Scourge of Chaos: Savage Healer

“Are you certain this is going to work?” Vyn asked as they walked down the path toward the city.

“What could go wrong? Anyway, I can’t throw money like that all the time, so let’s hope so.” Sunday responded.

“You seem to be in a hurry to get things going. You just barely got in the city.”

Sunday threw a side glance at the man. Vyn was more perceptive than he let on, which was both a good and a bad thing. Good, because he wouldn’t have to explain everything or deny intrusive questions. Bad, because Sunday still wasn’t sure what the hell was going on. As he saw it anyone could turn into a puppet of the so-called Divine.

And there was also the fact that strange things were after him, so anyone who got close could get dragged into it like Jishu had. The sense of unease in Sunday grew with each passing day and there was no time to waste as much as he wanted to leisurely explore this new life he had been given.

Everything has a price.

“I might get assaulted by a dark beast that lives mostly in nightmares. But don’t worry. A disembodied voice will sound in my head as a warning,” he said with a wink.

Vyn looked at him strangely, but the man seemed content to go with the flow.

“Will the pale poppy be a problem?” Sunday asked, changing the topic. Was that what morphine was made out of?

He had left the flask fit for human consumption with Safie, who he trusted wouldn’t waste it. He was a decent judge of character, and she struck him as one that would stick with him for a while. The plan was to try and slowly help those suffering from addiction or other ailments by diluting the potent healing alcohol in water to not cause other types of issues.

The one thing that worried him was weaning them off too fast. Would the moths prevent that? Magical rehab of addicts was not something to be taken lightly, and from what he had gathered a few were escapees from the vampire district as well which hosted a whole new set of problems.

It was both a test for the capabilities of his spell, for the people in the not-so-empty Manor, and an opportunity to earn loyalty. Plus, he was helping people. It was a strange feeling, to help people.

Best of all, no one had even asked how he had achieved it, although the question had been like a burned brand on their faces.

“Vyn?” Sunday repeated.

“Right, sorry,” Vyn waved a hand. “I was lost in thought. What do you mean? The magical liquid you left with Saf might help. I haven’t seen actual healers in action, but magic is wondrous like that.”

“I hope it will. However, if we release a product that can cure addictions… that might be another whole host of problems.”

Vyn nodded, “The vampires. They won’t like it, but I doubt they’ll go to war over it. As long as they have blood and slaves, they’re pretty calm. Blumwin is a peaceful place.”

Sunday remained silent, remembering the marks on the walls surrounding the city. They spoke of things he couldn’t even imagine.

“At least for most people,” Vyn added after a moment, having found fault in his own words, “There’re shitbags everywhere and I’ll be first to admit I might’ve joined their ranks once or twice during my youth.”

Look at you, talking as if you’re pushing sixty’s door down.

“How about healthcare? Doctors? Medicine? Are there laws?”

“Your questions surprise me sometimes, but you’re undead so that one might even pass as normal,” Vyn laughed. The path to the manor had been somewhat reclaimed by the forest, but there was enough of it left to follow without worry, and hopefully a cart could make it too.

“There are doctors. The best ones are of course in the service of the Arcanum,” Vyn answered after a moment of thought. “I can’t really judge a skill level without knowing what you’re comparing it to, but no one has healing booze, that’s for sure. As for laws, there are some but I think joining the Arcanum as an official mage will take care of that. Any city would love having one more mage, especially… if you are an alchemist.”

There’s the curiosity. Undead can’t have spells that heal the living, right? Alchemy… “I guess I’m something like that. I have a knack for finding weird ways to piss people off and meddle in affairs that don’t concern me.” Sunday said, then fell silent.

They were still about an hour away from the gate they had used to leave Blumwin from, but someone was blocking their path.

Sunday didn’t recognize them, not that he expected to. For a moment he felt a deep discomfort and a bit of nausea wash over him, which was never a good sign. It was a faint sensation, much fainter than what he had experienced in the swamp village. It still made him wary.

