CHAPTER 38: THE ROTTEN TRUTH
“Soulthief! Painmaker! Hellkyn! I call you and decry you! Leave this innocent and face me, you wretched cyst of suffering! In the name of the Eternal Fire, I call you from your host and cast you back to where you came! RAGNI IMMORTAE PANNA! I am a child of the flame, and with its holy light, I scourge and rebuke you!” Attributed to Mobad Varaz of the Sacred Dawn.
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The Saint Eustace Clinic served the poor people of the Karlhof district, providing magical and mundane healing to anyone who needed it. The clinic was one of many charity houses within Vindabon, providing a little succor to the city's lower class. On the morning after the Solstice, in the shadow of the DeMello Ball, the little clinic would find itself the focus of much attention.
The clinic occupied a plot of land near the center of Karlhof, the twentieth district of Vindabon and one of its poorest. The three-story structure had the type of quaint beauty well-kept places tended to gain. Its brick walls were painted with images of Saint Eustace and his pilgrims. While the open hand of healing cast in bronze hung above the front door. Further adding to the sense of serene care the clinic tried to embody.
Contrasting this theme was the squad of armored guards standing at the clinic’s front step. Led by a huge man covered in scars and cloaked in black. As morning crept towards noon, the tattered man banged his fist on the clinic door for the third time. Finally, the sturdy wooden entrance creaked open as a tired-looking Nurse answered.
“By the Pantheon! It's not locked. You can come, right-oh?” the nurse trailed off as the towering stranger loomed over her. She was short, plump, and slightly frazzled, contrasting the scarred giant before her.
Paladin Cole pulled down his hood and asked. “Is this the Saint Eustace Clinic?”
The nurse blinked in surprise, coughed, and said. “Aye, it is… What can I do for you, Mister…?”
Captain Iron-teeth stepped forward then, holding up his badge to the nurse. “We are with the Guard, miss; we need to look around the clinic.”
Confusion and worry played across the nurse’s face, and she glanced at Cole. “What is this about? If any of our patients has done something, then speak with our patron; surely we can solve this without you disturbing the sick?”
Cole asked. “Your patron?” he knew the answer but just wanted to get confirmation.
The nurse nodded. “House Louon, they pay for the clinic and everything inside it. They are our liege and patron.”
The Paladin sighed; Iron-teeth and Natalie had both tried to explain the complicated system of patronage supporting Vindabon’s public works. But he’d only managed to grasp it was some mutated form of shared feudalism that kept the city functioning. Still, the details mattered little; the clinic was a good lead.
At Natalie’s suggestion, he and the guards were looking into the Eustace clinic. She’d come to him when he’d returned to the Temple with a theory about the Louon curse and how they might catch the killer. It seemed likely the Heart-stealer murders weren’t the only crimes House Louon was culpable in. If they’d really been aware of demonic corruption and leveraged it to their advantage? Well, people had been hanged for less.
Speaking with the cold iron, Cole growled. “People under your care are in danger. This clinic hosts long-term patients, correct?”
The nurse’s eyes narrowed, and she looked from Cole to Iron-teeth. “Guard, who is this man? He doesn’t seem to be one of yours?”
Iron-teeth ran a hand through his better-groomed beard and said. “He’s the Paladin, so I suggest listening to him.”
When revealed, Cole was used to shock and disbelief; he wasn’t accustomed to fear. The nurse moved to slam the door on them; Cole caught its frame and stopped her easily.
As she struggled against him, her breathing wheezing with the effort, Cole calmly asked. “Why do you fear me, Nurse…?”
Realizing it was pointless, the nurse stepped away from the door and looked over her shoulder as if debating her odds. Sighing in annoyance, Cole shoved the door open and entered the clinic, shifting the nurse from freeze to flight. She quickly bolted down the hallway, reminding Cole of a scared rabbit.
The guard squad followed Cole, fanning out inside the clinic entrance room. Two hallways branched off the chamber. Cole followed the nurse down one, while Iron-teeth took half the squad down the other. Cat-eyes and two other guards followed Cole, looking around the warmly painted building for any possible threat.
