DB Lazarus
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77. On a Knife’s Edge - II
🕑 Added 2025-05-28 19:00:04 +0000 UTCI had lost count of the people I had healed when Rægnor grabbed my shoulder. “We need to hurry back to our group.”
I craned my neck to see them. Our group had fared well given its location. Not once had they needed my support. Even now, I detected no significant injuries. “Why?” Then the sound, or rather the lack of it, hit me. The screeching of dying rats and monsters had dropped to a fraction of the previous. “Are we done?”
Rægnor didn’t answer. He just pulled me towards our group.
“Good. You are back,” Eiræk said as we arrived. Like everyone else, he had his hands curled around our improvised weapons, ready to spring into action.
“So not done,” I said to myself.
Overhearing me, Dorian shook his head. “No. The real test will begin now that we’ve done the greater monsters a favor by clumping up fresh kills. You picking up anything?”
“No. You?”
“No. I don’t feel anything moving through the earth.”
We all waited. Some of the other Ættir actually started to relax. Then the shadows in the room stretched.
Dorian practically whimpered, “Gods no. Not a shade stalker.”
I had never heard such fear in his voice. His normal dexterity fled, and he fumbled with his belt pouch flap. He still managed to pull out a purple-ringed vial and rushed it to his lips. However, his trembling hand froze inches away from his lips as a wave of despair washed over us.
I had felt sadness tug on my heart before, but this…this was on another level. Its profound weight crushed both my body and soul. It drove me to my knees—and I wasn’t the only one. All but the Verndari and his hærliðar had collapsed to one or both knees. Still, even they weren’t fully immune. Whatever had given our emotions physical weight also left them frozen. Just the thought of moving hurt worse than the icy cold that now filled my veins.
Before us, light stones in the tunnel winked out, leaving only darkness. An inky black bowed outward until it spread and overtook the light in our cavern. The shadowy semicircle grew larger and wider until its edge came within feet of our front line. Then, the expansion suddenly stopped.
Paralyzed, forced to the ground, we could only stare at the wall of jet black that seemed to call all the shadows to it. In my periphery, the heads of fearless warriors began to bow. Some even trembled as fear overwhelmed them. Each act of surrender seemed to feed the darkness.
The wall rippled. I tried to look away, but my body betrayed me. On my knees, eyes wide, I trembled as a black shape crept out from the darkness. A coal-black mass with tendrils—no, a shadow the size of an Ættar—stroke toward us. Its edge blurred into the dark surroundings; its center, a dark void—a nightmare made manifest.
Whispers spread through my mind. I was never cut out to be a doctor. I ran away from it. Now I am trying to be a [Doctor] here when they have [Healers]?
A roar filled the room, banishing the voices for a heartbeat. A few Ættir around the chief stood, but then another dark figure stepped from the tunnel. The soul-crushing weight ratcheted back up, and all but the Verndari fell back to their knees. He stood, weapons held at the ready, but he had none of his typical strength and swagger.
His Marks on his body flared, he rushed forward, two hand axes coated in crimson. He fired off a complex pattern of deep-red arcs. The shade easily dodged the first volley, but each subsequent blade of Energy pinned the monster in a tighter and tighter space. However, right when it appeared trapped, it melted into a blob of black and shot towards another shadow, reforming into a patch darker than night itself.
The Verndari adjusted his trajectory without a beat of hesitation. He barreled towards the amorphous shape, but this time the shade stalker did not flee. As if to prove its superiority, it met brutal melee with pulsing whips cast from pure shadow. Their clash made no sound, though a ring of dust burst outward. The Verndari drove the shade back a step, and a fraction of the crimson light coating his blade disappeared into the infinite darkness. Then they broke apart, the Verndari’s strike showing no effect.
They continued to exchange blows. Their arms became blurs as they moved faster than I could perceive. Streaks of crimson scoured the dark shade, but the end was predestined. The Verndari was just delaying the inevitable. Through [Sense Injury], I could tell with each exchange that the Verndari hadn’t come out unscathed. They were small cuts, but they were adding up. Eventually, they would slow him down. He would soon need a potion, but he had no time.
Our situation worsened when another shade stalker exited the abyss wreathing the tunnel’s entrance. Strength and warmth drained from my limbs. I would have screamed, but my diaphragm barely moved. In my periphery, I caught Ættir collapsing to the floor. Those who didn’t trembled with fear. Besides me, Dorian gurgled.
We deserve this.
This cursed world had taken all the time and energy I poured into learning medicine and showed me their worth: nothing. I couldn’t even complain. After all, hadn’t I already started walking down this path? I had been ready to throw away all my years of training to cash out as a consultant. I had scoffed at spiritual healers at home, and here I was, a doctor trying to play as one. I couldn’t compete with [Healers]. Never would.
Better to be crushed like a minuscule bug that I am than to continue this charade.
I couldn’t help but have a twinge of annoyance when the second shade just walked past the battle with the Verndari, not deigning to interfere.
Why drag this out? Why make us suffer?
