Scourge of Chaos: Savage Healer

The sound of hissing filled the night and the smell of burning flesh accompanied it. It was a match made in hell. Screaming and curses rang out from each corner.

Sunday remained unmoving and unblinking. He wanted to witness the carnage he was unleashing. This was different than killing ghouls or the servants of the Divine. The vampires were living and thinking creatures that he had just met for the first time, and they resembled humans a lot.

They were cruel, arrogant, and lacking common sense. Just like many humans indeed.

Sunday was far from the thought that all vampires were the same as those here, but he was no judge or jury. He was brought to this world to be an executioner, and it was nigh time he started acting like one.

The veiled rage in his soul burst forth and the Berserk Moon-afflicted moths seemed to sense it as they flew up and then descended with renewed vigor.

The weaker vampires had no chance. Their flesh and even bones quickly melted as if exposed to a plasma torch. They were still a tad faster than the moths. Most of them at the very least. It was very difficult to judge how strong a vampire was on looks alone since everyone seemed to have quite a strong desire to stand out and be ‘unique’. Which, as was usually the case, resulted in them looking quite the same.

Rubien appeared next to Sunday with his hand freshly healed hand outstretched. He grabbed at one of the soul moths and crushed it in his palm with his other hand. It burned him, but the lord didn’t seem to care in the least. He also didn’t dare to touch Sunday, as the darkness quickly surged from the distant shadows.

“Stop this at once!” he hissed. “You’re insulting the Baron’s honor and attacking his people!”

A vampire screamed a bit further away. He was too slow to dodge the moths and two of them were burning his face at a rapid speed. It was almost like a repeat of what had happened to Versum. This vampire, while previously uninjured, was no lord though. The heads seemed like their weak points.

Soon, the screams ceased, and the head collapsed on itself as if whatever had supported the skull and the brain beneath were gone.

Sunday felt nothing but satisfaction.

“Why would I?” he asked. “You plan on killing me the moment I don’t have the darkness on my side. Why should I use this opportunity to cull your numbers?”

“You’ll be sorry!” Rubien said. He had regained most of his calmness, but Sunday could now see through the act. He had been afraid of the perceived self-control of the vampires initially. One that could remain calm when half of hiп was torn off was a terrifying enemy.

Sunday ignored him as his gaze was drawn toward Oswald. The calmer lord was adeptly dodging any moth that came close to him, without touching them. He whispered something to a few vampires and they moved in the next moment.

They didn’t charge at Sunday, but they fanned out in a way that would allow them to have a line of sight. One of them threw something and a second one followed. The projectiles flew faster than expected and Sunday fell back as a knife stabbed into his chest with amazing force, sending him stumbling backward. The second one hit him in the side and almost balanced the forces, allowing him to find a strange balance.

The third was a smaller blade in his leg.

There was pain and sizzling. True-silver? What were they hoping to achieve with that?

It was then that the darkness raged. Like a billowing curtain, the night descended and the three vampires screamed as they were consumed. Dark forms reached out, clawing and grabbing for them, and tore pieces of their flesh as if it were cotton. Blood splattered everywhere, until it was all that remained and the ones who had attacked Sunday were no more.

He laughed. A loud, almost maniacal laugh which made Rubien's features twist, and his pretend calmness crack once again. Oswald was frowning back from the edge of the perimeter set by the darkness. He was the smarter one of the two, despite the initial appearances.

“Anyone else?” Sunday asked. He took out the first knife and let it fall to the ground, closely followed by the second and third. They were of good make, and true-silver weapons were obviously precious. Versum’s sword was still somewhere around too. A decent piece of loot if he remembered to pick them later.

The rest of the vampires were scrambling. The moths had felled only two of them, which was still something. The front of the manor quickly cleared out as everyone understood the threat before them. How could you fight an enemy you couldn’t attack, and who wielded magic capable of burning you?

Rubien stood like a statue, with his hand outstretched and twitching. The man’s fine features had morphed into a grotesque image that came much closer to what Sunday supposed vampires should look like. Monsters in human skin, pretending to be part of society.

He didn’t care if this was a wrong line of thinking. They were welcome to try and change his view, but for now, all vampires were his enemy.

“This is not the way things should be,” Oswald said. He had moved closer, stepping casually over the smoldering bodies of his vampires. “You come to our home, you kill one of ours, and you unleash your spells on the innocent. Is it only because of Halline’s brother, or is there perhaps a personal vendetta you’re after?”

The man sounded calmer than ever. Most of the other vampires were fleeing into the streets of the district now. Whatever moths came for Oswald were cut by an invisible blade in his suit’s sleeve that flashed like a whip, greatly reducing their number. Soon there were only a few left, and they fluttered back into the Visage of the Berserk Moon.

The lord’s movements were faster than even Rubien’s and his personality had once again turned into something different. From cold, to joyous, to curious, to talkative and manipulative. Oswald was dangerous.

Sunday smiled. “Seeing the humans you keep captive and torture was enough for me to deem you monsters. Are you going to argue against that?” He’s too strong for me. Would the Baron be an impossible enemy, then? How strong do I have to become to match them? Did I go too far…? How do I spin this?

Oswald allowed genuine surprise on his face. He put a hand up and waved at Rubien to move. The other lord did so gingerly.

“We do what we need to do to survive, and those you have seen are here mostly willingly. There are of course, exceptions, but who are you to judge if the punishment fits the crime? We don’t go after the innocent.”

Sunday scoffed at that. As if he would believe such bullshit. A virtue-signaling vampire was the oldest cliche in fiction. What was the point though? It was not like convincing Sunday would lead to anything worthwhile. He had already killed a few of theirs, and the lords had made their position clear. If the Hunter’s games were not preventing anyone from doing him harm, Rubien would’ve already torn him apart piece by piece. What’s more, Oswald had been the first to suggest that.

