Body aching, Grant stretched his body light as he could. Gentle shaking hands glowed faintly blue and they kneaded the exhausted flesh. Soothing the aches slightly. Still winded, the masked man walked slowly, approaching twelve sleds covered in undulating amber like slime.

He crouched closer to one of the sleds two feet tall and eight feet wide. With its size and regarding the load human load they bear, the sleds resembled an autopsy table more than anything else.

Grant right arm reached out. Coming closer to the slime cover intent on removing it but his left hand quickly grasped the other limb.

He blinked and then he hissed. Shaking his head, Grant inhaled sharply.

‘How stupid of me.’ Blaming himself more than the numbness pervading his body courtesy to the blizzard’s freezing winds and the exhaustion setting in rendering his thought process languid. The alchemist crossed his arms. More amber slime rushed out of the holes of his outfit and they wrapped around him like a blanket.

The coldness gradually faded away. Grant felt his body warm up and his mind grow clearer. Concentrating even further, faint blue particles escaped from the snow and the air surrounding them. Surging, the particles streamed towards Grant. Replenishing his stamina a little and more mana accumulating inside his body once more.

Mana pulsed inside Grant. It circulated rhythmically and then it poured into the amber slime.

The sleds, the slime covers, all of the amber slime in the area undulated. Rippling, they shrank and then they exploded!

Slime violently expanded and thinned out. Soon enough all of the slime engulfed Grant and the people inside the sleds. Devouring all of them and encasing them in a thick barrier of slime. The sensation it brought made it seem warm, a little tight but homey.

He panicked not and instead grew even more relaxed. Why should he fear something he understood and could control?

The silver mask and the cloak separated from Grant’s body. The slime turned translucent albeit having a tinge of orange color.

His appearance previously concealed became visible.

Dull Hazel eyes, a light-colored complexion and bronze colored curly hair made him pleasing to the eye. That and his constant relaxed and slightly constantly smiling expression due to his lips naturally curving up faintly at the ends made Grant exude a welcoming friendly air.

His attire contrasted with his welcoming features. Adding a touch of mystery and professionalism to his figure.

Staying true to his plague doctor aesthetic. The little alchemist sported a brown, coffee toned, collared long sleeved jacket. The jacket, fastened at the middle by a belt, drooped down his legs, cutting just above long brown boots. Matching colored capelets draped themselves over his shoulders and chest.

By no means was the man overly muscular. Just the right balance of muscle mass and definition pressed on Grant’s clothes.

Grant clapped.

Swish!

The slime encasing them swirled, moving rapidly again until it formed a see-through igloo. Twelve beds supported twelve unconscious people whose bodies told tales of their struggle.

His gloved hand tapped his belt. Mana poured into the thing and lit up golden faint runic lines. A beaker popped up in the air infront of Grant and it landed on the Alchemist’s outstretched palms.

Channeling even more mists of mana into the beaker, the colorless liquid it held shone brightly. The flask warmed up. Slime stretched from the ceiling and took hold of the flask.

The inside of the igloo turned warm. Adding further protection from the raging storm of snow outside.

Cracking his knuckles, Grant peered down at his twelve patients. All male of different skin tones and appearances.

One of them stood out amongst the rest. A smaller body in a field of adults. Their legs were mangled beyond functionality, exposed bone and flesh stated that the boy would never walk again if he survives. That, and their face burnt and ruined likely a result of brief exposure to an acidic fluid.

Grant clicked his tongue. “I thought the Stalkers only allowed hardened veterans into their arms.” Squinting his eyes, Grant deemed the boy of outmost priority compared to the rest.

‘The others would hold on. The medicine I gave them would sustain their life as it had allowed them to endure me rushing them to safety.’ Grant exhaled and his gloves glowed golden.

Slime pooled into a table and the alchemist tapped on his belt again. Surgical tools fell on Grant’s left palm and he set them on the table. More flasks, vials and beakers of different liquid contents followed in suit.

A whole alchemical distillery, a system of interconnected glasses was the last to fill the table.

Grant went to work.

With forceps he picked up bits and pieces of bone and muscle.

