It wasn’t about hiding power. It was about declaring what something was—and forcing it to stay that way. He’d watched reality itself wobble, then bend to her will. Not like elemental magic, which reshaped the world, or healing magic, which mended what was broken. Sealing was pure enforcement. It didn’t boost, twist, or create. It simply defined. And that, Emmet now realized with a jolt that resonated deep in his bones, meant it wasn't just a tool; it was a fundamental law laid upon existence itself.
The heart of sealing, he now understood, was about fixing reality in place. A chilling thought, given his current predicament.
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It wasn't about putting things away; it was about locking them down. A sealed object wasn't just elsewhere; it was forced to obey a new rule, held in a specific state by the sheer will of the caster.
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Change became impossible. Once sealed, something stopped evolving. It became frozen, immune to decay, damage, movement—any force that would normally affect it.
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This power rested on three pillars: Intent (the absolute truth the caster declared), Focus (the anchor point where the seal took hold), and Energy (the raw force needed to make reality accept this new law).
The thought struck him, a cold knot forming in his gut. Eanne's magic had touched him. And now, his very body felt alien, unfamiliar. A weak, thrumming ache was a constant companion beneath his skin. What in the blazes had she done?
If sealing forces something into a state, then... what did her magic do to me?
His power wasn't gone, not entirely. But he couldn't grasp it. Couldn't wield it with the effortless command he once possessed. It was like trying to breathe water, the strength there, but suffocated. The ritual had slapped a condition onto him—a fixed state he couldn’t escape. Yet, he was still drawing breath. His heart still beat a steady rhythm. His divine essence hadn't vanished; it was just... locked away. Which meant... there had to be a way to break through.
His body, he knew, was a failing conduit, unable to channel the immense force churning within him. But his totems—they’d always been his external keys, the only way to pull his essence into the world. Sealing held things in place. So, if he could somehow shift his divine essence from his failing body to the totems, bind it there permanently... his power wouldn't need his body anymore. It would exist, sustained elsewhere. Autonomous. Independent of his own weakness.
It was a reckless, desperate gamble. He had no idea if sealing worked that way, if such a transfer was even possible. But it was his only flicker of hope, a desperate flare in the encroaching darkness of his fading strength.
If sealing magic forces a state, then maybe I can treat it like a totem—maybe Eanne’s essence can activate something in me.
This wasn't about shattering the chains. It was about understanding the new rules forced upon him—and finding a way to redefine himself within them. His divine essence had been rewritten. But nothing, he believed, stayed sealed forever.
His body was collapsing. There was no denying it, no amount of stubborn will that could repair the damage or restore his waning strength. The vessel was spent, reaching its final, agonizing limit. Every breath was a conscious effort, every movement a leaden drag. And yet—his divine essence persisted. Buried beneath the exhaustion, locked behind his overwhelming weakness, it still existed. But his body simply wasn't capable of wielding it anymore. He had to find a way past this crippling limitation.
Before, his power had flowed through a simple circuit:
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Divine Essence: The raw, untamed force that lived inside him.
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Totems: The tools that drew out and shaped that essence into something he could actually use.
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His Body: The vital link, the wielder, the bridge that gave him control.
Now, with his body faltering, he had to rewire everything. The totems had always been the external stabilizers, allowing him to channel power without losing control. He stared at his trembling hands, a new thought solidifying. Why rely on my body at all?
His body was the weak link, a conduit crumbling under the strain. It couldn't sustain the energy flow, couldn't act as the bridge anymore. So, he would cut it out entirely. Instead of flowing through him, his divine essence would leapfrog his body, moving directly into the totems. And sealing—that profound, barely understood magic Eanne had wielded with such ease—would be the key.
Sealing magic didn't enhance. It didn't distort. It didn't create. It defined. And that meant it could fix his essence into the totems, locking them into a self-sustaining state, ensuring they held his power without needing his physical form to stabilize them.
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His divine essence would become their fuel.
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His totems would become the unyielding vessels.
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The seal itself would ensure they remained active, independent of his dying body.
If it worked, his power would become a permanent part of the totems, sustained without him ever having to physically touch it again. If it failed... If it failed, he would have wasted his last flicker of strength, a final, futile gesture before Malicebloom devoured everything. But there was no other way. This was the only path left. And Emmet, broken and desperate, was ready to gamble everything on it.
Emmet closed his eyes. Not in surrender, not in defeat. This was a deliberate act, a focused intent. He was beyond panic, beyond desperation—a calm, cold certainty had settled over him. What he was attempting wasn't about skill or mastery; it was pure, unadulterated instinct. An act of will, of survival, something utterly untested but undeniably necessary.
Divine essence. Sealing magic. Totems. The circuit had to shift. His body was ruined, incapable of holding his power. So, the sealing—he had to make it work. Not through intellectual understanding, but through raw imagination. Through forcing reality to bend to the truth he envisioned.
