Scourge of Chaos: Savage Healer

Sunday fiddled with his badge, frowning at the piece of matte metal as if it were responsible for all his troubles. Contribution points, while very useful in the Arcanum itself, were underwhelming. One could touch gold, caress it, feel its cold weight on the palm, and enjoy its shine. Points? Not quite so.

It was a great deal, nonetheless. The scholars Adept Ironbond and Zihei had led him to were a weird bunch who examined the Ishiren awakening art, making sure it was actually what Sunday claimed it was, before copying it and assuring everyone that no one in the Arcanum had ever heard of it.

He made sure not to give them the name of the art, shrugging off the passionate questions of the scholars and even those of Adept Ironbond. Zihei remained passive, acting like someone who had finally found his spine and decided enough was enough. Sunday couldn’t blame the guy, although trying to provoke him had certainly been fun. Still, Sunday had gone much lighter than he could’ve, so in his mind, he had done nothing wrong.

‘To truly see a man, see him when he’s angry when he’s sad, and finally when he’s happy.’ Old Rud had preached. Sunday found it funny how often he unconsciously followed the bastard’s advice as if the thing had ingrained itself into his soul and refused to let go even after death. Nothing of his past life stuck out as clearly as the moments spent with the old man.

It didn’t matter anyway. Zihei was no one of consequence anymore. The first steps into the secrets of the Arcanum had been taken, and whatever the magi of the institution suspected it didn’t matter as long as they were on the same side as Sunday. Which was his side.

Having enough contribution points and gold to spend months locked away in the practice rooms and rise through the ranks also lifted Sunday’s mood quite a bit, although the very thought of doing that was repulsive. He was not one who could stomach long bouts of meditation, much less months at a time. As much as practicing the Black Breath helped him, getting to know the world and the people roaming it had helped him more so far.

Before making the final push for Rank Two, he had to make preparations too. Leaving the Arcanum behind after his job was done, he headed straight for the Wayward Rat. The thought of checking on Elora passed through his head, but they had just parted ways and the girl probably needed some time alone or among loved ones, rather than to be reminded of getting her throat slit.

Plus, there was business to deal with. The kids in the Empty Manor were most likely done with enough of the shitty wine they were making for Sunday to start blessing it. He resolved himself to rely on Riya to sell the first few batches discreetly since it was the easiest way.

Savia would’ve been a much better option considering she was unaffiliated with the Arcanum or the Wayward Rat and gave him yet another path forward into the underbelly of the city, but the woman was deadest on not involving herself with him.

Sunday respected that more than anything. He knew himself and knew how much trouble he had already brought along, and how much more would follow.

The most important thing was finding a safe way to handle the hound. Something told him that it wouldn’t be as simple as melting the creature’s throat this time. While he couldn’t remember the narrator clearly, it had alluded to this being just the start. A stronger beast was bound to come.

He entered the tavern with a wide smile, planning to check on Vyn, speak with Riya, and get things going.

Instead of Riya, however, he was greeted by the frantic Safie and the sullen face of Koberic. Even the new pair of shiny, but obviously cheap boots didn’t seem to make the young man happier. They leaped as they saw him, but remained in their places while silently staring.

Sunday raised an eyebrow. He didn’t like this, not at all. It smelled of trouble, and he had enough of that. Slowly, like walking to the ruination of a perfectly good day, Sunday neared the table of the two.

“I assume,” he started slowly, as they remained silent, “that you’re not here to tell me everything’s going well?”

Koberic looked at Safie and Safie looked at Koberic. Neither seemed enthused to speak, but finally, the ambition in the girl won and she straightened her back.

“Vyn was taken,” she said, choking on the words.

Sunday heard every word, but he needed to make sure. Of course. “Say that again?”

“Vyn was taken! By the vampires!”

Ah. The mighty vampires. I’ve heard so much about them already, and yet I’ve not met a single one. How peculiar.

“I see. Do they want anything?” Is it a dig at my future operations, or just because of Vyn’s sister again?

“They don’t want anything from you, big bro,” a voice said. Safie and Koberic jumped up and turned sharply. Sunday frowned at Kallus. The wight had appeared in his line of sight this time, opting to do it in the open, and yet there had been not the slightest trace of essence or movement in the surroundings. Whatever talent the guy had was extremely powerful.

“What do you know about this, Kallus?” Sunday asked, trying to remain calm. He had spells, gold, and points. It had been too good to be true.

“You know me, bro. I roam the streets and catch the whispers of the evildoers in glass jars. I ask the stars for guidance and –”

“You’re the hero this city needs! But please, let’s focus on the details now. Your expertise will greatly help with the headache coming my way shortly.” He wasn’t sure how long he had spent in the Arcanum. Time seemed to be on his side much more now that lifespan was not a worry. A dangerous thing to get used to.

Kallus beamed at that and sat on a chair. Sunday followed him and Koberic and Safie had no choice but to do the same.

“The vamps won’t hurt him, the bastards,” the wight began. “They need him because of Halline. What she stole can’t be returned with money. They might torture him a bit, maybe drain him some, and spread rumors to try and see if she’s in the region. I doubt it though, since she left long ago and little bro Vyn seems to know that,” Kallus said while putting his legs on the table. “Vamps are nasty ones. I say we leave him there until they get bored.”

