The Wrong Kind of Immortality

Eirene watched as Orestis raised his damaged hand. It was still bleeding—but now, the blood was flowing against gravity to gather in the air in front of his fingers.

He was using his blood to draw a sigil, one that she did not recognise. But as she looked to Maxim, she could see that the hero did recognise it. And from his expression, the outcome was not going to be pleasant.

In fact, Maxim was already gathering divine power in his hands—obviously to counter whatever Orestis was about to do.

The blood sigil formed the last rune at the same moment that Maxim pressed his hands together. Both spells were triggered at the same time. Orestis’s sigil flared crimson while Maxim’s whole body glowed with a golden light.

In the same instant, every member of the Temple force—every paladin, all nine mages, and both battle-priests—all began to glow with the same crimson-and-gold aura.

Then they all began to scream.

The paladins buckled and started clawing at their own armour. Eirene didn’t need to wonder why, because she could see what was happening to the others who weren’t wearing full-body armour—they, too, were on the ground writhing in pain.

As she watched, their flesh was being corroded like wax melting—right before it was restored. One mage’s arm slid halfway off before knitting itself back together. A battle-priest’s face came apart and reformed in a heartbeat, only to come apart again.

Eirene felt a chill as she realised that they were being dissolved and remade in the same instant, over and over. And the same thing was also happening to Maxim.

The hero was going through the same process of destruction and restoration—though he wasn’t screaming. Not that she expected him to; he couldn’t die, and couldn’t feel pain, after all.

That was also the clue that allowed her to understand what was likely happening.

Orestis would never waste his efforts to cast such a slow-acting curse on Maxim, knowing it wouldn’t work on the hero. Which meant that Orestis’s spell was only targeting the Temple forces, and Maxim was somehow transferring the damage to himself, continuously, in order to keep all of them alive.

Neither Orestis nor Maxim spoke. They merely stood there, eyes locked, while the glow from their respective spells steadily grew brighter.

That was when Avra finally moved, recovering from whatever state she’d been in. She ran to stand in front of Orestis, putting herself directly in his line of sight.

“Orestis,” she called out to him once more. “I’m fine. Look at me. I’m fine, it’s all right.”

Avra reached for the raised hand and closed both of hers around it, gently, trying to lower it. She also continued to reassure him, keeping her voice calm and steady. Gentle, as if trying to soothe a frightened child—which, Eirene supposed, wasn’t too far from the truth.

One thing Eirene noted was how all traces of blood—which had likely been what set Orestis off in the first place—were gone from Avra’s face and clothes.

In fact, even Orestis’s hand, which she was now holding, was being mended rapidly. The blood was flowing back into the wounds as his flesh knitted itself back together. All so that none would get on Avra.

Eirene glanced at Eleuthera, who was watching everything intently. She didn’t seem to be interested in doing anything besides observing, which meant that it was Lyse who was helping out.

A moment later, Orestis’s gaze dropped to his mother. Almost immediately, the rage drained out of him. It was replaced by pain, which he quickly suppressed. But Eirene could see the struggle in his eyes.

Avra lifted one hand to his cheek and held it there, her thumb moving slowly against his skin. “It’s all right. I’m right here. Nothing happened to me, you see?”

He looked at his mother for a long moment, as if searching her face for something. And then, slowly, whatever had gotten a hold of him began to recede.

Eirene watched the moment his mind found its way back to a present where his mother was alive and warm and touching his face. He lowered his hand, letting the blood sigil dissipate, and the screaming stopped all at once.

The crimson glow disappeared from the Temple forces, but the golden glow remained. Eirene assumed Maxim was keeping it to ensure their complete recovery before ending his own spell.

But then, the hero’s divine power shifted somehow. Eirene felt another pulse—and then all of the Temple forces dropped to the ground, unconscious.

The square went quiet. Even those that were still awake watched Orestis, waiting to see what he’d do next.

For his part, Orestis only stood silently in place, watching Avra. His face betrayed nothing, but Eirene knew he was waiting to see how his mother would react—what she would think and feel now, having seen this side of him. She knew he was worried.

Orestis likely expected condemnation. Rejection. Or, worst of all, fear.

After all, Avra knew nothing of the millennia he’d spent as an immortal, the life he’d lived before regressing to the past. She had absolutely no inkling of what Orestis was capable of. So how would she react now that she had seen this side of him?

At least, that was what he was likely to be thinking. Which, in Eirene’s opinion, was a baseless worry. Avra’s actions so far clearly demonstrated her stance: nothing she had just witnessed had changed how she looked at her son.

As expected, Avra sighed, patted his cheek once, and said, “Silly boy. There’s such a thing as caring too much, you know.”

Eirene saw something in him relax. And just like that, the haunted stranger was gone. Orestis had returned to being the person she had known and grown up with.

He gave his mother a wry look. “You realise the irony of that statement coming from you, of all people.”

Avra, who was without question the most shameless doting mother Eirene had ever met, only patted his cheek again and looked entirely unbothered by the accusation. “I’m your mother; I care the perfect amount.”

Beside them, Eleuthera tilted her head, considering Orestis. “That was unexpected. I did suspect that his past had left a mark on him. But I didn’t realise the scars were that deep—for a memory to overwhelm him like that.”

Eirene nodded in agreement. She had suspected for a long while that the death of his parents had affected him profoundly and shaped his outlook on life. She just hadn’t realised the depth of that trauma. She walked over to Orestis as she thought about it.

