Ethan was in high spirits when they returned to Shawarma village. His arm throbbed dully, but it was better than it had any right to be after only a few hours healing. He dismounted from his oxsteed gratefully, finding one-handed riding to be uncomfortable–the large creatures required a lot of corrective pulls on the reins.

As he took in the sight of the village square, Maggie’s own mount trotted by, heading directly for the inn. She’d taken to leaving him alone as much as possible when they were on the road, though he was sure her blue owl Familiar would be watching from somewhere nearby. He watched her go, happy she was taking her perpetual bad mood with her.

There was an hour or so before sunset, so Ethan decided to enjoy the town. It was odd to visit somewhere other than Corvale that he’d been to multiple times, and a few people nodded at him in recognition. He’d earned a strange reputation with the villagers, first seen with the terrifying Hunter that had scared away a group of bandits with just his presence, then seen again dying in spectacular fashion in the back of a wagon.

Ethan idly traced the scars that ran from his neck up to his chin as he thought about what to do first. He went with the classic, grabbing the same meal he’d ordered on his first visit, struggling not to spill any of the delicious spiced meat as he ate with one hand. Wanting to continue to enjoy the nostalgia, he made his way to the fields on the edge of town.

Carl was still there with his Familiar Bella, although he was working in a different field from when they’d met. This time he appeared to have already completed his impressive magic for the day, and was instead gathering vegetables into a sack he had hanging from one shoulder.

He looked up through his long, dirt-caked hair as Ethan approached. “Oh hey, you sure look a lot better than when I saw you last. Glad you’re alive.”

“You saw me come through in the wagon?” Ethan asked.

“Definitely. You were lighting up half the village by burning up your own soul. Draws a crowd.” He smiled, stepping away from the field as Bella disappeared. “Melon?” he asked, holding one out for Ethan, who took it gratefully.

“I don’t really remember it,” Ethan said as he inspected the purple fruit. Carl smiled, and began walking back toward town, and Ethan followed. On a whim he decided to look at the man in the Astral, something he’d been doing more frequently to get used to the experience.

As usual the world became a murky blur, that felt a bit like wearing a friend’s glasses. For a moment Ethan simply looked at the sky, enjoying the multi-colored currents of magic that he could just barely see, reminding him of the Northern Lights back home. “I miss steamed hams,” he muttered, wondering if they had burgers in Nexum.

“What?” Carl asked, and Ethan looked over. He was momentarily stunned by the sight of the supposedly simple farmer. Ethan was so used to looking at other Hunters, their three Bonds creating raging rivers of power, each a unique color appearing to fight for dominance. Carl was nothing like that.

He had a single Bond, and it infused his entire being with a gentle green power, looking more like gentle waves in calm seas. In the Astral, the man himself appeared to be in a meditative pose, his eyes closed and a serene expression on his face. Roots stretched downward from his legs into the soil beneath him, as vines reached up.

Ethan followed those vines to see Bella, floating above him, her long tree-like limbs gently paddling as they navigated through the village. She seemed to notice Ethan, and somehow turned her presence to gaze back at him, despite her lack of a head.

Ethan gave the creature a friendly wave, but doing so brought his arm into his own line of sight, the spider web of scars burning as if brand new. They looked like fire and chaos next to the oneness that the farmer seemed to be lost to, and he let his arm drop. A moment later his vision had returned to normal, and he had to try to remember what he’d just said.

“Oh, right. Don’t worry about it, just thinking about a meal from my homeland. The food here is great, it’s just not…”

“Home,” Carl said, as if it were obvious. And it was, Ethan supposed. They continued walking through the village, the farmer seemingly content with silence, and Ethan falling into thoughts of the world he’d left behind. They both froze, however, when they reached town square.

“You may be bad luck, my friend,” Carl said, his tone turning serious. Ethan couldn’t disagree, as a half dozen people were approaching from the East Gate. They were not individually familiar, but their crude weapons and animal skin clothing marked them as bandits.

Many thoughts raced through Ethan’s mind as he considered the group. He remembered one of them beating on the innkeeper, and the laughter of the others. He remembered his own hesitance to intervene, and the fear he’d felt. Not fear for himself, but for what he could do against ordinary people.

