Low-Fantasy Occultist

It would take some time for Nick to get used to the feeling of his soul being so powerful compared to the weak flesh it was contained in, but for now, he was more than happy to use it as a counterbalance to finish unraveling the threads of the Greater Ritual.

He didn’t even need to force them, just guided them, using his newfound sturdiness to channel the excess mana into the earth and disperse it through the ley lines. It was similar to what he had done for the Anchors, but on a much larger scale, and the harmony between the various buds of the Tree of Life helped, allowing him to mimic the natural flow of the World without as much trouble as he’d once had.

The Well roared with power one last time before the geyser collapsed, and the blinding violet light was pulled back into the depths of the World, cutting off the alien presence of the Feral God and sending it fully back across the Veil.

The pressure suddenly disappeared, leaving the ritual chamber in perfect stillness.

Then the Guardian fell backward as the power that maintained his unnatural state faded, leaving a mess of burnt fur and cracked flesh. He hit the platform with a loud thud, his limbs sprawling awkwardly.

For a moment, Nick thought he was dead, that the backlash alone had been enough to destroy him. Considering that it had tried and failed to manifest a god within his soul, to rise beyond the limits of Prestige, it wouldn’t have been too shocking. But as Nick swayed, his mana channels burning with the phantom heat of the divine energy he had just grounded, he noticed that his eyes were still moving.

Slowly, painfully, Nick dragged himself over to the beast, using the Shard as a walking stick.

"You..." The Guardian rasped, his voice small and mortal, lacking the booming resonance of the Avatar. “How did you…?”

Nick met his gaze, wondering how much of this was the maddened werewolf and how much was the ancient healer, before deciding that it didn’t really matter. The Guardian had to be burned out from within beyond any hope of healing, and would die soon anyway.

“The World does not take kindly to intruders, no matter their origin,” he explained, barely suppressing a smile at the unintended double entendre. It was a simplified way to view what happened, and it overlooked his own contributions, but he felt those details wouldn’t matter much to the wolf. What use was to explain the madness he’d wrought upon himself?

A wheezing sound escaped the beast; a laugh and a death rattle all at once. "Good. The healer... had been right about you.”

The eye finally closed, and his chest stopped moving. The man who had become a monster to save his people, only to be enslaved by his own sacrifice, finally found the peace he had sought for centuries.

What the hell does that mean? Did the healer’s personality resist all this time, trapped but in communication with the wolf? Did he foresee all this?