Isaac reached for Zeke’s hair and was slapped away.

“Don’t be like that, Hezekiah,” Isaac whined.

“You’re a psychopath. You put the universe in danger.”

“For you…” he said sweetly.

“Stop trying to justify it! All this chaos is because of you! Everything is because of you! My mom is dying because of you!”

Isaac frowned. “Well, don’t exaggerate. I didn’t know about Naomi's situation.” High-spirited laughter exploded out of him but only lasted for a second. Then, a sombre expression took over. “It’s funny. I was looking for the Diagnostician, and he went to the same school as me the entire time.”

“The angels already have a bad relationship with us, Healers; why would you help to make things worse? What’s wrong with you, you asshole!”

“Don’t use swear words here, Hezekiah. It is a part of Heaven—”

“You’re still trying to keep up the righteous shtick now? There’s nothing righteous about you!”

Isaac’s face crumpled in confusion. “What are you saying…”

He raised a hand, and then his body made a violent twitch. “Why are you acting like this,” he said in a brittle voice. Acting like the world's tallest and least sane child, Isaac lowered his head, sniffled, and wailed. “I don’t understand why you are acting like this,” he blubbered. “You’re not supposed to be acting like this.” He rubbed his eye and sniffled loudly. “You and I. Vicar and Diagnostician. We’re supposed to be close. On the same side. I am just trying to continue what our predecessors left behind for us!” He kicked some water to the side in a rage. “Okay, maybe I got a little impatient, but I thought you’d be on board from the moment you heard about it!”

Isaac sobbed as he dragged his fingers across the sharp yellowing teeth of one of the door’s mouths.

Looking at the upset zealot conjured a cold terror that encroached up Zeke’s spine, keeping him still.

“Behind this door,” Isaac said, looking at Zeke woefully, “is all the further instructions we need to make Mr. Skaggsy and Miss Gussalen’s dream come true, and you’re letting stubbornness keep you from realizing your destiny?” He lowered his head again and started muttering to himself under his breath. It might’ve been a prayer. It might've been a curse. It might've been a scattered conversation with the potential legion of voices that populated his mind. Zeke had trouble picking which would leave him the most perturbed.

Isaac raised his head and was smiling once again, but his eyes were puffy and red. “You like to complain about the injustices of legacies, but I strongly oppose your aversion towards the notions of inheritance. I believe that there are the greatest things we humans are gifted with. They are guidelines for how we should live our lives.”

Zeke bared his teeth and shivered all over. “So, what? If someone came from a long line of serial killers, they should just become one as well?”

“Yes,” Isaac said casually.

“That’s bullshit.”

“Stop cursing!”

The thunderous rebuke almost had Zeke fall back into the crystal blue water. It took a lame effort, but Zeke managed to remain on his feet and tackled Isaac's deranged look by staring back at him with a flinty expression.

“It’s what the universe wanted,” Isaac said, his strained, hoarse voice sounding like old sandpaper rubbing against each other. “Anybody who goes against what they are destined for is condemned for a life of misery.”

“What about everybody who rose above unfavorable conditions they were born into? Is it wrong to want to fight to become rich just because you came from a poor family? Is it wrong to want to be against discrimination even if you come from a family of racists? Isaac, what the hell are you saying?”

“You’re not listening, Ezequias.” Isaac poked at his ear a couple of times. “None of us should stray from the path traced for us. If you follow the path meant for you, you will encounter people like me to save you. If not, then it was not meant to be. You were not meant to be saved.”

“Huh? What about me, Isaac? I didn’t decide to become a criminal, yet I met you. Doesn’t that contradict your theory?”

Isaac pointed at Zeke. “You have a duality. You have also inherited the will of Healers.” He pressed his hands together firmly. “For as long as I could remember, my father would tell me I was meant to heal people. Save people. Open their eyes. I discovered I was part of the Tainted Generation when I was seven years old. I don’t remember what triggered my Mana Pores's opening, but I am so grateful to have been chosen.”

Isaac reached for Zeke. He tried to evade, but the Vicar was able to clutch onto his arms. The medical bag splashed into the water.

“My legacy is to be a savior, Hezekiah. Our legacy.”

Zeke shifted and attempted to push Isaac away but only succeeded in aggravating the situation. The far over six-foot-tall aggressor tightened his grip on Zeke’s aching, mushy biceps and then punched him in his cheek.

The sudden attack made Zeke stop resisting and slowly turn his head back to Isaac.

Isaac held his glare ebulliently. “Listen, Hezekiah,” he urged. “If those who have a tainted path in front of them continue to follow it, then I will find them and save them. Because it was meant to be. Those who stray from their tainted path, I may not find them, and yes, they might do well for themselves, but their purity won’t be at an optimal percentage, and an even better future for them would be lost because people like us didn’t get to them. Do you understand, Hezekiah?”

