Heartworm

I awoke in my isolated room, the stale air reminding me that today was like any other. I grew accustomed to waking up when a morning guard would knock on my door for the first of three check ups. I lazily moved my head to the side to look towards the door, feeling a soft pop in my neck as I did so.

That wasn’t my door. That wasn’t my floor. This isn’t my room.

“A-are you awake?”

I was in isolation, there should not have been any other voices, especially not ones quite so feminine. I let my head drift towards the voice, my blurry vision becoming clearer the more I blinked, like a dirty window that slowly cleared from the rainfall. I saw a small woman in the corner of the room. It was Phern. The sudden memories of the fight as the estate filled my mind, a rush of urgency threading through my muscles as I moved towards Phern to make sure she was safe. Each limb I attempted to move strained against some form of restraint. I felt the almost musical tone of the chains behind me clatter together as they slid against each other. There was an excessive amount of them. Almost comical, in fact.

A metallic muzzle boxed around my mouth, with only pinprick sized holes across it to allow me to breathe through the crude form. A shackle latched around my neck was connected by a metal chain to the wall behind me. My wrists were held together by what I knew to be magical restraints, I had spent the past few days becoming familiar with what they looked like on Lucas. Shackles on my ankles were also connected to the wall behind me with the same cold chains that dug into my skin uncomfortably when I attempted to move forwards. That was where the logical containment ended. On top of the existing, and in my opinion completely sufficient restrainment, there were additional shackles along my biceps, waist, and upper legs. Making an astounding total of 8 different chains tying me to the wall like the most insecure jailor in Kistram had the job of containing me. If they wanted me to feel like a rabid animal, they had succeeded.

‘You joke, but I’m afraid this is the first intelligent decision that Markus has made.’

This? It’s excessive beyond belief, Lilith.

‘Deathless are known to be hard to cage. In desperation, we can break as many bones and gnaw as many limbs off as necessary to be free. This will make it quite difficult.’

Do Deathless really do that?

‘That’s adorable, little morsel. Yes, of course we do. I’ve found ways to rip my head from my body to escape capture more than once.’

Ew, please don’t make me imagine that.

“Can you hear me, bandit?”

I realized that Phern had moved from the corner of the cell to stand in front of me. I was more than a little annoyed to see that she had not a single chain anywhere along her body. Guess I was just their special guest, huh?

“I hear you, Phern.”

My voice came out muffled, resonating back and forth inside of the metal muzzle in a way that vibrated the bridge of my nose that it rested on. My words might have come out muffled and distorted, but it seemed like it was enough for Phern to understand me regardless.

“Oh, good! I wasn’t sure if your brain was still scrambled like a fizzledung after everything they had done.”

I cocked my head to the side as far as I could without the muzzle clunking into the shackle around my neck. “What do you mean?” Before responding, Phern reached out a hand towards my head. It was hard to get a clear scent of it through the overwhelming smell of metal around my nose, but I could clearly see that her hand was caked in dried blood. Whose blood, I wasn’t sure. Phern gently ran her hand along my head, from the back of my neck all the way to my forehead.

“Seems like it’s sealed up, finally.”

“My head? Last time I checked the ground wasn’t a holy weapon so it shouldn’t have taken very long to heal.”

I laughed, giving her a smile that I soon realized she was unable to see due to the muzzle. Maybe she could see the way my eyes squinted slightly? I wasn’t going to start announcing when I smiled just because of this stupid muzzle. I noticed that Phern didn’t seem as entertained by my joke. Instead of a light-hearted reception, her eyes softened in what seemed to be pity. Had I missed something?

“That’s not- uh. How long do you think you’ve been dead?”

“...10 minutes? Isn’t that how long I died back when Cecelia… y’know”, I motioned towards my neck, drawing a line with a finger where she had so kindly slashed my neck open.

“I think it’s been 10 hours, Bandito.” Phern’s face lacked the distinct excitement and mirth that always flickered across her eyes and her smile. A serious Phern was deeply unsettling, it felt like the very natural laws of the universe were being tilted on its side.

“Wha-How?! I should have regenerated long before that!”

“You were regenerating. Markus made sure to keep you regenerating by bashing your head in when it looked like you were about to wake up. So… ‘re-killing’ you?”

“That fucker was kicking my shit in for 10 hours?!” I was once again reminded of restraints when I moved to stand up from the kneeling position I had taken. I was forced back to my knees with the lack of slack the chains offered me. It was either I knelt, or I moved back to the wall to have the space to stand up. I chose the former for the time being.

“No, no, he wasn’t doing that the whole time. Once they finished putting you in all of those chains they left you alone. It’s the magical restraints that made it take so long.”

The magical restraints? Did those have something to do with regeneration?

‘Yes, my little morsel, magical restraints are a nightmare for a Deathless. Imagine the usual flood of regenerative magic was blocked, leaving only a small trickle where there should be a river.’

