+22 Agony Infusion

+22 Agony Infusion is a slender vial, its glass gleaming like a drop of onyx in candlelight, the cap a jagged wheel of silver etched with runes that thrums faintly whenever you draw near. Inside, crimson motes swirl in a slow, stubborn dance, suspended as if caught in a breath that never releases. The label is burned into the glass, not with ink but with the memory of storms—an echo of the wars where agony itself was weapon and currency. The texture feels cool to the touch at first, then electricity threads your fingertips as the glow inside tightens, a pulse of power you can almost hear if you listen closely. Some say it was forged by the Emberwrights in a furnace that fed on fear, while others insist it binds a fragment of the oldest, most patient torment the world has ever known. Either way, the +22 Agony Infusion is not merely a tool; it is a vow. It binds itself to an armor infusion slot and, in doing so, ties the bearer’s fate to the fractal’s longer, harsher beats. The more it’s used, the more it seems to speak in a whisper of heat and pressure, reminding the wearer that endurance comes at a price. It’s a piece of a larger conversation about what a traveler must endure to see the next bend in a map no compass can reveal. In the game-world’s arithmetic, this infusion is a key, and not a soft one. It alters your capacity to endure the fractal’s relentless test, extending your time in the teeth of danger and letting you stay upright when others falter. Its presence tends to shape builds rather than merely decorate them—tuning the balance between discipline and risk, between burst damage and the steadiness needed to ride out the long, grinding intervals. The wielder learns to read the room differently: the hiss of the barbed wind in a corridor, the almost polite narrowing of foes as they close in, the sense that every tick of agony you accept is a tick closer to the fight turning in your favor. Prices, as with any relic that holds a shard of pain in its glass, drift through markets in murmur and rumor. At Saddlebag Exchange, the buzz climbs early in the morning, merchants leaning over crowded stalls as the infusion changes hands from one guarded fist to another. It’s spoken of in tones that betray its scarcity and value—a rare, coveted item that can tilt a failed run toward triumph if you’re willing to pay the price. The chatter in the sun-warmed lanes tells of negotiators who walk away with coin and confidence, leaving other hopefuls to scour the back rooms and shadowed alleys for a glimpse of the next batch. So the +22 Agony Infusion remains not just a trinket but a story you carry. A talisman that keeps you moving when the world grows heavy, a testament to those who stand in the shadow of the fractal and refuse to blink. It glows with its own stubborn courage, and for those who understand its language, it’s a quiet partner in a larger pilgrimage—one that asks: how much pain can you endure for the chance to see what lies beyond?