Scourge of Chaos: Savage Healer

Stealing was a pretty relaxing activity. Especially alone in a room full of scrolls older than the room itself, holding the secrets of a higher power.

Sunday knew the outside world would’ve killed for most of the arts he was going through. And yet, to him, they were not that impressive. He had spent more than a few hours reading and trying to understand most of the soul-forging arts – the most important and numerous arts – and he had been left disappointed.

Ishiren’s Black Breath was superior to all of them, and only one or two seemed to come close to being its equal, given the perfect circumstances. The weight of what the swamp hermit had given him was somewhat surprising. He still attributed most of his success to his talent and wondered if the art even made a difference.

The other arts included mostly techniques to strengthen the body in different ways or to attempt an increase in the spell slots. None of the latter were a guaranteed thing and each came with a significant risk.

What surprised him most was the section of scrolls quite larger than the rest that held mostly quasi-spell-related soul arts. Apparently to properly utilize a spell in a way to create a quasi-spell material from it, if that was at all possible, one needed an appropriate art. Unless one was a spell-fused like Mera.

She didn’t seem to have any trouble, but that was also the essence of her being.

None of his spells struck him as capable of that, but Sunday still nicked one that looked good just in case he ever needed it. The art’s title was ‘Materialization, Shaping, Permanence’ and it spanned over quite a few scrolls and even a small book, to his relief. The scrolls were quite sturdy and didn’t seem as ancient as the rest, so Sunday managed to fold them and tuck them away in his clothes.

It was annoying how books were mostly reserved for novels and history in this world, while the arts were kept in the uncomfortable scrolls. It made no practical sense unless of course it was done for aesthetic reasons. Or perhaps it was just the state of this particular collection.

He shuffled the other scrolls a bit to cover the glaring hole he had left. There was another art he had chosen as well, which was thankfully contained in a single, but long and tightly rolled scroll. It was called ‘Purity of the Stargazer’ and it was a supplementary art that aimed to purify the essence of any toxins the main soul-forging art of the mage had let through. He didn’t know if he needed that, since the Yew Tree’s Blessing seemed to be doing all sorts of wonders with his essence, but it was better to have it than not.

With that done, Sunday roamed about some more, searching for anything he might’ve missed. He had come to the Arcanum in the early morning, and it had been only a few hours since Trust had nonchalantly brought him to this room and left him.

I wonder who that bastard really is… it feels weird being in the spotlight like that. So many mysterious assholes try to get the jump on me. It’s kind of fun but annoying at the same time, ah!

Sunday reached the door and after one last look, waved the handkerchief Trust had given him, and waited. He could vaguely see some symbols on it. They were part of it, rather than scribbles. Was that how quasi-spells worked?

The door remained unmoving. Sunday waved it again, then clenched his teeth when nothing happened. The door seemed utterly uncaring of his attempts to hail it down. The bastard had lied to him!

Motherfucker! He left me trapped in this shithole to be found! No, he didn’t seem to hold malicious intent toward me. What then? A test? Or simple inadequacy?

Sunday stepped away and looked around. His eyes were doing quite well in the darkness. The only light was on the ceiling and it was a dim crystal that barely did anything. It was certainly not enough for humans to see, but he had no issues.

No windows, nothing else that looks like a door. Maybe a hidden passage behind one of the shelves? How did Trust leave and why am I just now questioning it? The door didn’t open… unless he left with the guards! That bastard!

The stone room filled with dusty scrolls suddenly seemed like a tomb, rather than an opportunity. One option was to buff himself with moths and try to recreate the infusion of essence that could send things flying. He hadn’t managed after only one berserk moth, but… two? No, his mind couldn’t take two the thing was a quasi-spell made to last.

There’s only one option I can see… FUCK!

Sunday stepped nervously around. He could try to slip away when someone came, but if this was the librarian’s private room then it could be a while. The guards had checked out the signs of disturbance but even they had been scared to be found out.

It could be days or more, and he was certain to be found out.

So, the only logical option was to make use of his talent. Sunday groaned.

Chaotic Step was undeserving of being called talent. It was an affliction, a joke, a torture device made to please some sadistic bastards with godly powers!

This is the best training opportunity though. Pressure was important for growth, and Sunday was certainly feeling it. Him being special was something of a shield, but he doubted his ego could take it if his first proper heist, even if he had been caught unprepared for it, ended in a failure.

With nothing else to do Sunday started experimenting.

Trying to take a step just the right way was a very difficult process filled with hardship and suffering. He had already undergone a bout of that in his room, trying to pass through the door. He didn’t know if it was even possible, but considering the first two Chaotic Steps he had taken, it should’ve been. The first threw him across the world, forcing him to end up in that swamp.

The second was much shorter but still allowed him to cover a few miles in a second, and land just in time to not be run over by the horses.

The third had been just passing through a thin barrier. A real step.

Each one had been shorter and different than the other. There was order in that, which went against the name of the skill, but Sunday doubted there was any deeper meaning.

He tried tripping, cursing, pushing against the wall, and overall all sorts of weird ways one could step. Dancing didn’t seem to be it either. Nothing seemed to work, which was to be expected.