Like completing a puzzle, those parts that could fit in, He reconnected. Sometimes he used a scalpel and shaved off heavily damaged pieces. Anything which sutures and realignments could not fix were supplemented by healing potions.

Grant worked with machine like efficiency. With his tools he reassembled their bodies. Re-aligning bone, reconnecting torn muscles and sewing skin back together. With his potions he called upon the powers of medicine and magic to heal and induce effects bordering on impossibility such as inducing bone growth and repairing lost nerves.

Severed limbs grew back. Mangled faces became recognizable. Grant’s patients’ health stabilized. Whenever he ran out of potions the alchemist would tap his belt and ingredients appeared. Herbs, chemicals, all of those he used in brewing on the spot.

Grant sighed in relief after healing twelve people. By the end of it all his state was worse than it was after he had hauled his patients. He felt sick. The world seemed to spin with him as the sole axis and his body felt numb.

Not only that but he felt an ethereal sense of emptiness coming from deep inside.

Rushing to a corner of the room away from his patients. Grant bent over. “Hurrk!” He spilled the yellowish digested fluid of whatever he ate before he ran for his life.

Towels popped up from the air and fell on Grant’s head and he used it to wipe himself clean. Not long after, Grant stood up. Still disoriented his legs wobbled to keep him stable.

Mimicking his weakness, the amber slime igloo protecting them from the elements and radiation trembled. The rigid shape melting before returning back to normal under Grant’s shaky control. No, not yet. He couldn’t relax that much yet until they were all saved. But he was at his limit too. He was strong, far stronger than any normal human thanks to years of training and his exploration of “that” place but even he had limits.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

He was nowhere near the level of the legendary few who could rival the powers of a god.

‘Focus focus focus. Never lose your focus!’ A stubborn mind supported by his discipline allowed him to keep things barely working.

Grant sat down cross legged at the middle of the slime igloo. In a trance between consciousness and unconsciousness. All the while mana particles were pulled from the surroundings into his body.

----------------------------------------

Rook, a hardened veteran, in all his long forty-four years of life never been so anxious before. As the blizzard raged on, as the winds buffeted his unprotected face his anxiety turned into irritation.

“Those blasted demons. Fuck! How come they fucking learned how to fucking think for once?” It was puzzling. While Rook’s bald head reddened visibly, the man became lost in his own thoughts. Ignoring the rest of the world around him.

Everything almost went well. Emphasis on almost.

As a proud captain of a hundred-man unit, Rook, along with thousands of other captains charged into the lands outside of New Hope City. Unlike the other less aggressive local powers of the City, the Stalkers walked a thin line between life and death. They are the vanguard, the swords who cut the enemy before the shields have to endure any blows.

They ran the foul beasts easily. Crushing, impaling, mauling them to shreds. Something seemed amiss and they noticed it too late. Too late when all of the stalkers had congregated in one area.

A demon came from underground launching an ambush. Some of the ruined buildings infected by demonic flesh collapsed and only moments later Rook found himself and the rest of those slow enough floating, sent flying hundreds of feet into the air.

It was too fast and devastating. A demon formerly a pathetic worm, the smallest of creatures, through demonic energy and radiation had thrown away its limits and became a humongous sandworm demon. A worm with too many beady crimson eyes on its body.

Its scream reverberated across the land. Its heartbeat an ever-deafening drum of war.

It was the monster that launched Rook and the rest of The Stalkers airborne. Its massive frame not sparing the buildings and wreckage of the past as they crumbled under its powerful whip like tail strike.

To make matters worse, the dark skies which was a mixture of the mist of dread, demonic energy and radiation parted. Revealing too many flying demons resembling grotesque wyverns and harpies.

The battalion were scattered and weakened. If the demon’s ambush didn’t kill them then the impact with the ground did.

At the moment Rook resembled an angry tomato more than anything else.

Rook growled before shrugging. Maybe it was just the distaste of defeat and losing a great deal of his comrades that made him mad and think about the flaws of the other associations of the city.

‘The Watchers are too elusive. So much that members of the same organization had a hard time knowing who their colleagues are. The Patrons are spineless greedy assess focused on buying and selling items. The Civilians…’ Rook paused smiling wryly. ‘They are very hardworking but still they can’t do shit in a fight. The Shepherds are too busy teaching the young and preparing them for their first dive.’