It became clear the clinic was built in the old imperial style, with a central courtyard surrounded by four wings. The nurse had entered the central courtyard and was resting a hand on a statue in the yard’s center. The statue was of a proud lion sitting on its back haunches. Whispered words of power escaped the nurse, and she turned to face the guards. “You cannot be here; you will harm our patients. Leave now before the patron sends his soldiers.”
Cole frowned; the lion was probably a communication device of some kind. Cat-eyes wasn’t paying much attention to the nurse, instead looking around the courtyard. It was a well-kept garden, blooming even in winter. Soft winter sunlight came through the glass panels acting as a roof, turning the courtyard into a greenhouse. A display of wealth you didn’t exactly expect in a charity house, especially one in such a poor district.
“Some of your patients might be in danger. I need to examine them to protect the city and everyone within it.” rumbled Cole, approaching the nurse slowly as he did.
Eyes narrow, the nurse spat. “So you can kill them? I know what a butcher you are, ‘Paladin.’ I lost my family in your massacre! Good people died because you didn’t care enough to help them.”
Cole was slightly taken aback; her words didn’t make sense. That is… unless… Cursing to himself, lept forward and put his hands on either side of the nurse’s head. She was burning hot, running a fever so bad Cole was surprised she was still standing. This close, he could hear her wheezing breaths, further deepening his suspicions.
Shutting his eyes, Cole called on his power and looked into the Aether. Strands of black tar clung to the nurse, worming through her body and soul. A web of corruption hung in the Aether, connecting the nurse to a great weave of rot that infested the clinic. Turning his head and looking around, Cole saw other nodes of corruption throughout the charity house. The local Aether was filled with emotions. Quiet resignation and weary melancholy floated about while bursts of sickly joy and warped love slithered along the tendrils of corruption.
Reaching out, Cole touched one of the strands of darkness, feeling the nature of the densely packed magic. It recoiled from his touch and withered away, brittle enough to snap from his small influence. But as it disintegrated, the cloying stink of abuse disguised as love roiled through the Aether. An obsessive, dominating parody of family that would gladly consume anything and anyone unlucky enough to be ensnared in it.
The nurse pulled away, using Cole’s distraction to free herself. Stumbling backward, she slumped against the lion statue, hacking coughs escaping her. Between wheezing breaths, she rasped something in an arcane tongue. It was one of the common spell-dialects, and Cole knew enough to realize what she was doing.
Stepping back, he yelled to the guards. “Send someone to the nearest temple! This place is a mess of demonic corruption.”
The guards paled, not reacting until Cat-eyes found herself and barked orders. A long-limbed guard bolted from them, heading for help. Unsheathing his axe, Cole growled. “Find Iron-teeth, get him and everyone else to pull back. We need to quarantine this place and wait for Priestly reinforcements.”
Cat-eyes shot back. “What are you going to be doing during all this?”
The lion statue’s eyes started to glow with green witch-fire. The sound of scraping stone filled the greenhouse-courtyard as the statue came to life. Gesturing at the lion, Cole said. “Dealing with that.”
Wetting Requiem with his blood, Cole extended it into a pole-axe and sharpened its spike side the best he could. He’d never fought animated stone before and would need to learn how to do so quickly. The magical art was favored in the far-east, and this was the first time Cole had seen an example outside the Gargoyles of Parilux. Cat-eyes and the other guards retreated quickly as the stone lion stalked towards Cole. Leaving him, the nurse, and the clinic’s guardian alone in the courtyard.
A strange grating growl bubbled up from the lion as it padded forward on marble paws. Its jaw opened up, revealing sharp teeth and a cavernous maw. The lion lunged for Cole; he rolled away from it and struck out with Requiem. The armor-piercing prong of the pole-axe worked well enough and cracked into the lion’s flank. But the statue spun, ignoring Requiem stuck into its side and pulling both weapon and wielder.
