Through the dimly lit streets, a man ran as fast as his aging legs could carry him.
In his haste, he had even forgotten to see if any pursuers were on his trail.
He gasped and breathed heavily as he ran inside his home, slamming the doors behind him.
A curious head poked out of the cellar, scanning the floor.
“Sarge! What the hell are you doing, causing a ruckus at this hour? Do you have any idea what would happen if they find us again? And what happened to the supplies you were supposed to haul back?”
“No Gordon, it’s… too late already, they found us.”
Gordon leaped out of the cellar, his face pale with fear.
“What? How?”
“I, I don't know but they musta known we were here for a while now.”
“Then we need to move everything right now, take whatever we can, bury anything we can't carry and depart for Noctilune immediately.”
Sarge slid down to the wooden floor as his legs gave way.
“What's the point of it all… They will find us again.”
“What’s gotten into you? After everything that we went through we can't just give up on our research now!”
“Even if we were to complete our research and perfect our prototype, we would be killed immediately. Our work will never see the light of day. We won't make a difference in this world, we can't outrun our fate.”
“Which is why we need to move to Noctilune, away from their eyes and ears.”
“Do you really think those bastards can't get to us in Noctilune? Plus it matters not where we hide, their hands will still reach us..”
“No matter what we have to at least try.”
“Don't you get it, if they know of our prototype, we are dead men.”
“So then what would you have us do? Just lay here and wait for them to get rid of us? Let them get away with doing whatever they wish? Have you forgotten why we are even doing this? To help the people, like my wife and your daughter, we can't just let their deaths be in vain.”
At the very mention of his daughter, the flame that was so close to burning out reignited with the vigor of a blazing firestorm.
*************************************************************************************************************
“Daddy my head hurts,” she cried out softly.
Sarge’s heart sank. This was inevitable, as soon as she showed the first signs of it he knew what it was—the same sickness that had taken his wife not many moons ago.
To his dismay, his daughter had inherited not only her mother's looks, but also her fatal disease. Only, she had developed it at a much younger age than her mother.
It was a testament to how cruel the heavens could be, it would take what he held dearest not once, but twice.
“Don't worry dear, you wait here. I’m gonna get the priest to make you better again ok?”
“Don't go daddy, I’m scared, I don't wanna be alone.”
He knelt by her bed with her hands tightly in his.
“You have to be strong, just like your mother. I’ll be right back with the priest and they will make you all better again. So please stay strong.”
In truth, the priest was only able to relieve her of her suffering temporarily, they could not cure the sickness that resided within. It served only to delay the inevitable, yet he could not simply give up on his daughter. As long as she’s still alive there’s still hope.
After a weak nod from her through tears, he ran for his room and scrambled for his locked chest under the floorboards.
It was then that reality struck him like a plague that could never be cured. The once ample and prolific wealth that he had collected had been reduced to a single gold coin. It wasn't enough. The church of Balione does not give charity to the poor, nor would they use their powers to heal the poor—everything came with a price.
He sat idle only for a moment and prayed.
My lord Sasarith, your humble follower asks for my only daughter to be spared, and in exchange, take my life as an offering in her stead.
His chest emptied out just like his heart had, and with each step his heartfelt weaker and weaker. He could feel the color drain from his face as he was stopped at the church’s doors.
A middle-aged man with golden hair and a thick beard had brought him to a halt, a parasite that fed off the poor and the rich alike, with no regard towards the true teachings of his faith.
“What is your purpose here today?”
“I’m here to see the priest, my daughter requires healing.”
“Very well, have you brought the tribute?”
“Yes I have,” Sarge said calmly as he handed over his golden coin.
“What’s this? You must know the price is two coins, do you not?”
“That's all that I have left, please let me see the priest.”
The man’s face was unmoved.
“I cannot do such a thing, it would be an insult to the church of Balione if I let anyone in without paying the proper tribute.”
And putting a price on life is not? He wanted to scream those words at this buffoon of a man but he could not, he still needed the man to help him.
“What's going on out here?” a man’s voice came from the other side of the door.
“Someone wishes to see you, however he has not given the proper tribute.”
The door opened and the familiar face of the fat bloodsucker came into view.
“Oh it's you Sarge, please come in and let us speak inside.”
“But he has yet to pay the full tribute.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“I shall allow it, we do go way back after all. Isn't that right Sarge?” The fiend smiled so wickedly that the Devil would have been proud.
“Yes of course,” Sarge replied, with a forced smile.
There was no time to waste on petty gestures, as soon as the door shut behind them, he got right to the point: “My lord, you have to save my daughter.”
