Low-Fantasy Occultist

The first boy was the toughest, partly because he tried so hard not to show fear, clenching his jaw, fists clenched at his sides, despite his entire signature being filled with emotion, which allowed the curse to feed on his negativity, and partly because Nick had to carefully map his soul, learning how the curse had embedded itself into both flesh and spirit in these younger hosts.

After him, it got smoother.

One by one, the children stepped forward, relieved that he had succeeded once.

Nick wrapped each of them in a bubble of wind to muffle any involuntary sounds, set the Shard hovering over their chest, and let [Empyrean Intuition] sink inward. Calm spiritual mana flowed first in a cool stream, the opposite of the curse’s wild hunger, until the knots of fear and pain loosened enough for him to work.

Then came the delicate part.

Finding the hooks and teasing them loose without tearing too much of the soul’s fabric, letting [Blasphemy] erase the backlash twelve times in a row.