Vyn didn’t seem to notice anything strange as he kept up his pace before stopping a short distance away from those blocking the road. He looked back toward Sunday with a question written on his face.

They were normal people, dressed in simple clothes. Three humans and one undead. Sunday didn’t like their eyes and felt particular revulsion when he looked at their smiles. They all wore the same type of smile – one of unnatural joy.

“Are you folk alright?” Vyn asked. He didn’t seem worried at all, meaning he didn’t consider them dangerous. Not some of the thugs after him then. They don’t strike me as the type either. That would’ve been much preferred.

“You guys lost?” Sunday asked without much hope. They remind me of the villagers under Vela... Different, yet similar. This can’t be. No one knows what I am. Is Hark involved?

One of them stepped forward – a man with a bald spot and a few missing teeth. “Today is a grand day. To lay eyes upon one of the promised… it is the honor of a lifetime.”

He clasped his hands and bowed toward Sunday, and the others followed. A few more figures were coming out from in between the trees and bushes surrounding the path. Both living and undead. Few of them held simple farming tools, but most were barehanded. Their stares were empty as if all shared only a single light of consciousness between them.

“What’s this about?” Vyn frowned. His hand grabbed the handle of the sword at his side.

Promised? Oh, fuck me.

Sunday felt a strange sort of anxiety rise inside of him. He hadn’t given much away. He had been careful. He had only used a simple spell, and he had spoken to only a few people.

Who was it then, and what did they want? A revenge for what he had done in the swamp, or something else entirely?

Trying to stop the flood of thoughts in his head was futile, but one stood out – he had gotten stronger from killing Vela and not anyone else. That told him a bit of why he was reborn in this world, but it didn’t make it any better. He was not enthused about facing gods.

“What do you want?” Sunday asked. His hand reached for the sword at his side. Even if he only used the Smash Ball it took time to charge. And he didn’t want to reveal the Omen of Duality to anyone for the time being.

The undead woman stepped forward. Half her face was only bone and sinew – one of the worst cases Sunday had seen so far.

“We simply want to gaze upon the slayer, and give away our lives,” she said smiling the same as the rest.

“H-hey, Sunday. This is creeping me out. You know them?” Vyn whispered.

“Be ready,” Sunday said, not bothering to whisper. “Who will you be giving your lives away to?” he asked.

“To you,” the woman responded.

A third one stepped closer. “For knowledge.”

“It is our final mission before we depart,” another spoke.

“To die by the hand of one such as you is glorious.”

“By dying, we will be of service.”

Vyn took in a large breath and drew his sword. Sunday noticed that the man’s hands were shaking, but once he took a stance, he seemed to become a different person. That was somewhat reassuring. The situation was going to be different than the one in the village.

Do we have to kill them? No. Giving them what they want will be a mistake.

“And what exactly is one such as myself?” He asked.

The group smiled as one but didn’t respond. Those on the sides of the path were creeping closer ever so slowly and the growing tension was like a lowering guillotine. Sunday’s essence was churning inside of him.

Those who carried tools dropped them and walked forward with hands to the side.

“We mean you no harm.”

“We can’t win.”

“We simply need to die.”

“By your hand.”

They paused their words and movements for a moment. Then their heads turned toward Vyn as one, making the man sway in place under the intense gazes which were growing madder by the second. Vyn’s forehead was covered in sweat and his jaws were clenched.

Despite the apparent fear written all over his face, he steeled himself.

One by one they all spoke again.

“Not his!”

“Unclean!”

“Unworthy!”

“Waste!”

The hissing overwhelmed the sound of the soft wind rustling the leaves of the trees. Their voices were angry as if the idea of dying to Vyn’s blade was insulting. Sunday felt a pang of guilt. Vyn wouldn’t have gotten involved with the freaks if not for him.

Sunday’s hand grabbed Vyn by the shoulder and pushed him back, to the surprise of the man. There was no reason to get his new friend involved.

“You heard them,” he said slowly. “They won’t harm me, but they might get angry if you stay.”