Still, he also remembered his promise to himself that day. He’d said that when his life was his own once more, he’d decided how to use his powers. Right now, this was as close to choosing his own path as he could manage. Time for Dr. Ethan Bishop, Slayer of Bandits and Hero of Shawarma village to earn his title.

He called to Tomo as he approached the group, not wanting to allow them to enter the village square and make things more complicated. Whether by actually being a nuisance or simply spreading out, they could make his job much more difficult.

“We are to kill these people?” Tomo asked, clearly curious, not concerned.

“I’m hoping that won’t be necessary. Valanor scared them off last time with some kind of Astral attack, but he’s Dusk rank. Can you do something like that?”

“I cannot. But you certainly can. We must begin proper Astral training soon, we have been neglectful,” the Familiar answered.

Ethan looked over, turning a glare on the little demon. “Can we focus on the situation at hand, please? I don’t want to have to fight these people. Can you teach me how to do what Valanor did or not?”

The Familiar made the low, grumbling sound that meant he was irritated. “Currently–as you are untrained–I work to restrain the natural projection of your spirit, so that it does not do precisely what you’re trying to accomplish. I can release that restraint, but you will not be able to control the outburst that comes next.”

“What does that mean?” Ethan asked hurriedly, now only a dozen paces from the bandits, who were stopped on the path, looking at him worriedly.

“Anyone who gets close will be affected, and you won’t be able to manage the power of the attack. At Dawn rank no one should be killed, but the results may be…unpredictable.”

“Oh that’s what I love to hear. Doctors are big fans of unknown side effects,” he sighed. But it was already too late to reconsider, as he’d reached the group. There were six of them, four men, two women, most with shaved heads. Several had tattoos, but they seemed to be artistic in nature, rather than magical.

As before, the largest of them with a crude mace at this side, stepped forward to speak for the rest. “You block our way into the village. Move.” His voice was actually a little high for his size, which was just shorter than Selina. Still, Ethan wouldn’t have wanted to meet the man in a bar back home, but after his battle with terrorvermis, he seemed…tiny.

“You’re not welcome here,” Ethan said, a friendly smile on his face. “You can leave, or you can be made to leave. Your choice.”

Predictably, the group laughed. Ethan had never been mistaken for an intimidating person, and despite Last Resort at his hip, apparently that hadn’t changed. I could start leaving my shirt unbuttoned so the Bond Runes show, but I don’t think I could live with myself.

“Look, we can do this the easy way, or the–Argghh!” Fresh pain exploded through him as the large man’s hand snapped forward to grab Ethan’s broken arm, which had been resting across his chest. The group laughed harder as Ethan tried to pry the man’s iron grip away.

He collapsed to one knee in surprise and agony, having none of the adrenaline or shock that had numbed the experience when the arm was originally broken. Tomo was watching him curiously. “Have you never threatened anyone before?” the demon asked. “There are reasons why you do not usually do it twice.”

Ethan couldn’t answer as his pain-addled mind tried to think of an ability that would stop the man without killing him. He awkwardly drew a dagger with his left hand, having to reach across to the bandolier on his right thigh. The lead bandit was smiling widely as he kicked the dagger aside, wrenching the broken arm further as he did so.

A second bandit decided to join the fun, moving forward to level a kick at Ethan’s middle, which he barely blocked. Fury was rising up to match the pain. Ethan had tolerated as much as was willing. “Tomo! Do it!” he demanded.

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The demon hesitated. “That might no longer be the best–”

“NOW!” Ethan roared as the bones in his right arm popped and scraped against one another. Tomo did as commanded, and Ethan’s vision slipped into the Astral seemingly of his own accord.

The first thing he noticed was the sound. The Astral normally seemed muted somehow, but this time he could hear his own voice, howling all around him. Looking up, he saw the spirits of the six bandits, weak and Unbound, just the dim impressions of people, all looking down at him.

When his eyes locked on his opponent, he had trouble understanding what he saw next. It was his own form, made entirely of light. It was stepping forward, screaming, arms rising, hands twisted into claws. The scars were there as well, burning energy erupting from them like geysers. The figure–Ethan’s spirit?–reached out, its fingers digging into the man’s chest.

Ethan felt his broken arm released as the man stepped backward, his whole body spasming furiously. Fresh screams mingled with that of the spirit, and as Ethan watched, cracks of light began to split outward from where the hand grasped the bandit’s chest. The cracks exploded outward, burning with an intensity Ethan recognized…they mirrored his own scars.