"Eanne." The name wasn't spoken aloud, but a silent command pushed deep into his subconscious, into the lingering presence tied to his essence. "I need sealing power." He didn't know it; he felt it. A resonance, like a distant bell echoing through his very being. Somewhere, in that liminal space where thoughts bled into instinct, Eanne stirred. She wasn't physically present, but he felt her awareness, a silent witness to his reckless gamble. This wasn't a lesson, no guidance from a mentor. Yet, something in her essence responded, a subtle thread weaving through the fragile remnants of his own energy. Emmet didn't know sealing magic. But he was bound to someone who did.
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"I cannot wield the seal myself. But you are part of me now. And so are the totems." It was no longer about technique; it was about declaring an absolute truth and forcing it into existence. His mind screamed the commands, each word a hammer blow against the fabric of reality.
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His divine essence must remain within the totem.
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The seal must bind his energy there, locking it permanently.
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His power must not rely on his failing body anymore.
He felt it. His energy began to flow—not into his limbs, not through his muscles, but directly into the Earth Totem, the solid anchor now serving as his sole connection to the elements. It was a draining, arduous process, a raw tearing sensation as his essence shifted. Eanne's presence didn't intervene, but neither did she reject the process either. Instead, she allowed it, her essence acting as an unseen foundation, stabilizing his audacious attempt just enough to keep it from unraveling.
And so—through sheer instinct, through defiance, through an unyielding force of will—it happened. Emmet locked his divinity into the Earth Totem. Sealed. Bound. Independent of his dying strength.
Emmet stood motionless, staring at the Earth Totem before him. This was it—the impossible moment he'd clawed toward. No longer a fleeting boost, no longer a tool that vanished after a single use. The totem was permanent. It hummed with contained power, existing independently of his body, yet still tied to him by an invisible, psychic thread.
A slow, aching grin stretched across his lips. He took a few steps back. Then farther. Then farther still. No change. The connection held. His mind raced—how far could he go before it snapped? He dismissed the thought. No time for measurements. This distance was more than enough for battle.
Now came the real test. He clenched his fists, focusing his will, a silent command echoing toward the Earth Totem: Activate.
The moment his command reached it, the ground shuddered. Violent tremors ripped outward, dust billowing from the shifting earth. The quake was immense—uncontrolled, wild, dangerous. He grimaced. This was raw, untamed power.
"No." His mind lashed out, forcing the thought down the psychic link. He pushed back against the chaotic shaking, demanding order, demanding limits. The ground steadied, the tremors settling into a focused pulse instead of an untamed chaos. He exhaled sharply. There it is. A familiar hum of power, but now, alien in its detachment.
A gravitational pull surged around the totem, bending the very air, sucking loose stones inward before flinging them outward with concussive force. A shockwave followed, blasting dirt and debris away like a controlled explosion. Emmet let out a breathless laugh. "This is a battle-altering ability." His heart hammered against his ribs, not from physical exertion, but from the sheer thrill of it.
He wouldn't need his body anymore. He wouldn't have to fight with his fists or endure pain himself—his totems could do it for him. Excitement flared in his chest, the most thrilling sensation he'd felt in his entire life. "I'm a real Totem Master now."
But this wasn't enough. There was more to discover. "What if I refine the shaking?" A slow tremor, barely detectable, flowed from the totem... and the ground softened into quicksand. It rippled like liquid earth beneath the totem, dragging anything caught within its grasp downwards. He grinned. Perfect. This would slow down opponents, disrupting their movement before they even realized they were trapped.
He wasn't done. "Spikes," he thought. Jagged rock jutted from the ground, sharp and deliberate, forming lethal obstacles. Walls, too—massive slabs of stone rising at his command, shifting into impregnable barriers or prison-like formations. The more energy he poured into the totem, the more it could reshape the battlefield itself. This wasn't just about survival anymore. This was about control. He felt a surge of cold, strategic confidence. This was a whole new game.
He blinked at the sheer scale of what he had built. The Totem had transcended its old function; it was no longer just a support tool. It was a Divinant of Earth. A living presence capable of reshaping the land itself.
Emmet crossed his arms, his excitement bubbling over into something almost absurd. "My own totems are more suited to be divine than I am. That's kinda insulting." He sighed, shaking his head—but the grin on his face wouldn't leave. "Then again, they're mine... which makes me their master." Emmet glanced at the Earth Totem, now standing like a watchful sentinel, obedient and powerful. "Yeah... I can live with that." For the first time in days, the crushing weight of his failing body lifted, replaced by a surge of raw, dangerous hope.
Emmet took a deep breath, then unsummoned the Earth Totem, watching its essence ripple and fade into nothingness. His mastery over the ground was established—now, for something new. "Well, it's your turn now."
He stretched his palm outward, and with a familiar flicker of energy, the Fire Totem materialized. Unlike its monolithic, grounded counterpart, this one was smaller, barely the size of his torso—a contained ember of raw destruction. He smirked. Magical craftsmanship truly is a wonder, he mused. The totem wasn't bound by size; it could shrink to fit his clasped palm or expand when needed. For now, it floated just above his hand, pulsing with a quiet, hungry glow. The air around it shimmered with latent heat, a scent of ozone already biting at his nostrils.
"So... what can you do, little guy?"