“No. You just sound insane,” Zeke said, twisting his face in disgust far more than he ever had before, and yet, it didn’t feel like enough for the pure evil before him. He began to groan as he felt Isaac’s fingertips cutting through the fabric of his sleeves and sinking into his flesh.

“From seven years old, I was able to accurately detect the percentage of purity in people’s souls,” Isaac said. “They would constantly go up and down, while mine always remained the same. Even after saving them, it would go up and then plummet again. The angels aren’t doing a good job; maybe they weren’t meant to. It’s up to us to save everybody. We, the Healers.”

Zeke raised his foot and thrust it into Isaac’s pelvis. He broke free from the incredible grip and dropped into the lake as Isaac slammed back into the door and slid into the water.

The kicker pulled himself out of the water and back to his feet. His left ear was clogged with water, the uncomfortable feeling spreading from his ear canal to his jawbone. He cocked his head and started smacking the side of it.

Isaac sat in the rippling water nonchalantly and looked up at Zeke. “That’s why God chose us.”

Zeke halted and stared at Isaac.

A new emotion, eerily calm and aloof, was taking over Isaac as his eyes became unfocused. He rambled, “Sometimes, the Tainted Generation tries to ignore this path, which is why the world is so broken!” Even as he screamed, his hoarse voice indicated no passion. “Don’t you see what we are, Hezekiah! We are meant to substitute the angels! We are meant to be the new angels! To be the new saviors! That is our destiny! Our inheritance! Our legacy! The ones who came before try to ignore this, and we can’t make the same mistakes! Look around; this place is designed to be the new Heaven. This Sub-Realm is called: Providence!”

Zeke scanned the vista of otherworldly beauty. Every exceptionally manicured, lush, and colorful feature of the quasi-Garden of Eden environment supported Isaac’s statement.

“It’s still too small and needs a lot of work," Isaac continued with his chillingly calm and dreamy demeanor, his eyes growing even more distant. "If we open this door, we can learn how to expand and complete the project. We will be the governors of this land! It is our duty as Healers to comply! For the salvation of the human race, we will take in souls and shelter them here! Cleanse their souls so that their purity can never lower again! That is what we are destined for! We are the Fourteenth Tainted Generation of Healers!”

Zeke’s stomach panged as he grimaced. “Isaac… humans being in charge of other souls. That doesn’t sound right.”

“Oh? So, you say that it is the angels who must do that? I thought you were against the ideas of legacy and roles and whatnot...”

Zeke fell silent.

“It’s like a script, Zeke. Life isn’t hard. You just need to pay attention to what it tells you. The path you need to follow.”

“What, you want to be God, Isaac?” Zeke said, kicking up the water and throwing his hands into the air. “Is that it?”

“You’re not listening, Hezekiah… we will be governors of Providence. This is His will.”

“You’re just making that up to justify your insanity! You’re doing this out of your own will. No one else’s.”

“All you do is refuse your destiny, which is why you are miserable!” The vigor was returning to his harsh voice. “Accept your role!”

“My role is what I want it to be! It’s the same with everybody else!”

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

Isaac lunged at Zeke and grabbed him around the throat. “You need to open your eyes.” He squeezed harder.

Zeke threw punches at Isaac’s gut as he struggled for air, but they were astonishingly ineffective, like a kitten throwing its paws at a full-grown lion.

“Healers like to think of themselves as indestructible,” Isaac said while taking his opponent’s pathetic attempts to hurt him in the gut. He watched Zeke’s already pitiful strength slowly deplete as he gave out painful, strained gasps of air and saliva leaked from the corners of his mouth. Isaac tilted his head and gave him a sad smile as he squeezed even harder. “This misconception comes from fighting other beings that don’t understand how our physiology and magic work. It’s imperative that Healers realize that the ones who know how to hurt a Healer the best… is another Healer.”

Zeke’s face bloated and was changing color. His eyes were bulging and welling as he was still, stubbornly, firing away futile punches at Isaac.

“The funny thing about the Tainted Generation is that every member is designed to kill the other. Take the Neurologist, for example. Her mind spells may seem invincible, but they may become useless with the Container Expert’s seal spells or the Surgeon’s incision spells. Fascinating, isn’t it? Who do you think can counter me, the Vicar? Maybe you, the Diagnostician, can counter me, or perhaps, the other way around?” Isaac released his grip just a bit and saw the relief on Zeke’s face as he took a deep breath. “I say, let’s find out for ourselves.” Isaac squeezed again and pushed Zeke down onto the lake.

The many contents of Zeke’s backpack stabbed away at his back. The water vibrations were harsh on his ears as he fought for his life. The sloshing and the sound of his own gurgling and muffled screams were all Zeke could hear.