“Your compassion for humans, the worst of all beings on the continent, is remarkable. I understand why you might hold such notions, considering your status as a mage. You’re an undead reeking of life, which is another interesting thing about you. I didn’t notice it before you unleash those bugs on my brethren, but now… You do not come from a burial ground, do you?” Oswald smiled.

The smile was worse than the blades that had struck Sunday’s body. That one is more dangerous than I gave him credit for. But so what?

“I thought your kind a myth, but now… this changes everything. The Divine have no place among our kind, as we, just like their creations, are soulless and cold. However, we differ in that we are incapable of having faith. I’m sure if you go through the annals of the Arcanum you’ll find out just how important vampires are to keep the balance between the worlds. Ignorance is no excuse for your actions and your hostility. We’re no friends of the Divine.”

“You promised to flay me.”

Oswald waved a hand. “Ah, that. I needed some pieces of the puzzle to understand who and what you are better. Literature is poor in information, but I’ve lived long, and I listen and read. The Mesmer will not give you up without a fight, as she’s certainly one capable of discerning your nature. As for the blood moon you employ… that only makes you more interesting. It is a special symbol to us, despite the fact that we’re incapable of utilizing spells. So… with that said, I’d like to apologize for our previous conduct. How about we start anew?”

“This is not your decision to make, Oswald.” Rubien protested from the side. “You might be one of the oldest, but these are the Baron’s lands and I’m one of his chosen, just like you.”

“You’re petty and inconsiderate. We’ll be greatly rewarded if my words give fruit, so I suggest you sit back on this one.”

I attack them. I kill some of them. I’m basically a prisoner in the middle of their territory. And yet… no. Fuck this. I’m not negotiating, and I’m not falling for his sweet words. So what if he knows what I am? I’ve no reason to trust vampires. I’m tired of everyone’s games.

There was some time before Mera would be able to return and bring Sunday his Shield, and the other spell he had chosen. He wanted to chase the vampires away and practice. He hadn’t held much hope of his attack doing a lot of damage. Vampires were very good at running. But they didn’t care about the smoldering corpses of their death. All he had managed was make them wary.

He couldn’t chase them due to the darkness that stopped him, but they couldn’t kill him. So, to find some peace and assure himself some time to practice the Black Breath and communicate with his spells, he needed to be even more drastic.

“Say, Ruby…” he said as his mind whirled with thoughts. This was going to be two birds with one stone if it worked…

“It is Lord Rubien to you, wretch.”

“I hate that word…”

The Berserk Moon appeared once again as Sunday drew Jishu’s sword in a slow fluid motion, before taking a deep needless breath. Oswald frowned once again.

“Relax, I like you,” Sunday said to the lord. “But I don’t like Ruby, and I need some peace of mind for what’s to come. So… let’s see.” I hope this works or I’ll look like an absolute jackass.

He hadn’t forgotten Elora’s reaction after being healed by a Berserk Moon Moth. It was time to experience the ‘buff’ for himself.

Three black-red moths crawled out from the visage of the moon and started hovering around Sunday.

“Death essence?” Oswald asked. His gaze stayed on the moon as he flashed and appeared on the edge of the circle of darkness, ready to flee.

Rubien remained silent and unmoving.

The three moths tried to wiggle out of control but Sunday held to them and made them target him. The moment the death essence touched his skin and the moths exploded, he felt its pleasant coldness and sensed the wounds left by the three knives heal.

However, something else came along with the essence. Each moth strengthened the sensation and by the third, Sunday knew he had gone too far by using three of them. There was no going back now.

A fiery passion that made his body heat up. It was not rage… it was stronger. A desire so powerful it was almost unbearable. He saw red as the world lost its natural colors and was bathed in the bloodlight of a new moon high up in the sky. It hadn’t been there before and seemed to have replaced the usual one. The stars disappeared under its glow, leaving only blank infinity surrounding it.

It was beautiful.

Strength unlike any he had known flowed through his veins and made him wish for an outlet.

The vampires were just faceless figures in his line of sight, and they seemed to shrink as more and more of the sensation took over him. His soul-space was a distant echo but he could swear he caught a glimpse of it among the alleyways and buildings – a tree rising high up in the red veil taking over the world.

He could sense the blood moon’s call and he could sense its desire.

Was this a vision? An illusion just for him? Was he seeing another world? Or perhaps, it was a long-forgotten truth he could now see.

Sunday grinned. It took all of him to focus on his desired target before whatever vestiges of consciousness still resisting the strange force fled to the backseat.

The world became a sea of blood.

***

“What is he doing, Oswald?” Rubien asked. He was not afraid of the puny mage, but that image of the sacred blood moon was unnerving. It was a symbol of power, a symbol of a ruler, and a symbol of the strongest among them.

Sunday exploded in action and his sword moved in a beautiful arc. His whole body was bathed in red light and the blade left a trail through the air.

Rubien reacted in time, dodging the attack with a frown. However, another came from such an angle that made it difficult for him to fully dodge it. The blade cut through his newly grown forearm, making him scream as the true silver blade burned skin and bone and left a nasty gash that refused to heal.

The vampire hissed and turned to flee, only to be grabbed by Sunday’s hand. The corpse threw him toward the mansion with strength rivaling that of a lord and Rubien barely found his balance again after he crashed into the wall just next to the entrance.

“What are you doing, wretch?!” he yelled out. Sunday didn’t respond. His eyes were glowing just like the blood moon he had summoned moments ago, and a slight smile showed his teeth.

It was then that Rubien realized that he was not fighting the puny mage. Something else had taken hold of him.