But here, standing in the Crucible of the Soul Realm, Jack blinked his amber, slitted eyes.
There was no blinding haze. There was no loss of reason.
His mind remained icy, detached, and razor-sharp. He had total, absolute control over the form.
Even better, a secondary pulse surged from his core:
[Passive Recovery Active: +5% HP regenerated per second.]
The mathematical reality locked into place instantly. His passive 5% regeneration immediately smothered the 1% health loss from Madness. The health drain didn't just fail to weaken him; his vessel was actively overflowing with vitality, out-healing the penalty five times over.
He was an unkillable, self-sustaining walking tank.
Jack raised his right hand, pointing his open palm toward the two cowering Wardens.
His demonic blood surged to the surface of his skin, weaving through the air in a pair of razor-sharp, swirling crimson crescents that condensed under terrifying atmospheric pressure.
