Scourge of Chaos: Savage Healer

The next few days were somewhat boring but productive. Vyn was off doing errands Sunday had told him to do. There was no need to worry about the man’s safety, unless of course, Sunday had been wrong in his judgment that there was further importance to him, or perhaps his sister. This was all new, especially acting like the big smart boss. In his previous life, Sunday had been a grunt, a nobody, a petty thief with medium to large dreams.

Now, he was trying to make it on the other end of the totem pole, and it was as fun as it was scary. Magic and monsters only made the experience more exhilarating.

There had been no signs of Savia coming and begging to accept his generous offer, nor had Elora reached out in any way. Riya was gone too, doing who knows what – hopefully collecting a pile of gold to give him in exchange for Jishu’s awakening art.

Sunday had closed himself in the room, observing how the wine produced by the Empty Manor kids was holding the healing effect of the Omen and practicing the Black Breath or reading in the meantime. The wine was doing decent and Sunday judged that it would hold the healing for at least a few weeks, which was not great, but not too bad. Some of the other alcohols he had tried were doing much better, but they were expensive to buy, and probably impossible to make with what he currently had at hand.

What had shocked him was that the thick ‘chocolate’ booze he had bought from the hole-in-the-wall place he had found Savia in held onto the effects of the moths the best out of everything. It was an undead drink without a name and it was cheap as dirt, so spiking it with a black moth had been given. He didn’t want to make poison, although technically it was.

It made no sense why it was the best though. He had thought it could be because of the liquid's thickness, or some specific ingredient, but something told him that wasn’t the case. Perhaps the spell had its own preference that he didn’t fully understand? If Phantasmal Fall and his dying Smash Ball had proven anything it was that spells were difficult to grasp.

The book he had spent time reading – the thick tome titled ‘The Common Ghoul: Rearing, Uses, Spells’ – had mentioned some spells that gave Sunday the creeps. It had become obvious that the whole thing was written for high ghouls as they were the ones born with the talent of controlling the lesser ghouls. It gave tips on spells that affected the small monsters in various ways, almost like buffs or steroids or even a full-on transformation. It was a terrifying thought but allowed Sunday to imagine a whole new avenue of magic.

What was not possible, after all? Was there was spell that would temporarily turn him into a sword master and save him the trouble of practicing? Slaps were fun, but they were not a weapon. They were a gimmick, a strange talent that he didn’t fully understand. As if the one responsible had found it funny and given the talent to him just for the hell of it. The slaps had healed on their own, without the use of moths; they had served as a weapon against the weak and the suicidal; they had smacked the corruption out of an old lady. The new line on the golden page that spoke of ‘a change of heart for the repentant’ was strange.

And yet another question plagued his thoughts. What was the line between spells and talents? Both could grow, both were magic and while talents seemed much harder to control so far, with the exception of the golden page, they were terrifying just like spells. Arten had mentioned a long-range escape spell that was one use, and it had struck him as similar to his Chaotic Step.

The desire to just stand up and go to the Arcanum was almost too much, but Sunday wanted to let Riya copy the art first and let that Zihei fellow stew some more. He sighed again and took a sip of the chocolate liquor. The thing was great, and not having to worry about being drunk or putting on weight was great too.

As if on cue his door opened without warning and his head turned to see a nervous Riya. That was a strange sight. When had she been nervous before?

She stared at him and he stared at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Well?” Sunday said, “If you’re not going to take those clothes off and jump into bed with me then better speak up. What’s got you riled up if it ain’t my irresistible charms?”

Riya closed her eyes and sighed. “Your gold awaits. I need you to follow me.”

Sunday felt desire rush in his chest like a dragon flying toward the sun. Why am I thinking of dragons suddenly? He lightly patted his heart, where the awakening art had been secured beneath his shirt. It was a golden goose, a cash cow, a winning lottery ticket, and he felt the rough old paper covered in God knows what as if it was the touch of a beautiful woman.

Is she nervous because she’s gonna be giving me the coin? I know I’d be. Gold, gold, gold. Gimme. He stood up and quickly trotted over like a happy puppy.

They walked in silence, with Sunday lightly humming while Riya was behaving very oddly. She was stiff, nervous, afraid, or perhaps just jealous that her gold would be his. It didn’t matter. Passing through the cellar and by the room where they had held their meetings, Sunday grew curious. How low did the Wayward Rat go? How many secrets was he about to find out?

The partial answer arrived a full thirty minutes later. They had entered a hole in the very foundation of the structure and crawled through spaces that looked almost as if a giant mole had dug out a labyrinth for the sake of it.

It didn’t dampen Sunday’s enthusiasm in the slightest, but something in his mind screamed in self-preservation and separated a small piece of his brain just in case. He liked many things about Riya, but fully trusting her was never an option. He tried to remember the path but the attempt was in vain. Thankfully, he had a very helpful inbuilt navigation app in his welcome package no one knew about.

Finally, they reached a strange room. A few lamps were battling the darkness and losing badly, but it was still enough for an undead’s vision to see almost every detail of what was inside. The room was large and had quite a few passages leading in and out of it. However, what got Sunday’s attention immediately was not a mountain of gold.

There were cages. Large and thick, made of an unknown dull red metal that seemed almost as if it was made of billions of small needles with their points pointing inward. Each bar was a work of art that belonged in nightmares, and each cage was placed against a wall covered in that same metal.

Inside were a few familiar faces. Victims of his ruthless dance of slaps that had done nothing more than knock a few suicidal villagers on their asses. The villagers that had attacked him on the way back from the manor.