Cursing, Cole yanked on the pole-axe and sent a spray of stone chips flying as he dislodged the weapon. Barely evading a swiped paw in the process. As Cole tried to reset his posture and gain ground, he noticed flickers of green fire leaking from the lion’s wound. Emerald flames danced out of the cracked stone like a broken kiln.
The flames suddenly intensified, and the lion opened its mouth in a roar. A teeth-shaking noise that transformed from a bestial call to a blazing inferno. Green fire shot out of the lion’s mouth, spraying toward Cole in a jet of flames. Spinning, Cole escaped the flames, the edges of his cloak briefly igniting with jade fire. Surprised by the attack, Cole noticed the fire did not linger wherever it landed, dissipating after a few seconds. Still more than enough to cook him alive, but someone had clearly not wanted the guardian statue to burn down the building it was supposed to protect.
As the stream of flames ended, Cole rushed forward and dodged huge claws, driving Requiem into the lion’s jaw. The weapon’s beak found the stone mandible and sunk centimeters into it. Yanking back, Cole put all his enhanced strength into the effort. Marble buckled, and the jaw snapped off the statue. Roaring in fury, the lion swiped out with a paw the size of Cole’s head. It tore strips from the Paladin’s cloak but didn’t find his flesh. A breath of relief escaped Cole as he escaped. The sheer weight in each of those blows would be enough to pulp him, but only if they connected. Thankfully the lion was slow, or at least in comparison to its living counterparts.
Green fire dribbled out of the lion’s ruined mouth like burning saliva, leaving flaming puddles on the ground as it paced. Both combatants circle each other, looking for an opening. That low bubbling growl started to rise in the lion’s throat, and another jet of flame shot forth. Without a lower jaw, the fire was an inaccurate spray, giving Cole the option to backstep instead of dodge. Before the cloud of flames could fade slightly, the lion pounced, leaping through the flames and coming for Cole.
Cole gripped Requiem with both hands and thrust its pike tip forward, feeding blood into it as he did. Requiem met the lion’s mouth and sunk a handspan into the stone. The weight of the pouncing Lion knocked Cole back, where he stuck Requiem’s extended haft into the ground. Dwarven steel groaned but held as the lion’s own momentum impaled it on Requiem.
Cole had learned this technique from a goblin monster hunter and had hoped it would work on the lion. It worked… to an extent. Even with its head filled with Requiem’s head, the lion lashed out with its paws. Letting go of his weapon, Cole rolled forward, avoiding the claws but getting battered by the statue’s forearms. This close, Cole pressed each of his hands on either side of the stone lion's chest. In one was the spark-stone; in the other was the power of Master Time.
Arcane fire and divine cold poured into the stressed stone as the lion thrashed and tried to escape its impalement. Huge marble back legs came up, trying to shred Cole, morbidly reminding the Paladin of a cat playing with a mouse. Rolling out from underneath the lion, Cole looked for anything he could use. Nearby a meter-tall stone carving of Saint Eustace sat on a plinth. Wincing, Cole ran to it and prepared to commit blasphemy.
Disoriented by the length of metal sticking through its head, the lion tried to swipe out at Cole but missed. Running forward, Cole grabbed the statue and forced cold into it, hoping the preserving property of his power would be enough. Holding the icon at the base, Cole whirled on the lion and swung the statue like a club. Bringing it down on the side he’d been heating up.
Stone shattered, and the entire right flank of the lion collapsed into shale. Grinning in triumph, Cole prepared to strike again with his improvised weapon, only to realize the statue of Saint Eustace had also broken. Wincing, he set down the carving’s stump and decided to press his attack. The lion’s right leg had snapped off, and the statue tried to stay upright. Cole trammeled its efforts by grabbing onto Requiem’s shaft and yanking.
Pulling oh his weapon like a butcher dog with a bull’s nose ring Cole knocked the stone lion to the ground. It thrashed, trying to right itself, but Cole didn’t let it. Green fire leaked from its cracked head, darkening the stone and giving the lion a second mane. Avoiding its panicked thrashing, Cole forced cold into his halberd and let the frozen metal and heated rock fight. Pulling up with a grunt of effort, Cole ripped Requiem free of the lion, shattering its head into hundred of chunks.
