Scourge of Chaos: Savage Healer

Each hour and each moment brought Jishu’s new body closer to something transcending what he had ever known– a phenomenon he hadn’t encountered before.

His new body worked well, and he was delighted with its strength and apparent lack of needs. It was a union of an old soul and improved flesh that hadn’t worked out when he had done so with a human or his brother. However, the changes ended there the previous two times.

Not this time.

Whatever the spell had copied from Sunday wasn’t a simple trace of his unique constitution or look. It was something more, something that was slowly spreading through Jishu’s soul and making him feel… purposeful. He couldn’t explain it.

If it was the touch of a Divine, then he would know. Jishu had tested what corruption did to one’s mind by voluntarily worshipping one of the lesser fallen gods. It had been quite hard to get the ‘belief’ part just right, but eventually, his prayers had been answered.

That had led to his first ‘death’, and the successful slaughter of his brother. Not that they had parents, but being born as a high-ghoul together with someone else was a unique experience. Ghouls were simple things, but high ghouls were not. They were born with a bond few would understand. Each high-ghoul had some control over the lesser ones – a talent.

Jishu had been weaker than his brother before he had used the spell and then killed him using the borrowed strength from the Divine. He could remember the madness, but rebirth had washed that sin away from him. And it had made him more by strengthening what was thought to be an unchangeable gift given at one's birth.

Perhaps the spell living in his soul wanted him to slay Sunday to complete the process. It would be such a waste though. And Jishu had already gotten plenty from their master-disciple bond. He had sent groups of ghouls in the forests around the swamp and he had sensed their clashes with civilization. They were too far away to use them as eyes, but it was all just a preparation for when he made his own descent. Civilization was important, and it would take a single rank four to ruin all of his plans and destroy him completely.

Another scream broke through the night.

Seconds later his trusty ghouls dragged the form of a struggling woman before him. Her clothes were torn by the ghoul’s claws and she was bleeding heavily from random scratches. She struggled madly against the limbs of his servants as if that would make a difference.

Jishu grinned and reached for her easily making her screams cease with a hand around her throat. It took just a bit of force for his clawed finger to penetrate her skin and cut deep, leaving a trail of beautiful red in its path. He didn’t feel hungry anymore, not that he’d ever enjoyed fresh meat. It had to ripen.

“So soft,” he whispered, admiring his own voice. How it had changed, familiar too. “So fragile,” he said.

She struggled for air and her face was growing redder by the second but Jishu didn’t care. He tore her flesh while screams died down in her throat and tears wet his skin. He peeled her skin inch by inch, admiring everything beneath and enjoying each tiny detail of her biology. Humans have always been fascinating to dissect.

The woman had long stopped struggling when he was finally done and lost interest after examining each of her organs closely.

“Just a human then,” he murmured and threw the unrecognizable body to his ghouls. He had to make sure not to miss anyone changed by using the inferni’s blood. Spell-fused were dangerous and sometimes more trouble than expected. They often hid themselves among the normal people, waiting for their time to come. It was a mystery when the mutations caused by consuming a spell along with the blood of inferni would give fruit. It could be immediately, or it could never happen. It could also kill the one doing it.

He was searching for signs of it, so he could prepare appropriately. A spell-fused could be an unpredictable obstacle to any plan.

It was a path for the weak to break their limits and gain access to a different life – that of half a monster.

It was also one of the reasons inferni were so sought after. One could create an army of spell-fused capable of rivaling normal magi. Sometimes the mutations would even give birth to those strong enough to go toe to toe with a high-ranked mage, without having to rely on numbers or simple tricks. However, spell-fused had short and painful lives, and self-loathing was often the end of them.

For now, Jishu was bleeding the village. Kidnapping them one by one ever so slowly. Showing the little inferni girl what fear was and how useless her mighty Uncle Arten would be. Her faith in the man needed to be eroded and plucked away. She needed to know terror and true loneliness, to appreciate salvation. Such was the way of life and creating strong bonds.

Nothing quite like a hero chasing away the darkness.

He was in no hurry, as the swamp held a few useful spells he had yet to locate and make his own. He would also take Arten’s when the time came. The man had outgrown his use and letting the little inferni watch the ghouls tear him apart would be the culmination of his play.

Then she would be his to raise, and Sunday would hopefully join them.

Jishu smiled in glee, but a strange sensation of disgust ruined the moment. He looked toward the remains of the woman. That was not it. Something else was happening.

Perhaps it was his disciple’s doing. The bond this time around was quite strange, but all would be revealed in time.

Patience was all he needed.

******

The bag of ghoul ears plopped on the clerk's dust with a sound that made too much sense. After all, it had spent a whole day in the village as Sunday and Vyn had caught some much-needed rest, and then a lot of time in the sun as they rode back.

It had taken a while for Sunday to gather enough essence and heal both himself and Vyn. Whatever the laughter had done hadn’t been limited to physical damage, but his Omen of Duality was once again proving itself by healing all of it. His soul still needed some work done, but it was nothing more than a mild itch at this point.

The clerk looked up at them and carefully examined their outfits marred with dried blood and even a few pieces of flesh here and there.

Sunday didn’t plan on telling anyone about the giggling fleshworm that had crawled out of the woman. It was right to warn them, but the worshippers were appearing because of him, and targeting him. If more and more people were made aware of the incidents and they all revolved around Sunday, then the only reasonable thing would be to get him out and away from the city. It was very selfish, but he couldn’t afford anything else. Blumwin was his path to power and wealth; he desperately needed both.