No system was perfect. Rook could agree to it even if sometimes things could be better if all the citizens of New Hope City could fight well or possessed the violent zeal they The Stalkers had in regards of killing demons then the world would be a better place no?

Unknown to the man, he had started spacing out, completely ignoring the world around while walking around.

He did not notice the broken lanterns on the ground.

He did not notice that even his vision enhanced by mana started getting foggier like clouded glass.

And the smell of blood and fear that assailed his nose he completely passed off as just him smelling like a bloody dirty rat due to days of no baths.

“Call me a brute but does going out into the wastelands and killing of demons doesn’t sound fun to you?” Rook smiled and laughed, talking to none but himself and the cold winds. Raising his eyebrows, he changed his tone. “Noooo I don’t wanna dieeee~~~~” Poking fun at some of the responses he heard brought Rook some comfort.

His mockery swiftly came into an end and Rook deflated. His arms sagging down, tired.

‘God Damnit.’ As irritated as he was, he couldn’t exactly blame the others. Everyone in New Hope City had a role. Though there are a lot of factions and different associations in that city, humanity remained united.

“Heh.” Rook laughed to himself once again. “Of course we would unite. Fucking hell, after the nukes, the demons and everything else? Even those old codgers past the age of a hundred still has trauma of the third world war.” The bald man sighed.

If only humanity was smarter and more compassionate then maybe the apocalypse wouldn’t had arrived as quickly as it had.

Maybe. But is such a thing really possible?

Rook’s eyes narrowed tiredly. He was bored. His dull expression turned curious for a second.

He raised an eyebrow. Sniffed his underarm and returned to his bored self.

“I smell like shit.” Rook poured in more mana into his eyes but the blizzard was too strong that his clothes fluttered, like the feathers of a bird flying high in the sky. “I can’t see shit.” He grunted.

It was like staring at a static tv. That and if Rook was any weaker then the blizzard would’ve knocked him down by now.

The man unfastened a bronze lamp on his waist and poured mana into it. The Holy Lantern flickered with light and then it shone brightly.

Rook paused.

All around him were malformed beings. Bodies more of a shadow of their original self more than anything else.

A demon that resembled a mix of a giraffe and a human. A lizard having eight legs, a pair of arms on their back and a face that was all teeth and no eyes nor skull.

There were more demons Rook could’ve observed but sincerely, he couldn’t care less. Not even with twenty around. Judging from the presence they exuded, they weren’t really a threat and they wouldn’t give a good fight. Not to someone of the bald veteran’s caliber at the least.

The stronger ones had already been dealt with by him and the other seniors.

‘Some of you may had been humans in the past. Maybe an unlucky innocent animal but oh well!’ Rook tossed the lamp into the air. It shone brighter and brighter as it ascended.

The fog, the blurry blizzard. All of it seemingly melted away. Cleared away by the miniature sun spinning above.

Once more Rook could see his surroundings clearly. An open field a good distance away from buildings. Aside from the occasional tops of cars or broken tanks and sophisticated machines jutting out of the snow, nothing else worthy of mention existed.

Rook’s muscles relaxed and he entered a stance. Knees slightly bent. Turned to his side with his left foot stepping farther than the right. Hands raised near his face, his fingers remained unrigid.

Demons were demons. They must all be killed and crushed like the pests that they are.

Such is the teachings of The Stalkers.

Rook laughed. “For humanity. For the sake of our weaker brothers and sisters. I will kill relentlessly until I die knowing satisfaction that my life had served a greater cause.”

The doctrine of The Stalkers had always been perceived as barbaric. Savage it may be, it was all for a noble cause. Frown as others may, it worked and that was all that mattered.

The world always followed the survival of the fittest. Modern times merely dictated money and connections as the main source of strength but all of that were just forgotten rules of the old age before the third war and before the fall.

Now, where only one city remain untainted at the face of the earth, the capability to kill and cause damage had once regained its place as the purest definition of strength.

HSsAaAAAA!

