Eyes. Eyes everywhere.

Slaves, guards, cultists, all watched Dan as he moved about the camp. The staring compounded with the artificial fear, growing the wilted terror in his heart like a budding rose. Hairy stems thick with deadly thorns shredded into him, forcing his breath to heave and shrivel.. The eyes, they were watching him, they were tracing every moment, following and looking for weaknesses.

They saw how his tattered shirt stuck to his skin with direct wetness. They saw his knees fail to move under the added weight of invisible chains. They saw his magic shake to life in uncomfortable formations while threatening to fall apart. They laughed at him, they made fun of him, they plotted against him.

They- they- they-

They were not real.

The forced thought cooled Dan’s hot skin, making him shiver. His sweat wrecked shirt turned enemy, freezing his muscles and singing the lullaby of longing warmth. In a second, Dan had severed all of the tendrils of madness that sought to live in his skin. A new wave lunged instantly, cutting into him with sick thoughts and intrusive ideas.

There was no pain, only acceptance.

There was no way to defeat the madness. Only slight reprieves, only moments of clarity. Anything more would be a godsend, anything less would only be reality. Dan, however, made the most out of the remission, clearing his mind and resetting his focus.

The eyes, they were watching but not with the animosity and hatred the madness told him to expect. They were simply curious, some less so than others, but curious, nonetheless. Dan was an anomaly to most of the residents of the slave camp. He was known for being a unique species within the Blood Rains, but also thought to be dead.

Missing for an entire year made people talk, it made some cower in fear, and it made a few look on in sorrow. They had all seen the magic that pulled Dan back into this world. They saw the high priest himself pull Dan from the infinite nothingness of the Void. What it meant, no one knew, but a safe assumption was made.

It was punishment.

This curious look became jaded as Dan walked around the camp, inspecting. The human looked at each and everyone, even the guards and cultists. He looked them up and down, watching them move and freely act. Some got peevish, which quickly sent the young man off without a trial of intimidation, others got aggressive.

“Do you need something? Lost one?” a muscular creature asked.

Dan shook under the direct confrontation, but forced himself to stand tall. He tried not to think about the being’s snub four legs, its jagged claws, nor that it spoke through a mouth on its stomach rather than the teethy slot upon its head. The madness told him the being wasn’t even a person, but rather an amalgamated monster the cult used to hunt down mutated rats in the caves.

Dan knew it was a lie. Sully was the one who did that, not whatever this person was.

“No, nothing. Sorry,” he replied, turning on his heel.

Before he could step away, an inky solution of dead skin and fingernails wrapped around his torso. It cut into him echoing what the madness sang into his mind. It was going to kill him, to devour his whole being like a dog on a spit. Dan listened intently to the ethereal tendrils, knowing that whatever they said was wrong… right?

“You smell wrong,” the being suggested. “It’s been so long since I’ve had meat. Why should I not eat you?”

Dan kept his core in hand, filtering the barest of light magic into it while holding his entire supply close by. He stood tall despite the searing pain along his skin.

“I’m just looking for work,” Dan spoke, his voice more bubbly than he liked.

“Work?” it echoed. “There are no jobs in the camp. Seek the mines.” It threw Dan like a ragdoll, only the red dyed grass was there to catch his fall.

Brushing himself off slowly, Dan resumed his adventure through the camp after a quick burst of golden light. Thanks to his evolved mind, his swelling ankle and bruised hip fixed themselves nearly instantaneously, the pristine image he housed of himself nearly perfect.

The four legged being growled, “Get out of here! You are not welcome!”

Dan ignored it, focusing on removing the extra tendrils of madness that had found a new home in his momentary pain. Something pulled his attention, a single tendril, one discolored and thick. While all tendrils before were hardly the size of a single hair, this one grew and shrunk like an inch worm. It wiggled through the air originating from the ground while growing high into the sky like a disfigured kite.

Turning his head to the sky, Dan watched the tendril grow into the ceiling of the dome. It poked at the magical protection, unable to pass through.

A shield, Dan thought to himself.