So the 10 minutes to regenerate my head wound took around 10 hours?

‘It’s why most Deathless would rather rip their limbs off than be subjected to such a mundane state.’

“Oh, I see. I suppose that explains why everything still hurts.”

“I didn’t want to say anything but… you don’t look great right now.”

“Thanks, Phern.”

She gave a lopsided smile, showing the first sign of her usual demeanor since we had started talking. She had a point, however. I couldn’t see myself, obviously, but I could feel a mixture of bones that felt like they had yet to heal. I felt thick lines all across my arms and my back where the holy ropes had seared my skin like a fine dining steak dinner. They were inflicted by holy magic, meaning they would already take longer to heal, but with the restrictions of magical restraints, it meant they hadn’t been healing at all. It felt my skin feeling charred and sensitive all over in a way that was just painful enough that I couldn’t ignore it.

At the very least, it didn’t seem as though we were in immediate danger. The cell we sat in was almost completely silent aside from our voices and the occasional rattling of the excessive metal connecting my body to the wall. That meant our cell was in a secure enough location that they didn’t feel it necessary to station guard directly outside of it. That, or they were confident I couldn’t escape. Perhaps both?

“Are you okay, stump? I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you after we landed here.”

“What are you talking about? You protected me until your brains painted the floor like a Bonzai Bindlebee painting!”

“Was it that bad?”

“I mean… you died. I’d say that’s pretty bad, bandito.”

“Oh, right. I guess it just doesn’t quite feel so permanent?”

“How does it feel? If that’s not like super weird to ask. If you have a personal conversation with a God once you die don’t tell me! I’ve got bets placed on which one appears when you die.” Despite it meaning nothing to Phern, I shot her a smile. It was nice to hear her usual excitement even when we were in less than stellar situations. The way she talked could almost convince me that the two of us were just hanging out beside a campfire before falling asleep. I could see why Cecelia stuck to her like glue, even though she felt more like the solo type.

“It’s strange. I would say that it almost feels like hands have wrapped around your mind and slowly pulled you away from your body. Like a cold dissociation? It’s not pleasant, but It’s certainly not as scary when you know that you’ll wake up from it.”

“So she wasn’t pulling my muddy leg then!”

“Who?”

“My mom, silly.” She spoke with such confidence, as if it should be obvious that she was talking about her mom. How was I supposed to know?

“Why would your mom know about what it feels like to die?”

“Cuz she’s dead, of course!”

She beamed at me with a concerningly pleasant smile. A mixture of guilt and confusion stirred inside of my gut like a disgusting soup.

“Oh my Gods, I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Don’t talk about it so seriously, it’s weird! Yeah she might’ve died but I still talk to her once or twice a week! Well… I haven’t since we met you, but usually I’m able to talk to her frequently.”

As Phern tended to do, she made me begin to question everything that I had grown to know in the academy. Talking to dead people?! There wasn’t a spell to do such a thing. The closest was some advanced necromancy, but that wouldn’t bring the target back to life with enough of a brain to facilitate speech. Had she somehow perfected an advanced necromancy spell that wasn’t in any books? There’s no way, I hadn’t seen even the smallest indication that she knew any necromantic magic, especially not with her being an innate caster.

“I-I don’t understand. How could you possibly-”

“The power of love! …or at least in theory. In my home, you can be given a ceremonial burial that ignites the soul and kindles the life inside. With that, you can perform a spell to call out to the soul and speak to the spirit of the deceased.”

“But there isn’t a spell that can do that! Not in anything I’ve ever seen!”

“It’s a spell in my culture. It dates back generations, but it’s only ever been taught through word of mouth to those we trust. This isn’t a spell for just anyone to learn. It’s ours.” She spoke the last part sternly. It was odd to see her sound so forceful with her words, the spell must be culturally significant. I’d read about some of the unexplored magics that exist in smaller communities and cultures around Kistram, but I had always found them frustrating. Information was important, after all, and the idea that some were kept hidden for cultural reasons bothered me. This was the first time I had ever begun to consider just how personal some of this magic must have been to the people who hid them. Especially from the Empire, that I was beginning to distrust with every passing day.

“Oh, R-right. I’m glad you’re able to stay in touch with your mother.”

“She’s an odd one, but I love her dearly. I always thought she was lying about how dying felt, but I guess not.”

Her mom was the odd one? How could someone else possibly be more odd than Phern in comparison. I didn’t even know where to begin with imagining her mother. The thought was a little terrifying, but it might be nice to meet the woman that raised such a pure hearted ball of chaos like Phern.

“Where are we?” I figured it was worth asking if Phern had been awake for the 10 hours I was having my head pulverized in a very one sided fight. If Markus thought the only fight that he could win was with a corpse then I would show him how wrong he was. I knew that we had been teleported, that much was obvious by the sudden change of environment and the fact that there were likely no prisons built on the top of a mountain near the estate.

