Scourge of Chaos: Savage Healer

Sunday opened his eyes. This session of meditation had gone much better. He was growing acquainted with the Black Breath quite fast. Each of the places in his body from where he had initially taken essence to form his core acted as vortexes that drew in the energy of the world and gave it to him. That led him to believe that awakenings were not equal.

Whatever had happened during his awakening was proving to be a great boon. Coupled with the soul forge art his body was like a vacuum that took in the essence that was all around and converted it into his own. The discomfort in his soul had lessened significantly in a mere few hours. Good news for him all around. It would only be a bit more for him to be as good as new.

He wasn’t sure if Jishu had known about the additional effect of the spell, considering that the undead man was convinced the two moths could not be used at the same time. It was certain Jishu had hidden most of his knowledge too, feeding Sunday the bare minimum. It was regretful that picking the man’s head wouldn’t be an option. Having guidance and someone used to the world would be a great boon for Sunday, but Jishu was simply too dangerous.

Sunday still hesitated. Maybe his best course of action was going back. He needed Arten for leverage with the villagers and a way out of the swamp. Running around mapping out the area was hardly a productive use of time, and the danger of the second hound loomed over him. He hoped they only appeared during breakthroughs to the next rank, as that would give him a timeframe and the ability to delay things until he was ready. Would things truly be so simple though? Could he infinitely delay it by living an average life?

Probably not.

Another option was to seek out the ranun. The strange toad people could be interested in saving one of their own from the clutches of Jishu, and Sunday would once again have the bodies to throw against his enemies. It was a shot in the dark, and Jishu still had his last-ditch unknown spell. He hadn’t used it even when the hound had taken an arm and thrown him around.

As Sunday thought of all possibilities, the swamp did what it seemed to do best and became silent. He almost groaned as the chirping of insects, frogs, and birds disappeared. The dramatic effect had worn off after the first few times. The silence still felt uncomfortable, but without the hound, it was underwhelming and incomplete. The ghouls simply couldn’t cut it. It was an empty sort of tension. But he wasn’t going to show his lack of fear.

He gasped audibly at the first set of yellow eyes he saw and made a show of falling backward into the water. His arm was still covered in blood and rags, and he kept it to his side as if it was hurt. The ghouls were harder to notice under the scattered rays of dawn’s light that pierced the foliage and made the mostly watery floor glimmer with reflections. Their skin meshed with the browns and greens quite well. He hadn’t paid much attention to that before; good little hunters, weren’t they? Their glowing eyes were nothing more than the odd yellowing leaf among the branches.

He saw them nonetheless. It was hard not to. They looked at him with curious and calm eyes. Were they going to swarm him? Or were they going to try and herd him back to Jishu in his little abode? He counted about seven before he gave up.

Is he close? Will he attack and cut his losses? He already got two of his major wounds taken care of. I think losing an arm is a fair trade for a hole in the chest and a dangly useless leg. Or will he negotiate again? Sunday thought.

Jishu came slowly. Unlike the silent ghouls each of the man’s steps made the water or mud splash. He still had some trouble walking despite the healing.

“You recover fast,” Jishu said. “Although it seems the hound did you one better. Is it gone? I came to help.”

Dead and gone, you scarecrow. Does he not believe I could’ve won, or am I overthinking things? He’s smart. I might slip up if I’m not careful.

Sunday stepped back, eyeing the trees and the sword in Jishu’s hand. “It disappeared when dawn came.”

Jishu smiled. “Oh? That’s plausible as it seemed like a being of the dark. You did remarkably to survive.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” Sunday responded and cursed inwardly. That sentence carried very different stipulations in a world where talents were magical gifts.

Jishu squinted and eyed the trees. He seemed to trust the judgment of the ghouls though. The little bastards had sensed the hound long before it had made itself known.

“That you are, that you are.”

He stopped a few feet away from Sunday. The glint of the sword in his one hand was a menacing thing, but Sunday felt nothing when he looked at the weapon. Jishu knew how to use it, but the undead had been slower than anticipated and his body was still in a state of disrepair.

The ghouls were the issue.