“I don't have to do a thing. May I remind you that you have yet to pay tribute this time, and yet you are asking for our lord’s blessing to save your daughter? We may go way back but you are pushing it too far this time.”
“I don't have enough gold at the moment, but please my lord, I’ll shall offer double next time.”
“It's sad to say that our lord shall not exercise his powers in such pretense, you giveth and you taketh, a price must be paid.” His tone was monotonous, yet unwavering.
“I’ve been a loyal follower of the church for all my life, my lord please grant me this favor.” Sarge got down on his knees and prostrated. Dignity was not of value when his daughter's life was at risk, for it was all he had left to offer.
“I already let you into the house of our lord without proper payment, I will not allow this to continue any further. Have you even thought about the consequences? If I do as you asked then everyone in town would be demanding the same treatment, what would happen then?” the priest gestured, as if Sarge’s words had offended the sanctity of his lord's house.
This pompous prick!
Talking as if people's lives are worth nothing, only to be used as profit for the church. There was no other choice, this man would not move an inch unless gold was involved.
“If you will not heal my daughter, then I’ll have to do it myself.”
“You? You aren't a trained priest, how could you possibly… No. Are you talking about alchemy again? You know it's strictly forbidden, and the very thought of it would be considered treason. You would not only be an enemy of the state but the church as well. I know it's for the sake of your daughter, but even as a jest, you’ve taken it too far. Even our merciful lord will not overlook such insolence.”
So I should just let my daughter die and be at peace with it? I’ll skin you first.
“Yes, of course my lord, I must say that I jest with poor taste. Now then, I shall take my leave. I shall visit another day with the proper tribute my lord.” Sarge tried to put on his best smile, but his rage could not be contained.
“Ah yes, very well.”
All those years praying to the all mighty—all the money he had spent in support of the church, what had it all been for?
The parasite of a guard mouthed words at him as he left, but he didn't bother to even look at the fool as he took off and ran.
In the lands far beyond his home, he had heard there were potions and elixirs that could heal the sick and dying. Those tales came from the traders that had ventured far from the grasp of the Church of Balione, they had even brought back samples and sold them on the markets.
However the Church did not sit idly by, they quickly advised for the king to have alchemy banned entirely. No one was allowed to even bring in potions without facing execution after that point.
The reason to ban a vast sector of studies was only due to the healing abilities of potions, with it the people no longer had to rely solely on the church for healing, taking away its power and wealth. And that was not to be tolerated.
The poor die in flocks yet no one dared or even wished to speak an ill word of the church.
But he could not blame them, he too had been a part of that herd not too long ago, and anyone that dared to step out of line had all been erased. His fate was sealed, yet if there was even the slightest chance of saving his daughter, his own life was a small price to pay.
Still, he had to pray that his daughter would live long enough for that day to come.
In order to buy himself some time for the moment he would need to resort to loans from friends to start, and for the rest he would have to face the problems as they come.
He ran and ran until he paused suddenly in the middle of the crowded road.
Someone had been following him ever since he left the church, he didn't know who or what was following, but as strange as it was, his sixth sense was telling him that someone was definitely following him.
And so it begins.
Sarge grinned defiantly. The road ahead of him was arduous and might very well take his life, but his life did not matter—the sacrifices did not matter. The only thing important to him was his daughter.
But to save his daughter he needed time, time his daughter didn't have.
As he buried her body with his own hands, only one realization materialized in his mind.
There is no God.
*************************************************************************************************************
“You’re right, I’m sorry my friend. I’m… tired.”
Gordon walked to his old friend and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m tired too, but we have to prevail, their false God may let their atrocities go unnoticed, but if there is a God, they would surely be on our side.”
“They sure would be,” Sarge offered a weak smile.
“Let's get packed quickly.” Gordon was already heading back to the cellar.
“Wait, there's something I need to take care of first.”
Gordon turned his head with a face of confusion: “What!? What could possibly be more important than moving our work right now?”
“I”m going to do a test with one of our prototypes.”
“What?!”
“When they had me cornered, some bystanders stepped in and helped me get away.”
“So what?”
“One of them got stabbed in the scuffle, I can't leave him to die.”
Gordon had both hands on his head at this point, unable to even process what's going through his friend’s head.
“You know I can't let you do this, you said it yourself they’re already onto us. If you use the prototype now they will know what we did, and that'll be the end of us. If by some miracle they don't find out about it, how can you expect those bystanders to keep their mouths shut afterward? I know we are doing this to save lives, but if we are exposed now we won't be able to save anyone else. It's one life for the good of the many.”
“No Gordon, you may be right, but I have to do this.”
“Sarge what has gotten into you, can't you see the bigger picture here?”
“And yet it's precisely because I can, therefore I must do this. If I let that man die I would be no better than exactly what we're fighting against.”