“I wasn’t sure until a few hours ago. I heard one of the guards talking with another and mentioned Thrieve. It’s a little bit further than Multon from the estate, but it’s in the opposite direction, closer to the north.”

Thrieve? That was still distinctly in the south, meaning I had no idea what the place looked like in real life, but I had seen it time and time again within maps of the Empire. It was a very big city, if I remembered correctly. If Markus was here, he must have run straight here from the incident at his manor. I wondered idly what had become of Multon. Suddenly losing the captain of the guard for a city ruled by martial law meant there might be some ensuing chaos.

“The guards were talking about some sort of ‘council’ coming down to Thrieve to ‘deal with’ you. Lots of vague language, but it doesn’t take a Thriddle to know they’re talking about killing you.”

My blood ran cold at the mention of the council. It had to be Varenthell’s Council that they were talking about. It wasn’t like there was any other council that they could be talking about. It filled my heart with a dreadful weight, like the beating organ was being dragged through my stomach and into my feet. The council was, how do I put this, the single most influential group of people in Kistram. One could make the argument that there are individuals that hold more significance, the Emperor of Kistram, the Headmaster of Varenthell, or the Duke of Hresdin. On their own, they were certainly more influential. But as a collective? The Council held the weight of an Empire squarely on their shoulders. The idea that the Council was coming down to Thrieve for me felt like I was experiencing a stress dream of a 10 year old. There was no chance that more than even two or three of the Council was making the journey, but even that felt bizarre. They were almost cemented inside of the walls of Varenthell for their regular duties of confirming or denying the cases that had reached that point. For certain members of the Council to leave for any reason was a somewhat special occasion. Out of all 10 members, it was strange to ever see more than 2 leave at one time for alternative business. Why did they care so much about one Deathless?!

‘They think you are the reincarnation of Baehevar. We have been through this.’

I know that, but I don’t understand why that’s such a big deal to them! Especially because we both know that I’m not Baehevar.

‘Do you want the Deathless version? …or the lies spread in the capital that all humans have come to know?’

Both? I’ve read about him in history books, but he was slain over 500 years ago, so the information is limited.

‘A beggar and a chooser. Fine. Humans tell the story of Baehevar, Fiend of the Dead. A warmongering monster that built an army of spiteful demons to follow him in a war against any non-demons in the Empire of Kistram. He nearly succeeded, but was cut down inside of Varenthell.’

Seemed fairly similar to what I had been taught in my classes.

‘The Deathless version, the true version, tells the story of Baehevar, The Extravagant God.’

A God? No, no there’s no Extravagant God mentioned anywhere! Not even in distant or anecdotal excerpts.

‘Intentionally so, little morsel. Baehevar was the Extravagant God, or the God of Excess as some would have said. His nature as a Deathless was the first of its kind, and originated from his excess of health. He was a loved God for quite some time, but he made one crucial mistake in the eyes of Varenthell. He sympathized with demons. That sympathy drew the ire of the capital. Before long, Varenthell, and by extension all of Kistram, had labeled him a demon himself. A new kind of demon entirely, a Deathless.’

He wasn’t a demon to begin with?

‘No. But the desire to protect those that he perceived to need protection had caused him to become grouped in with demons. The tensions between Baehevar and the Varenthell, both the Emperor and the Council, had risen until the point of war. What had begun as a movement for demons to become accepted into the Empire as citizens and not enemies, had become a conquest to rid each other from the face of Kistram. Baehevar was not the aggressor, at least not in the traditional sense. But a war is a war, and many lives were lost until he reached his end in Varenthell.’

How do you know all of this? There aren’t like… Deathless schools, right?

‘It is foolish to suggest such a thing. This knowledge is passed through families, the history of our people descend from a pivotal moment centuries ago. Baehevar had slept with a greater demon early in the war, which had birthed the start of Deathless as we know them now. Had it not been for a sympathetic God, I wouldn’t exist. You wouldn’t either.’

I also wouldn’t have been killed by one, so…

“Bandito? Xav? Did you die?” Phern had begun knocking on my forehead with her knuckles, but I couldn’t help but feel that the firm knocking on my forehead hurt significantly less than hearing a reminder of my name. Right, that hadn’t been a conversation that I had with anyone other than Cecelia.

“Y-yeah I’m here. Sorry, I just got distracted. If the Council is coming to Thrieve, I guess that’s it for me.” A grim sigh slipped out of my lips as I moved back to lean up against the wall behind me. The protruding chains from the wall combined with the shackle around my neck and waist made leaning against the wall as uncomfortable as possible. They couldn’t give me cozy arrangements before I died? Dying would still suck, but doing so with a nice pillow would be preferable.

