Sporemageddon

Cordyceps Twenty-One



Cordyceps Twenty-One

I woke up in a great deal of pain in an unfamiliar room, and my first thought was to check my mana and prepare to launch as many [Blight] spells as I could.

Opening my eyes, I took in a ceiling painted blue by the light of a setting sun, then the smell hit me. Alcohol, of the medical sort, and antiseptics. That faint stench of vomit that lingered long after someone had lost their lunch, and the sweet tang of blood.

A hospital?

Groaning, I turned my head, then felt everything start to swim. The world spun, and even when I stopped moving my head, it took a moment for everything to resettle.

Still, my foggy vision let me see across a room where several beds waited. A large window at the far end was responsible for most of the light, though there was a small lamp by the doorway humming away and filling that corner of the room with an orange glow.

Definitely some sort of hospital, then. Maybe a nurse’s room? Did the academy have one?

I blinked a bit, not really daring to move my head any more. The architecture was certainly what I’d expect of the academy. So, I’d landed myself in the nurses’ office. Great.

With a tiny bit of focus, I pulled up my stat’s sheet, just the uppermost part of it.

Name: N/A

Alias: Ginger, Gunther Killua

Race: Human {Common}

Age: 10 Years

Mana: 83/94

Primary Class: [Feronie’s Crusader {Epic}]

Secondary Class: [Angel of Death {Rare}]

Afflictions

- Black Lung {Common}

- Child of Poverty {Common}

- Concussed {Common}

Blessings

- Blessing of Feronie {Unique}

That wasn’t good. The [Concussed] affliction was new, and I didn’t care much for it. I closed my eyes and tried to think.

There was the assassination, possibly successful, of Lockhart. Then... That little shit! Harbin and a couple of his little pals. If you’d asked me that morning if I was willing to kill someone as young as I was, I would have definitely said no, but at the moment, I was reconsidering it.

I slammed a fist into the bed, then hissed as the motion both sent my head reeling into another bout of dizziness, and made my ribs and arms and neck hurt.

He’d really worked me over. I took a deep breath through my mouth, because my nose was one large, humming mass of strange tingling pain at the moment, and I tried to calm down my racing heart.

I’d focus on taking care of him later, once my head was on straight.

First, take stock. How was I otherwise?

My shirt was off, and I had a bandage across my chest. Pants were still on. Shoes were gone. So, a decent chance that the gig wasn’t up on that end. Good. I needed to get to my mushrooms. It would take a day or two, but I could grow a decently large crop of healing mushrooms. That’d get me back on my feet.

And I could grow something special for Harbin.

My thoughts halted as I heard someone walk over, and I blinked as they just sort of appeared hovering over me. Was my head that out of whack?

“Alright, sit up,” they said. A woman, mid to late twenties, in a white nurse’s outfit, but with a comfy looking cardigan tossed over it.

“What?” I asked, careful to articulate it carefully.

She gave me a look , then grabbed me under the armpits and helped me sit up onto the end of the bed. It sent my head spinning, and my ribs screamed, but I clamped my teeth together and kept it in.

Then the doctor, nurse, whatever, touched me in the middle of the chest and I felt a spear of warmth slam into me, and just like that, the pain burned away. “Oh,” I said.

“Like that, did you?” she asked, a little wry.

“Loved it,” I said.

“Well, don’t get used to it, it costs more mana to cast than you’d imagine.” She did something off to the side, and the top end of the bed lurched upwards. Again, my head spun and I found myself fighting against nausea.

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Thankfully, I’d poisoned myself often enough that that kind of thing was barely a nuisance at this point.

“Tough little guy,” she said.

“Not tough enough,” I muttered. “What’s happening now?”

She scoffed. “Now we’ll test your tastebuds.” She left, then returned with a small metal tray with a few small bottles on it. Potions?

“These are potions,” she said, which very neatly answered my question. “They’ll help you heal and feel better.”

“Why not give them to me before?” I asked. “While I was out?”

“Because you need to drink them. The concussion medication needs to be given while you’re awake and cognizant, and it needs to be administered first. Any more questions?”

“Millions,” I said, which seemed to amuse her, but she put on a grumpy expression anyway.

“Let’s see how many you have after you’ve tasted this,” she said as she uncorked one of the bottles. Immediately, I was hit with a stench that reminded me of fermented fish. I thought I had a pretty good hang of my nausea, but it was really being tested right then. “Drink. Don’t fuss with me.”

She pushed the bottle to my lips, and I reluctantly drank. Thɪs chapter is updatᴇd by novelfire.net

It tasted worse than it smelled, and I was sure my gut would recoil, but it slowly leaked down the back of my throat, burning the entire time and sending dizzying waves up and into my head.

“Urgh,” I gurgled once it was done.

The nurse pushed a cup into my hand. “Water,” she said.

I drank, and it didn’t help clear the taste away at all, but the effort was appreciated.

Still, I slowly felt the world warp and twist for a moment, the dizziness hitting tenfold as strong before it all suddenly faded away over the course of about five, long, agonising minutes.

The nurse stood by my side the entire time, a hand, I noticed, touching my stomach without letting go. There was a faint tingle at her touch. Diagnostic magic? That would make sense for a medical practitioner, and it worried me on a whole new level.

“Better?” she asked at least.

“I think so,” I said as I looked around. My focus was clearer, and my head didn’t swim. On a whim, I checked my status.

Name: N/A

Alias: Ginger, Gunther Killua

Race: Human {Common}

Age: 10 Years

Mana: 83/94

Primary Class: [Feronie’s Crusader {Epic}]

Secondary Class: [Angel of Death {Rare}]

Afflictions

- Black Lung {Common}

- Child of Poverty {Common}

Blessings

- Blessing of Feronie {Unique}

No longer concussed. Nice.

“Now, drink these two,” she said. “Don’t worry, the taste isn’t as bad. Not great, but nothing as awful as that.”

“What do they do?” I asked.

“The first will help you heal. Bones mostly, and some flesh and muscle mending. It’ll make you exceptionally tired. The second will help your lungs.”

“My... oh,” I said.

“You should have come here the moment you got the affliction. It’s a serious issue, and there’s only so much a potion can do to heal it. Potions restore, they don’t undo.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“There’s no potion for regrowing limbs,” she said. “Or fixing old scars. You can clear out something like Black Lung, god knows it happens often enough here, but if you let the affliction run for a month or more the damage will be permanent.”

“Oh,” I said. “What’s that like?” I asked.

“Bad. Shortness of breath, a few other issues besides. You seem a little more advanced than I’d like, but I’m not a doctor, so...” She pushed one of the potions at me. “Drink.”

I drank, and this time it only tasted like muddy chalk. Almost right away, I was hit with a sense of fuzzy, almost cold... not pain, but something similar. It raced up and down my body and had me shivering. “Cold,” I said.

“I’ll get you some blankets after this.”

“Will I be staying here?” I asked.

“Overnight. Your head of house, Mister Drake, will want to talk to you in the morning, but... something came up. In any case, drink this one, then I’ll escort you to the washroom. Then we need to see about getting some food into you. Healing is hungry work.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Truly, thank you.”

She gave me a slightly strange look, then nodded and moved to take the empty bottles away from me. “No need to thank me. I wouldn’t have a job if you boys didn’t get into so much trouble.”

“Does this happen often, then?” I asked.

“Often enough to keep me gainfully employed. Though this is the first year I’ve seen someone get such a beating so soon. Usually scrapes end with a bruise or two, nothing quite this... bad. You really made some great friends out there.”

“Yeah, friends,” I agreed. Soon I’d be spreading some real friendship around.

***

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