Charomera
The 19th of Mounichion
The Year 4631 in the Era of Mortals
The world howled. It raged and wept and had no mercy. Every ounce of Arche’s body was doused with wriggling ants, each biting and stabbing as they crawled from toe to crown. His legs blazed below the knee, but if the white-hot of his feet were a bonfire, his eyes were the unadulterated surface of the sun. Hands restrained his as he scrabbled at his face. The pain was more than a signal from his body, it nestled into his brain and sank its claws into the fragile walls of his psyche. The only splash of color in an endless void. It was red and angry and bloody, and it laughed a cruel laugh in a voice he knew.
“Kill me.”
Each word dragged itself from his bloodied throat, tiny and desperate.
“It hurts. Kill me.”
He was nothing next to this pain, this hurt. It swallowed him. It was something other, something all-consuming, something too big, too incomprehensible to resist. He was slave to it. The world would be slave to it. Death was nothing like this. Death was a kindness in the face of so much pain.
“Please. Please…”
Arche’s voice sputtered out but the pain did not stop. It wouldn’t ever stop.
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A cold liquid trickled over Arche’s cracked lips and slipped down his throat. The sensation brought him out of his daze, back to the world of the living. He tried to open his eyes but found that his face had been bandaged heavily and his eyes were forced shut. He was lying in a bed. That, or a particularly soft patch of smooth ground. He tried to speak, but liquid still trickled into his mouth, so he spluttered and gasped as pain spread across his chest.
“Easy, you are still recovering. You’ve had quite an ordeal.”
A voice. Feminine, accented, filled with relief and the slightest touch of reproach.
“Lyssa.” His voice croaked and burned. “Did I die?”
“No, not so far as Odelia has told me. You were lucky, if one could call it such.”
Lucky. It would have been luckier to die.
“What happened to me?”
“Do you recall the wall?”
Did he ever.
“Yes.” His voice quiet, little more than a whisper. “I remember the pain. What happened to me?”
“You…Odelia said…” Lyssa’s voice wavered and cracked.
Arche had only heard the wood elf speak like that once before, when they’d been hunted by the revenant. She was always certain of what to do, what to say, but that time she believed they’d been trapped against an unbeatable enemy. A similar tone of regret colored her voice now. He tried to reach out toward the sound of it, to grab her hand and let her know that he was all right, that he was alive, but his arms were fastened down to his sides.
“You were broken, Arche.”
A new voice. Again, feminine, but lacking the accent and slightly argumentative with a touch of polish.
“Tess?”
“The wall broke your body. Bone pierced many of your organs, nearly impaled your brain. The only reason you didn’t die was because Odelia reached you in time.”
“These bandages…how bad is it?”
“Your eyes ruptured. Odelia did what she could for the pain, but she doesn’t know if you’ll be able to see again. The rest of your body should heal with time, even your teeth, but how long is anyone’s guess at this point.”
Arche let out a shaky breath. Ruptured. Blinded. The ramifications were staggering.
“This feels like my bed.”
“It is,” Lyssa said. “I had you brought here to recover. Odelia said they did all they could for you, but you needed somewhere quiet to recover. She will be around later to check on you.”
Arche’s lips clawed open and shut as he worked up the courage to ask the question he was most afraid of.
“Did…did anyone else…did they all…”
“No one else was hurt, Arche,” Tess said. “You saved them. You saved them all.”
“All right. All right, good. Then at least it was worth it. At least it was…” Arche trailed away.
A great weight settled in his chest and it was difficult to breathe around, let alone speak. They’d survived, all those people, but he hadn’t. Not really. His body, broken. His eyes, ruptured. He was helpless. Useless. A useless demigod. Choked gasps pushed past his lips.
“We’ll leave you to rest. We won’t be far away.”
Footsteps creaked across the floor. The door opened and shut. He heard muffled conversation as they walked away, then he was alone. Alone in a world of darkness, much of his body compressed by bandages. Trapped. His mind knew he was safe inside his room, in his bed, no less, but his stomach screamed that he was being crushed to death in a dark hole, deep underground. He had been in several dark holes with thousands of pounds of rock and dirt above him but never once really considered it. Now, it was all he could think about. Being crushed. The horrible pain and pressure.