“Are you just giving up? That’s lame! How are you gonna smooch up Cecelia if you die here!”

Maybe the muzzle wasn’t all bad, it certainly helped to hide the blush that was warming my cheeks beneath the cold metal. I did my best to move around against the wall to find whatever position provided the most relief from the metal bound to every limb you could imagine. It was a good way to hide my reaction to Phern’s words.

“I don’t even know if she likes me back. Gods, one of the last things I said to her is that I wanted us to be a ‘team’! What the fuck does that even mean?”

“A ‘team’? Did you mean that as some sort of innuendo?”

“I don’t know! I just panicked because I was afraid of moving too fast but now I might’ve just killed it on the spot!”

“Pebblestink! You’re so silly sometimes, bandit! Cecelia never likes anyone except for me because I’m really fuckin’ cool. So if she liked you enough to give you a sloppy kiss then I think you’re fine.”

“How do you know it was sloppy?”

“Eh, my gut. Cecelia feels like a sloppy kisser.”

I rolled my eyes at Phern’s gut swooping in for yet another shocking revelation. I mean, the gut wasn’t wrong, but still. The kisses we exchanged within the dojo felt messy, but not out of a lack of feeling, no, they felt sloppy because of an excess of passion. What had ultimately been fifteen minutes felt like a day within each other’s grasp. The fervor with which our lips locked, slipped apart, and found purchase once more made me feel like Cecelia was trying to search for my heart within my mouth. As if she was so enraptured by the feeling of our lips touching that she would need to eat me up to get enough of it. The idea of being eaten up by Cecelia was more enticing than I felt was normal. That had to be the Deathless side of me talking… right?

“I’d love to finish my conversation with her…”

“Then do! We’ll get out of here so that you can fix your silly romantic mistakes!”

Spoken like a true optimist. Saying that we would get out of here was significantly easier than actually escaping. With Cecelia, Sebil, and Lucas back at the estate, I doubted they would be able to reach us before the Council members got here. Best case scenario is they got to Thrieve as the Council did, and even that would be too late. They wouldn’t know where we were being held, and the Council would waste no time in delivering a final death to yours truly before heading back to the capital where they were needed.

Which meant it was just Phern and I. Most Phern if I was being honest. I wasn’t sure how much help I would be chained to the wall in 8 different places, with enough injuries to kill a normal person scattered across my body like a bartender dropping a tray of drinks across the ground. Though I suspected the smell of spilled beer would still be preferable to the burnt skin and rusted metal that pelted my nose relentlessly.

“They didn’t restrain you. Can’t you use some magic to get us out?” I asked, remembering how adeptly she had fought with her magic inside of the stables of Thrum.

She sighed and pulled up the left leg of her pants to show an anklet bearing the magical sigils that indicated that they were magical restraints. Seems they had enough wherewithal to take some precautions, despite the fact that they left Phern otherwise unchained. They must not have been very afraid of her. That felt like a severe mistake on their part. I had watched her detonate entire chunks of a man’s body inside of the manor with her magic. The small woman packed a terrifying punch when she was pushed to it.

“No can do. But we might not need magic. I doubt the silly city folk here know much about natural alchemy.” That was probably a good guess on her part. I knew plenty about alchemy from the classes within Varenthell, but as was becoming a repetitive theme in the past week, I was learning that the academy only seemed to teach the most ‘refined’ methods. Which was perfectly fine if you had access to an alchemical kit with the proper ingredients. It seemed like the alchemy that Phern was suggesting functioned on entirely separate ingredients that could be found out and about. What ingredients could possibly be found inside of a dingy cell? Well, it seemed as though I was about to find out.

“Let the class begin! That’s what they say in the academy right, button nose?”

“Uh, no. Students fall to attention when the professor stands up.”

“They don’t have a fun catchphrase? Like ‘I’m about to teach the shit out of your brains!” I shook my head. “Or ‘get ready for brain time suckers!’” I shook my head once more.

“The academy sounds lame.”

“Uh, I guess.” I shrugged. I had never really considered the ‘lameness’ of the academy during my studies. I was far more enamored with the prestigious reputation that Varenthell held, and how it promised me a wealth of information I’d be hard crossed to find anywhere else. In a way, I suppose it had. I knew a lot more than your average person. What I had in book knowledge, I seemed to lack in actual wisdom of the streets. Something which Phern had in just about as much excess as she had energy.

“Well, this is my class, so I’m gonna use a fun catchphrase! Take out your quills and get ready for the thrills of education, bitches!”

I looked at her blankly, then looked down to my hands that were pressed tightly together by the restraints. I looked back to Phern, wondering if she realized how difficult taking out a quill might be with the lack of said quill and no dexterity with my hands. She seemed to notice exactly what I was implying and rolled her eyes.

“The catchphrase is an aesthetic, bandit. You don’t need a quill.”