Heartworm

Phern was not a great teacher. I was having a difficult time telling her that her words were doing more to confuse me than to educate me, but I could tell she was putting so much effort into instruction that I didn’t have the heart to quash it. The reason I wasn’t following despite being a model student, was that she seemed to teach primarily from the heart, ignoring that most of the concepts she was explaining her things already knew, and the things that she glossed over were ‘essentials’ that I had never learned. It was making me feel a little disappointed as well. I spent my whole life building my reputation as the teacher’s pet, the kid that could be told what to do and follow instructions to a T without question. Being in a situation where I nodded along despite being left in the dust was strange.

“But I should be able to use some of the guards' clothing as a substitute for the ceramic that I would usually add.”

“...why does studded leather replace ceramic?” None of this was clicking with my line of thinking. My classes had all focused on the chemical compositions of ingredients to allow for alchemy to be performed using recipes. Think cooking, but with a lot more potential for explosions. Unless you’re me, I suppose. The one time I tried to cook with Vyra I had caused a fire in the academy’s kitchens. That wasn’t a fun week of detention.

“Ugh, you’re still focusing on the chemical compositions! Get all of that smart junk out of your head and replace it with squishy learning sponges in your brain.”

“Uh, okay. Let me just… put some sponges in my head then.”

Phern glared at me, making me question if I had said something wrong. With a slight bit of hesitation, I tried a different plan.

“...squishy learning sponges?” I gave a half-hearted smile, hoping that was the puzzle piece I had forgotten to put in place.

“BINGOLDONK! That’s exactly it!” I let out a sigh and mimed the action of ‘removing the smart junk in my brain to replace it with squishy learning sponges’, to the best of my ability considering the chains around my biceps and wrists. Once I had finished pantomiming according to Phern’s desires, she continued with her ‘lesson’.

“Instead of thinking about what it’s made with, I want you to think about how it was made.”

I simply stared at Phern, trying to follow the line of logic that she was laying down like a zig zagging dog chasing a sqor around the forest. How things were made? How would that possibly affect the alchemical qualities of an item? Everything about alchemy revolved around the physical properties of each added ingredient molding together into a completely new thing.

“Studded leather is made by learned craftsmanship. It is a professional putting their years of experience into making a professional quality good for someone. Ceramic, in the same manner, is usually made by someone who had studied and learned the art of pottery to make such a precise result. It isn’t so much what the items are themselves, but instead the emotions and feelings poured into it during its creation!”

That was starting to make a little more sense. In the same way that learned casting was done through the meticulous properties and spellcasting procedures that you would learn in books, standard alchemy was learned using recipes and preset procedures. This ‘natural’ alchemy seemed to operate through emotions, in the same manner that innate spellcasting was focused on the emotions required to perform spells. They seemed like very close parallels the more that I thought about it.

“So the moss that you just scraped off of the wall? That would be…?”

“Moss is one of the easiest ways to obtain a natural calm ingredient. Moss is naturally made, not crafted by a person, meaning it fulfils the natural part of an ingredient. Finding a ‘calm’ ingredient requires something that was made slowly in an undisturbed environment. Moss usually grows in quite damp places, undisturbed by the world around, yea?”

“Uh, yeah. I think I get that.”

“My goal to get us requires me to make a very potent alchemical fire. If it’s made intense enough, it progresses past fire and becomes an almost lava-like material that should be hot enough to melt right through all of your chains, and subsequently the bars of our cell.”

THAT was the plan?! We were going to make mossy prison lava to burn my way out of the fucking chains?

“I-I, what?! If it’s hot enough to melt my chains, Phern, it’s gonna be hot enough to burn me from a distance!”