Arche lost focus. He couldn’t honestly tell whether he’d slept, alone with his fear, but he certainly lost all sense of time. He might have stayed like that for days until the creak of the door roused him. His heart pounded. He couldn’t see—ruptured—so he threw his consciousness toward the doorway, awareness expanded by his Psychic Trait . The process was difficult, reminiscent of when he had first started using the ability. The Mana flowed with viscosity, more like honey than the water he normally equated it to. Something small and slight was at the door, watching him, but the mind he brushed against was older than any child’s. Arche retracted his awareness. There was only one person it could be.
“Odelia? Is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me.”
The halfling woman continued into the room, clambering onto a chair next to the bed.
“You didn’t knock.”
“Forgive me, I thought you might be sleeping.”
“No. Not likely.”
“Are you in any constant pain?”
“Yes.”
A day ago, he might have made a joke. A day ago, he could see.
“The recovery prospects are grim, I must say. I’ve never seen anyone survive that amount of damage. Except, perhaps, what I saw you survive in that dungeon last month.”
“Odelia.” Arche tried to keep his voice from betraying him. “My Divine Body skill gives me an incredible amount of Health regeneration. Would that help my current injuries?”
Odelia let out a heavy sigh before speaking.
“Theoretically, yes. However, your feat with the wall did more than just damage your body. You gave yourself Mana Scars. If you try to push more Mana through those scars, you’ll only make things worse for yourself. Your body may heal, but you risk never being able to use your Mana again.”
The thought sent real fear into Arche’s heart. Divine Body had been the deciding factor in nearly all of his battles. The skill had let him kill foes many times more powerful than himself and saved him from dying more than once. The idea of never being able to use it again meant death. Not just for him, but for everyone he would fail to protect. At the same time, without use of his eyes and body, he was helpless. Useless.
“How do I heal Mana Scars?”
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“I don’t know, Arche. There are rumors, but they’re just that: rumors. Nobody knows.”
“Who would?”
Odelia’s feet tapped against the legs of the chair as she thought.
“The Lyceum Apokryfos, most likely. They’re the foremost scholars of magic in this region of Tartarus. If anyone knows, it would be them, but they do not share their information. Not for free, at any rate. Even if they know, I don’t see how you would get them to tell you.”
“Get Helwan. I’m going to use Divine Body. I want both of you here to monitor me.”
“For the record, I’m recommending against this course of action.”
“Acknowledged.”
“Very well.”
A small hand gripped his shoulder, then he heard a thump as the halfling woman dropped from the chair to the floor. Footsteps led away from him and the door opened and shut. Arche took a deep breath, feeling the pain in his chest as his ribs expanded. Alone once more, at least for the moment, it was time to look at his profile. He’d been putting it off, worried about what he would see there, but he could procrastinate no more.
Arche
Level: 21
Experience to Next Level: 5,651 (30%)
Race: Human
Age: 27
Height: 189 centimeters
Weight: 89.5 kilograms
Profession: Demigod
Trade: N/A
Traits: Slayer of the Mighty, Psychic
Companions: Lyssanderyli
Adventuring Party: N/A
Health: 137 / 750
18%
Stamina: 580 / 580
100%
Mana: 180 / 180 (360)
100%
Strength: 41
Dexterity: 37
Agility: 33
Fortitude: 34 (29)
Endurance: 41 (36)
Intelligence: 36
Wisdom: 36
Willpower: 38
Perception: 29
Charisma: 45 (39)
Comeliness: 16 (12)
Luck: 23
Exhaustion — Tier 1
Mana Scarring — Tier 1
The situation was far from ideal. His Health was lower than expected, given that he’d been attended to by Odelia personally, but it was probably the severity of his wounds. He’d been to the brink of death more than once during the experience, each time brought back by Odelia and her team. Perhaps he would have been better off if he had just died.
Perhaps he would be better off if he died now.
Thanatos had told him that death would not keep him, but there would be punishment, and the author of the notifications had told him that the cost would grow each time he died. It was a risk, but the loss of his senses or magic was also a terrible price to pay. There was a chance death would fix his condition, but he had no way of knowing if the regenerative properties of returning to life would restore his current disabilities or if they would remain unaffected, only healing the damage that had killed him in the first place.
When he died before, he had received his Profession upon his return, releasing all of the experience kept in reserve and leveling him several times over. He couldn’t say for certain which had actually healed him. What was more, from the way the others spoke, he gathered that the restorative powers of a level would not fix his Mana Scarring.
Mana Scarring — Tier 1
-50% Mana Flow
-50% Mana
Hopefully he would still have enough for what he was about to do.
