Scourge of Chaos: Savage Healer

“I’m in no mood for games, woman,” Sunday slowly said. He meant it. He was dead tired and the lingering feeling of disgust that permeated him left little room for his usual jokey attitude toward his second life and its bullshit.

His encounter had shaken him. While he was a firm believer a man deserved to be able to choose their death, suicide by a transmigrator was not on the list of acceptable choices.

“No games. However, if one of my patrons is being chased by lunatics I should prepare for trouble. The Divine presence is weak in Blumwin, but that doesn’t make us safe. Who knows how many are whispering prayers in the dark of night? How many have fallen to the sweet promises, bidding their time?” Riya answered.

“Why would they? Isn’t this a great peaceful place?” Sunday letting a hint of mockery enter his voice.

The undead woman snorted. “Blumwin is anything but great and peaceful. Beauty often hides deep rotting depths. Perhaps we don’t have the problems of those closer to the fallen lands, or those isolated by the belts, but corruption spreads everywhere where desire persists. Everyone has goals, be they to last another day or prepare for eternal undeath.”

Vyn mumbled something but the words barely came out. He cleared his throat and sat taller on his chair. “They were alive when we left.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Riya nodded. “But now, they are dead.”

What’s the point of it all? Is she lying? Sunday took a sip of his drink. The small amount of essence spread through him and for a brief moment, he wondered where all the liquid parts were going. He hadn’t taken a piss since he had crawled out of his grave. It was an odd thing to miss, especially during the conversation he was having.

“I see. If you are so knowledgable, perhaps you can tell us how those cultist bastards found me, then?” Sunday responded.

Riya shrugged, “The Divine have eyes and ears everywhere. Not everyone turns into a mad fool the moment they are touched by corruption. While the city is bustling with trade and craft, a lot of it comes from the villages around the Blooming Lake or the manors and distilleries set up among the hills and forests. Who knows what goes on there? You’re not from around here, and they came for you. They find you important.”

She paused as if waiting for confirmation, but Sunday didn’t speak or react in any way. It would take a lot more than vague statements and small talk for him to see her as more than another one who had use for him.

“You’re also not one to shy away from attention, judging by the way you carry yourself,” Riya continued, not letting the silence bother her. “And you’re a catalyst. A bringer of change. For good or for bad, we can’t tell yet.”

“Are you a fortune gal? Tarot, crystal balls, coffee stains?” Sunday bared his teeth.

“What?”

“You know, one of those scammers that talk in vague statements that never pinpoint an exact event, but just bullshit and spin enough webs so that when it happens they can exclaim ‘I foresaw it!’ and take your money.”

“Fortune tellers,” Vyn helpfully added.

“Ah, that. No. It’s an art that requires particular talents and spells, and I’m no mage. You should be careful though, there are fortune tellers out there that are nothing like the scammers you seem to have met.”

Sunday laughed. “Right. Seeing the future can be an actual thing in a world of spells and toxic gods. Sorry, I’m having trouble with the concept of having a wide-open mind to such a ridiculous extent.”

Now even Vyn was looking at him strangely.

“I knew it,” a voice said. Sunday tried to turn around but a hand seemed to have leisurely draped around his shoulder without him noticing. It was weightless and yet immovable as if he was pushing at something weighing tons. There had been nothing but the wooden wall covered in shadows behind his chair just a moment ago.

Sunday tried to force himself to remain calm. Who was it?

“You smell so nice. So, so nice,” the voice continued. It was a male’s voice, moving through the space between its source and Sunday’s ears like thick oil.

“Please forgive Kallus, he has a penchant for drama and being a creep,” Riya said.

“I can see that. Can you stop touching me?” Sunday said through gritted teeth. He was on the verge of bashing whatever was behind him with the Smash Ball. None of the other patrons seemed to react to the newcomer which made the situation that much stranger.

“I’m not touching you,” the voice said.

“Your hand is on my shoulder.”

“Prove it.”

Another lunatic. Then again, I’ve never mingled among the normal people. Are there even normal people out there? Well, if you can’t beat them…

“Riya,” Sunday began lowering his voice as much as possible without whispering. He had seen how actual threatening people typically delivered threats, and tried to emulate the act from memory once again. It was hard to do in his current state, but being a walking corpse certainly helped. To think I’ll never be an actor. “Please tell the strange gentleman fondling my collarbone that I’m about to lose my shit. Even if I can’t win, I’ll certainly wreck this place before I go to wherever corpses go after they die again.”

