<~> CHAPTER 62 - PIPER

I hate this floor. I held up the guiding rod and watched the sparks flow down the hallway on the right. Every time I got separated on this floor it took me back to a time I'd like to forget. I stopped for a moment to look at the rough wood of the walls. It looked just like the cheap shack of a house I grew up in. The air was cold, reminiscent of a time deep in the winter when I was first reminded of what my role in life would be, whether I liked it or not.

My stomach turned when I ran into one of the horrid monsters on this floor. I dashed forward and slammed my shield into the monster's body before quickly removing its head from its shoulders. A splatter of blood sprayed out, much more than would be normal for a real person but I think it was exaggerated because of the memory this represented.

I looked down at the monster that had stolen the form of my best friend.

The fox-eared head looked up at me with its dead eyes. The face of the monster that looked like Luna always looked wrong to me. Poorly formed, not quite accurate. It was the only reason I had been able to deal with this floor the first time through. In the dungeon's cruelty, the monsters always took the form of the Luna from two years ago. Young, but always dead.

I wasn't required to slay the doppelgangers of my best friend alive, no, I had to face shadows twisted to look like her walking corpse. A reminder of what would have happened had I been just a little bit worse at healing magic. In this fake world that looked like the shack I grew up in, I was forced to slay monsters that looked like the corpse of my best friend over and over and over.

Pulling my jacket tighter around myself I continued on. I continued to follow the guiding rod around the bends and twists of this awful maze that taunted me with my lot in life. Inside this place I was shown what would have happened had I failed to save her and in the real world, I was forced to see the awful job I had done instead. I hate this floor.

From a young age, I knew I had a gift for the healing arts. Our backwater town healer made a point to test each and every child to see if they had potential. The very first time I was tested, my potential was clear. I would make a brilliant healer, someone who could save lives, grow stronger, and gain wealth, even in the backwater town that I grew up in. But I never wanted to be a healer.

Like my brother, I enjoyed fighting with swords and shields. The two of us were troublemakers right from the start. We climbed trees, pulled pranks on everyone in our small town, and played knight with everyone who would tolerate us. For a moment a grin came across my face when I pictured little Luna, one of the few people who would always play with us, only for it to be wiped away as another of the monsters with my friend's face threw itself at me. Like I had done maybe hundreds of times now, I bashed the young looking monster away and removed its head.

It was dressed in nothing but rags, just like the night Luna had run to our house holding the gash in her throat closed as best as she could. It was a wonder she had even made it before choking on her own blood. If she had run to the actual healer she would have died along the way in the middle of the street. Instead, she had run to our house, scared, dying, and bleeding profusely. Just like that night, these monster's rags were covered in their blood, freely pouring from their open necks.

With an upset stomach, I looked away from the monster and continued on in the cold, following the glowing sparks of the guiding rod. I had never really liked the cold and winter even less. Snow was a bother and in the winter months, we rarely were allowed to run free and play. And now the winter is just another reminder of how close I had come to losing my best friend because I refused to develop my strengths.

Maxwell and I sparred with wooden swords every day. Once we finished with our chores we would run to grab our hand-carved weapons and beat each other black and blue with them until we could barely move. The only value I saw in my healing magic, and the only reason I had any skill with it at all at the time, was to clear up the bruises and cuts we would give each other and avoid getting punished. Had it not been for the meager training I allowed the village healer to give me, my best friend would be dead. Dead like all of these walking corpses that tormented me on this horrible floor.

I stopped for a moment and looked back at one of the corpses. Bloody footprints trailed behind me from the ridiculous amount of blood these things released. These things already looked dead, how could they still have that much blood? Why did the blood spray out like a fountain every time I removed one of their heads? Like everything on this miserable floor, merely to torment me further. By the time I reached the end of this floor, I would invariably be completely covered in blood from head to toe, only serving to beat into me that being the group's healer was the only path I was allowed to take. The only relief this floor would give me is that when I eventually made it to the stairs I would be clean as if nothing had even happened. I don't think I would be able to stand it if they asked me why I was covered in so much blood.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Maxwell and Luna never asked what this floor was like for me after I refused to answer the first time. I think they understood how hard this floor was on me. I can't talk about it. It's too much. But I have delved this floor many times now. It was becoming easier every time I passed through this place. I don't know if that sat better with me or worse. I was becoming desensitized to killing my best friend's doppelgangers, yet I somehow continued to move to even darker thoughts as time went on.