Gordon looked like there was more he wanted to say, but he stopped and sighed.
“Fine I won't stop you, in case of the worst I’ll carry the notes, and you carry the prototypes.”
“That's what I hoped for.” Sarge smiled with honesty for the first time in a long time.
He joined Gordon down to the cellar and quickly placed both prototypes in his pack.
“Well I’ll be going now, let’s meet up north at Q-1. If I’m not there in two hours' time, you must assume the worst.”
“Yes, I know…”
“Good luck to you.”
“And to you as well.”
The two men shared a jaded look in agreement.
Neither of them had placed any emphasis on their looks in years. Gordon looked at least ten years older than his appearance would suggest at the minimum, and he himself would be the same, yet they felt precisely how old they looked—tired and weary.
With a parting smile, Sarge took off with the pack of prototypes into the night once more.
To save the young man wasn't the only reason he had to part ways with Gordon, since they already had a prototype. If the church knew of this act of defiance, it would mean certain death—or perhaps even worse.
If anyone from the church were to barge into their lab they would find everything they needed to do just that.
He needed to divert whoever had followed him there, if there were at least two of them then it would all be for naught, but he had to try.
As he ran in the night, that familiar sense kicked in—he was being followed.
Sarge smiled again knowing at the very least he was able to draw away at least one of them.
It's all up to you now my friend.
The only thing left is to save that young man.
Ending it like this isn’t so bad after all, to defy them one last time.
At that very thought Sarge found himself smiling again, it was the first in many moons he had smiled with such genuine delight.
When he finally reached where he had left them, he saw that they still sat in the middle of the street.
The young lady who had first stepped in was weeping with the other held tightly to her chest.
Was I too late?
“Is he still breathing??”
She looked up with a blank face: “I don't know,” her voice came flat and cold, devoid of any emotions at this point.
Sarge grabbed the man's arm and checked for a pulse. It was faint but definitely still there, he breathed a sigh of relief.
“Can you save him?” Her eyes gleamed in the night.
“I don't know if it will work, it's just a prototype and the damage he has sustained may be beyond its capabilities, but I have to warn you, if I use this now, none of us may live to see another day.”
“I don't care, just save him. You have to save him…” The look on her face was convincing enough, it was the same face he had worn then.
“Then so be it.” He took out the prototype that he and Gordon had been working on for two years and poured it onto the young man’s wounds. The green liquid sizzled as it touched the open wound.
“Does that mean it's working?”
“It's healing him, but would it be enough? That I honestly don't know, and you should be worried about yourself, like I said before we might not make it out alive.”
“And what do you mean by that?”
“You really don't know? Didn't you see what I just used? It's a potion of healing… and well, you know the rest.”
“Wait, what does a potion have to do with anything!?”
Sarge quirked a brow, and for the first time, looked at her outfit.
“I guess you aren’t from these lands, well then I’ll tell you, alchemy is banned in this kingdom as well as the surrounding countries. If you get caught with a healing potion it's straight to the execution chambers for you.”
“Why would a potion that could save lives be illegal?”
Her confusion and subtle—yet very clear underlying rage was completely understandable, after all, in the lands far beyond, the people aren't shackled by the church of Balione. For those fortunate ones looking in, it would of course appear to be utter nonsense.
“The church of Balione commands absolute power in these lands. In order for them to monopolize the ability to heal, alchemy had to be banned, and the teaching of holy magic to nonchurch members is also forbidden.”
“I see, so then what do we do now?”
Her reply had been surprisingly calm for the content she had just acknowledged. It was nice to see someone else who could understand the darkness that looms over the country with an eternal grasp, and if there were just more people who get to experience this side of it all, their grasp would be eternal no longer.
Perhaps, just perhaps, in the coming years Reinocha will be a better place. More seeds will be planted, blossoming for the future.
Sarge smiled one last time: “Good luck to you.”
A dead man walking still has his own values.
“Wait, what are you doing?”
“Buying you some time.”
‘But what are we supposed to do?”
“Find a way to hide and survi…” his words were cut short as two cloaked figures appeared out of the night.
Dark armour covered them from head to toe, with the unmistakable mask of the smiling Witch. An organization that leaves no traces of its existence, only existing in the memories of the dead and the whispers of the damned.
The hidden hands of Balione.
RUN!
Those words were caught in his throat as blood surged forth. In an instant, he had collapsed like a marionette whose strings had been cut.
“What about them?” one of them asked.
“Death is all that awaits them,” the other answered, stepping closer with the bloodied blade in full display.
“Death awaits us all, including yourselves now, isn't that right young miss?”
Two bodies and two offers were given.