The man kept screaming as his body was devoured by the Astral fire, but the avatar of light wasn’t done. Even as the other bandits stepped back in horror and confusion, it reached out with its other hand. Spectral daggers flew from the outstretched palm, piercing into the retreating figures. Everywhere that a blade struck burst into the same burning wounds.

“Tomo!” Ethan shouted, nearly paralyzed by the horror he was witnessing–the horror he had caused. “Make it stop, Tomo! Please!” The demon was there in a heartbeat, his tiny form reaching out to place a single hand on the shoulder of Ethan’s spirit. Rather than some titanic battle, or reigning in of a furious animal, the figure simply released the bandit, then turned and walked back to Ethan as if nothing had happened.

Ethan felt nothing as the figure seemed to melt back into him, and he hastily dismissed his Astral vision. The scene was strangely quiet after the chaos of the Astral. Two of the bandits were kneeling on the ground, weeping as they held their hands desperately against wounds that didn’t exist. The rest were trying to lift their fallen leader, whose eyes had rolled back in his head. He lay limp in their arms, drool leaking down his chin.

Ethan shuffled to his feet, the pain in his arm still nearly blinding. “Let me look at him,” he told the group automatically, “he might have had a seizure.” He took two steps forward, and one of the men screamed, dropping the bandit and running. Ethan froze, not used to seeing fear in the eyes of others. He could only watch as the confused and terrified group slowly dragged the injured man away, occasionally looking back at the doctor who had tortured them.

“Tomo…what did I do?” he asked, once again gripping his injured arm. The bones need to be reset, his mind supplied, the rational thought at odds with the confusion and pain he felt.

“The spirit never forgets pain. That’s what an Astral attack is–sharing that pain with others. With training you can control how much is inflicted. You can even make someone feel the threat of that pain, as I suspect the shield knight did.”

“That’s what that figure was doing? My spirit…I saw it reach out and grapple with that man. It made him feel…”

“Everything you felt as your soul was burning,” Tomo confirmed. “What you saw was more metaphor than reality, the physical mind struggling to interpret the metaphysical world. But the pain was real.”

“You tried to stop me,” Ethan whispered.

“Had you unleashed your spirit while calm, with noble purpose in mind, the attack would have been less…brutal. But while in pain? While furious with your attacker and barely holding back the urge to kill him? I should have intervened sooner, but I don’t know if I should–”

“Intervene. If it ever…If I ever let that happen again, intervene. You’d be saving me,” Ethan whispered. Then he turned and began walking back toward the village. Many of the townspeople had gathered, of course, although thankfully Carl had held them back. He was looking at Ethan, pity in his eyes.

Maggie was there as well, an ax in one hand, but when she saw that he was largely unharmed she just turned and went back to the inn. No one thanked Ethan as he walked past, they just stared, obviously not understanding what he’d just done.

***

Ethan and the Knight made it back to the capital by late afternoon the next day. They hadn’t spoken of what had occurred, which suited Ethan just fine. He hadn’t really slept, and he was still struggling to come to terms with not just what he’d done, but what he was capable of.

Being around some familiar sights and sounds was helping, and it was good to be around people who weren’t looking at him with confusion and fear. He and Maggie walked through the city together until reaching the market square, where some kind of commotion was occurring.

A crowd had gathered in the center of the square around a wooden platform like a small stage. Maggie’s face split into a rare smile, and she jogged forward to join the group. Ethan raised an eyebrow, curious what kind of entertainment could possibly elicit such a reaction from the perpetually morose warrior.

Whatever it was clearly hadn’t begun, as more people were slowly meandering forward to join the group. Strangely, they didn’t all seem to share the knight’s enthusiasm, making Ethan even more curious. As he had some time, he went and purchased a drink and a bag of something close enough to cashews that the distinction didn’t really matter.

He was looking from the stage to the Rune shop, trying to decide whether he’d have time to speak to Kenji before the show started, when the crowd began making noise. It wasn’t cheers, but more like murmurs, and Ethan went and joined the assembled group to see what was happening.

He was soon surrounded as the crowd grew, but he was just tall enough to see a small procession of people moving toward the stage. Knights in elaborate white and gold armor were clearing the path. They were making room for High Priestess Abigail, wearing a tall white hat in addition to her normal robes.

