Grey Regen 6

The torturer grinned, revealing black and rotting teeth. “Yes, Master Matheson.” To me, he said, “Grey, is it? I’m Petras. I’d say it’s a pleasure, but”—his grin widened—“I promise it won’t be.”

‘Ugh, that was so cringey it made my nonexistent toes curl,’ Regis groaned.

I didn’t say anything, but kept my expression level and uninterested.

My lack of a response didn’t seem to bother Petras at all. He produced a wicked-looking dagger with a flourish and, in the same motion, drew the blade across my upper arm. It was so sharp I hardly felt it.

The wound let out a trickle of blood before healing over.

Petras’s grin faded. He regarded me warily before cutting in the same spot, slower and deeper this time. I realized that my extreme healing was going to draw unwanted attention and attempted to close off the trickle of aether from my core. It was only partially successful.

Regis, go to my left foot.

‘If this is about my toes comment earlier, I was just being—’

I need to limit my healing factor. Just do it.

My companion drifted through my body into my foot, and the slow trickle of aether redirected, pulled toward him by whatever gravitational force he had on it.

The second cut was slower to heal. Petras didn’t make a third right away, instead watching with interest as the remaining aether knit my flesh back together. For me, the healing was sluggish, but compared to a normal person, it was still incredibly quick.

He ran a rough finger over where the cut had vanished without even a scar.

He checked my mana-suppression cuffs to make sure they were tightly fastened, then took a step away from me. “How are you doing that?”