and he closed them again, reaching for the depths of what could be regarded as "his being".

The familiar patterns of the Ein Sof flow quickly popped up. But before he could focus on them properly, pain spiked through his head and he gasped, his concentration shattering.

Blood dripped from his nose.

Nero wiped it away and exhaled slowly. He was trying to perceive something his mind wasn't ready to process yet.

'I need more Seals of Sin.'

The more power he possessed, the greater his understanding would rise, he figured.

But at least now he knew what he was working toward.

Nero picked up the Book of Mephistopheles again and continued studying the mortal runes. If he couldn't perceive the Divine Language directly yet, he would master the simplified version first. Every piece of knowledge brought him closer to understanding what he was, what he could become, and how to survive long enough to reach that point.

The Mark on his hand pulsed faintly, crimson light reflecting off the wet stone walls.

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