Piece of shit talent. When will you submit?! Am I chosen to kill the gods or for you to fuck with me?

He summoned the golden page and read the description of it again.

Chaotic Step (Chaos) – Close your eyes and let a single step change the course of your story. Sometimes the feet lead you to places the mind wouldn’t allow. There are opportunities in blind chance. Who cares if it’s a dice roll or something more?

It was not helpful at all, but the first phrase caught his attention. Eyes closed? Why was that? He tried but just ended up hitting the door. It was a thick slab of stone so thankfully no one on the other side would hear anything.

Sunday closed his eyes again, but not before staring toward the door intently, engraving it in his mind. He focused on each detail, then while it was fresh in his mind, trying to imagine it opening. He had trouble remembering what the outside of it had looked like, but maybe that was part of it. Was it all to disappear so he could walk through?

Was all he needed to delude himself that there was no door? That was oddly… stupid. He did it anyway. He wasn’t sure how long he spent trying to pretend the door was actually not a door but a wide-open passage he could saunter through whenever he wished.

Finally, when all he had was the quiet of the stone hall, the contempt of the ancient scrolls, and the vivid image of a library that was probably fancier in his mind than in reality, Sunday stepped.

For the first time, his talent responded.

The faint buzzing of static. The little color fleeing from the darkness. A shudder that made him feel like he was made of beads and each bead was another version of himself.

Sunday opened his eyes as he took a step with a wide smile, and the door was no more.

But the floor was no more either, and rather walking forward he found himself sinking into the stone. It happened instantaneously. He felt his foot push against something and instinctively tensed his muscles. Everything fell apart for a split second, then the buzzing was gone and the color was back.

His feet hit a soft floor.

Soft?

He looked down. A fluffy carpet the likes of which he had never seen was beneath his feet. The room was large, decorated with paintings and small statuettes set on pedestals evenly spaced by walls covered in lacquered wood. Quasi-spell lamps gave light from the walls light while a glistening lavish chandelier made of tiny crystals reflected it around, creating quite a dizzying spectacle. A dining table fit for a king took most of the room, with a hearth burning too perfectly behind it.

“What do you mean she refuses? She attacked who?!” a woman’s voice called from somewhere. The words were yelled out, and she sounded very pissed. Probably not a good time to find an intruder, then. Sunday heard hurried footsteps coming from somewhere and panicked. There were three doors, one on both his sides and a double-winged one on the far end of the large room.

He cursed inwardly, then rushed toward the closest door just as someone pushed at the large one.

It was thankfully unlocked.

What were normal doors doing in the Arcanum anyway? Was he still in the Arcanum? Or was he in a different place altogether?

Fucking bullshit talent. He had half the mind to use it again, but who knew where he would end up next time?

He found himself in a corridor leading to a wider hall taken by a giant staircase to his right, and what looked like a large entrance to his left. Or exit, from his standpoint. It was probably not either, since considering how the hall was situated in relation to his current position it didn’t lead outside, but to a different part of the building. Why did rich people want such complicated homes?!

The stairway was the easy choice for another reason too – the windows on top. They were set high, and sealed, but a few small tables holding vases of fragrant flowers could serve him as footstools. He wanted to peek through. Breaking a window and jumping out of it was hardly a sound strategy.

Score! Pretty sure there were no windows in the Arcanum, so that means I’m not there anymore. Let’s see.

He looked around and snuck to the top, careful to see if his boots left traces on the carpets. The staircase being covered in them was too much. It seemed to be one of those people used when they wanted to be extra dramatic about it. Thankfully Blumwin was a clean city. Exploitation of the dumb wretches was doing wonders as streets were swept day and night and broken cobblestones were fixed in a few hours.

Sunday reached the window and deftly hopped on a table after removing the vase. What he saw made him grind his teeth. There it was, the Arcanum, rising in the distance surrounded by the rest of the city. It was not too far, but it was not close either.

A noise made him jump down and quickly replace the vase before stalking off. A door swung open with a bang beneath him.

He rushed down one of the side corridors, which led to a whole different wing of the manor. It was even bigger than the vampire house he had trashed.

The footsteps followed along with some more yelling.

Shit, what the fuck is going on in here?!

He rushed for the first door he saw but it was locked. He took out one of the ghoul claws he always carried, and it took him only seconds to unlock the door. He opened it gently and after making sure there was no one inside entered the room and closed it behind his back. He smiled as he saw the many windows and a door leading to a terrace. He was in a bedroom complete with a large bed covered in satin and silk.

He barely glimpsed at it before heading toward the balcony. He could jump out and finally be rid of this weird situation. Too bad there was nothing to steal around.

Sunday paused and barely ducked in time as a fist came flying from the side. Something brushed the arm he had raised to defend himself just in case, and it went limp and numb. He heard his attacker land softly on the bed and summoned a moth by instinct. It instantly burst apart returning all sensations in his arm.

A pair of surprised and familiar eyes met his.

“Sunday?!”

“Elora?!”