How could he-

Dead skin and fingernails clipped into his skin, drawing blood like a sadist’s mosaic. Dan was yanked back, his shoulder taking the brunt of the fall. Small rocks embedded into his skin as he was dragged over the euphoric grass. The blades bit into him, slurping his delicious red juice. Fumbling over the brutality, Dan created light augmented with Light: Strife and pushed against his restraints. The viscous material instantly fell apart, the crushing weight of his entire core being emptied upon one spot.

The smell of burnt hair perfumed the area, churning the camp into a sea of onlookers. People came out in droves, always interested in seeing the punishment others received from the cultists. However, no such scene was present. The magical involvement was from the human and the human alone.

“Why attack me?” Dan asked after tearing off a majority of the madness tendrils. “I have done nothing to you!”

Fear came back to him with a whiplash of fervent misery. His core was huffing at the sudden stress, the seal glowing like a red hot brank. Pain spiked into his chest, a sunder of overuse and under excuse. Dan fought to keep his irritated look along his lips, swallowing his panic with cold-hearted rage.

“I told you to leave,” the slave answered. “There is no work here.”

Dan scoffed, shaking his head. “I am a healer. The only one you have. There is plenty of work.”

A dull giggle sounded from the being’s belly. It growled simultaneously, hints of dead skin pooling along the back of its teeth. “No one is wounded!” it sang.

Dan saw a round of nods fly though the camp but his mind went to Sully. Would Sully have backed down here? Would Sully have returned to the mines with his tail between his legs? Dan wanted to help everyone he could, just like the old man. Why were they making it difficult?

It was the madness. It was the threat of being killed and replaced. It was the fear of being stalked and stolen from. It was the tone the cultists wanted to house. If there were no rules, then there would be direct order. It was the same reason Dan never ventured into the camp to heal, because people were afraid of each other.

There was nothing he could do, no one would advertise they were weak. No one would publicly take his healing offer. What was there to do?

“I am offering free healing to all those who ask,” Dan said, stripping the madness off his tired bones one last time. “Find me, no one else has to know.”

A silent murmur blasted around the crowd and Dan could feel the weight of hundreds of eyes on him. All except two pairs, that was. The first were owned by Golden Robes, the healer cultist. He looked high into the sky, tracing the swaying worm of madness as it swam around. The second pair were attached to the four legged being. It twitched and shifted, thousands of hairs of madness attached into its hulking frame.

Dan’s feet picked him up and forced him to retreat while his mind sounded dozens of alarms. Instinct hounded into his desolate core, urging it to regenerate faster and to prepare for the worst.

A shriek howl caught the wind, sending everything into a fractured form.

Being somewhat immune to the effects, Dan spun with his guard up. He found the source nearly instantly, the four legged being. The worm of madness had impaled itself into the brain of the being, absorbing all of the tendrils that already lived within.

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Dan didn’t wait around even after two guardsmen took up arms. He simply headed towards the mines.

The building that corresponded to the miners was empty besides a few who had surrendered to the madness. These individuals were stationary or jittery, frozen still or hyper active. They came in all shapes and sizes but held a certain level of physique that those of the camp simply didn’t have.

One man, a stout faceless being with two massive nostrils that flared past and around his eyes, picked at his leather like skin in a pool of his own blood. He was perfectly still, besides his clawing finger. He wore the face of strength well, besides the fact that he was nonresponsive and lame, his towering muscles stretched into the far corners of his cell, limiting the space Dan had to work with.

The human still found a way to heal the man, however. The madness was stronger near the mines, forcing Dan to constantly slay the tendrils that sought to harm him. There was, however, no worms of madness nor any thicker stems, only thousands of aggressive hairs.

Healing the brain still eluded Dan. Besides something rather simple, like alleviating pressure or reducing swelling, magic did little to fix the brain. He assumed it was because there was technically nothing wrong with the man’s brain. The madness had slipped in, reforming it in a new crooked image. It was a shame, but Dan didn’t know what to do about it.

Maybe if he had a better image of the brain, which was unlikely to happen anytime soon. There was also the possibility that the beings from different worlds were vastly different from humans. Dan had already felt the effects of alien life as his healing on others was significantly slower than on himself.

But with a will, there was a way. Dan opted for the brute force approach, and simply pumped magic into the man the best he could. He used up most of his crippled reserves but he didn’t mind. Keeping himself limber despite being sealed was something he decided would be good for him, not to mention those he healed.