Perfect, I’m in the middle of a public Church service, Ethan thought. What are the odds I can sneak out of here without looking like exactly the heretic that I am? He was turning around, almost knocking over a tall, older woman next to him when the crowd started muttering. Curious, he turned back.

What he hadn’t seen before was another man behind the priest, being dragged by a third knight. The man was dressed like a commoner, and he’d clearly been beaten. His hands were manacled, and he refused to look up at the crowd. Oh no, Ethan thought, realizing what he was seeing.

The man was forced to his knees, a knight on either side and one behind, wearing a distinct red cape, in contrast to the white of the other two. The Priestess looked out over the crowd imperiously.

“My friends!” she called out, and the square quieted immediately. “Sadly, we all know why we’re here. Once more, the faithful are being preyed on by the selfish and the depraved.” She turned slightly, gesturing back at the man on his knees.

“This man has done the unforgivable, sinned against the Goddess in the most heinous of ways. He has not only encroached upon her sacred domain, but done so for profit, and personal aggrandizement. He is the most vile of heretics, a false healer!” The last was said in a shout, and the crowd murmured at the pronouncement.

Ethan had expected to see the assembled group furious, possibly even calling out for punishment and death. Looking around, he did see that reaction in some, though they still remained quiet, even if rage burned in their eyes. Others, however, just seemed sad, and Ethan wondered why. Just the disapproval of another sinner, or something more?

The High Priest continued. “This man accepted payment for his blasphemous cures and tonics! He has taken advantage of the weakest among us, using them for his own ends! But do his cures work?”

“NO!” the crowd called back.

“Who alone offers true Healing?”

“THE GODDESS!” they yelled, still in unison.

“It is so,” the Priestess finished in a quiet voice. “And there is only one fate for those who blaspheme in this way.” She turned to the knight in the red cloak, who nodded. He stepped up closer behind the kneeling man, drawing a white sword.

He lifted the sword up with both hands, raising it high above his head. The blade began to gather power around it, glowing with golden light. Ethan cringed; he had no desire to see a man executed, least of all beheaded, which appeared to be the knight’s intention. Once more Ethan considered some sort of escape, but the whole crowd was frozen in place, eyes locked on the terrible display.

He grit his teeth, hating what was happening, but knowing he was powerless to stop it. He even considered a mad rush to the stage, but knew it was a childish fantasy, with the reality resulting in his inevitable death. And so he watched, like everyone else.

Oddly, the knight brought his sword back down slowly when its glow had reached its limit. Inverting the blade, he rested the point against the back of the man’s neck, and the whole world seemed to hold its breath in horrible anticipation. Then the Priestess nodded.

The blade sank down, driving its way effortlessly through the man, who didn’t even scream. Instead his head was thrown back, mouth opening wide enough that his mandible must have snapped. Golden light poured out of every orifice, and Ethan instinctively let his vision shift into the Astral.

The man’s soul was pierced. Ethan stared in horror as the golden glow of the knight’s sword somehow seemed to draw the man’s spirit inward, until the faint light that had suffused the prisoner’s body winked out entirely. The physical body dropped to the stage like a rag doll.

Ethan switched back to the real world as some in the crowd cheered, while others appeared to be praying on the spot. The noise in the square was rising as the knight withdrew his sword, then followed the High Priestess’ lead as she went down to her knees, arms crossed over her chest.

Through it all, Ethan just wanted to retreat. He hated being a part of this horrific spectacle, but also wasn’t ready to risk the attention storming off would garner. He was risking the Church’s wrath enough already with his late night healings. This was a time to blend in, not stand out.

Thankfully the rest of the crowd didn’t have to kneel–Ethan didn’t think he could have handled that. He kept looking around, waiting for the moment people would begin to slowly disperse. As he did so, he realized the older woman next to him was staring up at him.

She was in a dark dress of common make, and wearing a simple brown cloak overtop, a satchel tucked at her waste. Her brown hair was graying, and he’d have put her in her early fifties if he had to guess. He looked back at her severe expression with one of his own, not liking being singled out under the circumstances.

He forced himself to look back to the stage, assuming he’d been drawing too much attention, but the woman surprised him by moving closer, and speaking so only he could hear.

“Soon, it will be you up there.”