The journey back to the camp was long and arduous for both men. Though they were warriors of the first rank, they were grievously wounded. Their remedy, once again, lay in magic; magic was omnipotent - this was the fundamental lesson Mal had always held dear, and Leonard had learned it well during the bloody carnage in the square of Saint Alter in Ir Za'avin. They simply wove incantations of fortification upon their bodies, and their path became more bearable.
'Is there a connection between Saint Melker, whose bow Medea now carries in her hands, and the Saintess Alter, to whom the square near that giant tree is consecrated?'
After an hour, they finally reached their camp. Thade rushed out immediately, recoiling in horror at their condition.
"Does it happen like this in every battle? That you return in such a state?" he asked, terror thick in his voice, clearly haunted by the thought that should he join them, he would suffer the same fate.
"If you fight at close quarters, then yes," Mal replied, "but we have something better for you. First, however, let us mend."
Medea hurried to fetch her medical kit, attending to Mal first, as the hollow in his abdomen was somewhat more severe than the hole in Leonard's leg.
__________
After two days of recovery, his wounds were nearly healed, and Mal sat upon the roof of their shelter. In his hand rested the second-rank Terror Core he had won at the cost of his own flesh. He had spent the final days of his convalescence mentally preparing for this moment. Should he fail - and from everything he knew, that possibility was real - he could become a monster just like that soldier. Mal did not wish to be arrogant, but he doubted the rest of his party could fell another second-rank horror without him.
He stood and stretched, then took the shattered sword - now his own - and performed several basic forms, a sequence of slashes and thrusts. He paused, sat once more, and gazed into the crystal. He felt its call; he felt a faint dread seeping from it, but simultaneously, he sensed the power hidden within. The Terror Core in his hand possessed something he craved, and now, he would take it. He allowed the glowing violet stone to draw him inside.
Mal found himself once again in that strange, four-dimensional space. This time, however, things were different. The first change was palpable almost immediately. Mal could now clearly feel his Wisdom Core within him and its frail protection. Yet the terror pouring toward him from all sides was far denser, far stronger, and more terrible than before. The existential shrieks of horror were louder now, and for the first time, Mal realized they were screaming words. He was certain they were words in the ancient common language. He could not quite hear them, however, and thus could not discern what they sought to tell him. Yet his intuition shrieked at the mere thought of what those voices might be yelling. He felt that even a single ancient word, infused with a terrible truth, would kill him or instantly transform him into a mutated monster.
The second change he realized shortly thereafter. Mal could now say with certainty that the primary, most horrific voice was screaming from a specific place far ahead of him and much higher than where he stood. The mere thought caused sweat to break out on his brow and his pupils to dilate. He did not know what was there, what nightmare could be waiting, or what hideous truth this master voice might reveal, but he believed that such knowledge would be his last.
The third change was more difficult to perceive, but Mal felt a presence other than the Terror. He sensed, faint and distant, several other Wisdom Cores to his right and one very weak one to his left. Were there other people here? Were all humans transported side-by-side when they sought to ascend to a higher circle? But why would they all be to the right, with only one very weak soul to the left? He focused his mind, and after long concentration, he concluded that to his right were six people, each with an awakened Wisdom Core. Each successive soul was slightly stronger than the last. Mal felt a specifically close connection to two of the people to his right, as if they were nearer to him.
These philosophical inquiries were cut short by a monstrous wave of terror that washed over him. The black existential mist decided to consume him and began to roll forward slowly. Mal immediately focused on his Wisdom Core, which now glowed with a vivid white light, and tried to cast it forward.
Yet the light of his being flickered against the vastness of the mist. The screams from all sides suddenly surged in volume, and the master voice now shrieked in pure agony.
The black mist seemed to thicken, rolling closer and closer. His light began to falter, dimming slowly. In his state - simultaneously levitating amidst the horrific black fog and standing upon a solid, terrifyingly ancient black alien material - he suddenly felt liquid upon his feet. This discovery startled him, and the light emanating from his core weakened further. Mal looked down in haste and saw blood slowly spreading across the ground.
The blood began to climb his legs like some living symbiote, slowly absorbing into his Wisdom Core. The blood extinguished the white light but replaced it with a dark, crimson radiance. This light grew more and more intense, until it achieved such a brilliance that the black mist was forced to retreat. It was violently cast out from his sanctuary by the radiance of the blood.
In the next instant, he was transported to the space surrounding his Wisdom Core, which now hovered before him at his own height and size. As it happened, he stepped into the blood; it now covered the entire hard ground that both existed and did not exist here. Its source was immediately apparent. The Wisdom Core levitating before him now possessed two distinct circles, but it was no longer pure white. It was now partially crimson, as if soaked in blood that dripped steadily from it onto the ground.