Scourge of Chaos: Savage Healer

Sunday kept weaving through the swampy terrain, narrowly dodging the tireless mutt’s attempts to free him of an appendage and life. The hound didn’t care. It tore through trees and mud like a tank. It was, after all, a monstrous dog that ate souls and murdered anything in its way. However, right now it acted as if it was gearing up to play a casual game of fetch with him. The problem was he was to be the stick.

Sunday frantically thought through his limited options again. He couldn’t run forever even if his mostly undead body didn’t give any indication of feeling tired. There was a large chance his mind would collapse long before that. Being prey didn’t feel good, not at all. He didn’t know if it was the act of rebirth that had made his feeling of pride act up even more than before. He typically valued survival above all else, as his old world had demanded. And he still would... but something about the hound made him very angry. Plus, it felt good to value oneself, even if it was fueled by magic and bullshit.

Pools were everywhere now and there was little way of escape from treading into the shallow and murky waters. From time to time, he thought he could feel the breath of the beast behind him. Slowly, a stupid plan formed in his mind.

“Fuck it!”

With a snarl of his own, Sunday turned to face the coming hound, and for the first time, the faint shadow of surprise seemed to pass through the monster’s eyes. It didn’t stop. Rather, it accelerated, deciding that playtime was over. It opened its massive jaws in preparation to deliver death and oblivion. Did it think its prey had given up? Did it think it had won?

Only the worthy, huh? I’ll show you worthy! Sunday stood his ground and, as the beast was almost upon him, called on his spells. He saw the hound flinch, almost falling while trying to stop its charge. Whatever it was the strange purple mote did hit it and gave him a short window of opportunity. It lasted only for a split second, but it was enough to confuse it.

The open palm of Sunday’s right hand landed on the side of its head with a resounding sound. It seemed to stun the hound for another moment, and its head snapped from the surprising force behind the slap. It felt a bit off, but better than before. It hadn’t hurt it all but it wasn’t meant to. It extended the creature’s confusion a moment longer.

Then Sunday followed through with his plan. His left hand plunged with abandon between its open mouth and into its throat.

The sharp teeth cut apart his flesh and scraped the bone beneath. He imagined what it would feel like when he, like Jishu, lost a limb. Could the moths heal him? However, the expected amputation didn’t come. The hound’s eyes widened and it tried to pull away instead, whimpering. It began choking on the offending limb and what had come with it sooner than expected.

The two black moths Sunday had pushed into the hound's throat were doing their job. Death essence was turning its insides into a decaying mess, or at least covering them with wounds. He was unsure what the exact effect was. He felt dizziness overcome him from the strain of casting so much but he remained standing. His hand slipped from the maw of the beast, sleek with blood and saliva. It was a little more than a burning source of pain of torn flesh and hung limply at his side.

He watched with a wild grin as the hound doubled over, coughing out dark blood into the swamp water. It had taken few moments but the spell was doing a marvelous job. Sunday hoped it was enough. He had no more to give.

Signs of decayed wounds appeared on the beast’s throat and it thrashed around, sending water and mud everywhere. The hound disappeared in a cloud of darkness only to reappear again, hitting a tree with its side and rolling in the water. The noises it was making were disgusting and Sunday would’ve turned away if the pain from his mauled arm didn’t keep the anger blazing.

Its whimpers were one of the worst sounds he had heard, but he took in every second. It was his actions that had caused it. Not a small deed if you asked him. Moments later the beast became still with a last whine and its body fell apart into darkness and disappeared.

That’s what you get you damned mutt. He thought. The fact that the body had disappeared with such speed worried him, but if the thing could just come back again and again after suffering such damage, then the fight had been hopeless to begin with.

All that remained was him and the now silent swamp.

The hound returns to the feet of its master in failure. It was the weakest of the countless, the youngest. The hunter cares not for its failure. He is glad for it. There is happiness in his bottomless eyes as the thrill of the hunt takes over. What good is easy prey? What good is weak prey? Only those who struggle are worthy of his attention.