Lyssa had told him, once, that fast healing could be dangerous, as things could heal improperly. Using Divine Body itself was an inherent risk that could worsen his Mana Scarring and still not fix his eyes. His eyesight was not something he was willing to part with, not while there was a chance for him to save it. Even at the cost of his Mana.
It didn’t take long for Odelia to return. Her padded boots were quiet against the wooden floors, unlike the cloven hooves of Helwan, who followed at a respectful distance. The door opened and shut quietly.
“Is he asleep?” Helwan whispered.
“Not quite,” he rasped.
He considered using his Psychic awareness to get an idea of where they were but decided against it. The Trait required a small amount of Mana and he wanted to devote the entirety of what he had to the task at hand.
“Odelia didn’t exactly fill me in on what you needed me for, friend,” Helwan said with hesitation. “I’m glad to see you’re awake, though.”
It would have been easier if she had, it hurt to talk.
“I’m going to use Divine Body to heal. It’s dangerous. I need you to monitor me.”
Hoof scraped against wood as the satyr shifted his feet.
“You haven’t told Lyssa and Tess, have you?”
“No.”
Helwan groaned.
“Is this safe?”
Arche opened his mouth but Odelia beat him to it.
“Not at all.”
“This is a bad idea, Arche,” Helwan said.
“The alternative isn’t better. How long do you think I’ll survive without my eyes?”
“You don’t have to fight!” Helwan’s voice was flecked with exasperation. “You can stay in Myriatos. You can advise Lyssa, help settle disputes, learn new things. You don’t have to fight.”
The option was…tempting. Surprisingly so. Arche could set down the Tridory. Live simply. Grow accustomed to his new disabilities. Someday, perhaps, he could even learn to accept and live with them.
The bloody form of Ares rose in his mind.
“Someday, friend, but not yet. Right now, my place is on the battlefield. I can’t forsake it yet.”
Helwan let out a heavy sigh.
“Show off,” Arche muttered, gasping at a twinge of pain.
“What are the risks?” the satyr asked.
“Worsened Mana Scarring, permanent blindness, any number of physiological disturbances, and there’s no telling what sort of effect it will have on his mind,” Odelia rattled off.
“Titans’ Bane, Arche! Isn’t there some other way?”
“Is there?” Arche levied his question in the direction of Odelia’s voice.
“You could wait and see if your body’s natural regeneration is enough to recover your eyes. Otherwise, no. I don’t have the technical expertise or magical training to regrow organs. No one does, not in Myriatos.”
Arche opened his mouth, fully intending to restate his determination to Helwan, but the last part gave him pause.
“Somewhere else people can restore eyesight?”
“Well, yes. Healers in Ship’s Shape should be able to do it, though it’ll be expensive. Biomancy isn’t subsidized there.”
Arche tried very hard to keep from snarling.
“Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“What, am I supposed to anticipate your ignorance?” the halfling woman shot back. “I told you trying to fix things yourself was a bad idea. You wouldn’t listen to me!”
Arche’s arguments withered and died on his tongue. She had a point. He had taken what he wanted to hear and ignored her expertise.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have discounted you.”
“At least you finally listened before doing something stupid and not after.”
Some of his spirit deflated, as though his body had sunk even deeper into the bed.
“How expensive?” he asked, his voice sounding small even to his own ears.
“Very. Eyesight is intricate and difficult. Depending on the biomancer, you could be looking at up to a thousand drachmae per eye.”
Arche shifted his head toward Helwan.
“I’m still fuzzy when it comes to money. That’s a lot, right?”
“It’s considerable, but the treasure you recovered from our latest excursion to that cursed dungeon will cover the price.”
“I see.” Arche grimaced. “Well, I don’t, but you get the point. Fine. Seems everything is conspiring to make me go to the city. Bound to happen at some point. Sorry to drag you up here for nothing, Helwan.”
“Not at all. I was going to visit you, regardless. Everyone’s talking about what you did. You’re a hero.”
Arche’s stomach did a flip.
“Don’t be stupid.”
“You have to understand that if you keep doing incredible things for these people, they will see you as incredible.”
“All right, get out, both of you. Tell Lyssa that you were able to stop me from doing something stupid. Should give her some hope. Oh, and tell her that I need to go to Ship’s Shape. The sooner the better.”
“Get some rest, Arche,” Helwan said. “I’ll bring you some food in an hour or so.”