Riya’s eyes widened just a bit, but as soon as her lips moved another person was sitting between her and Sunday, on a chair that hadn’t previously been there. It was a lanky young man with smooth, ghostly skin and eyes that were orbs of blackness. He was dressed simply, but the clothes were loose and seemed to almost billow around him. Sunday wasn’t sure if it was happening or if it was some trick of the mind.

“You’re interesting. A corpse, eh? Who would call themselves a corpse but actual corpses? Tell me, where do you come from?” Kallus leaned as much as possible almost getting his nose to touch Sunday’s. It still felt like no one was there.

Did I give away something important? Whatever, at least they might tell me something new about myself. Who’s this bastard anyway?

“A wight,” Vyn whispered with what Sunday perceived as astonishment more so than fear.

A wight? How many fucking types of undead does that make?

“Shh,” Kallus raised a finger and his eyes pinned Vyn down for a moment, making the latter shrink in his seat.

Riya’s hand slapped the wight behind the neck with quite a bit of force. The act made Sunday frown. The man didn’t seem to have felt it.

“Ow,” he said after a few seconds.

“Drop the act. You’re pissing our guest off.”

“Preposterous.” Kallus crossed his arms in front of his chest and pouted. “I’m an amazing conversationalist and wonderful company.” He looked at Sunday as if waiting for confirmation. When such didn’t come he simply pouted harder.

This is giving me a headache and considering what I’ve seen so far my head is full of goo rather than a brain. Can goo hurt?

“Can we get straight to the point?” Sunday asked. “Don’t get me wrong, any other day I’d have appreciated the theatrics, but I got assaulted by a bunch of suicidal cultists, you’re sitting here talking about change and how special I might be, and I have an exam to prepare for. So, kindly speed things up.”

“Oh, ok.” Kallus nodded seriously. “I killed them.”

Aha. A lunatic and a murderer. “You did? Just like that?”

The wight shrugged. “They were corrupted. We get rid of those.”

Sunday opened his mouth, then closed it. But they were just people… Vela was just a person too, until she turned into a monster, and so was Jishu… in a way. I had no issues after murdering either. It seems quite hard to appreciate the undead or the corrupted the same as humans – a mindset I need to change considering my state. It’s probably all the zombie media I consumed. Fuck, am I brainwashed not to think of my own kind as living sentient beings?

“What’s wrong?” Riya asked.

Sunday didn’t respond. He looked toward Vyn who he considered the only trustworthy one on the table. They had known each other for mere days but despite his faults, the man had shown integrity of character and it was easy to see he meant well most of the time.

Vyn seemed deep in thought at the moment. He was finally in control of whatever fear and doubt had plagued him. Something Sunday was glad to see from a potential ally. An ally who still has uses for me. Like I do for him.

“I just had an epiphany that I might be racist toward myself. No matter. Care to explain why you did what you did?”

Kallus seemed confused at the question. “They were corrupted. We get rid of those.” He repeated as if it was the most obvious progression of events.

“You seem to lack some vital understanding of things, Sunday,” Riya said. “I don’t know how you did things where you come from, but we do not tolerate anyone touched by corruption. There was no saving them. They would never be free of the Divine.”

What about Hark and the other villagers then? That little boy? I was under the impression it was Vela orchestrating things and they were… victims of sorts. Deluded fools. Is it that bad?

“He’s not from around here,” Kallus said and once again draped an arm over Sunday’s shoulder. “Listen, brother – I assume it’s alright if I call you brother – I can sense the deep empathy wreaking havoc on your tender psyche. I, myself, am a renowned dealer of compassion and all things good. A hero of sorts,” Kallus said, eliciting a sigh from Riya.

Sunday found himself appreciating deep sighs that much more. They just seemed more significant when coming from someone who didn’t need air.

Kallus continued, “Believe me, as much as it pained me to just execute and burn those poor simple folk, it needed doing. And I hate fire. The city is peaceful on the surface because of people like me, who suffer nightmares of their deeds, so others can sleep sound and safe.”