Sunday smirked. “Are you afraid of them?”

The front legs of the wight’s chair met the ground as he appeared next to Sunday with an insulted frown. He seemed to have forgotten the slap. Sunday parts of the wight’s change of place now, a cloud of strange darkness that seemed almost like teleportation, and movements that barely registered in his mind or eyes. As if time and space were different for the strange man.

“Yes!” Kallus admitted. He made it sound almost as if he was offended, and yet he freely admitted to it. Sunday was at a loss on how to deal with the wight.

“I see… Unfortunately, the guy is my pal, so… duty and honor demand I go kick some bloodsucker ass.”

Kallus shook his head. “Don’t! Rank Threes are the only ones who can keep most vamps in check, and even they won’t mess with a Baron. They’re tireless, fast, crazy, and murderous! And so disgusting! They’re my natural enemy too, so you can’t count on me!”

As if I was planning to you crazy bastard.

“And don’t count on you-know-who either!” Kallus continued, winking at Sunday. For a guy who seemed like he was great at sneaking around, the wight was as subtle as a whale on a highway sometimes.

“Right. It’s my problem, and I’ll deal with it. Tell me, how do you kill a vampire?”

Kallus flashed again and this time reappeared on his knees on the table, his hands gripping Sunday’s collar.

“Brother of mine, please rethink this! You’ll die! That’ll be the end of—”

The slap once again found Kallus’s face and the wight fell to the side, wide-eyed.

“Less drama, more useful information,” Sunday said. His essence stirred as he got ready for retaliation, but the wight only grinned and sat down on his chair acting prim and proper. Safie and Koberic on the other hand looked positively terrified.

“To kill a vampire is to kill any other undead. Go for the head,” Kallus said.

“No garlic? Wooden stakes? Crosses?”

Everyone looked at him strangely and Sunday frowned. I see. This is more troublesome than I anticipated. And I might have just the thing.

“Silver? Sunlight?”

“Ah! They don’t like sunlight, but who does? It weakens them a bit, like it does to me. Truesilver harms all undead!” Kallus enthusiastically said, his fears from a mere minute ago completely forgotten.

“I see,” he turned toward Safie, “Have you brought any of the wine for me to work on? We need to start already.”

The girl seemed confused for a few moments, “But Vyn—”

“He’ll be fine. Answer the question,” Sunday retorted.

She frowned, “We have two barrels waiting on a cart in the stables. They’re the best we’ve made so far. Some of the boys are there to carry them inside if needed. We might have some trouble up the stairs…”

“No need for that. Let’s go.”

Sunday stood up and reluctantly Safie and Koberic followed. He gazed back and saw that Kallus was gone. It was both a relief and a curse since the wight was an unpredictable thing. He seemed absolutely terrified of the vampires, but that was natural if they were really capable of countering his strange abilities.

The barrels were on a small cart and Sunday wasted no time sending the kids from the Empty Manor away and making Safie keep guard. She was the most dangerous one, she was also the most trustworthy one for now. It didn’t matter much, since enough people knew of his abilities already. He opened two of the barrels and summoned three months each, draining most of his essence.

“Bottle them up carefully. Don’t let the undead touch the wine. Then bring the bottles here and tell Riya about it.”

“What about you?” Safie asked. Her anxiety slipped through the forced calmness the girl was trying to exude and Sunday patted her head, making her eyes grow wider and her mask completely crumble.

“I’ll go to the Arcanum, and then see if a bunch of bats can deal with a mean doggie. I’ll be back in a few days, I think.” Sunday chuckled to himself as he walked out and passed by the rest of the Manor Kids. No one stopped him as he made his way back to the Arcanum. He had hoped to get some rest and make a plan, but things were lining up just the way he needed them to.

The practice rooms were easy to find after paying the contribution points, Sunday sat with his back resting on the wall and closed his eyes. The Black Breath came like a fresh gulp of air after being closed in a sauna for hours. He drank greedily from the abundant essence until he was full, then took a short break. Perhaps finding a practice room with the appropriate essence for his art would’ve sped things up further, but he needed to be careful now.

He wasn’t aiming to break through, but to bring himself to the very edge of the next major step in his career as a mage. The excitement of his spells could be felt in his soul space and Sunday carefully fell into practice again. The process was slow and arduous, but breath by breath he felt the progress.

It was a day and a half later that Sunday opened his eyes and exhaled. It was like standing beyond a large chasm but instead of oblivion it only promised power. Resisting the urge was one of the more difficult things he had done in his life, however stepping over now was not an option. The Arcanum was too important of an ally, and the hound too potent of a weapon.

There was still the option of reaching a peaceful resolution with the so-called vampires. Sunday was frankly quite interested in their lifestyle, especially since this world had a tragic lack of latex and the appropriate music.

He used the rest of the time left in the practice room to make sure he hadn’t overlooked any injuries due to his strange body and to balance himself and his thoughts. Things were growing more chaotic at a rapid pace, but his power was too.

Now all that was left was to find himself a guide through the Vampire district, and perhaps some new clothes. He wanted to make a good first impression.

Savia was not going to be given the opportunity to refuse this time.