There is rumbling coming from the shadows behind him. A snarl, a thirst. Impatience.

Be ready, for the hunt is just beginning...

Sunday knelt on the ground for a while and groaned while closing his eyes. He took in the warm air of the swamp and enjoyed the silence, for the first time finding some sort of comfort in it.

He had no time to rest though. His body was exhausted and he felt that casting even one more spell would tip him over the edge and send him into slumber. Jishu and what remained of his ghouls were still out there. As much as Sunday wanted to close that chapter as well, he had no means to do so for now.

Standing up on shaky legs he finally did what he had meant to do for a while now and a golden page unfurled before him.

“Spells,” he whispered.

Spells 2/3

Phantasmal Fall

Omen of Duality

Phantasmal Fall? Jishu had stumbled when he had used the purple mote of light and the hound had done so as well. It was a strange spell. Sunday frowned. He resolved that once he was well enough, he would try it on himself. He had to be familiar with the tools he had at hand.

“Status,” he said next. The pain was excruciating but it was little more than background noise at this point. The page had his whole attention. It became blank before new information replaced the list of spells.

Race: Origin Corpse

Rank: One, 1st step.

Soul Forging Technique: Ishiren’s Black Breath.

Status:

Hunted – a hunter knows of your existence. They have decided you are prey worth chasing throughout the realms. Listen closely for howls when the sun goes down, as his hounds scour the night for you. Run, little prey, for they are coming… Beware the shadows.

Missing – Someone else has begun looking for you. They may not know who you are, or what you look like, but eventually, your paths will cross. Take a chance, or keep running?

Damaged Soul – Your flesh was torn apart by the teeth of a beast from a faraway realm. Your soul has suffered damage.

“For fuck’s sake!” he cursed. Was it not enough? Had he not done enough? He at least wanted to know the reason this was happening.

Was it Jishu who was looking for him? The undead had more than enough reason to go after Sunday. Especially after the events with the hound. No. He shook his head. The words were clear. Someone else knew of him. Someone other than the damned Hunter. Would the golden page tell him of all his enemies in the future or was there something special about this case? How was he missing?

Maybe I was expected somewhere. Was I not sent to fulfill a purpose? Chaotic Step sent me to this swamp on a whim. Initially, I was falling toward a large city. I wonder how far away I am…

The line about soul damage bothered him too. He hoped it was not something unrepairable. Its significance was lost to him at the moment, but it probably had to do with his ability to cast spells or use the Black Breath.

He stood up. Nothing to do but to keep moving and find shelter. He needed to recuperate and heal. The rest could wait.

“Map.”

The ink spread slowly on the page. His path was a straight line. Jishu’s small camp was marked on the map. It was quite a way away from the river, and Sunday had run in the opposite direction of it.

Returning to the village would either require him to pass through Jishu’s camp or circle it far out, which was not safe. It was a surprise what distance he had covered while running from the hound. Time had been meaningless during the chase. He distinctly remembered there had been less water before. Now even most of the trees were partially submerged.

He didn’t know much about swamps but this didn’t bode well. The last thing he needed was something else attacking him from under the water. There were fewer signs of the decay here, although it was present and the sweet smell that had become one with his nose remained.

Sunday looked for a suitable shelter among the pools or a proper tree to curl into. Most were weirdly bent and still rising high up in the sky. The sound of insects and birds soon came back to him and he sighed with relief. Their absence had been like a nail in his mind, always making him think there was danger nearby. A frog croaked and Sunday turned to look by instinct. There was a humongous blackened trunk mostly covered in moss on a pile of dirt a bit further. It was as good a place as any and he sat on it, careful not to touch his arm to anything. Worrying about infections hadn’t crossed his mind, but the pain remained excruciating and each less-than-careful movement sent ripples of fiery agony.

