Scourge of Chaos: Savage Healer

Savia scrambled backward wide-eyed and confused. Her stomach was turning and her lunch was threatening to leave from where it had entered.

Ganor and Danor had already given up and laid on the tavern’s floor, groaning. They had weak stomachs. She still remembered the first time the two had stepped on a boat. It had taken only a few paces from the bay before they were crying and hurling into the clear water. There had been no flower scent coming from the flower lake that day.

And all had begun with a simple refusal and a short argument, and an attempt to leave. She had trusted the mage was better than that. He struck her like someone who understood the life she led, and could relate to it. However, she had missed a simple but fundamental fact. He was like her, but he had what she had lost many moons ago. A tool so dangerous, and so self-destructive in the world they lived in, that it was to be hidden in the darkest depths of one's mind and taken out only when the opportunity presented itself – ambition.

Sunday wasn’t like that. He was one who wore his ambition on his sleeve, in the corners of his smile, and the depths of his red eyes. And he was in a hurry too.

Savia tried to stand up and this time the world didn’t turn upside down. Her legs were trembling and her head was spinning. She tried to suppress a belch but it came out either way. There was no one left in the tavern – only the owner who Sunday had paid quite handsomely for a bottle of the cheapest undead booze. It was literal mud, but judging by how he cradled the bottle, Sunday loved it.

Her mouth opened but the words seemed to lose their way and she took a few heavy breaths. Closing her eyes didn’t help. That awful feeling of losing her foothold, falling toward the ceiling or into the walls… was worse than any hangover she knew. Magic was an evil thing.

“I might’ve overdone it, but I don’t get why you guys are refusing to simply lead me to your boss. He’s got my boy. It’s about loyalty, friendship, and… uh, what’s the third one?” Sunday spoke. There was tension in his voice that made his speech stranger. It had been lighter before, but that was gone now. Almost as if he was struggling to hold something back. That scared Savia.

“Money?” The tavern owner proposed with a gleam in his eyes. Sunday threw him a look and Savia half expected something terrible to happen. It didn’t.

“Y-You’ll die,” she managed finally. “I’ll die.”

Sunday waved dismissively as if her words, as if the eternal suffering that awaited those born in undeath, was nothing of consequence to him. Then again, without any sane gods, it was difficult to say whether afterlife was even a thing. She liked to believe it was.

“No one will be dying. Well, some might, but it won’t be us. I just want you to lead me there, introduce me to someone who can get me what I want, and then I’ll pay and let you go.”

Wasn’t that bastard understanding that she was trying to protect him? He was a powerful mage, a healer, and a nasty bastard from all angles, but he was nowhere near an opponent for a vampire. A foolish, naïve, and ambitious idiot. A dead fool. And he wanted her to lead him to his end, and to a punishment worse than death for herself.

Savia had to admit that part of her wanted to be wrong. Part of her wanted him to be what he was pretending to be and to finally put the vampires in their place. It was unlikely though. She knew magi, and she knew how terrifying they were, and yet the vampires had them beaten.

And yet… She looked toward her companions. The dumb brothers pissed her off each day, but they were all she had.

“Fine,” Savia managed, cold determination taking hold of the remaining nausea and dispersing it. “They stay here.”

Sunday’s eyebrow rose, but he smiled wide at that and took out a few gleaming golden coins before placing them in the pockets of the two brothers who kept hugging the floor, afraid it would run away from them again. The eyes of the mage seemed to hold a hint of shame, but the gold drew her attention like flame beckoned moths, and she hated herself for it. The coins were worth more than all of what she currently owned, apart from perhaps her life. The latter was debatable. Gold was all that mattered in this world for those like her – those who were powerless to resist the whims of the strong.

“Marvelous. Listen, I’m terribly sorry about all of this, but you’re the only one I know who can lead me to the right suckers. I hear there are many, and honestly, I couldn’t care enough to get to know them all. All I want is to meet the ones holding my boy Vyn.”

Savia grunted. She reached for an abandoned glass, sniffed it just in case as she always did, then drained it in one gulp. The fiery liquid burned some more of the dizziness and she straightened up.

“You’ll die,” she repeated. Losing a healer, no matter how much of an asshole he was, was a terrible thing for the city. Not that mages would ever lower themselves to help the poor and enslaved, but it was still a terrible thing. “If it’s the Baron acting personally, we’ll both die.”

“Been there, done that. Shall we go then? We’re burning daylight.”

The mage chuckled and Savia gritted her teeth. She had half a mind to draw her dagger and fight to the death right here, but the memory of what had transpired was still fresh in her mind. The vampires were terrible, but this was a new sort of torture.

And for a little while, she let her curiosity trump her fear.

***

Sunday felt guilty. He had gone overboard, but his own situation was growing out of control. If he wanted to use the hound as a weapon against the scary vampires, then he had to act soon.

He first felt it a few hours after starting his search for Savia and the boys – his soul space seemed to be growing on its own. The tree inside of it was almost pulsing and drawing essence from the air on its own. Rank Two no longer felt like a bottleneck or a barrier, but like a step Sunday’s foot was hovering over.

It took a lot of him to stop himself from just taking it and ascending to the next big challenge. It was a test of willpower and a torture. All of his being screamed in desire for the new power, but he knew what would come with it. He hoped there would be no sleep this time, as exhaustion would hardly be an issue with his high reserves of essence. The vampires would probably not kill him in his sleep either, even out of sheer curiosity.

As they walked through the city Sunday could feel it enter him through every pore and wash over his soul space and spells.

Savia led him reluctantly but adeptly through Blumwin and it was another few hours before he finally understood things clearer. The vampire district was guarded, he had known as much after asking a few questions, but the walls and the actual guards who looked more like proper warriors than anyone else he had seen in the city were a shock. Savia nodded to them and passed without stopping, and Sunday followed while sizing them up. They were undead. All of them.