The Demons cried. Rook grinned.

His muscles tensed and all of a sudden snow launched into the air. The ground cracked under one foot and Rook broke past a human’s limit. He sailed through the air and came face to face with the giraffe demon.

Two arms raised and clasped together hammered in a downward smash.

Bang!

Flesh and bone scattered. The giraffe demon didn’t let out a single squeak thereafter. No, it couldn’t. Its four legs stumbled backwards. Rook snorted, landing on the floor his body twisted and kicked outwards.

A roundhouse kick straight to the demon’s headless chest sent a pulp of gore careening away. Its body crushed into bits and the four legs ripped off now flapped helplessly on the floor.

The brutish man’s figure disappeared again. Each of his movements disturbed the surrounding area and unleashed a tidal wave of snow. Each swing of his fists or feet caused the wind to bellow and each successful strike mutilated their target.

Rook lost himself in the moment. The lizard demon could scream and lash out as much as it can, it won’t change a thing. Running and scattering might’ve made a few of their brethren escape. Sadly, this little group of twenty cared not about survival.

They just wanted to kill or die trying.

Rook moved and moved. The more he moved the faster and stronger he became until eventually his fist reduced a massive hand wearing a skull analogous to some type of shell into dust and a mist of blood.

Twenty died in the matter of minutes.

Rook growled at the end of it all. Twenty was too little, he was still dissatisfied.

But what can he do?

“It’s already time.” Rook gave up. The man yawned then disappeared from his spot again. Breaking into a full sprint, the muscular man compressed the snow and tainted soil underneath and he jumped.

Two skyscrapers a few dozen meters away near one another became his ladder. Jumping wall to wall quickly brought the man at the peak of the building.

At a high altitude he awaited at the edge of the rooftop.

His heart abruptly stopped. A second later it resumed beating as if resonating with something.

The clock struck midnight.

And then it happened.

Sound seemingly became a thing of the past as it completely disappeared altogether. Rook could not hear his breaths nor hear the winds of the blizzard anymore. He couldn’t feel anything else and he did not think of anything.

Rook just existed. Completely at peace.

All he did was stare at a faraway distance with a smile. Somehow, Rook’s mind thought that if the skies were to fall down, he wouldn’t worry in the slightest.

Because everything would turn out fine.

From the horizon came a golden line. The line quickly connected with the heavens itself and that line soon transformed into a massive pillar of light.

The golden pillar thrummed. At its base little golden shockwaves rushed out like ripples at the surface of a lake. Everything touched by the light experienced purification.

Demons wailed and they burned into ashes. The fog of dread and purple demonic mana staining the atmosphere retreated, afraid of the golden light and its power. The raging blizzard calmed down. All that was left was the radioactive snow covering the ground and pouring from the skies.

That and a ruined world of collapsed buildings, broken roads and rusted vehicles.

It almost seemed beautiful.

Rook felt energized as if he had slept all day and had just finished a nice hearty breakfast along with a good cup of fresh water.

The cleansing was over.

“Welp see you again in another ten years I guess…” Rook stretched and he laughed again. “That’s if I don’t get my guts scooped out by a demon ha ha!”

The bald man stared at the City visible from the horizon. The sky at its stop was clear yet its just a momentary break from the hell that the world is. The clear blue sky would turn night again in a few seconds and be covered by the dreadful black clouds hours later.

Wish as he may for this sort of light to envelop the world again, it was no longer possible. The sun blackened dozens of years ago.

Returning to his carefree mood, Rook scouted the area capitalizing on the few seconds of clear visibility the cleansing had given him.

His happy mood quickly faded at the sight of an orange dome not far from his location. Its walls gave out and oozed down. Rook saw a familiar figure collapsed on the radioactive snow.

Rook’s heart sank. The image of a bronze-haired and kind-hearted man quickly flew into mind and he jumped off the skyscraper.

“Grant buddy oh pal you better not be fucking dead when I get to you!” Rook roared.

Rook experienced a wave of anger, irritation and concern wash over him. His friend was a great person but he always somehow lands in trouble.

What did he do this time?

'I swear to god, sometimes this guy doesn't care about what happens to himself!'