The man’s flesh wounds closed like a leathery napkin getting pushed into an open wound. Skin reformed and blended, blood dried up and clotted, scabs formed, dried, and quickly peeled off like vile a stamp. The whole process was backlit by golden shine, a miniature sun of warms and pride.

In the end, the man didn’t stop picking at his arm. His hard look along his brow and cheeks did, however, loosen. His shoulders relaxed and his breath calmed. His eyes broke free of their rust and drifted to Dan. He stared at his healer, no emotion other than released strain across his lips.

Dan took it as a success and moved to the next patient. This time a woman hung from the ceiling, her tail holding her like a robotic arm. She moved with Dan, blocking him from entry into a further wing of the building. She screeched and hollered, her legs broken with thick puncture wounds.

“Please- Please, please, please…” she repeated, a blood trail following in her wake.

Dan hesitated at the sudden words, recognizing the woman from when he and Sully had a weekly rotation of patients. A smile rippled through Dan as he pulled at an orb of gold. He gladly fixed her legs and helped her down. She was shaking, her tail weak and raw.

“How did this happen?” Dan asked, knocking away those hairs of madness that inhibited his jaw. The tendrils quickly repositioned, striking him in the gut and making his stomach froth.

The woman’s eyes slipped closed, popping back open a moment later. She slurred her first response, the call of sleep passing her exhausted body without discrimination. She whispered a name, one Dan recognized, and gently pointed down the hall. She was asleep not a breath later.

Jokaad, the beastly man, Dan’s first patient besides himself and Sully was the one who tore up the woman’s legs.

Dan moved slowly through the narrow hallway and let his core regenerate the most it could. Jokaad was a massive brute of a man, slick with fur and hands the size of pumpkins. Years of working tirelessly in the mines left the man with plenty of recurring wounds and harsh fatigue. But what of his mind?

Dan had seen the madness simply kill people, knocking them over like a scarecrow without a post. He had seen the madness send people into comas. He had been on the receiving end of a shattered mind and harrowing hallucinations. He had yet to see someone get aggressive, but Sully had described his personal experiences.

The madness broke limitations, unleashing a person’s full strength as it simultaneously shredded the very host it lived in. It created unending rage and berserk tendencies. It ruined all who succumbed and only left a deadly husk.

Jokaad was already gone.

The man stood naked in a small room, blood all around him. Hunks of meat and strips of cloth were tossed like trash in a landfill. His fur was slick and matted, open wounds leaking through and turning the man crimson red. White particulate rose from his heated body, contrasting against the change of the season.

Jokaad’s chest puffed with exacerbated breath and collapsed with a stream of anger. In one hand he carried a dull bloody pickaxe and in the other a section of white gory chain.

It was a spine, Dan realized as the man turned to him.

The walls shook under the rage of the man’s roar. He took a single step and caused a tidal wave of displaced blood. His silky white eyes glinted against the golden orb above Dan, ignoring the blinding light. Another step. Then another. And another. Each faster than the last, each with more direction and distinction.

Dan ran, a stone-cracking pickaxe burrowing into the wall where his head used to moments before. The wall crumbled, opening to the outside air and the low hum of the mine. Sickly green-red lights were gathered around the cave’s exit as well as the shadows of the miners.

Jokaad’s muscles bounded in extreme force, his arm becoming a cannon and releasing a bola of bone. The spine barreled down the corridor, colliding against and shattering a pane of gold. The makeshift weapon broke Dan’s stride, sending him to the ground in a spray of blood and puncture wounds.

Dan forced his body to stand, the tendrils of madness forcing themselves through his clothes. He stumbled into the wall, streaking blood across the smooth wood. Magic came to life within his chest, burning the madness into a platter of forsaken tar. Light pulled him forward, through the building as the barbarian charged.

Cold air and the dark of night met Dan as he exited the building. His limping body moved through the screaming blades of red grass intently focused on his core. He heard the song of battle, the hymns of war, the disciplines of strife. He heard whispers of murderous encouragement, he smelled the scent of victory.

Dan pushed against the madness yet again, finding no resistance. The madness was absent from his thoughts, having been forced to reform in mass. The hairs waited on the outside of the battle field but shifted with his movements.

A thick fist crashed from overhead, Jokaad punching with the force of a boar.

