Gio's soul, momentarily shocked out of its vessel, floated above the bed. The sensation was immediate and profound: he was back in that bizarre, ethereal non-space where he had murdered Wyatt, yet this time it was tethered directly to the small academy room.
He was shocked, scared, and intensely confused. He had executed the soul separation unintentionally—a spasm of pure will when his physical body failed. This was not a controlled magical act; it was a failure that forced a metaphysical response.
The world around him was the weird ethereal world where he had killed Wyatt, a place of muted color and shifting, non-physical geometry that was slightly reminiscent of a less chaotic Void.
Gio took a moment to examine everything, his curiosity overriding his panic.
His soul was completely detached, except for a small, faintly glowing tether that ran down to the inert body of Wyatt. The tether led to a point near the chest, the heart still beating in a slow, fragile rhythm.
He immediately understood the process: his soul was no longer dispersing into the environment as it had after the initial transmigration. Instead, it was slowly draining, like an hourglass. This draining energy wasn't lost; it was feeding the corpse—keeping the heart beating—specifically through the Wyatt-soul-stained segment of the host's heart.
The residue of Wyatt's soul, which Gio had consumed and which Sarya's focus had briefly noted, was acting as the perfect, fragile anchor between his powerful soul and the body's life signs. If he waited too long, he would become a weak soul, drained by the necessity of sustaining the corpse.
Not wanting to risk the drain, Gio made the decisive choice to put on the Wyatt suit. This time, the process was not one of raw, panicked instinct like the initial transmigration, but a measured, exploratory operation.
He focused his (in his opinion) immense will, intending to merge with the body. The ethereal movement was slower and more clunky than the violent lunge he'd made before. He felt his edges compress, molding the pure soul-stuff to the contours of the body he now claimed.
He burrowed, and the connection re-established with a soundless, violent snap.
Wyatt's lungs seized, sucking a massive, shuddering breath of air. Gio was back. The draining sensation instantly vanished, replaced by a surge of energy—the drained essence returning twice as fast as it left—feeling like a momentary, dizzying boost.
He was now certain of his unique, terrifying advantage. Gios occupation of a new body didn't just give him a new life; it had left Gio with the currently uncontrolled ability to separate his soul from his body.
The implication was immense: He could use his soul as a weapon and a tool, bypassing the fundamental limitations of Wyatt's body, but at what risk he did not know yet.
He slumped back on the bed, his heart hammering not from fear, but from the, unexpected influx of energy that now resurged through his muscles and bones. The meditation exercise was a failure, but the magical breakthrough was a triumph, albeit a dangerous one.
Gio pushed himself off the bed, the emotions of his temporary disembodiment fading under the weight of his pragmatism. "If I have to cheat just to do what the most mediocre can do this won't be an advantage but a crutch," he thought. Soul separation was a contingency, not a technique. He had to fix the body's baseline magical function. I doubt I have many donors lying around.
After a few minutes of stretching to loosen Wyatt's tight, unused muscles, Gio hunkered back down on the bed, adopting the cross-legged posture from the meditation notes. He wasn't aiming for a smooth flow yet; he was aiming for control over the initial Mana compression.
He closed his eyes and attempted the meditation again, his mind demanding the result, but the body refusing the input. He realized the issue wasn't the strength of his will, but the precision required to manipulate the internal magical structures. It was a lot like learning to flex an isolated muscle you'd never practiced with—the brain knew the area, but the neural connection was dormant.
Hours crawled by. He fought not the Mana, but his own minds ignorance. He let the sense of déjà vu—Wyatt's desperate, failed instincts—guide him, trying to find the faint, internal pathway and magical senses the boy had nearly managed to awaken.
He stopped trying to push the Mana and instead waited, allowing the memory to guide a subtle, internal contraction. Like trying to learn to isolate a muscle you've never used on it's own.
At first, it was an unintentional twitch deep in his core. He focused every ounce of his discipline onto that twitch, replicating the physical tension needed to isolate it. After hours of constant, exhausting internal struggle, the twitch grew into a purposeful spasm. It wasn't elegant—it was rough, internal, and ugly—but it was control.
The ambient Mana he had inhaled finally condensed. Using this new, localized control, he was able to sustain the compression, shaping the raw energy into a manageable mass the size of two fists in his core. He had bypassed the internal obstruction by learning the "spasm" required to initiate the flow.
Gio felt a surge of triumph, but his body was immediately spent. The effort required was colossal, proving that while the technique worked, he was barely capable of the task.
He checked the simple, glowing magical clock on his bedside drawer. It was 20:00. Sunday night. He had spent the entire afternoon fighting his own physiology, achieving a breakthrough that only confirmed the immense, difficulty ahead.
In his exhaustion and focus, he had failed to follow up on the first deal he made He still hadn't looked for that shit for Sarya.