Maxim also walked over, unhurried, brushing flecks of dried blood and dust from his body. The hero looked cool as a cucumber—as if Orestis hadn’t just tried to kill hundreds of people, and he hadn’t just prevented it.

He stopped in front of Orestis and, perfectly calm, asked, “You good?”

Orestis nodded, then looked Maxim in the eyes and said, “I lost control. Thanks for stopping me.”

What Orestis didn’t say—but was understood—was that he was actually thanking the hero for preventing him from killing all those people in front of his mother. Considering Orestis’s personality, Eirene knew that he could not have been comfortable saying those words—especially to Maxim.

And yet he still made himself do it—which was an indication of how much Orestis appreciated the other’s efforts.

Maxim waved it off. “It’s fine. I got to test something interesting.” The hero grinned. “Looks like I have a way to make sure no one dies on my watch ever again.”

Eirene had noticed by now that Maxim’s mockery had limits. He needled Orestis constantly, but he knew when not to, and this was one of those times. He had taken the gratitude, acknowledged it, and then smoothly switched topics before Orestis could grow uncomfortable. It was neatly done.

“Indeed. Sacrifice and immortality are a broken combination,” Orestis replied, nodding.

Noticing her curiosity, Maxim turned to her and said, “Sacrifice is a divine spell that takes whatever damage is being done to my targets and moves it onto me instead. As the name implies, it is usually used as a last resort to give your own life to save that of another.”

“But you can’t die,” Eirene observed.

“Exactly.” His grin widened. “And since the spell continuously exchanges the condition of our bodies, as long as I can’t die, I can just keep soaking up an infinite amount of damage.”

“That only worked because the curse couldn’t kill them instantly,” Orestis remarked.

“Well, obviously,” Maxim shrugged. “I chose my spell based on yours.”

Eirene wanted to ask about Orestis’s spell as well. However, she did not think it was appropriate to ask about it right now, while Avra was present. Asking him to explain how he had nearly melted two hundred people wasn’t the most considerate thing to do.

However, it seemed Orestis did not share her reservations. He smiled faintly at Eirene and said, “The spell I used was a blood curse. It creates a resonance with the blood inside the target and turns it corrosive. It is a convenient means of bypassing this idiot’s shields.”

Maxim nodded. “It’s true. While My Goddess’s shields are perfect, they can be bypassed.”

Eirene already understood that from their sparring sessions; if the shields cannot be broken, simply avoid interacting with them.

She glanced at Avra. Orestis’s mother did not seem troubled by the direction of the conversation—if anything, she looked mildly interested.

Since neither the mother nor the son seemed bothered, Eirene asked, “If it resonates with blood, then how did you limit it to only the Temple forces? Is there some way to specify targets?”

“No.” Orestis shook his head. “The curse simply resonates with similar things—in this case, other blood. You can add conditions to narrow it, but no group of people shares one specific similarity precisely enough to use as a marker.”

Eirene had assumed as much. Which was precisely why she was asking.

He shrugged and added, “I just marked each of them individually.”

Which meant he had copied the spell a hundred and ninety-one times and triggered them all at once. This was again the kind of casual control and processing power that was absurd when she compared herself to him and his capabilities.

Even the strongest of mages would have trouble going past fifty simultaneous weaves—supposedly, based on what she’d read. And yet, here he was, pulling off almost four times that amount.

Orestis, likely having noticed something in her expression, added, “It was not the best idea I’ve ever had. That kind of processing power is impossible for this weak body of mine. I basically forced the process by enhancing my senses to appropriate levels—but those kinds of actions come with consequences.” He paused. “I actually have a headache right now.”

Avra was immediately worried. “And you haven’t done anything about it? Honestly, Orestis.”

And in classic Orestis style, he said, “It’s just a headache; it’ll pass. Besides, this kind of headache is not—”

She ignored his words and clasped her hands together in a prayer. A moment later, the beads in her hair began to glow as a gentle healing spell—one of divine origin—settled over Orestis.

He gave his mother a strange look, since that was not something Avra should be able to do. Even Eirene had no idea Avra could do that.

Healing through prayer was supposed to be a form of divine magic reserved for temple-appointed priestesses. And, as far as Eirene knew, Avra wasn’t formally affiliated with any temple.

She glanced at Maxim. He seemed a bit amused, but not surprised. Clearly, he knew something—but it seemed he wasn’t interested in talking about it.

Instead, he opted to change the subject. He addressed Orestis and said, “So, how are you planning to deal with this? You were the one who wanted to keep a low profile.” He tilted his head toward the square. “After that stunt you pulled, no one is going to believe you’re anything less than a Sovereign in hiding.”

Orestis looked around at those words. Eirene followed his gaze as well.

Most of the people in the area were unconscious. However, some of the soldiers and all of the non-combatants—those who were disabled, as well as the people who’d been herded into the centre of the crowd for their protection—were all staring at Orestis.

Some were wide-eyed with reverence; others watched him with fear. Several were whispering to each other—no doubt speculating, inventing explanations, or drawing their own conclusions.

This was not good—at all. Regardless of what they decided to believe, Orestis would never be able to live a normal life in this village again. Not anymore.

For as long as Eirene had known him, Orestis had wanted to live a quiet life, unnoticed by people. Admittedly, he hadn’t been doing too good a job of that. But it had been somewhat limited in scope. This, here and now, was something else.

News like this would travel. The discovery of a Sovereign was the kind of thing that drew interest on a national level.

Orestis, however, did not seem all that worried. He just looked exasperated. Which was odd, considering the situation.

Then, he turned to Eleuthera and said something even more unexpected: “Can you or Lyse contact Miera?”