The green fire finally flickered and died as the statue stopped thrashing and became inert stone. After giving it a solid shove with his boot to ensure it was truly destroyed, Cole shrunk Requiem into a pole-axe and approached the shocked nurse. Cole guessed she didn’t flee out of fear of getting caught in the fight.
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Icy breath escaped Cole, and he growled at the nurse. “You are tainted, I don’t know how bad it is, but I’ll do my best to save you.”
Fear and anger burned in her eyes, and she spat at Cole; he dodged the globe of mucus and had a sudden sense of deja vu. The Demon was dead, but its influence still remained. Just as you might kill a spider, its web will survive until destroyed. The nurse was a fly caught in the web, struggling against Cole’s attempts to free her.
Reaching down, he gripped her head again, ignoring her protests and swipes. Seeing into the Aether, dissecting what he knew, the situation became clear. She’d been infected by the shadow spores, probably spread by one of her patients. The second-hand spores hadn’t been enough to fully enslave her, but they could alter her mind slowly. Increasing her distrust in anyone who might threaten the Demon and binding her emotionally to the cultists and anyone else infected. This was why Cole had been so insistent the guards slay the Demon when they ventured into the Warrens. If it had survived, they would have been subjected to the slow mutilation of the mind like this woman.
With the Demon gone, the effect wouldn’t worsen, but neither would it heal on its own. Leaving the poor woman with alien compulsions and bad lungs. Her body and mind would not fully purge the corruption without outside help. Thankfully she wasn’t completely beyond saving; she hadn’t been compelled down into the warrens or reduced to a slavering cultist. Divine intervention, mortal compassion, and a little luck should be able to save her.
But before Cole could think of helping the nurse, he needed to stop her from trying to kill him and investigate the rest of the clinic. Putting Requiem into the ground, Cole reached into his pocket and plucked out a bottle. Uncorking it, he pushed the foul-smelling mixture under the nurse's nose and waited for her to pass out. It didn’t take long, she was hyperventilating, and the dwale potion worked quickly. After facing numerous living opponents and lacking a clean way to incapacitate them, Cole had invested in the sleeping vapors. It was miserable stuff to wake up from, but Cole figured it was better than a concussion or broken limb.
Gently placing the nurse on the ground, Cole sighed; he hadn’t even learned her name. Picking up Requiem, he checked the courtyard for any other surprises; upon finding none, he checked the rest of the clinic. Reaching the entrance to the main ward, he found two staff members waiting for him with kitchen knives. They were dealt with easily enough, knocked down and knocked out by Cole’s fists and potion. Their minds revealed more of the taint, and Cole felt a vein bulge in his neck. Natalie’s plan was paying well, but he almost wished it hadn’t.
The Louons had used a center of healing under their patronage to house the corrupted. Using them as assets to control their servants and, as Cole thought about it, maybe even dispose of bodies. It was a fundamental perversion of everything a charity house should stand for and the ultimate example of aristocratic malice. Isabelle had always said mortal nobles could match their vampire equivalents in depravity; it pained Cole how right she was.
Cole entered a large ward with six beds and a collection of amenities. It seemed a mixture of communal living space and treatment center. Each of the beds was occupied by sickly-looking people of varying ages. An eight-year-old was in a bed next to a woman who must have been in her seventies. All of the patients looked at Cole with undisguised fear. It hurt Cole’s heart to see those expressions; they called up old memories and familiar insecurities.
Still looking into the Aether slightly, Cole saw how each patient was wrapped in black tendrils of oily darkness, connecting them in a leeching web that had survived its maker. One of the patients, a woman, no, a girl aged by illness and stress, spoke softly.
“Why did you kill our family?”
It reminded Cole disturbingly of the rat-child he’d faced in the warrens, but that wasn’t what really worried him. How did the clinic staff and patients know so much about the warren raid? On a hunch, Cole asked the girl. “Who in your family did I kill?”
