Rich threads of magical harmony orbited around Dan’s core. Slowly he pulled them together, brandishing his internal being with the power that created the two aspects of his life.
The first was pain and suffering, the madness’s residual resentment for his illegal entry into the caves. His mind was full of intrusive thoughts, his body full of cowardice and shame. Through these aspects, however, Dan found the path to unbridled focus. Light: War was not something he practiced efficiently, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t progressing.
In fact, just moments ago Dan and Sully trained deadly magics. The old man was hesitant on instructing such lessons, but the young man’s argument was sound. If Sully wanted him to enter the caves and protect the miners, Dan would need the power to do so.
Light magic, as he came to learn, was not the most proficient in combat. If what Sully said was true, it was the worst by a large margin. If one practiced enough and held the resolve to work a few steps behind, the dazzling burn that light could produce was nothing short of miraculous. If they could reach it, that was.
Sully tried to explain light magic’s easier path, one of utility and healing. While Dan didn’t care much for utility, he did have a fixation on healing. It had become the second aspect of his life, after all.
The resounding determination and tranquility healing magic brought him was nothing short of wondrous. Frankly Dan didn’t understand it himself, but when he channeled the healing properties of magic, he felt something. He couldn’t put the full set of emotions into words, but he didn’t feel scared in those moments. He felt whole, like reality wasn’t wrong or hiding threats within the shadows.
It had been nearly one month since the high priest broke Dan’s bubble, explaining that his mind was not as protected as it seemed. During which, Dan threw himself into the path of the mender, focusing nearly all of his time on healing magic.
When he and Sully were not actively training battle magic, Dan spent time healing self-inflicted wounds. It started with repeatedly treating pinpricks then slowly evolved into knife wounds, burning, and blunt trauma.
Neither he nor Sully actually enjoyed this style of lesson, but Dan couldn’t work himself up to interacting with real patients. The lack of fresh surface level wounds also played an issue. People simply weren’t getting hurt, not in the way that gave him ample opportunity to experiment with better techniques.
If someone was hurt, and this individual didn’t make Dan sick to his stomach, then usually they were screaming their head off. The mine’s workplace accidents entailed broken bones, ripped skin from rat bites, or limbs and organs failing due to sepsis. They simply did not have the time, nor the luxury, to wait for Dan to figure it out, so Sully stepped in.
On the other hand, the slaves who worked in the camp were rarely wounded to such levels. A minor cut here, a burnt hand there. The issue actually became their refusal to seek treatment from Sully, let alone Dan.
As Dan understood it, there was a healthiness hierarchy within the camp. If someone was deemed too weak, injured, mentally broken, or showed a certain level of needed help, they were banished from the camp to work in the mines. As no one wanted to work in the mines, most kept injuries well hidden.
Not that Dan wanted to know about their wounds, anyways. The camp still held a horrid approval rating of the young human, often scoffing as he walked by, knocking things into his way, or trying to make his life generally worse. He put up with the treatment, however, because he was doing a job no one else could do.
Except for Sully.
Dan had taken to the nightly routine of refreshing a handful of miners with healing magic. While he had to spend hours doing the task, often leaving himself fatigued, he slowly had created a schedule of who he healed and when.
The miners couldn’t complain, oftentimes using their allotted time as a bargaining chip or form of payment. There were only forty or so miners, so everyone was given a refresh once a week.
A special set of rules had been issued by Sully as well, all in the name of giving Dan easier working conditions. The first was that the patients for that day had to be ready and waiting when Dan showed up. Secondly, all had to face a wall or sleep during the healing process. This rule was met with a few crude faces and confused questions, but the miners fell in line quickly. No one wanted to be passed up.
Thirdly, and most importantly, if any harm came to Dan, he would not be coming back. This rule reflected one of Sully’s past experiences, and why he didn’t actively heal the miners himself.
When the story was rehashed, Sully spoke of a time when the madness ran much more rampant. The cave’s madness took many forms, but brutal murder and deadly fights used to be fairly common.
With these rules in place, Dan was able to meet his daily quota and then some. His stomach twisted and churned, bubbling to the point where he had to consciously calm himself down. This was most prevalent between patients, while his core regenerated.