“What is this?” the clerk finally asked. He hadn’t touched the bag, but Sunday was sure the smell had introduced itself to him and his colleagues.

“Rotting ghoul ears. Forty, give or take. There are more out there if you want to go pick them up yourself,” Sunday responded.

The hall of tasks was large and there were quite a few clerks handing paperwork or giving jobs out to those working for them. However, all activity seemed to have ceased once Sunday and Vyn had made their appearance. He was well aware of how they looked, but the villagers were adamant that they would not be leaving their homes, and he would be the last person to throw himself as a shield against the stubborn bastards and a horde of starving ghouls.

Especially if something of Jishu remains out there. Imagine if ghosts are a thing in this world... God if that bastard tries to possess me, I’ll slap the daylights out of him.

Sunday had found his mind open to countless possibilities after his short and not quite pleasant adventure. The Divine were capable of much more than making normal people act insane, apparently, and things seemed to be escalating. He could still feel the laughter as if part of it had permanently bored itself into his brain, and that made him quite irritable.

The clerk frowned. “We only require the completion of the task and in this case… proof was not requested.”

“Yeah, well, I deemed it necessary to provide it to you either way. Furthermore, you would be smart to talk to whoever the hell pays you, and tell them that this village is doomed.” Sunday spat. Vyn nodded sagely at his shoulder like the worst hype man in existence. He had earned the right though. “There are hundreds of those things. Swamp ghouls too. They’ve come down from the wetlands and they’re hungry.”

The clerk eyed him, then took a piece of paper and wrote for some time. “I’ll report your findings and the Arcanum will make sure to take the appropriate action,” the clerk said. “Please give me your badge for a moment, so you can receive your payment. The real one.”

Sunday took it out from his belt and threw it on the counter. He waited patiently and looked around for anyone suspicious or anyone who looked even remotely important. According to Elora, there were not many combat magi in the city, which didn’t bode well, and the holes and openings littering the walls were another issue he didn’t think was handled well.

From what he understood the city was hardly governed by one ruling body. The City Council was made of the rich – nobles and merchants looking to profit further or keep their wealth, while the Arcanum was an institution that stood above the mundane and hailed itself as something transcendent. It was a system made to exploit - truly a wonder.

As for the City Guard – it was in the hands of the Council and was apparently next to useless outside the gates of the city. He had yet to see the members of the true night guard that Safie had been afraid of. Apart from some shoddy and bored undead, he hadn’t met anything out of the ordinary yet. Certainly nothing that could sense bloodlust.

If I want to establish myself and handle all the bullshit coming my way, I’ll need more answers. And spells.

“Would you like gold or contribution points?” the clerk suddenly asked, making Sunday frown at the man for interrupting his thoughts.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Would you like gold or contribution points?” the clerk repeated.

Sunday’s mood took another turn for the worse. He needed both, but contribution points were easier to trade for those practice rooms Elora had praised so much. He had advanced to the next step after killing the Divine’s monster, but that was no way to progress. He couldn’t count on there being more of those, especially while he was staying in the city. Perhaps those who had begged for death had wanted to learn exactly that about him… it could’ve helped them to make sure what he was.

However, the biggest question was whether what had happened was the doing of a true Divine, or someone lesser. Another slave, but a higher standing one. Sunday knew little about them, but he wasn’t stupid enough to assume there were no thinking worshippers who didn’t go through their day seeking death or transforming into monsters. It was hardly a way to sustain a religion even if one was insane.

He shook his head and focused on the present. Contribution points were the only answer. If he used gold for those practice rooms… it was too painful to think about. There were probably not enough pouches from the Arcanum to the Wayward Rat to pay for an hour.

People didn’t seem to enjoy carrying large amounts of money on their person. Apart from that mayor. Still, his current wealth, while much more substantial, was probably nowhere near enough for him to get a new spell. And he was yet to figure out what the hell had gone wrong with Phantasmal Fall. Furthermore, the Smash Ball was feeling weak and he had noticed its size had decreased yet again and it had even cracked in places.

All he hoped for was that the Omen of Duality would remain fine. Thankfully, the spell seemed to thrive in the branches of the tree holding up his soul space.

“Contribution points,” he finally said. The clerk touched his badge on some strange stone and returned it to him after a moment.

“You’ve earned twenty contribution points for completing the task given to you. Your service to the Arcanum is greatly appreciated,” the clerk said with a tone that bordered on a boss dismissing his underlings.

Sunday snarled at him and turned away. He was in no mood for petty bullshit, but he made sure to remember the face of the bastard for when he ran into him outside. Attitude was taxable in Sunday’s world.

Vyn looked at each wall and sculpture with wonder as they exited the Arcanum. He had forgotten about his recent near-death experiences and seemed to be greatly enjoying his short stay in the institution.

The Wayward Rat was where they had left it, and Sunday stopped at the entrance and glared at Riya, who raised an eyebrow after seeing them. His most important task was making sure his soul was fine and then using those practice rooms after a good bath.

However, the sight of the girl made Sunday postpone his plan for a moment longer.

“Vyn,” he said, “I’ll need to chat alone with Riya.”

“Sure thing man, I need a bath and a lot of booze so… you’ll find me passed out in the room.” Vyn patted his shoulder and stepped away before looking back. “Don’t fall in love with her.”

Sunday opened his mouth but the man was gone up the stairs and all he could do was glare.

…I’ll be lucky if I don’t strangle her and you after that. I’ve been patient enough.

He beelined toward the bar and Riya greeted him with a scowl. Too bad. She would have to bear with the smell of ghoul guts for the length of their talk.