Dan fell back, dodging a horizontal bash from the sharpened flat of the pick. Golden rods came to life in his stabbing hands. A crisp cut blemished along Jokaad’s hip from the glancing blow, the enraged man hardly noticed however and landed a low kick.

Dan sprawled against the ground, puking up bile and blood. His mind reeled in warning, pushing him out of the way of a deadly swing.

His hands pulled at the grass, tiny cuts flourishing along his palms and knuckles. The sharp pain kept him moving, forcing him to his feet and away from his enemy. Filtering magic into existence, Dan felt his core bottom out against the seal. He searched for a weapon as Jokaad sniffed the air, finding nothing but grass and the occasional small stone.

Better than nothing, he thought, angling a jagged rock in his palm as if a spike had been driven through his hand.

His nails buckled as his grip sunk into the rock, his torn skin expelled a wave of red, and his magic flooded. The off grey pike morphed into a yellow blaze, golden light gleaming at its tip.

Jokaad traced the hum in the air, turning his blind eyes to Dan. He charged, wildly sweeping his pickaxe in front of him.

The human dipped and dodged, keeping his feet light and his head low. A wide swing opened the brute up to counter attack, one that Dan took.

The pooled madness reacted as well, striking like a viper.

Tendrils sunk into Dan, blocking his moment for only a heartbeat. His palm stopped mid thrust, leaving him wide open. A gored hole opened along his collarbone and down through his armpit. The pick’s dull tip poked through his skin and shirt, blood dripped off of it like water on a stalagmite.

The rock never left his hand, however, and Dan drove it into Jokaad’s chest. The golden magic eviscerated his muscles and bones, and penetrated through his insides. His back exploded into blood and light, shadows of organs were cast along the red grass.

Dan forced himself to stand and push Jokaad away. His light core was depleted, nothing left but fumes and fear. However, magic coursed through his body. The blood dripping from his arm slowed to a drag, his muscles tightened up, his heart rate slowed. His blood core released its hold on his body, allowing Dan’s fingers to let go.

The rock fell into the grass, where the blades licked the weapon free of scarlet.

Dan cursed at himself despite the pain. He had used his second core. He had exposed his hidden power. The only power he had that was limitless.

Or did he?

Feeling no eyes on him, Dan spun in a circle looking for onlookers. Coming around the bend was the light of the camp’s vile torches, the miners returning to their homes.

Did anyone see? Am I safe?

Dan’s questions were answered by the jostle of silver armor. Three guards rushed ahead, stalking up to the human with their hands on their hilts.

“What happened here?” one asked, her eyes darting back and forth from the mangled corpse and Dan’s haggard form.

Madness trilled in his mind, urging him to attack, to kill all witnesses. But Dan held back, survival taking over. “What do you mean? Did you not see?”

“You are that thing the high priest pulled from the Void. I’ve never seen one like you. What are you doing here?”

“I’m a healer. I wanted to heal him.” Dan gestured to the dead man. “But he attacked me. The madness, I think.”

The guards didn’t look impressed.

Dan tried to keep his emotions steady but the pain echoing through his body forced his hand. “I’ll show you if you don’t believe me. Pull this out of me, I’ll heal myself.”

The tallest of the three guards reached down and yanked the pick from his soft skin. Dan screamed in pain, the threat of falling unconscious hammering against his mind. He needed to do this, however, his evolved mind kept him awake and focused.

Ignoring the madness the best he could, Dan created the smallest bead of golden light he could manage. It flattered against his palm, where he then rubbed his shredded skin. It was a patch work job, his entire shoulder was nothing but mush, but he wouldn’t bleed out while waiting for his core to regenerate more.

The guards looked at him strangely. One spoke up, a giggle on his lips, “A pet project of the high priest.”

Dan tried to shrug but failed. He teetered on his feet, however.

“Go,” another guard said. “Jokaad’s been plaguing us for a while. Mine output has weakened with all the injuries he caused.”

Despite the pain, Dan felt the urge to yell at the protectors of the mines. They didn’t care about the workers themselves, only the bone crystals they pulled from its walls? It made him sick. But that was for another day, one soon he hoped.

Dan made sure to fully heal his arm before passing out, at least the important parts of it. It was hours before he was able to finally rest on the cold stone floor of his prison cell.