During the actual healing, Dan was more than focused. His mind would switch, settling in around his core with the grace of a kitten hunting for a comfortable warm spot. Even Sully commented on the bizarre change in tone.
The final element of magic slotted into place, fully condensed. Dan reviewed his progress.
Light: Salvation 43.11
Light: Control 38.93
Light: Aspect 44.86
Light: War 25.67
Light: Brilliance 20.54
He was slightly surprised the Light: Aspect eclipsed Salvation and Control, but when he thought about it, things became more clear. Salvation dealt directly with the creation of light and magical power, while Control was paired directly with his skill in manipulating said light or power. Aspect, however, was a bit different. It played off Dan’s own thoughts and imagination, allowing his magic to heal or change color.
Practicing different forms of healing magic made Aspect skyrocket compared to the other two. Real world experience always trumped theory or general handling, especially when Dan took to healing five miners a night.
War was a slow progress. Neither Dan nor Sully truly knew how to spar, so their antics often revolved around creating weapons. Brilliance was sadly left behind in the shuffle. Sully had stated that keeping up with even the seemingly useless magics always proved worthwhile in the end. Specifically when it reached the threshold for evolution.
What Brilliance would change into, no one knew, but there were ways to help it along.
“Generally, when a magic evolves, it follows the path the person wants. Not always, I should preface, but generally,” Sully had explained a week prior when he felt Dan’s vocabulary was fluent enough.
“What path do I want?” Dan asked, focusing on a golden orb the size of his palm.
He intently focused on it, morphing it in his imagination. Slowly the color changed to yellow, then white, then a light blue. The glow never changed, however. It always gave off the same golden color.
“Try again, make sure to include the glow,” Sully said, sitting below the shade of the only tree in the dead field. “But to answer your question, your path is your own.”
The orb fizzled out. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier? I would have pushed for a better evolution.”
The old man shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that. If you had known, you may have crippled your magic. Your mind and heart wanting two different things only leads to trouble when it comes to magic.”
Dan squinted at his mentor, reforming the ball of light. This time the glow shifted color, not the orb itself. When the spell buckled and fell apart, he sighed and spoke, “But doesn’t telling me now have the same effect, albeit a bit late?”
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“Yes, but by now I think your heart and head are on the same path,” Sully said.
“And what path is that?”
“Well, it is different for each magic. Salvation is rather general, so most likely it will be a better version. Same with Control. War might specialize into spears, since that seems to be what you like to handle. Brilliance is an open book, I honestly have no clue. But Aspect is the one that matters.”
Dan nodded along. “Healing, I presume?”
“That or camouflage,” Sully said, motioning to the orb in Dan’s palm that shifted through every color on the spectrum.
Dan didn’t miss the sarcastic jab, still he smiled a bit. When was the last time I smiled? he asked himself.
“I can’t wrap my head around color change,” Dan said to his mentor. “Maybe I don’t mess with it at all? Focus on healing?”
“Ah, see? Mind and heart splitting. If you want to work on color change, then do so. You will find-”
Dan’s internal reliving of the memory came to an abrupt halt. He jolted to his feet, finding Sully doing the same. They sprinted into the center of the encampment, a deafening chime blasting from the cultists’ main building.
They arrived just in time to see a garage door sized cut out of the dome fail. The Blood Rains, as Sully had taught Dan, held many things beside the dome, mine, and monsters. There were other settlements, often led by similar cultists.. Minor wars had taken place during the old man’s life when one cult found a resource the other wanted.
The same carriage that had brought Dan into the camp rushed through the cutout before a pair of cultists resealed the dome. The high priest and three others were among the fresh arrivals, each drenched in blood and toting battle staves.
The golden robed cultist quickly set up a mass spell, covering the carriage in a bright light. Dan watched on with fascination, committing the healing spell to memory. The light bubbled and popped, blanketing the area in a warm breeze and fleeting longevity.
One of the cultists still screamed, however. A gaping wound extended across her hip and thigh, like a butcher had tried to carve off her leg with a red hot cleaver. Residual black gunk drained from where her skin met muscle, obstructing the healing properties from helping her.