She opened her chapped lips and seemed to ponder the question, brows furrowing slightly in confusion. A racking cough escaped the girl then, and Cole stepped closer, looking around for anything to help her. But before he could become truly concerned, the girl stopped and looked at Cole with slightly glazed eyes. The look of a mind worn down by illness.
“I…I don’t remember. You… killed my family. I felt them die; I saw you kill them.”
Her words started uncertainly but became steadier as she spoke. Cole nodded in understanding; the mind was an incredibly adaptive thing. It could fill even the most egregious holes if given time and enough prodding. These people hadn’t truly lost family in the warren fight; they’d lost fellow infectees. The Demon’s web instilling emotions and impressions in their already malleable minds.
A clatter of footsteps behind Cole made him turn in time to catch a sword strike on Requiem. The source was a man in shabby clothes with a broken nose. Hate burned in the man’s eyes, and Cole felt a flicker of shock go through him. His attacker was the false guard of the night he’d been ambushed by the mercenaries. His nose had been poorly set, and bruises covered his face, not all of them Cole’s handiwork.
As the imposter swiped out with another strike, he yelled. “They killed you! They smashed your fucking head! How are you alive?”
Cole sucked in a breath as he parried the sloppy strike. He’d hoped and assumed the imposter was unconscious while the mercenaries carried him away. No such luck, and now the house-marked thug presented a new risk. Swiping out with the flat head of Requiem, Cole snapped the imposter's wrist and forced him to drop his sword. As the weapon clattered to the floor, Cole slammed his shoulder into his attacker, sending him sprawling out of the ward doorway.
Following him, Cole shut the door behind him and placed a boot on the man’s chest, Requiem at his throat. “That uniform you wore when you ambushed me, where did you get it?”
The house-marked glanced around frantically and hissed. “The mercenaries gave it to me! Said to wear it and watch for you!”
Letting out a breath, Cole shut his eyes in annoyance. If the imposter had killed the guard, then Cole would feel clear to execute him, but that wasn’t the case. This whole situation was putting Cole in a very dangerous position. If the Louons had even an inkling of his nature, then matters could get very bad. Thankfully that didn’t seem to be the case, judging by events at the ball. Still, Cole needed to check.
“I’m a Paladin of Master Time, those Mercenaries injured me badly, but I’m not exactly normal. So it's understandable you thought I died; who did you tell about my wounds?”
A slight stretch of the truth, but if it could mask his secrets, that was well worth it. Unfortunately, the thug wasn’t buying it. “I know what I saw! Your brains were splattered all over the fucking cobblestone! I told my masters, but they didn’t believe me! You broke my nose, but they beat me like a dog for lying. But I didn’t lie! I saw you die!”
Sighing, Cole debated the ethics of his actions. Revealing his secret to the city would be disastrous; it was bad enough that the Temple knew. But it was likely this thug was just another unfortunate soul ensnared by the Demon and the Louons. Executing him in cold blood was beyond what Cole would do. But… other options were still available.
Cole pulled Requiem from his prisoner’s neck and slammed his fist into the imposter’s forehead. Bouncing his head skull between the cold stone and Cole’s fist. Knocking him out and almost certainly concussing him. Magical healing could be used to avoid the worst of such an injury, but if the man’s memories were a little jumbled, then… well, it would be convenient.
Dragging the unconscious man to the courtyard, Cole took a moment to examine him in the Aether. There were no overt signs of the Demon’s taint, none of the black tendrils or spiritual rot. But as Cole looked deeper, he saw metaphysical scars etched deep into the man’s soul. Old wounds leaking the pus of corruption and slowly healing. They were hard to see even with Cole’s senses, and the Paladin got the sense if he hadn’t been looking for them, they would have gone unnoticed. He wondered if black-tongue and big-nose had similar wounds he hadn’t noticed.
