Scourge of Chaos: Savage Healer

The gardens were a beautiful place that managed to disperse some of the worries holding Sunday’s mind in their vice-like grip. Flowers of kinds Sunday hadn’t seen anywhere else bloomed with colors so radiant under dawn’s light that they seemed to make everything else bleaker.

He had never been one to appreciate aesthetics unless it came to a beautiful girl or the stars above who had received many of his childhood hopes and dreams. Not the stars currently above, but the ones on Earth. The ones I might never see again.

He didn’t know what season it was or if this world suffered the moods of nature the same. Cold never seemed to bother him much anymore. It had become more of a response to how he felt, a new kind of feeling originating from his soul.

However, if he had to judge by the flowers all around, it was spring. The grass planted everywhere in the gardens was like a green canvas upon which their radiant colors could truly bloom and announce their presence to the world. A special kind of picture – one of life and celebration, as if the dreams of the earth had come to life to bless the living and thinking with their beauty.

Sunday found himself walking aimlessly around and taking it all in. His mind lightened significantly, and some of his worries seemed downright ridiculous now. He was doing all he could, trusting people like never before, trying to control the flow of events, and trying to adapt. Yet, it seemed that fate or perhaps something worse than that had a plan for him. Things outside of his control kept happening and waking nightmares seemed to come for him now too.

Spending the night practicing the Black Breath had somewhat calmed him down and lessened the visions of yellow yes, but they were still there. Out of the corner of his eye, just outside the line of perception, he could notice them crawling, coming to worship at the feet of their master. Was it him they were coming to, or was it someone else? Was it Jishu?

Death is whimsical in this world. I should’ve burned his body or chopped it up in a thousand pieces. I don’t know if that would’ve helped. I wonder if the visions are due to some talent or something else.

The scene of Jishu’s strange words and his death looped inside his mind like a carousel of darkness that was hiding the truth too heavy to bear. Had he made a mistake somewhere? Was it the art he was practicing, or something to do with the Omen of Duality? Or perhaps, Jishu’s other spell… Sunday still had no clue if it was real or some strange game, but anything seemed possible.

He had checked his status page first thing when he got to his room, but there was nothing new. He was being hunted, he was missing from somewhere unknown, and the soul damage was already gone as he had taken care of that. Hopefully, the Golden Page would tell him if there was something seriously wrong.

“Finally,” a voice exclaimed behind him.

Sunday turned with a raised brow only to be greeted by the sight of Elora. She was out of her fancy armored dress and instead had donned a more inconspicuous outfit worthy of a well-traveled adventurer. It didn’t manage to hide her curves and beauty, nor did it distract from how she carried herself. Sunday did his best to stop himself from staring but ultimately failed.

She didn’t seem to mind in the least though.

“I’ve been searching for you for a while and thought you’d gone back on your word,” Elora said.

“I’d never.”

Sunday looked around. He was deep in the gardens, while he had been pretty sure he was still by the entrance of the place. It was more of a park with bushes separating different sections and species of flowers. For a brief moment, he wondered if flowers could give birth to spells, but even if they did, they would probably end up locked somewhere before he could blink.

He was just about to ask when Elora grabbed him by the wrist and pulled. “Come,” she simply said.

Sunday let her. His essence was full, and he was sure the girl was just excited to help whoever it was she was seeking help from. Soon they left the gardens behind and plunged into the many twisting streets of Blumwin. There were people everywhere, some sullen, some smiling. His gaze passed through each one, searching and wondering if they were a potential worshipper.

Elora led him just as she had in the Arcanum, unafraid that she might get lost or take a wrong turn. Quite a few gazes started turning toward them once the massive stone buildings became older, less maintained, and even broken in places.

Sunday hadn’t had the time to explore Blumwin, nor did he feel much of a desire considering everything he had to take care of, but the walk was productive. There was poverty here, and it seemed that even the Wayward Rat was in a well-to-do part of the city, contrary to his initial thoughts.