“Wights don’t sleep, like most undead,” Vyn blurted out, “And if what we fought were believers, then… I have to agree with the weirdo, Sunday.”

“Hey! I’m not a weirdo, human! You’re weird, your family is weird! Go leak water from your privates down some hole and don’t point fingers!” Kallus spat.

“That’s Halline’s little brother,” Riya casually interjected.

Kallus’s eyes became two black round coins as he shot up soundlessly and reached over the table to grab Vyn by the cheeks. Vyn failed to dodge in time. Sunday was surprised at the wight’s movements. They were fast, but not in the traditional sense. There was simply no sign of them before they were finished. He struggled to understand what he had seen and how it could be countered.

“You’ve grown up so much! I’ve watched you sleep when you were young. I was there the first time you grabbed a sword. Little Brother! Bro, I take it all back! We’re practically family,” Kallus said.

Sunday slapped the table gathering a few weird glances from the surrounding patrons. A few eyes widened as they saw their table, but other than that no one seemed too bothered.

“How long have you followed me?” Sunday asked, looking at Riya, then at Kallus. “And why?”

Kallus sank in his chair again but remained silent, opting to grin at the confused Vyn.

Riya smiled. “Don’t take offense, Sunday. While the masses remain ignorant, some old ones can still smell trouble brewing. The believers are after you for some reason, and many have awoken from the daze of normal living. Nonetheless, you’re a guest and a guest you shall remain for as long as you want. Call it courtesy for one such as yourself.”

“One such as myself?” Courtesy, or a bribe for when you decide you need me to do something. The wight seems capable enough, why the attention?

“There are no known burial grounds in this region.”

Those again. “So?”

“You are unique,” Riya simply said.

“And a mage of high potential,” Kallus added.

Is it written on my forehead? I’m tired, but I don’t recall spilling everything. “How are you sure?”

Riya answered. “We have our ways. Kallus has an affinity for tracking people and discovering their secrets.”

“I’m a great detective!” The wight laughed.

“Joining the Arcanum is smart, so do that first. We may have work opportunities for you too, depending on your affinities,” Riya said, then eyed Vyn. “As for standing up for Halline’s little brother… you will be safe as long as you remain in the Wayward Rat, but outside of these walls we cannot assure your protection.”

It was Kallus’s turn to bang on the table. It was a dull sound like it was coming from a room over. “What? Who dares offend my little bro?!”

“I’m not your—”

“A Vampire Baron.”

Kallus froze. “Oh.”

Sunday groaned. The vampires are joining in too now? Come, come to Sunday’s undead circus. We have reincarnated corpses, half-rotten madmen, creepy wights, and bloodsucking shitbags who seem to be lacking in money. And all want a piece of me.

Vyn shuffled uncomfortably when all eyes were staring at him.

“It’s my sister’s debt.”

Kallus frowned for the first time. “Halline was not lacking in money.”

“I don’t know how you know my sister, but she certainly was quite lacking by the end…” Vyn hesitated as he looked at each of the different undead one by one until his eyes stopped on Sunday. He seemed to come to a decision. “She gave away all she had to… borrow a sword, but it was not enough. They took the rest shortly after she left without giving it back.”

Kallus once again froze. “Oh.”

“A sword?” Sunday repeated. And what sister would just ditch her kid brother to suffer the consequences? I understand that this world is built differently, but come on…

Vyn shook his head, indicating that he was done with the conversation.

Sunday stood up, surprising the others.

“We have a lot to talk about,” Riya said.

“Let’s drink until the sun burns the night away, brother!” The wight excitedly offered.

“I need to think and to rest. Everything else can wait, including whatever it is you want with me. This talking in circles has me tired.” A lot of information, and a lot of worries. If every single believer in the city is after me… So far they’ve all been weak, but something tells me that’ll change.

Sunday retreated under the gazes of his new friends and soon locked the door of the room behind him. He hadn’t made much use of the bed so far, but it did seem inviting for once. It took only a moment for sleep to take him, despite his worries.

He dreamed of the Yew Tree’s embrace and the graveyard of his birth. His spells played around in the desolate mists surrounding him, bringing color to the serene vision.

No voice spoke.

No hounds came.

A pair of yellow eyes splashed with a hint of red opened somewhere far away.