Glancing back at the clinic ward, Cole made an educated guess. House Louon was ‘salvaging’ people from the warrens, finding the desperate and ill hiding below the city. Treating the warren-folk with their magical blood and cultivating them as useful servants. Those strong or useful would be healed enough to act as house-marked. While others would stay sickly but alive, acting as hostages to ensure loyalty. As he considered the nurse, Cole also wondered if the ward patients would act as infection vectors, spreading the ailment to others the House wanted to keep loyal. The shadow spores would instill paranoia against the Temples, and the Demon would be content with the steady stream of infected.
The whole thing was utterly insane but contained a certain brilliance. House Louon had discovered demonic corruption beneath their home city and found a way to use it to their advantage. Creating this clinic as a ‘workshop’ to manufacture and maintain slaves while hiding it behind benevolence and tradition. Who would look at a charity house treating the chronically ill with any serious level of suspicion? Especially when the patients and their families were under subtle psychic conditioning to never raise the alarm.
The clatter of armor and footfalls pulled Cole from his worries. Cat-eyes had arrived alongside a squad of guards and a trio of Priests. The Priests were each dressed in heavy furs and had numerous totems and fetishes hanging from their clothes. One wore a short bow on her back, and the other two had spears. Followers of Aunt Huntress, if Cole would guess.
The leader of the three, the Priestess with the bow, looked at the shattered lion statue and the two unconscious people in the courtyard. Eyes narrowing, she sucked in a breath and said. “How bad is it, Sir Paladin?”
“Bad,” answered Cole. “This whole place is infested with demonic corruption. Leftover spoor from the Demon I slew. I think these people can be treated, but their minds have been effected. Look into the Aether if you want to see for yourself.”
The lead Priestess shut her eyes and made a humming noise in her throat. When she opened her lids, green light danced in her eyes. Sucking in a surprised breath, she hissed. “Empty quivers and broken bows! I’ve never seen anything like this.”
Holding out a hand, the Priestess introduced herself. “I am Priestess Reyna, Sworn to Aunt Huntress and her stewardship of the wilds.”
Cole answered the grip, and they clasped wrists, an old-style greeting sometimes favored by the traditional. Nodding over her shoulder, Reyna added. “And these are Zoe and Ori, my Huntet. What can we do to help Sir Paladin?”
Huntet, a Saint-speech term for a group bound by nature and purpose. A telling term saying these Priests weren’t anything to disregard. Looking around the clinic and then at the guards, Cole asked. “Is the building secured?”
Cat-eyes nodded. “Iron-teeth has half the fucking Karlhof guard in this neighborhood. Anything less than another Demon won’t be getting past them.” After a moment of hesitation, Alia added. “There… isn’t another Demon, right?”
Cole shook his head, and the City-warden looked physically relieved. Returning his attention to the Huntet, Cole inquired. “How are your purging wards and healing spells?”
Reyna looked to her fellows and said. “Are wards are strong, and we can heal well enough. What do you have in mind?”
Gesturing around the clinic, Cole explained. “I want to free these people from the Demon’s web without hurting them. The web is brittle but entrenched; I can destroy it, but I want to ensure there is no backlash. Can your Huntet place purging wards around each patient and a larger containment ward around the building? Then stand ready in case anything goes wrong?”
The lead Priestess nodded. “We can do that; I assume you are planning an exorcism of some kind?”
Cole smiled ruefully, “Of some kind, yes.” Then, after a moment's of consideration, he added. “Alia, can your squad watch the Priests? I don’t think the patients are capable of harming anyone, but I don’t want our friends from the Eighth Temple getting distracted.”
Cat-eyes nodded and sent two guards with each of the Priests as they spread out to place warding spells around the clinic. Alia stayed next to Cole, who had crouched in the courtyard's center and started his preparations.
Absently kicking a piece of the stone lion’s head, she asked. “So what are you doing? Will you use the Priest's emotions to smash this ‘web’ or something else?”