They passed quite a few women and men selling flowers or homebrewed wines from baskets and blankets set on the ground. One of them smiled and offered him a beautiful flower similar to a rose, but with strange almost crystalline lines running horizontally through every petal. Sunday shook his head and returned the smile.

It was still better than the slums he had known, but probably not by much considering the technological level of the world.

“Have you decided on your first task?” Elora asked as they rounded around a corner and she stepped over a missing cobblestone.

“Yeah,” Sunday simply answered. He didn’t want to share the details with anyone, lest an incident like the one on his way back from the Manor repeated.

Or perhaps I should only give the info to one person at a time and see if one of those I talk to is working against me. Maybe the mad Divine worshipping bastards have another way to find me.

He had chosen a task that seemed both simple and awesome. Plus, it gave him an opportunity for some more name-spreading. It involved going out of the city, and he didn’t plan on telling anyone, even Vyn who he was going to take along.

The task he had chosen had sounded simple enough – check the woods of a nearby village. There were reports of dead animals and scared hunters. Nothing too troublesome hopefully. Sunday blinked as a nearby wall seemed to stare at him with yellow eyes. He snarled at it.

“You’re talkative today,” Elora said, then stopped in front of a shabby wooden door attached to a large stone structure without windows.

Creepy. The possibility of her trying to harm him was quite high on his list of things to be wary of, but as soon as she opened the door his worries died down and the churning essence calmed.

“She might be… irritable,” Elora warned quietly, then entered the room.

Sunday followed, reminded of some not-quite-good times from his past. The place was small, and whatever passages connected it with the rest of the buildings were long gone, essentially leaving a square hole in the wall barely fit for more than two people to live in. There were dirty clothes and torn book pages on the ground, but nothing more than that.

There was only one person there – an undead woman in a pretty bad shape who scowled at them. A blanket was covering most of her form as she sat on a small bed in the corner, so he couldn’t see the rest of her, but he assumed it was pretty bad.

Elora ducked in time to avoid the book that flew toward her head, but Sunday was not so lucky. It only hit his chest and the throw was weak enough to not matter. It was one of those romance novels Zihei liked, but the title was illegible as if scratched out with a knife.

“I told you I don’t want you to come anymore!” the woman yelled.

“Suile, please. I’ve brought someone…” Elora begged, surprising Sunday. The girl seemed to have quite a few layers. “He can help you.”

His first impression had been one of childish arrogance and a sense of superiority, the second of calmness and rationality, and the third of naivete and playfulness. It was quite confusing and intriguing at the same time. Why had she provoked him during their first meeting? Had it been on purpose?

“I don’t need anyone!” The woman yelled. She remained sitting on her bed. She was thin and there were clear signs of rot and something like mold on her face. It was not similar to Jishu’s but seemed to be slowly eating at her. Sunday had seen worse, but not since coming to the city. This was new. And it was also an opportunity to learn more about the Omen of Duality and if it had any limits.

Still, Elora should’ve warned him of the state of the woman in advance.

“Hey there,” he said. He knew how to talk to people like her. He had been in low places, and he had taken others out of low places. “Sorry for crowding your little abode, but how about you and I talk it out, while Elora cleans up?”

She eyed him, seemingly for the first time, “I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

“How about a drink then,” he said and sat down uninvited on the corner of the small bed.

The undead girl was about to protest but stopped herself at the sight of the flask he offered her. She took it tentatively, careful not to touch him.

“Sunday?” Elora asked uncertainly.

He only winked at her while her friend drank thirstily from the flask until she had drained most of it. The changes were immediate. The flesh of her face moved, filled out, the cracks and moldy wounds closed as if they had never been. Her arm quickly followed.

Suile and Elora watched flabbergasted until the changes stopped.

