Tainted. [Shard Pops]

Hyperion has sat on the knowledge from Hetway for quite some time. He knew had found out the immense power of the raid was driven by the power of the shards. There was one thing amiss to the host of dark rukh. Recalling how the shards in the possession of the village or Noirs seemed to glimmer like stars, but his own collection were like pockets of the abyss, like the space that lined the stars.

It was Tenza Bo who managed to sacrifice their entire army for the sake of a single clash, with a frightening amount of power. If he were able to access and harness that potential for himself, he would be unstoppable.

Hyperion would think of his weakness, and how he had relied on others at every turn as he grew. He could solve a problem, but he would not be able to deal with the problem.

The slaver would gather his belongings, conjecturing that the shards were corrupted via his dark rukh. Perhaps that is what had lead Tenza down the path of sacrifice. If that was Tenza's path, what would be his own... fear? Despite his thoughts, he would put his concerns on the back burner to refocus on these artifacts.

First of these would be the his Mask of the Damned. A mask of damnation, how could it possibly further be corrupted? There was only one way to find out. A cage of dark rukh in his hand would be lifted into the underside of the mask.

The mask itself offered the power of powerful flames that could incinerate a person to ashes with a mere breath or flex of the muscle, in tandem with the monstrous transformation, a formation of tendrils that would act as stretchy replacements for his own. With these thoughts in his head, he would think of the most terrifying magic he could imagine. A sort of nightmarish transformation just like his mask but also like that of Tenza, a being of terror.

OOC: Popping first shard.
Pressing the shard to the inside of the mask, recalling Mask of the Damned functions, Tenza and something terrifying and NIGHTMAREish.

The power of the shard, of his previous experience, would ingrain in the magic. It's hell flames would no longer be that of pure fire, but of the agony of fear focused. Those feelings, those memories would ingrain themselves into it as its shape and function changed. It would still bring upon the same ravaging power. The mask was born anew, fit for its' new master. The flames of fear were stoked, now they just needed to blaze.

Code:

[center][img]https://cdna.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/003/761/086/large/aleksandr-plihta-.jpg?1477228326[/img][/center]
[b]Name:[/b] Mask of the damned
[b]Tier:[/b] A-tier
[b]Type:[/b] Magic Mask
[b]Magic Type:[/b] Nightmare [Clairovoyance+Light+Strength]
[b]Appearance:[/b] Taking the form of an iron spiked mask designed to fit snuggly on the wearer's head. It seems to be a of pitch-black fabric and fine silver.
[b]Function:[/b]
[list]
[*]For 10 magoi to activate | 5 to sustain the user covers themselves in tendrils of nightmare Magic, appearing as a swarming mass of fear that fires a purple, fire-like ball made of nightmare Magic, the ball is 1m in diameter and can travel up to 30m. The fireball does A-tier damage in the forms of physiological burns causing a similar sensation on the nerves.
[/list]