Phern looked down towards the ground and scratched the back of her messy curly hair. She continued to look down at the floor as she responded, like she didn’t want to see my reaction. “I know it’s not ideal, bandit. It’s probably going to hurt a lot to burn you out of the restraints, but if we break you free from them all, you’ll be able to regenerate the burns, right?” She paused, looking for an answer. I wasn’t sure what to tell her, if I was being honest. Could I heal the burns? Possibly, but if I was imagining what she was talking about correctly, it would mean 3rd degree burns along the back of my body to melt the chains. Even without touching the lava, if it was melting the chains a few feet from my back, I would start to cook like the chicken I had burned with Vyra. From the classes I had taken when I was younger, I knew a decent amount about lava. I was a very awkward 9 year old that did a project on the natural environments of the Drakin continent south of Kistram. Without getting into the specifics of my very shitty assignment, I would be burning alive for the amount of time it took to melt the chains and pull away. I would live, obviously, but it would fucking hurt.

“The alternative isn’t great, bandit. I’d use the alchemical fire to melt just the bars of the cell. I would be free, but you would still be chained to the wall.”

“Is that so bad?”

“You’d be asking me to leave you here! Even if I managed to get out and tell Cecelia, there’s no telling what they would do to you before we could get back to you. I don’t think it’s worth taking that route.”

Not great options. Be left chained to this wall like a grotesque holiday decoration, or cook myself alive to get out of the chains.

“Is there a secret, much better third option?”

Phern just smiled nervously at me. That seemed like her answer to my question.

“What do we still need for it, then?”

I had opted not to agree just yet. It was silly to think I could avoid having to make the choice eventually, but if I asked for more details, I had more time to consider my options.

“We need the studded leather from one of the guards. It seems most of them are wearing some kind of studded leather for their trousers. That’ll make up the hardened ingredient, the ‘base’ if you will. The moss I collected with make up the calming ingredient, to keep the alchemy concentrated, without that the concoction would likely spread across this entire cell, killing us slowly and painfully. The final ingredient, and arguably the most important, is the intense fury ingredient. That’s where the flame itself will come from, meaning we’ll need either a lot of it, or something incredibly concentrated to get the heat that we’ll need. That's what I’m currently conjurating in my little smushy brain.”

Phern had already discussed her plan earlier to get some studded leather from one of the guards. If she could get them focused on me for long enough inside of the cell, she could unfurl one of the buckles around their leg that sometimes held weapons, and other times were left empty. That wouldn’t be too hard. But that still left us down to one ingredient, the fire for our alchemical fire.

“So what can we use for intense fury? Where do we find something that was crafted with intense fury?” I asked.

“M’not sure. I guess that’s what we need to come up with before they come to kill you. Permanently, this time.”

“‘Kay.”

The two of us sat in silence. At the beginning, we were silent because we were thinking. For someone who overthought frequently, you would think I’d be better at it. Despite spending nearly an hour coming up with ideas, nothing came to mind. Intense fury was an odd emotion to have for something to be made with. It isn’t every day that you decide to make something while you’re incredibly angry. When I got pissed off, my mind was far from arts and crafts.

After about an hour of thinking, the two of us decided that we’d put it on the back burner for now. That left us chatting about everything and nothing over the next hour. I could see why Cecelia loved having Phern around. While she could occasionally be too much to handle, she made it so that there was always something to talk about. How many people do you know would ask you ‘how many gourlashes would it take to climb to the top of Varenthell Academy’?” I didn’t care if what we talked about was ‘weird’ as long as we were talking about something. It was the most I could do to not think about my impending fate. Gods it hung over me with a demoralizing presence. The reason it felt so hopeless was because there was no time frame for us to operate under. How long would it take for Cecelia, Sebil, and Lucas to get to Thrieve? How long would it take for them to find us? How long before the Council gets here? How long until I’m executed? How long had we even been in this cell? I didn’t have an answer to any of those questions. I used to love the unknown, but right now the unknowns felt like they were crushing my midsection. The more I thought about the fact that footsteps down the hall could spell my death, the more it became harder to breathe.

…clank… Clank… CLANK.

I could hear metal footsteps making the journey down the stone hallway and towards our cell. The Council? Was this it? No. It was only one set of footsteps, and I highly doubted that the Council wore metallic boots. It was most likely a guard. When the figure came into view, I discovered I was half-right. 50% was a failing grade, which was upsetting. Not as upsetting as seeing the face of Markus once more.