Another cage housed the woman he had slapped after healing Elora’s friend.

So much for a romantic getaway. “What’s the meaning of this? Didn’t you say you killed them?” Sunday asked in mock shock. He was not worried as that was a somewhat expectant outcome. Riya hadn’t struck him as a killer, while Kallus… the wight could be anything with how manic he was. The question was why they had felt the need to do all of this.

He understood lying. The Divine were no joke, despite his attempts to make one of them. It seemed foolish to trust people, like he was doing, without knowing a lot more of them. What if your new best friend turned out to be a religious nut? Thankfully, his sixth sense was amazing. There was no sense of nausea.

“I’m sorry,” Riya said quietly. “We had to make sure.”

“Make sure of what?” Should I be angrier than I am? I knew she hid secrets but belonging to a secret order fighting the corrupted was not what I had in mind. If that’s even the case. Perhaps this is a rehabilitation center?

Riya sighed and waited for a moment before her already dark eyes grew darker. “Kallus!” she barked.

In a flurry of shadows and with the flair of a ballet dancer the wight appeared before them. He was smiling ear to ear.

“I fooled you!” he said, staring at Sunday. Then he turned to Riya. “Am I not amazing? Did you see my entrance? Ah, do you think this city is ready for me to grace it again, or perhaps I should work to tone it down? I don’t want to blind them with my magnificence.”

“Kallus,” Riya said, lowering her tone. “Explain it to him.”

The wight pouted and disappeared, only to appear next to Sunday and lean on his shoulder. There was no weight, but it was also impossible to move him as if it was a wall and not a thin person there.

Sunday tried to remain calm. Calm was good, especially with how much the wight creeped him out. I should read up on wights like I do on ghouls.

“Brother,” the wight said and Sunday moved away. It didn’t bother the young-looking man as he remained leaning on the air. “Brother,” he repeated.

Goddamn lunatic.

“Yes?”

“I’ve met many people.” The wight’s voice grew serious for once, deeper. He shifted and appeared before the two of them. “I’ve killed a thousand, admired a few, loved only one with the passion of a dying star. You’ve swiftly entered the few I admire with all my being, for I believe that no one else, in the history of this puny world, has ever done what you have.”

Sunday tilted his head and eyed the villagers again. Riya was rubbing the bridge of her nose but remained silent.

After what seemed like an entirely unnecessary dramatic pause, Kallus finally continued. He reappeared again in the center of the room and spread his hands as if he were about to say something amazing. And he did.

“You’ve somehow saved all those here from the corruption of a Divine!”

“I have?” He looked at them again. They didn’t look saved at all.

“Yes. And you did it by slapping the sh—,” the wight looked toward Riya. “The daylights out of them!”

Oh? Is that so? I guess I did something like that in the swamp with Hark too, huh?

Sunday remained silent which was certainly not the reaction Kallus was expecting. Riya sighed and turned to him.

“Again, sorry for lying to you. We had to make sure.”

“You could’ve made sure without telling me you’ve killed nine people I beat up,” he shot back. “Then again, manipulation and information are the names of the game, right? It’s not new to me. Everyone wants something, and every relationship is built on word games with you.” He said everything calmly. There was no bad blood here. He was doing the same, and it was only natural for an information broker to use any means necessary.

There was hurt in Riya’s dark eyes that quickly passed and she shook her head. “We had to make sure you didn’t know of your ability. If you did, then that would mean a whole lot more.”

“Big sis is smart, bro. And nice. Not as nice as me, the most giving and wonder savior of the common people, but… she’s alright.” Kallus said.

Is this his way of trying to help?

“I’m not blaming anyone,” Sunday said. He walked near one of the cages and examined the man inside. He looked almost delirious – fully unaware of the presence of the three undead. Who knew wellness comes in so many different forms? Slapping religion out of people has got to be the weirdest one. “It’s only natural that you will want to find out what hides behind the weird undead variant walking into your town.”

“You’re strange. There are no records of your species. No record of what you can do. And worst of all, the Divine wants you for some reason. We were hoping you could tell us what that reason is, so we could help.”

Help? Why would you help?

“That’s so nice of you, truly. I’d love a few answers myself.” He touched one of the iron bars gently. It was freezing to the touch. “What’s this?”

“Mesmer steel. A quasi spell with quite a few strange properties. Depending on the form it is crafted in, it can exhibit different effects,” Riya explained.

“Amazing.”

Riya gently touched his hand. “Come, we need you to meet one person, and then we can put all of our cards on the table.”

“Who?”

“The owner of the Wayward Rat.”

Oh boy. I hope it’s not another old and tricky bastard. I’ve had enough of that.

Sunday still followed. He felt no danger from being near the two and he was in the deep anyway. While melting faces remained an option something told him Kallus wouldn’t be a simple opponent if it came to that.

The walls of the tunnel they took were darker, and older, as if they were not part of the construction they had just passed. There was a certain sense of ancientness broken only by the out-of-place sources of light put far enough apart that anyone with regular human vision would be fucked. Twists and turns and a wet draft led them to a large cave smelling of flowers and iron. It was like the lair of a monster or a supervillain to Sunday. Weapons were thrown all over the sides of it, benches overflowing with stacks of books and strange materials, barrels of who knows what, and in the middle of it a creature – no, a woman.

She was not undead or human. Perhaps once she had been one, or both. Now, she was a terrifying monster that made no sense, and Sunday felt a surge of fear when eyes of red as cold as the steel of the cages they had just passed met his own.