“What now?” Sunday asked.

“I gave you a choice. You spat on my goodwill. However, I’m not without a heart, metaphorically speaking. I’m quite sure I lost the physical thing decades ago while acquiring the same wound you healed.”

“Oh, lucky you.”

“I’ll make one last offer, Sunday. Heal me, return my spell, and you’re free to go. I’ll consider the insults, the lies, and the losses I’ve suffered forgiven. After all, you’re a disciple of mine, are you not? How about it? It doesn’t seem like you have the desire to stay with me.”

He will off me the moment I’m done healing him. I’m tired of this game.

“You’d do that?” Sunday gave himself a hesitant look and once again eyed the ghouls. “How could I be sure you won’t kill me right after I heal you?”

Jishu dared to act almost offended, “I’ve been nothing but fair to you,” he shook his head. “To have undying flesh gets into one’s head. Believe me, I know. However, what I’m offering you is a lifeline. You cannot win against me and mine, no matter what you still have up your sleeve. Talents need time to mature. You have my word that you’ll be free after this. Or, perhaps, you will consider signing a body and soul contract? It is not often that a relationship between a teacher and a student can begin with such a level of trust. I have a lot to teach you and the contract will make sure we leave this relationship better than we entered it.”

One moment he acts as if I’m a scheming bastard, and the next he treats me like I’m naivete personified. Does he believe in himself, or is he simply putting on an act for his own amusement? I can’t tell anymore. He may be touched in the head. Is he not afraid the hound will come back? Did one of its creatures watch me heal? Fuck, did he see the white moths?

“I’m quite exhausted,” Sunday said, studying Jishu’s reaction. “I will need time.”

“Of course. New mages need time to adapt to the soul forge arts and the essence they provide. The first few times of recuperation are the slowest, but the speed will improve. Hopefully, that vile beast won’t return next night. And if you heal me enough by then, I can deal with it. It’s a risk I’m willing to take. Its teeth were fascinating… is your soul well? I see you healed most of the physical damage already.”

Slow? I took a few hours at most. I guess I’ve got the tree from the cemetery to thank for that. Talents will be a game changer. Good thing I’ve got a whole bunch.

Sunday flexed his arm and winced, “It hurts quite a lot. Can it be fixed?” he asked and stepped closer, trying to look desperate. The ghouls immediately moved and he halted mid-step. Jishu smiled at him – a disgusting act that filled Sunday with a strange itch. He rubbed his palm on his dirty pants. It was not even a good type of pretending. It was more like gloating in Sunday’s face, without actually doing it.

“Come, let us return to the camp. I don’t know when I last fed the human, but he probably still lives despite the poison. Resilient funny things, aren’t they?” Jishu said and turned his back to Sunday as if all was well. The ghouls moved up to use the branches and mud and avoided the water to the best of their abilities, never letting Sunday out of sight. They closed on him. Trust, huh? I can’t continue this. I’ll go crazy.

Something inside of Sunday snapped. Whether it happened now, or he just felt it now was irrelevant.

Jishu stumbled. Or more like he thought he stumbled for a moment as Phantasmal Fall hit him. He reacted fast, but not fast enough. His sword rose with uncanny speed and found Sunday’s stomach. The steel burned as it tore through dead flesh, and Sunday was certain he heard and felt sizzling.

It didn’t matter. He was upon Jishu already. The two fell into the muddy water. The ghouls all around them snarled and screeched in panic and Sunday heard them near him. He pulled at his essence and summoned a white month. Again, and again. His knee found Jishu’s one arm and pinned it under the water, while his hands held the undead’s head above. Not that there was a danger of drowning him, but he wanted to look at the man.

Three snow-white moths circled the air around them, giving off warmth and a soft white light. The ghouls stopped just a hair away from them. They seemed reluctant to step into the range of the summoned moths.

“Send them away!” Sunday ordered and slapped Jishu for good measure. It was a good slap. The connection was solid, and he felt smoothness in all the involved joints. An intimidating slap. However, it was still far off from anything worthy of his talent. Pity. What am I thinking right now?