Fresh blood is probably kept closer.

Sunday was not worried about her turning on him. His moths were enough of an insurance, and he was a mage of the Arcanum, badge proudly set on his chest. It showed his status and acted as a shield. No matter how strong or arrogant the vampires were, killing magi was highly unlikely to be something they did lightly.

Beyond the walls of the district, the world changed. Wall-less buildings and wide awnings that connected to shade the streets from the light of the day created a maze of tunnels and sights. Quite a few groups sat around huddled together, releasing all sorts of colorful smoke through their nostrils and mouths, lost in a haze only they knew. Other parts were fully closed off, but Sunday still heard the moans and all other sorts of sounds that left little to the imagination.

Tens of human men and women were taking baths in open pools of water that seemed to be churning under the effect of some quasi-spell material. They had no issue with being naked in the middle of the street and quite a few seemed ready to doze off in the water, smiling blankly. Sunday saw hints of the addicts in the Empty Manor in their looks, but this was much worse.

While the shade was all-consuming, there was little darkness and little that differentiated the district from one of pleasure and drugs.

He remained silent, doing his best to suppress his soul space and cursing at how easy the cultivation of power seemed to come when he least needed it.

Savia led him to a large tower-like building with actual walls and whispered a few words to the guard, who looked at Sunday and disappeared behind the door. A few minutes later he was back, and let them both in. There hadn’t been a single vampire so far, or at least Sunday hadn’t noticed them. He highly doubted they were a bunch of sexy pale bastards, although the pleasure obsession certainly led him to believe so.

Corridors and stairwells blended into one until finally, they reached a large hall. Sunday felt the pricks on his skin as he walked in. Tens of eyes turned to him as one. They were red, but not like his. It was a worse red. Brighter. Glowier. Fancier. The vampires were predominantly dressed in black and red as if any other color scheme would be insulting. They looked pretty normal, apart from the hunger in their faces, the disturbingly white skin, and the fangs sticking out as they showed their teeth. All sported hollowed eyes and cheeks and looked thin and frail.

I wonder if there are any chubby vamps…

Sunday took a deep breath and stepped forward, passing the shaking Savia. He could sense her nerves and her readiness for things to devolve. She had led him all the way, while all he had asked was to be shown the guy he needed to speak to.

“Savia,” a voice spoke. Was it the Baron? There had been many other similar tower-like buildings like this one, and few of them had looked much more grandiose in the dim of sunset. “Tell me, why are you interrupting our dusk feeding?”

It came from a very unpleasant-looking man, whose hair was slicked back and looked almost like plastic. He noticed the goblets before each of the vampires, and could only assume they were filled with fresh blood. Sunday flinched as the distraction made his focus waver. Rank Two was so close, he could feel it.

“My lord, this is Sunday of the Arcanum, and he wished to speak with you. I found myself unable to refuse him…”

“A mage? I understand and do not blame you.” The vampire turned his attention to Sunday. “Do you wish to serve? Or do you perhaps harbor any notions of saving your little friend?”

The man’s voice was insultingly lazy, stretching each syllable needlessly as if continuing to speak was a tremendous effort. Sunday’s eye twitched.

“I don’t have much time,” he said. The essence was pouring inside of him like a tidal wave, and his soul space had grown yet again. “You’ve taken Vyn, a dear friend of mine, and I’d like for you to release him. Do so, and there will be no consequence. Otherwise, I can’t promise things will go pleasantly…”

The vampires remained frozen, unexpressive. Only when the one speaking smirked, did they react to copy the gesture. It was uncanny.

“To be threatened in my own abode. To be threatened in the territory of the Baron himself. What gall, what bravery. Or perhaps,” he stepped around the table slowly. “Stupidity? Naïve belief that the little power you carry can make us listen to you? Perhaps you want to leverage your healing and reach a deal?”

The vampire whose name Sunday had forgotten to ask frowned. It was like the room became colder and Sunday felt the danger radiate out of him. It was a type of danger that made him feel small as if he was some sort of prey.

“Tell me, fool,” the vampire spoke again, lowering his voice, “Why should I not kill you where you stand?”

The pressure was gone and Sunday exhaled a cloud of dark breath. The vampire frowned further and stepped back, showing surprise for the very first time. It was a sensation of bliss and pleasure, and Sunday found himself cherishing it for a few long moments that stretched on to infinity.

His mind still drifted away, falling into a waking dream. He saw the yew tree resting in his soul space, and he saw the moths play in its branches and the mote of purple light hide within the hole in the tree's bark. The soft glow of the red moon was ever present, but not overpowering at all.

He heard it then. A howl coming from far away but growing closer. The shadows crept around the edges – a promise of pain and suffering. A promise of a fate many times worse than death.

The narrator came back.

Arise, young wretch. Arise and become the scourge of all that pretends divinity. Punish the wicked, and take hold of the destiny given to you. Cherish the power flowing through you, and prepare for the challenges to come. Rewards and choices await.

A hound comes. A beast of savage violence. A promise of oblivion.

It has your scent. But it has the scent of another. Who will succumb first?

Do not lose. Do not die. Do not let your legacy end.

Only the worthy…

It felt like an eternity coming to an end as the words were cut short and reality came crashing. Sunday found himself sitting with his back to the wall. There was hollow pain in his chest and his thoughts were slow and sleepy. The narrator’s voice kept echoing at the back of his mind. The vampire stood where Sunday had been, arm stretched.

Many were looking at him confused, and all Sunday could do was grin like a madman, then frown, then grin again. His mind cleared up for a moment and he struggled to stand. What did it mean that it had the scent of another?

It was probably nothing.