Golden Robe ignored her, however, setting his sights on a similar, but significantly better off, wound on the high priest.
The high priest snarled an order, pushing the healer to the dying woman, and then scanning the crowd. The man’s sinister smile returned when he found Dan among the slaves. A ball of black void appeared at the end of his staff, where it transformed to a hand the size of a car. The hand whipped through the crowd, wrapping around Dan and bringing him to the carriage.
“Heal it,” the high priest commanded, pushing out the wound on his sleeveless arm.
Nausea battled in Dan’s stomach, forcing him to hunch slightly in pain. He chanced a look at the crowd, not finding Sully where he last saw him. A sinking feeling overfell the human when he saw the eyes of nearly everyone in the entire encampment.
This was it, the moment he was going to die. Dan couldn’t work under these conditions. He could hardly work with a group of sleeping miners. How was he supposed to heal the man that caused nearly all of his torment? Torture, imprisonment, slavery? The high priest was a sadist that had no qualms about harming others to get what he wanted.
And now he wanted Dan to heal him?
Dan puked up his lunch.
The high priest rolled his eyes, his smile never faltering. “Filter magic through your core and heal me!”
A green zap barreled through Dan’s leg, incinerating the patch of blood grass behind him. A mute scream found his throat and chest, pain upheaving all semblance of his previous confidence training. He fell, the weight of his body too much against the slick blood soaked ground.
He heard snickers at this. They were loud and apparent. The crowd was laughing at his pain, his struggles. He needed to see, he needed to commit their faces to memory. He would find a way to end them, he-
Dan stopped. The crowd was silent, completely. The madness had gotten to him.
His mind caught up, rewinding reality. The pain in his leg disappeared, the smell of burning blood gone as well. Something cracked in his mind, removing all distractions and tunneling his vision.
What just…?
The question went unanswered as the high priest shouted at him, “Filter your core. Do it now! Do not let the madness in!”
Pain sparked Dan to act, his mind felt like it was being sheared against a grater. He fell into himself, finding the warm glow of his core deep within. Only, something was wrong. Red tendrils were dug into it like parasitic worms, draining his magic and his strength.
The moment he pushed against them, the tendrils snapped apart and disappeared into nothingness. His breath hitched like a motor backfiring. Red goop expelled from his lungs with a brutal cough, opening his airways for what felt like the first time in his life.
The camp brightened as Dan formed a golden orb in his palm. His exacerbated breaths calmed when he smashed his hand into his chest, pushing the magic into himself. The light stuck to him, aiding his body in defense while simultaneously healing his shredded lungs.
The camp was silent for a moment, except for the screaming woman. All eyes found Dan, even the golden robed cultist who was actively preparing a new spell.
“Interesting,” the high priest said in a tone that made it seem like he was devoid of pain. “Now then, heal me.”
Dan nodded slowly, resigned and content with the situation. His spell met the leader’s arm without fanfare or a satisfactory ending. The magic didn’t take, bouncing off the black gunk like oil to water.
“Maybe Sul-“
“Shut up,” the high priest commanded, pulling his staff into position.
A void blade extended from the top of the carved wooden walking stick, creating a glaive. In one smooth motion, the high priest removed his arm like trimming a side of beef. The arm landed with a dull thump, falling into the blood grass where it was quickly devoured down to the bone.
“Again,” the leader commanded Dan.
He wasn’t sure what the man wanted. He couldn’t regrow arms… could he? He imagined the high priest with perfect twin arms, finding the image rather easy to commit. The man was a recurring nightmare, Dan knew him all too well.
Golden light kissed the bleeding stump, forming enough skin to tighten into a smooth round. There was no new arm, no regrowing limb, only a sealed shoulder. His magic didn’t fulfill his image.
Dan fell to his butt, the blood grass slurping his blood logged clothes. It was then he noticed the screaming had stopped. The woman cultist was dead.
“You will need surgery to regrow it, Your Grace,” Golden Robes spoke, his voice calm and collected. “What shall I do with the body?”
The high priest looked to Dan one last time before settling his attention on more important matters. “Leave her to the grass, she was weak.”