“How can you do that? How do your soul and flesh not burn?” Jishu muttered, his eyes staring at the moths, wide and bloodshot.

“I said send them away or I’ll shove the bugs in your mouth!”

Jishu finally seemed to hear him and steeled his expression. The ghouls stepped away slowly, giving Sunday a few feet of room to work with.

“Away! Far!” he yelled. “I don’t wanna see them!” The moths seemed fine just circling him thankfully, and he felt no sign that they would just explode. Just as a warning, he made one come near Jishu’s face. The undead’s skin started smoking like vampires exposed to sunlight in old movies. He didn’t so much as flinch though, and stared at the white bug as if it was God.

Soon it was only two of them. Jishu cared for nothing else as he muttered under his breath, despite the position he was in.

“Now, give me your other spell,” Sunday said. He would get all he could, and then he would leave. It was Jishu’s mistake to mention it so freely. Perhaps an attempt to win trust, perhaps a lie.

Jishu grinned madly. “You are magnificent! Magnificent! Fate has smiled upon me after so long to send you to my doorstep.”

Is he playing with me? Did he completely lose it? What the fuck?

“I said—”

“I heard you. The ghouls won’t tear you apart even if you kill me, you have my word. You’re too important to die.”

“What the hell are you saying?” What is wrong with him?

Sunday stood up and towered over Jishu. The undead struggled with his one arm that was still pinned by Sunday's foot but managed to push himself up a bit. The moths circled the two of them slowly.

“What are you?” Jishu asked once again, his gaze pierced Sunday as if he were looking at the most precious thing in the world. “Ah, how long I’ve waited for this moment. How long I’ve dreamed. Yet, the solution walks in front of me. You are perfect. Has the world advanced so far, has another found what I sought, or are you a spawn of the fallen Divine? A mistake that will bring doom to the world? Tell me, my disciple. Give me that mercy.”

Sunday watched him coldly as the seconds stretched impossibly.

“I don’t know what you’re on about.”

Jishu looked sad. Almost heartbroken. “Pity. Robbed of knowledge of your own magnificence. I cannot give you my last spell, believe me. One cannot let go of some spells, even in the face of the most gruesome of deaths. I’d give you the world if I could, but it’s even more precious to me. It’s a part of me. Latched onto my torn soul. However, now that I know what you are, I’ll gladly take the loss. Remember the Black Breath. You can find the manual in my hut. And remember your first teacher, Jishu of the Swamp. Keep my moths safe, and even more importantly keep yourself safe, my dear disciple.”

He grinned madly and moved with surprising strength as he threw Sunday’s foot off his arm, pushed up, and drew the sword from where it was lodged into Sunday’s abdomen. The burning stopped when the blade left the flesh, leaving behind only a memory of pain.

Sunday barely found his balance and willed his spell toward the undead. In a surprising move, Jishu dropped his sword and reached for the first of them. He laughed as it burst and became a cloud of white that burned the flesh of his last remaining limb. He didn’t seem to care as the other two moths headed slowly for his head. They were not hard to dodge, but the man simply threw himself in their path, making them explode against him.

The two moths melted eyes, skin, and even bone. Soon Jishu’s constant laughter ceased, and there was only a disgusting remnant of a face –a black melted husk and a putrid smell. The corpse fell with a splash, and that was that.

Sunday frantically started to look for the sword that had fallen down beneath the shallow waters. The ghouls were probably coming. He could barely squeeze another cast and it would push the exhausted spell and him to its limit, but Jishu’s behavior had terrified him more than the hound had.

There was no satisfaction in the outcome. He felt like a caged bird despite his victory. He couldn’t make sense of what had happened. Jishu had died too easily – as if it was something he had been waiting for.

No spell came out of the undead’s remains, and no ghouls appeared. Sunday stood confused for a few moments, clutching the sword. Then he used it to stab Jishu’s corpse for good measure a few times, before trying to see if there was anything of value on the body – no amount of fright would prevent him from seeking gains. After finding nothing he dashed madly in the direction of the camp, ignoring the pain from the stab.

Something was wrong. He didn’t need intuition or a sixth sense to know that.

But loot was also important.