The world flashed black and a dim blue in a sequence as his aching eyes opened and closed continually. Bubbles and white visages appeared for a couple of seconds. Then, he felt Isaac’s thumbs press into his Adam’s apple, his muffled scream elevated. Zeke swung punches wildly, mostly hitting nothing, but his fists connected with bone and fabric at times. It didn’t ease the suffocation in the slightest.

Under all the chaos, Zeke heard a faint voice speaking, not with words, but in a way he could somehow understand and translate to:

You don’t want to die.

Every gasp of air he took was a dosage of excruciating pain, his chest feeling like a cinder block was sitting on it. His lungs, like someone was pushing them against each other from the sides as they filled with water, his thyroid cartilage folding in of itself — all together made for an incredible mashup of a cocktail of pain.

Ezequias…

The medley of screams and burbles decrescendo mellifluously. His arms and legs were moving with more weight, as if they were filled with sand. As his appendages tried to anchor into the lake, Zeke exerted himself to swing and flail them in as many directions as possible.

His legs ceased movement. His hands clutched onto Isaac’s strong wrists. His vision was dampening. The world was turning dark…

Ezequias…

He gave up on trying to breathe.

The Tree of Life and its twenty-two paths materialized behind his eyelids. Twenty-two paths linking the ten qualities — Understanding, Wisdom, Severity, Mercy, Beauty, Splendor, Victory, Foundation… Kingdom at the bottom and Crown at the top. What path was he on?

Silence took over.

Ezequias… listen...

The Path of Intimacy seemed fitting. The way of transformation, linking Beauty and Eternity. He reached his hand out and touched wet skin.

Thy word is lamp unto my feet and light unto my path.

Insecurities, self-doubt, self-loathing — the card of Death appeared.

Death holds the seed of rebirth inside.

Yes, he needed to accept Death. Cast away the attitude of being reactive, passive, and fearful. Something needed to be changed. The Tree gleamed.

Zeke’s thumb touched a ball. He moved it around, then pressed into it. A sharp cry erupted, and his throat was released.

A loud gasp escaped from Zeke. He hunched over in the water and grabbed his throat as he coughed and hacked. He blinked the water from his eyes, and his vision slowly cleared. Isaac rose from the water with one eye closed, and a single line of blood streamed down like a tear.

The ringing in Zeke’s ears was persistent, and the lump in his throat was throbbing, but his mind was clear. He fixated on Isaac, who grinned as his closed eyelid twitched.

“That’s quite the look you got on you,” Isaac said, then put his hand over his damaged eye.

Zeke removed his backpack and slowly stood up.

“You can hear it clearly now, right, Hezekiah?” Isaac asked.

Zeke remained silent, and his hands moved on instinct. They raised in front of him, and he brought them together. He lowered his forefingers and pinkies and pushed them together, connecting the joints as the tips of his middle and ring fingers and thumbs touched. Next, he aimed the joined thumbs downward and kept his joined middle and ring fingers pointed up.

The Diagnositician's face turned stolid as he stared at Isaac.

“Finally,” Isaac said, moving his hand away from his crushed eye. “Now, say its name.”

“Vesklepios,” Zeke whispered.

Thick threads of red and blue strings sprouted from his body and waved wildly in the air.

They elongated in all directions as they moved. The red entwined with the blue, making even thicker threads, then wrapped around Zeke’s body. It morphed into a long coat. A commingle of cotton and leather tinted with a forest green. The shoulders had epaulets, front flap pockets on the side, and one on his chest, closely resembling a military coat. A dark green leather mask with an exhalation valve to the side materialized, covering the lower half of Zeke’s face.

“Eureka,” Isaac said.

Zeke raised his hand and opened the palm wide. A bundle of red and blue pushed out of his wrist and dangled onto the floor. The licorice-esque things elevated and turned back. Two holes stared back at Zeke. The openings in the center of the threads (the hole in the blue one was much larger) were enveloped with walls made up of three layers. The middle layer looked to be composed of muscle, while the inner and outer layers seemed to be composed of elastic fiber.

Could these be…?

More of them popped out of the shoulder of his fatigues, causing him to groan and his back to arch up. The thick strands multiplied, snaked around his arm and then coated his hand. The number of the dual-colored threads popping out continued to increase and speed up.

His arm became a heaping mass of sinew. Miles of pulsating blue and red filaments and fiber sank into the water below. Zeke’s normal hand settled over the bizarre transmogrification.

Zeke clenched his jaw, and the sinewy arm lifted off the ground; water poured like a rain shower from the ends of the threads. His expression relaxed, and he stared at it blankly. The arm moved gently to the right, then to the left at his mental command. It wasn’t heavy at all.