Golden Robes shoved the woman’s body off the carriage, where it landed and was quickly set upon by the weeds. “What about the man?”
“What about him indeed, hmm?” the high priest walked around the carriage, eyeing the man within the steel cage. “How many more of you are-“
The high priest stopped, realizing the prisoner wasn’t even looking at him. A green blaze appeared along his pointer finger, but he stopped. Tracing the man’s line of sight, he found Dan in the crosshairs.
“Oh,” the high priest laughed. “He took one of yours, didn’t he? You can feel it, the power of your magic?”
The prisoner didn’t say anything, but rather moved with unimaginable speed. In mere heartbeats, the steel cage was sliced apart by a pearl white beam. A spray of blood blanketed the onlooking crowd, sending a panic through the camp.
A thick rift of skin, muscle, and bone fell off the high priest. His other arm had been removed in a flash of cauterizing momentum, the damage only stopping due to a void halo appearing atop his head. The halo sparked vertigo in all watching as it formed an ethereal suit of ghastly armor. Two arms of shadow quickly formed and punched out.
The prisoner’s upper torso and head were turned into red mist.
“Get back to work,” the high priest said, both arms gone but his smile never fading.
Dan left with the crowd, ignoring the strange looks to the best of his ability. When he reached his room, he puked until bile came up. His core was ragged from overuse and expelling whatever madness invaded his lungs. He rubbed his leg where he imagined getting blasted with the high priest’s green beam, swearing it still stung.
What the hell was that? he asked himself. Why am I so afraid?
A balled up fist smashed into the stone wall, tears streaming down his face. Hours passed as he questioned himself, missing his appointment to heal the cave workers. He just didn’t understand. He had been living in the camp for over a month now, why was he still afraid of every little thing? Why was Sully the only one that didn’t make his heart feel like it was pumping tar?
A knock took him out of his inner monologue. Sully stepped in, carrying two bowls of food.
“Where were you?” Dan asked, his tone more accusatory than he wanted.
The old man, in that moment, looked his age. Hollow eyes and droopy wrinkled skin clashed against the low light. The man was tired, more so than ever.
“The high priest and I have a history, as you say. If he is around, I am not. It is as simple as that.”
“I needed you…” Dan whispered, trailing off.
Sully ground his teeth and ultimately said, “I know. I know. But you did stellar. I do not know of many who could stave off the cave’s physical grasp like you did. I will not always be around, you know.”
“I know. And what was the stuff I coughed up? You saw that, right?”
“I did, and I truly do not know. I have only seen something like that once, and it was from the high priest himself, actually. His eyes leaked with the red ooze.”
“I felt, I saw, parasites latched onto my core. I killed them then my lungs felt like they were full of mucus,” Dan said, still able to taste the foul sludge on his tongue.
“Whatever it was, you now know about it. If the madness ever tries to do the same, you will be able to defend against it,” Sully patted him on the shoulder. “ I am more interested in the prisoner. He looked like he knew you, and the high priest’s words didn’t help either.”
Dan hesitated. “When I first arrived here, I was brought in on that carriage.”
“Were you? I did not know.”
“Yes… I arrived here with two other men, well, one was already dead. Bob, as he called himself, and I went into the Blood Rains to look for food. We found the cult trying to capture a man with pure white light magic, much as the prisoner today.”
Dan recounted his life on this horrid world to Sully, but when he got to the part about the dying lone man breathing a white mist into him, Sully stopped him.
“You inhaled it, right? Please tell me you did.”
Dan frowned. “I did, why?”
“The man gave you a portion of his magic as a dying breath. Very lucky for you, that is usually for loved ones, as I understand it. Father to son, sort of thing. You must have gained his respect when you tried to help.”
Sully smiled great and big. “You should honor him by growing in power and escaping. When you die of old age, pass the gift on to your son or daughter.”
Dan relished the idea. “How do you propose we get out of here?”
“Ah, that is simple. We kill the head priest during the next sacrifice. It should be soon.”
“Just kill the head priest? Simple as that, huh?”
“Well,” Sully appended, “Kill him and get away, yes.”