Shaking his head, Cole took a small pouch out of one of his pockets. He’d not known exactly what to expect at the clinic, so he’d grabbed an eclectic collection of tools he thought might be useful. Including a stick of chalk, he now used to draw a six-pointed star on the cobblestone center of the courtyard. Making sure it was aligned in the four prime directions, Cole nicked his thumb and smeared a drop of blood into all six triangle points of the star.
Gesturing at the sigil, Cole explained. “No, I’m going to do a modified exorcism ritual. The Demon’s influence is wormed into their minds and souls, but it hasn’t fully subverted them like the cultists in the tunnels. Removing the tendrils of power without hurting them will be difficult but within my power. I’m going to expose the corruption, and together with the Priests, we will free these people.”
Sitting in the center of the six-pointed star, Cole shut his eyes and focused on the Aether. He felt the Priest’s wards snap into place around the clinic. The magical protections cut the building off from the wider city and isolated the infected patients within aetheric ‘bubbles.’ Giving Cole a clean space to work and hopefully help these people.
After maybe fifteen minutes, the last ward settled into place. The Priests were fast; the Eighth Temple had sent some of their best at his request. Cole reached out to the tangled web of dark tendrils that filled the local Aether. They were brittle but so enmeshed they could slip through the wards. The magical defenses not recognizing them as foreign to the infected patients. Something that was about to change. Calling up his cold power, Cole poured his soul into the Aether.
The exorcism started as lances of silver light shot up from the six-sided star, one for each drop of blood he’d put into the sigil. Cole’s power flowed from him into the ritual mark and up through the shafts of light. The magic snaked out and connected with the web of corruption, catching it in six different places and pouring a God’s essence into the web.
In the Aether, strings of power hardened and were covered in metaphysical hoarfrost. Woven malice cracked and fell apart, the brittle strands collapsing like a frozen spiderweb. The wards isolating the clinic from the local Aether and Cole’s own ritual preparations ensured the exorcising power spread through the entire web. Seeping out from Cole like holy fire, Master Time’s might dissolved the threads bit by bit. Moving along the lines of darkness, leaving frozen, broken, magical effluvia in its wake.
Cole felt when the first patient was touched by the power, their soul bathed in the numbing cold of a God. Panic, confusion, and worry boiled off them at the alien touch. Deeply entrenched corruption froze, withered, and died, leaving the infected soul like an old scab flaking off a wound. The patients' emotions dulled and settled as the soothing cold lulled them into a dreamless sleep. By this time, Cole was less in control of the magic; another mind guided it, using him as the tool of influence. Despite what these poor people might have believed, a God was watching over them.
As pieces of the metaphysical infection fell away into the Aether, they were snapped up by whirling clouds of emerald light. Shifting things of claws, fangs, beaks, and horns. The purging wards of Aunt Huntress ran down and destroyed the scraps of taint. When the last patient was freed from the corruption, the divine influence faded.
With a relieved breath, Cole opened his eyes to the mundane and let his power fade away. To his amusement, his breath came out in chilly clouds, and the ground around him was stained with frost. Standing up, Cole nearly stumbled, Alia rushing forward to catch him, and then quickly backed away. She rubbed her hands in annoyance, trying to dissipate the cold that came with touching Cole.
“Are you alright?” she asked while rubbing her hands in hopes of warming them up.
Cole nodded and rolled his shoulders. “Using power like that sometimes leaves me light-headed and off-balanced.”
Putting her hands in her armpits, Alia nodded and said. “I’m assuming everyone is okay since you aren’t freaking out?”
Cole started to say something but instead went over to the unconscious bodies of the nurse and imposter. The tendrils that had infested the nurse were gone, and the deep wounds in the imposter were cauterized by the cold. “Yes, everything should be fine. These people will need more treatment, but they aren’t in any true danger at the moment.”
Cat-eyes nodded and looked up at the courtyard glass ceiling. “Well, what now?”
An uncharacteristically cruel smile split Cole’s face. “Now? We go ask House Louon why they were hiding Demonic corruption and then tear the bastards down.”
Alia snorted in grim amusement. “Sounds fun.”