Why did I have to be the one with such good affinity for the healing arts? The question that always came up as I trudged through this wretched place that made me feel intensely guilty. It was only because of that affinity that I had been able to save my best friend's life. I had hardly even trained my healing magic and I still managed to save her. Yet... because I had hardly trained it, I had left her isolated from the world, unable to speak. At least, speak without the rings. If I had loved my healing magic a little bit more, perhaps I could have healed her properly. If Maxwell had been the one with such an affinity, perhaps he would have taken to the calling more seriously. Instead, I was the worst of both. A strength that I didn't love and the burden of its responsibility.

I would have sighed if I wasn't facing another two of these monsters. They weren't able to touch me anymore. Too slow. Too weak. Yet every time I killed one of them it frayed at my nerves. After wiping the thick illusory blood from my face, I leaned heavily against the scratchy wall. I swore I could hear the howling of the icy wind roaring past. Another illusion. Another thing to chip away and my dwindling sanity.

Only other healers understand the weight that this kind of magic has on you. One lapse of attention and my patient could die. One mistake and my best friend could be permanently disabled. Even if I do everything right, my ally that's been trying to impress me to get into my pants could die anyway. It sucked. I hated it. But it was necessary and after I accepted it, I had used this magic to save the lives of my friends more times than I could count. I still didn't like how gross using the diagnostic magic made me feel. One of the reasons I originally didn't like being a healer was because of how gross it is. Could you imagine I was once afraid of blood? The thought made me laugh as I wiped the blood from my face once again.

The sparks of my guiding rod faded to nothingness, making me frown. I had been walking for a while, I must have been moved to the far side of the maze. So that this evil place could torment me longer. I pulled a second guiding rod from my pack and pushed some of my mana inside to bring it to life. The moment the rod lit the path once again, four more of the dead Lunas flung themselves at me making me scramble behind my shield.

I grit my teeth and pushed two of them to the ground with my shield before spinning and decapitating the one on my right. The one on my left tore into my left arm and tore my arm open through the sleeve of my jacket. I ignored the pain and stabbed the monster through the eye as my magic sealed the wound up as if nothing had ever happened. My magic was even more effective and efficient on myself. My healing arts which allowed me to shrug off mortal wounds and keep fighting as if I hadn't even been injured was one of the few things that I truly liked about this strength. It made me a brutally tenacious fighter.

Wreathed in my healing magic I had been able to heal through broken bones and destroyed organs without even being slowed down. Even receiving a normally lethal blow to the heart wasn't the death sentence it would be for others. It let me fight like something akin to one of the berserkers of the north, unyielding and undaunted as long as my magic lasted. The only reason I didn't fight like that more often was that it was more important to keep my magic in reserve for the others. Helena joining our group had been a huge boon for me. She rarely needed healing and was even able to pass along messages from little Luna without taxing my mana, especially since she's gotten better at our language. Not to mention the slime cores that we had time to hunt for because of her. She's one of the few allies that could join us and free up more of my mana than she cost.

I looked over my torn sleeve and grimaced. Unlike the fake blood staining my clothes, this would need to be repaired. I normally got through this floor without taking any hits but they had caught me off guard when I changed my guiding rod. In the meantime, my shield arm would be cold. I wonder if this place was cold for the others. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if this floor was similar for the others. I know the night Luna's father tried to kill her was a bad memory for all of us. The chance of Luna's memory being about that night is probably really high. I'm not sure about my brother. Maxwell is really stoic but even he doesn't like to talk about that night. And because I don't want to share what this floor is like with the others, they haven't told me about their experiences either. We just don't talk about it... I can't talk about it.

Another pair of fake Lunas rushed at me and died with little trouble. Something about the fights being this easy turned my stomach as well. It made me feel like a monster to cut down so many girls who looked like the Luna from two years ago. It made me feel sick.

Finally, a white door was at the end of the hallway and I let out a sigh of relief when I saw it. The golden sparks led right up to it and I knew from prior trips through this place that I had finally made it through. Only two guiding rods, it had taken a while but it could have been worse. I placed my hand on the handle of the door and took a deep breath. When I finally settled my emotions, I opened the door and stepped through, finally free of the sticky overbearing feeling of the false blood I had been drenched in.

I could hear sobbing when I walked through the door and I quickly rushed to the corner where Aria had curled up into a ball. My healing magic rushed through her body, only fixing minor bruises and scratches.

"Aria! What's wrong?"

The catgirl wiped her red eyes and looked up at me. "T-the sixth floor changed for me..."