‘This fucker, again. It’s foolish to taunt a Deathless that has already eaten one of your eyes.’

“Time to eat, you two. I thought I’d make this meal special by delivering it to you personally.”

“It’s special, alright. I’ve got a freakshow to watch while I eat.” I turned to scowl at him, hoping that my aggressive expression came across despite having a muzzle around my mouth. Just looking at the bastard made me furious, so there was a good chance my eyes told all there was to say.

Markus pulled out a baton to hold firmly in his left hand as he unlocked the cell with his right. He was cocky to walk in alone, but I figured he wasn’t stupid enough to leave himself open. The sound of more footsteps from down the hall confirmed my suspicions. As he stepped into the dingy cell, I noticed that he had taken the care to modify his baton. Instead of the standard slick wooden form, the end seemed to have very hastily added metal shrapnel. It looked like he rummaged through a blacksmith’s box of mistakes and hammered them into the tip of his baton. How loving, a gift made just for us.

“I wouldn’t sound so comfortable, beast. There isn’t a thing I can do to kill you here. Which means I don’t even need to hold back.”

“Not even for a friend? Not even for Ms. Illona?” I spoke in as insulting of a tone as I could manage, mimicking the way that he had constantly tried to catch my attention in the mansion. He didn’t seem incredibly impressed by my jokes. Maybe he was taking his time to process it within his thick skull?

I felt the serrated modified baton carve into my chest, ripping at the skin in such an uneven way that it felt like I was being mauled by a wild animal. In fact, a wild animal still would have managed a cleaner cut across my chest. I’m sure the brutality of the cut was intentional on Markus’ part.

“I won’t speak to an animal that masquerades as a human.”

“Really? You seemed ready to do a lot more than just speak to me in my bedroom.”

Another strike to the chest. Tough crowd. He seemed furious at the reminder that he had been no so subtly attempting to bed me in his own mansion hours before trying to kill me. Was he ashamed? It certainly seemed so as he dragged the baton across my chest three more times, the final one finally drawing a cry of pain from my lips. I had tried to contain the agonizing screams from leaving my lips as I knew it would only bring him satisfaction. Satisfaction that I did not want to give him.

“Isn’t this fun? I’ve got two more days to make you beg for death. It’ll be a wonderful sight.” He grimly asked, grasping the front of the muzzle with his offhand to pull me close to his face. The greasy musk of the man penetrated the metal prison around my face, filling my nose with the disgusting scent of the man. I’d rather the baton than the smell, if I was being honest.

“Sounds fun. I’d love to see it through your eyes. Oh-wait. Eye. My apologies.”

‘Good one, little morsel. More of that and you might make me believe you’re a Deathless.’

He couldn’t see the smile that spread across my lips, but he sure did his best to wipe it from my face. With an upwards swing of the baton, the end impacted the bottom of the muzzle with such force that I felt the top of the muzzle depress into my nose, shattering the bone and ripping a yelp from my throat. I reeled back from the blow, slamming back into the wall I was chained to before slumping down towards the ground. It felt like my skull had been trampled underfoot by a horse. What I knew to be the cell looked like a kaleidoscope of murky colors that swam around my vision as I collected my senses. The strike from the baton was so disorientating that I hadn’t even realized the ragged breathing was coming from me, and not a furious Markus standing above me. Gods, it hurt.

By the time I had regained my bearings, I saw that Markus had moved towards Phern, who was positioned like she had just landed quite the hook into his jaw. Very nice in theory, but less so in execution as Markus raised the baton over his head. The weapon had shredded the skin along my chest earlier, and it made me sick to imagine what it might do to Phern, who lacked the regenerative capabilities that I possessed.

“A broken nose? That’s all you can manage on a defenseless monster? How did you ever manage to become a captain? Did they run out of options in Multon? I’d say they were reaching for the bottom of the barrel, but for you they must have broken through the bottom of the barrel to dig into the ground beneath.”

It was beyond foolish to goad the man that had just sent me to the ground with a broken nose, but the alternative was worse. I could take the pain. I’d rather it be me than Phern. My plan had worked, at least in the sense that he didn’t follow through on his swing at Phern and instead turned to face me. Now I just had to deal with the consequences of my actions, and I hated when that happened.