Closing his eyes and hoping nothing would kill him, he began practicing the Black Breath. It felt more difficult than the last time, and Sunday frowned. Try as he may the quality and amount of essence, he managed to take into his soul space had significantly lessened. Each rotation of the technique created sharp pain much different than the one in his arm. Was it his hurt soul? It was indescribable and unpleasant to a degree he hadn’t thought possible.

Tears began forming in his eyes and he took a piece of moist bark to put between his teeth and stop the budding screams. It broke with a snap and he screamed anyway. Still, he kept practicing the Black Breath in breaks. His essence was slowly returning and his spells were hungrily drinking from it, but the pain was making him wish he was dead.

He tried to focus on the spells, as a distraction from the pain.

It was difficult. The mote of purple was still the same, unbothered and unchanged. The moths were smaller, weaker, and somewhat less vibrant. The white was dirtier, and the black was not as deep anymore. Sunday felt a pang of panic as he examined them. Was he this close to losing the spell? It was his only lifeline. Thankfully, they looked to be slowly recovering.

Is it the soul damage slowing me down? That’s bad. Jishu seemed to think there was a way to fix it as long as his body was healed though.

He didn’t know how much time passed as darkness fled, giving way to light broken only by the ever-present foliage above. He was pretty sure wetlands weren’t supposed to be covered in massive trees at each step, but he didn’t know enough to be truly outraged. The pain was enough to distract him from all straying thoughts. It was not lessening, but at least the one he felt in the soul had made the one in the flesh redundant.

‘Pain is a lesson!’ Old Rud had said. He had been right, as there were few teachers better than pain. However, Sunday couldn’t take it anymore after a while and slumped on the trunk he was sitting on, taking deep breaths. They relaxed him somewhat and helped him center his mind.

The moths had slowly returned to their previous forms, and Sunday summoned a black one in a hurry. It flew to his arm, exploding and seeping into the broken flesh, mending and fixing. It brought relief, but only to the flesh. And its effect was lesser than it had been on Jishu.

What if…

Sunday gritted his teeth and summoned a white moth, then repeated the process. It mended his hand further and somewhat soothed the pain in his soul. A small surprise, but not an unwelcome one.

Does that mean I’m not an undead? What am I? What the fuck is an Origin Corpse anyway? He wished the golden page had given more information.

Only so much essence was left, and the damage was still extensive. He fell into practice again, until he had enough to summon both a white and a black moth. They were smaller than before. He let them land on his arm before bursting. The result was the best yet, as the aching in his soul lessened significantly and his arm mended before his eyes, becoming as new.

Sunday grinned and immediately started practicing the Black Breath again. It felt better. Lost in his technique, he didn’t notice the pair of yellow eyes that came closer and closer. Once they stopped on him, they turned and the ghoul fled. It was a good ghoul and it would call the Master.

***

Somewhere not that far, Jishu walked confidently with a cold expression on his face. One of the ghouls was carrying his torn arm. The soul pain was biting at his sanity, but there was no hurry. His new disciple had to recover a bit before healing him. Once that was done, Jishu could easily tear apart the new mage with his sword alone, if the need arose. He didn’t want to break the vessel though. Even the hound would be of no issue if he had his body in good condition. As it was, it was little more than an anchor pulling him down.

The beast was unheard of, especially its ability to harm the soul, but he had seen far worse in his time.

The strange undead named Sunday that claimed to have fallen from the sky almost certainly had a talent. His speed in attaining the rank of a mage was something unseen, and his growth could be noticed by the hour. Jishu thanked the heavens for bringing him such a person.

He had already cast his most precious spell once a few years ago, and the effects of its creation had affected even the swamp. His current body was already at its limit and healing would only stave off the rot. Now, he knew much more, and depending on Sunday’s choices, he was ready to use his spell again and start anew.

Jishu was not looking forward to dying, but it was necessary.