“W-what is happening?”, the undead girl asked, her eyes wide. She threw the blanket away and Sunday grimaced at the sign of her legs. They were a mess of broken bones that stuck out from the dark flesh and it was a miracle she had all the parts still connected. Her ankles were a mess as if someone had stomped on them. Poor girl. He knew better than to ask what had happened.

With a sigh, he stood up. He hoped the flask would be enough but at least it had proven its efficiency. It was three days old and potent as ever. Well, it’s not like I won’t be getting famous for it soon enough.

Two pitch-black moths appeared above each of his palms. Elora instantly jumped away as if burned, but she quickly calmed down. Her reaction had surprised him, but trust, or the lack of it, went both ways.

The undead girl was mesmerized by the sight and as the two moths circled the air above her bed and landed on her legs, sighed with relief. Sunday tried to contain the spell and rather than an explosion the moths fell apart slower, coating each inch of her limbs.

“Gods be thrice damned…” Elora mumbled from the corner as she watched with wide eyes. The undead girl was silent, her eyes glassy, her newly healed lip bitten by her teeth.

Soon there was no more damage left and she tentatively moved one ankle, then the other. Sunday had to admit that his spell was more than impressive.

“Seems that we’re done here,” Sunday said. “I hope you feel better Suile, there’re many cool drinks to be had, and it’d be a shame if you chose to rot away in this place rather than enjoy undeath. I’ll leave you two alone now.”

He threw the amazed Elora a glance and turned to walk away, suppressing the urge to laugh like a maniac.

“Wait!” the girl called. She stood up but seemed to have trouble keeping her balance and Elora rushed to help her. “Thank you! Thank you!” she repeated. Could undead cry?

If you’re so thankful then spread my name, woman! Make me famous! An idea suddenly came to his mind that almost made him want to laugh again. It was risky, and he wasn’t sure if his talent worked that way, but… it was worth a try. Ah, my Talent is forcing me to become a hero for the masses…

Sunday smiled cooly. “No worries.”

“What’s your name?” Suile asked.

“Sunday,” he said. Then ignored both Elora and her and made his exit into the alley. It had to be done. There were rules to such things!

He was feeling much better too. It was quite astonishing that healing the poor and the hurt to spread his ‘legend’ hadn’t passed through his mind until now. He had a lot to thank Elora for. I’ll need a mysterious cloak, a map of the city, and a few pots of coffee… ah, I don’t need coffee, I’m dead!

With a light heart, a smirk, and no yellow eyes peering at him from the corners Sunday tried to trace back the steps he and Elora had taken. He almost expected the girl to catch up to him, but she seemed to have remained with her friend. It was for the better, although it did ruin the Hero’s exit – especially the part where the maiden threw herself in his arms.

He took the turn they had taken earlier and paused. There she was, the same lady selling roses from earlier. But rather than flowers, there was a pair of large shears in her hand and the grin of a maniac on her face.

Sunday waited, expecting some creepy words or at least a few more cultists to crawl out of somewhere, but no one else came. The woman didn’t speak as she rushed at him silently, shears like a weapon.

The slap that intercepted her charge was so strong it sent her head ringing into the alley’s wall, and the woman crumpled on the floor the next second. He felt the foulness leave her almost immediately and wondered if that was a special effect brought by his talent. He didn’t feel any different, which meant he hadn’t grown stronger. Did his slap hold the power to rehabilitate brainwashed worshippers into society?

Shit. Did I overdo it? There was a growing puddle of blood on the cobblestones, but the woman was breathing. Sunday gritted his teeth and took out another one of his flasks – one in which he had drowned a white moth earlier.

He poured just a bit on her head and watched as the wound closed with a sigh of relief. Murdering a flower seller in an alleyway was not good for reputation building. He took the shears just in case she woke up and decided to try again.

Then Sunday turned and met Elora’s eyes.

“It’s not what it looks like, I swear!” he said, putting his most innocent smile on. Then remembering he was still holding the shears dropped them on the ground.

Motherfucker.