It was all a violent blur. It started with Markus walking back towards me, the gross smile replaced with a furious scowl. I remember the first strike that came down towards my head. From there, I knew that time was passing, that more pain was spreading across my body. But the details in between were becoming blurred in the misery. I wasn’t sure when exactly it had happened, but I realized that during the beatdown, Lilith had taken control from me to bear the brunt of it. Was she… being kind? Surely not. I must have started to lose control at some point, and she decided that she could handle the pain far better than I could. It was probably a good judgement to make on her part. I was still feeling the pain in full, but at this point I had all but lost my grip on consciousness, like I was caught in the hypnotic rhythm of pain that pulsed methodically though my body. When would it end? It felt like it had gone on for hours, I couldn’t take any more-

The little morsel’s thoughts had finally stopped. It was strange to be on the opposite side of the mental link when one of us went silent. It was as if, for the time being, I was back to being alone in my own body. Relief, if momentary.

The fledgling had taken too much pain, and was beginning to go feral. I wasn’t going to allow myself to be locked out of our own body yet again while the morsel went feral. The pain was immense, absolutely. But compared to the centuries of pain I had dealt and received, this was only slightly worse than normal. I would need to teach the fledgling how to handle pain better if we were going to be caught up in more chaos. A Deathless that cannot handle pain is like an eagle with clipped wings. It wasn’t just a component of our nature, it was our nature.

Markus, as the morsel knew him, was the same kind of man I had seen time and time again. There was a hate within his eyes for Deathless, the kind of hatred that blossomed into pleasure when given the opportunity to feel superior. I had seen this exact scene play out many times before, a fearful human that relishes in the feeling of superiority through no actions of their own. Markus had done nothing to cage us. The Marked woman had done all of the fighting, planning, and execution. If not for the little morsel being too altruistic to consider our options, we wouldn’t have been in this cell in the first place.

Markus would die. I would make sure of it. But now was not the time. Even if I wanted to attempt such a foolish action, my limbs had been ground into a visceral mess, exposing muscle, sinews, and bone. I would need to bide my time for later, when I could savor the sensation of popping his eye in my mouth like a nutritious balloon. When I took control from the morsel and stopped crying out in pain, the entertainment that Markus received greatly diminished. When the agonizing symphony that the fledgling produced ended, he grew tired of the repetitive action, ordering the guards to throw our meals into the cell before leaving altogether. He hid behind such a flimsy layer of protection, and I enjoyed fantasizing about the moment I was free from these bindings.

“B-bandit…?”

The woman, Phern, made steady steps towards me, holding the fabric of her sleeve over her face. My guess was that the smell of my desiccated body was overwhelming, though I wouldn’t know with the lack of scents reaching my senses at the moment. I was far more concerned with the problem that was slowly crossing the room towards me. The mental link with the little morsel was still quiet, meaning I had no retreat from this conversation. I had unfortunately already been moving my head around, meaning I couldn’t just pretend to be unconscious. Would I be able to pretend to be the fledgling?

“Y-yes?”

“I-I’m so sorry, bandit! You shouldn’t have to take all of that pain.”

What would my little morsel say? Probably something selfless and stupid, if I had to guess.

“Better I take the pain than you. Humans like you can’t recover as I can.”

I watched the woman’s expression change as she spoke to me. She looked shocked, confused, and most peculiar of all, like she was seeing right through me. There was a sluggish kind of hesitation that gripped her, until she finally spoke again.

“Are you sure that you’re okay, bandit?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

Like something had just clicked inside of her head, the woman’s eyes widened, the yellow saucers in her eyes expanding like a cat that was hunting prey. She scrunched up her face as she closed the distance towards me. Once she had gotten close enough to look into my eyes like she was spelunking for some kind of hidden treasure, she spoke.

“Who are you?”

“Xa-uh, Bandit.”

“Try again. I know that you’re not bandit. I wanted to know who you are.”

Shit. How did this curly-haired gremlin know so much?!