In his mind, the purpose was crystal clear. The Earth Totem was his shield, his battlefield manipulator. But Fire—Fire was different. It had no defense, only fury. Its singular purpose: a weapon against aerial threats. "That's it. You're my turret."
He curled his fingers, hurling the Fire Totem toward the ground. As it landed, the magic expanded, growing to his body size and anchoring itself, a fiery sentinel preparing for war. Emmet didn't hesitate. "Ignite."
The world responded instantly—a surge of fire burst forth, arcing toward a distant stone pillar. The blast was precise, fast, a scorching projectile fired without hesitation. His breath hitched. Auto-fire. He threw his fist into the air, a wild laugh escaping him. "This is it!"
But then, he noticed it—the fire didn't stop. The pillar, now marked by blazing embers, had caught something strange. A second later, the residual flames detonated, sending a shockwave across the stone, cascading burning debris outward. Emmet's exhilaration curdled into alarm. "Oh no." The words were a choked whisper.
The flames weren't dying out—they were spreading. His excitement twisted into genuine panic as the fire began licking toward nearby structures, threatening to engulf the city if left unchecked. "I could burn the whole town down!" Without hesitation, he unsummoned the Fire Totem, forcibly removing its presence. He exhaled sharply, only to realize the fire was already alive; removing the source wouldn't stop the destruction. A wave of heat washed over him, even from a distance, reminding him of the inferno he'd almost unleashed.
His mind snapped back into action. "Earth Totem!" A tremor ripped outward as the familiar stone form returned. With a thought, the ground shook violently, sending bursts of sand into the air—smothering the fire, draining its oxygen, finally ending its rampage. Emmet dropped to his knees, gripping the cool earth beneath him. "Phew... that was close." He slumped forward, breath ragged, the adrenaline fading to leave him trembling.
His heart raced as the reality of it sank in—he couldn't control fire. Not truly. He wasn't a pure Fire Divinant, which meant his totem was dangerous, unpredictable, and lethal if misused. He needed strategy, timing, precision. No recklessness. Fire wasn't just a weapon; it was a disaster waiting to happen. He sat cross-legged, staring at the totem's fading glow. "I have to use it right. I have to position it perfectly. Or this won't be a tool—it'll be destruction itself." Emmet sighed, shaking his head. "No excuses. Back to work." The clock was ticking. Malicebloom wouldn't wait for him to learn.
The sky darkened above him—a slow, creeping omen. Emmet gazed upward, exhaling sharply. "It's happening... This is the start."
Malicebloom hadn't erupted yet. No monsters, no chaos—just the chilling anticipation. But he knew better than to lower his guard. It wasn't a question of if, but when. And he wasn't truly ready.
His body felt different today—not weak, not failing, but... normal. He rolled his shoulders, flexed his fingers, then threw a slow punch into the air. The motion felt alien—not because he couldn't do it, but because it lacked the earth-shattering power he once wielded. No unnatural strength. Just human. "Ahh... I'm still weak."
No. That wasn't right. "No—I'm just normal." He frowned, shaking his head. He had grown so accustomed to Herculean strength that anything less felt unnatural. But that wasn't fair. His strength wasn't gone forever; it was just taking its time to return. And besides, he didn't need it. He had his totems now. That thought alone steadied him.
Emmet glanced at his hands, then at the world around him. Recovery was happening, slowly but surely. His body would heal. His power would return. He just needed time. For now, the sky loomed, a silent warning of what was to come. And he had work to do.
The sky still hung heavy, dark and unnatural, a silent warning that Malicebloom was drawing near. Emmet exhaled sharply, staring at the churning clouds. "Anytime now... But until it happens, my totems need mastery."
He had always fought with his own body, relying on his strength, his speed, his instincts. Even when he used his totems, he’d always focused on one at a time—not because he had to, but because it was his style. His ingrained way of fighting. But now... things were fundamentally different. "Can I summon both?" He needed to know, needed to push the boundaries of this new existence.
He rolled his shoulders, clearing his mind. First, he summoned the Earth Totem. It appeared instantly, its stone presence solid and firm—no physical impact, no strain on his body. He nodded, satisfied. Then came the Fire Totem. It flared into existence beside the Earth Totem, a burning sentinel. Still, no change in his physical state, no backlash, no exhaustion. He smirked. "Right—so I can summon both at the same time."
Now, for the real test. He focused, pushing his will into both totems simultaneously. Activate.
For a full minute, he set them into motion, carefully, ensuring he wasn't pushing too hard, too soon. The Earth Totem shook the ground, its power pulsing outward in controlled tremors. The Fire Totem launched its blazing projectiles, igniting the air with scorching fury. Two distinct forces. Two powerful weapons. And yet, it wasn't overwhelming—it was efficient, smooth, natural.
"Success." It worked. The balance was intact.
The realization settled over him—as long as there was no physical contact, controlling them both was easier. Much easier than before. "Maybe that's why I never did this before... I just didn't think about it." A soft chuckle escaped his lips. The old way was done. No more relying on fists, no more single-focus battle styles.
Emmet wasn't just a fighter anymore. He was a Totem Master. And now, he had undeniable proof.