Vyn’s eyes grew wide and he licked his dry lips as he gazed at the strange crowd.

“I don’t know what’s going on but… I can’t just leave you,” Vyn responded with a shaky voice. “There are nine of them.”

Sunday smiled despite himself. Good man. I’ll remember this. “I’ll be fine.” Not mentally, but that’s always been the case. “They want me to kill them, so… I’ll be done in a bit.”

Vyn kept hesitating for a few more moments, then took a step back. The eyes of those around followed him with unconcealed anger and madness churning in their depths. Each one had dark, unnatural eyes – something Sunday hadn’t noticed before.

It was not that much about color as it was about the lack of any sort of light inside of them as if their owners were nothing more than caricatures – empty shells for a foreign will. That hadn’t been the case with Vela, most certainly.

Sunday waited until he couldn’t sense Vyn anymore. The eyes of the worshippers turned on him as one. He allowed only a mask of cold calm to cover his face. Their words echoed in his ears even now, and he hesitated as he drew the sword resting on his belt.

Slowly, their faces twisted into ones of sheer excitement, as if they were about to receive what they had always wanted.

“Who do you worship?” Sunday asked. They had made a circle around him, as if afraid he would refuse to kill them and flee like Vyn.

“He wants a name…”

“A name…”

“We cannot give you the name, slayer.”

“You alone cannot have it.”

“It is for us to pray to…”

Sunday gripped the sword tighter. They were in an arm’s reach now, waiting to be struck down. Some had saliva dripping down their faces as if they were rabid beasts and not humans.

None of this felt right. He knew killing them might be a mistake, even if it made him stronger. They were just foolish humans, tricked to fall under the control of someone. Was there another ‘Vela’ hiding close by? He couldn’t see anyone else.

There was no reason for him to simply butcher a bunch of people, especially since it was a higher power forcing them to beg for it. Once again, the thought of walking away from it all passed through Sunday’s mind.

“If you run, there are many innocents down that road that will suffer,” one of those on the right said.

“We will scoop their eyes…”

“Unravel their intestines…”

“Pluck each tendon right out of the body…”

“So, kill us.”

“Save them.”

Sunday showed his teeth, “You think I care about a bunch of humans?” I can’t be responsible for what these lunatics do. And I have use for those in the Manor.

He was not a savior or hero, but Sunday was a man who appreciated kindness and knew suffering. He liked to think that there was no true good and bad in the world. Only choices. And choosing to have others suffer because he had come to the city was not something he wanted weighing down his soul. Not that such sentiments would stop him from making use of them.

“Liar.”

“Pretender.”

“The worst.”

“The weakest.”

“Show us.”

“Foolish promised…”

He narrowed his eyes. They want to know more about me. Is that what this is about? Why? What makes me so important? I don’t have any useful knowledge from Earth. I’m not an inventor or a physicist. All I have are my talents, and what I got from the swamp.

They slowly approached him and he barely stopped himself from fleeing.

The one nearest to him reached with his hand and it was as if lightning crossed Sunday’s mind. The offending limb moved slowly as if to pet a scared animal, but Sunday still flinched in sheer disgust. The feeling of wrongness rose to unprecedented levels and he found himself baring his teeth as he slapped the hand away.

In the next instant, akin to the beginning sequence of a dance, all hell broke loose. The cultists came together without the intent to harm, smiles plastered on strange faces.

Still, the feeling of repulsion inside of Sunday only grew stronger and he screamed in rage as he threw Jishu’s sword on the ground. It was a foolish action dictated by something stronger than him. He needed to teach them a lesson in his own way.

The Smash Ball went out cutting through the air and the nearest woman doubled over as it rammed into her stomach. She was lite of body and went tumbling backward before finally falling. There was no sign she had felt pain as her smile only grew.

Sunday spun on his heel barely keeping balance. He moved as if possessed and the first slap found its target with a thunderous sound that made the birds nesting in the trees fly away. It sent the man reeling, but another quickly took his place.