The fighters’ eyes met, and then Isaac closed his and smiled as he spread open his arms.

The fibrous mass shot at Isaac and wrapped its bundle of strands around his torso and throat.

Zeke moved his sinewy arm up, hoisting Isaac into the sunless, cloud-filled sky, and slammed him into the crystal blue lake. After the massive splash, Zeke lifted him again and swung his arm backward, hitting Isaac back into the water behind. He raised him out of the water once again.

And repeated.

Isaac made mighty splashes every time he was thrust into the water. Zeke screamed continually as he banged Isaac into the lake in every direction, indifferent to what was spraying onto him and stinging his eyes or the lump panging in his throat. It was time for a well-earned moment of going berserk.

Zeke slung Isaac to the side; he flew through the air like a ragdoll and vanished into the lush green. Zeke waddled toward the garden, dragging his massive arm through the water.

Isaac laid face down in a clearing. It was a sight that made Zeke grin as he plodded up to him.

“Are you done yet?” Isaac asked.

Zeke halted and inspected Isaac as his arm morphed back into normal. The devout was soaking wet, covered in bruises, detritus, and grass, but his smile remained. His stupid smile, trying to pose as an innocuous one.

It needed to go.

Zeke looked down at the palm of his hands. The veins underneath pulsated eagerly. He crouched and pushed his hands into the ground. A venous network sprawled across.

Isaac rose to his feet and looked down in awe. “How beautiful.”

Zeke snarled at him, realizing that he had never seen Isaac scared in his entire life. What would it take? He uttered a war cry, and towering tendrils burst out of the ground. Broad, rubbery blue and red threads populated the garden. They outstretched in every direction, making a laser grid-like hallway as if they were in the middle of that typical scene in almost hundreds of spy movies. There was no more questioning it; Zeke's Healer’s Garb gave him the ability to summon and control blood vessels and use them as weapons.

Isaac gave out a laugh. “You’re using magic! What did you visualize, Hezekiah?”

He’s still not taking him seriously. The bastard.

Zeke scowled and stretched both hands forward, making subtle movements with his fingers. The veins whipped to Isaac and grabbed a hold of his wrists, then his throat. They tightened and lifted him off the ground. More veins appeared and tied around his ankles.

Zeke closed his fists and then slowly moved them to the side. The veins followed the order, and they started pulling in opposite directions.

As the brutal sound of joints popping was made, Isaac screamed in delight amid the process of dismemberment and his head pulling away from his torso.

Zeke bared his teeth and moved his fists faster. The blood vessels pulled with more force, and Isaac’s screams elevated with veins popping out of his throat. He ejected a gout of blood. Zeke released in a hurry. The torture was halted.

“That was impressive, Hezekiah,” Isaac said with a voice even more hoarse than before.

Zeke looked back at Isaac. He wasn’t able to get rid of that stupid smile. He hunched over and tried to catch his breath.

“I’m so proud of you, Hezekiah—”

“Shut up!” Zeke barked. He scanned the grid of veins; on one side, they were all blue, and on the other, they were all red, just like the human circulatory system of veins and arteries. They were standing in a giant vascular system. Zeke navigated through the web of blood vessels and approached Isaac. “Listen, you’re going to help me find a Puritas Flor, okay?” he said with authority.

“You’d have to go look for one in Heaven. Try killing yourself. Then, the angels will purify you before taking you there. Oh wait, you’re part of the Tainted Generation... maybe you’ll turn out to be the Deliverer. Oh, that would be so great. Hezekiah, why don’t you try to find out—?”

“What is another way to cure her besides the Puritas Flor?”

“That is the only way I know.”

“You think I believe you? I know you know another way, you’re the Vicar—”

“And you’re the Diagnostician,” Isaac interrupted. He licked some blood from the corner of his lip. “You try finding another way.”

Zeke launched a fist at Isaac’s face. He swung to the side and then pulled back like a rubber band. “Your head is probably filled with hundreds of Euphorouses.”

“Was that supposed to be an insult?” Isaac asked. “I function quite well, Hezekiah, much better than others. Do you know what my soul’s purity levels are right now?”

Zeke stared, waiting for the answer.

“It would be something like… ninety-nine point-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine…”

“My point exactly. They would enjoy being in an organism with purity levels that high…” Zeke trailed off. He froze in place as his eyes went blank.

His mind traveled back. A couple of days ago. Sitting on the timber couch in the hospital’s waiting room alongside Violet, listening to her prognosis on Naomi’s true identity.

It’s obvious that she isn’t an angel. A demonic microorganism could never survive in something with purity levels that high, in other words, an angel.

That’s what Violet said.

Zeke snapped back to reality, and his excited thoughts fired off, not just random, anxious garbage, but answers this time. He smirked. “That’s it,” he said. The answer was so obvious.