The second shade stalker flowed to the edge of the line. A light stone on the wall near them dimmed, and the shade stalker grew in height. I couldn’t see its sweeping strikes, but the line started to collapse one person at a time. I had thought them dead—until [Sense Injury] registered the blows. The wounds were bad, but they were all nonlethal.
Why? Sadism? Some twisted form of magic? It didn’t matter. If they were alive, I could save them.
My jaw clenched—the only movement I could manage. I wanted to scream at my impotence, but that would do nothing. If I couldn’t act, I could at least try to understand. You only treated what you didn’t know when you had no other option.
The urgency dispelled the fog shrouding my mind. I expanded my senses. A wave of information struck me, bringing pain—and clarity. I held on, narrowing my focus to those closest to the second shade stalker. Before it overwhelmed me, I triggered [Quicken Thoughts]. My mind’s capacity expanded, and the information changed from a deluge to a manageable stream.
None of the strikes had been immediately lethal. Rather, the monster had delivered a blow to inflict slow and painful deaths.
We deserve this. They should suffer—just like me.
Misery loved company, but the sentiment seemed wrong. So wrong. Hadn’t I taken an oath?
I’m not even a doctor anymore.
[Doctor] vs doctor. Semantics or…
My oath died with me.
Had it? I was alive. My memories remained whole. Had I truly died?
Such a fun philosophical conundrum, but I didn’t have time—oh, wait, I did. World frozen, I tried to lay out arguments for each side in my mind, but my thoughts moved as if in molasses. Instinctively, I pushed more Energy into [Quicken Thoughts] while pulling back on [Sense Injury]. My head started to throb, but at least my thoughts came quicker. My attention didn’t immediately waver. I could think…and see.
Of course, I had narrowed my perception for a reason. Now expanded, another wave of information, courtesy of [Sense Injury], slammed into me. I recoiled, my skills shutting off. I snapped back into real time, and the heaviness that had lifted started to return.
Even dampened, a series of pings from [Sense Injury] pulled at my consciousness. I tried to move to find the source, but locked in place, I only managed to turn my eyes in their direction. A shade stalker had continued moving through the line, cutting down Ættir with its whips, leaving them lying in a growing pool of blood.
Dorian made another gurgle, and I brought my focus to him.
He, too, had dropped to his knees, but all his energy seemed focused on the vial in his hand. His hand shook as he tried to inch the edge to his lips. Why? I studied the vial. The container differed ever so slightly from standard healing potions.
What is that? A different type of potion?
I latched onto those questions, seeking the joy I had long found in discovery. I reactivated [Quicken Thoughts]. The world slowed, and a purple droplet that spilled from the vial hung in the air.
Definitely not a healing potion.
Could I enhance that? I tried to puzzle it out, but my thoughts remained slow. Too slow. I was not firing on all cylinders. It wasn’t the circumstances. I had dealt with plenty of dire situations. They energized me, not brought me low. Except, I had agency.
I would have chuckled darkly, if I could. I hadn’t had much agency since arriving in this world. The only other time in my life when that happened, I had become depressed…
I took in those frozen in front of me. Proud Olympians now hunched in shame, shivering with fear or…despair.
I flashed back to a memory of a time I hated. How many nights had I been at the edge of tears as I returned to my small, sparsely furnished apartment after a long shift? Each morning, all I had wanted was to stay home curled up in a ball. Instead, I ignored it, dragging myself out of bed and burying myself in the work of a 30-hour call. I had been a shell of myself. I had made it work, but I had done a disservice to many…and to myself.
I should have asked for help.
I didn’t deserve it.
Maybe…? But what about these Ættir? Leaving people in this much misery was cruel. Even with all that animosity and bigotry, did they deserve that?
Ye—No!
It clicked. These thoughts weren’t my own. Something was affecting me, but what?
I gave up on [Sense Injury], pouring everything I could into [Quicken Thoughts]. I ran through my options until I stumbled on a new tactic. This world had “magic,” but so far, all the magical healing I had seen had biological correlates. Could a monster inflict depression? Auras existed. Eiræk had done something to boost our mental function. Why not the opposite? If so, could I fight it? I had [Resist Disease], and what was depression if not a disease of the mind?
Except, it’s a passive skill, right?
Nothing to lose, I pushed energy into it. My head throbbed immediately. I had not recovered enough before reusing [Quicken Thoughts], but I didn’t have a choice. I continued trying to flex a mental muscle that might not even exist. Throbbing became stabbing. Stabbing became an all-consuming inferno.
Just as I reached my limit, the heaviness started to lift. I persevered, ignoring the pain threatening to shatter my skull. I slammed more Energy into my skill, pushing until it became so intense that I had to drop [Quicken Thoughts] or pass out.
When I returned to normal time, I found I could stand. I staggered upright. Both shade stalkers turned to face me. It was enough of a distraction that the one fighting the Verndari lost an arm.
The heaviness increased, and more Ættir collapsed. I pushed more power into [Resist Disease]. My vision started to go grey, but I continued taking shaky steps until I was in front of Dorian. I grabbed the vial from him.
His eyes pleaded, but I couldn’t help him. “Sorry,” I mouthed, words too much for me to handle. There was someone else who needed this more.
I staggered over to Eiræk. The free shade stalker had already altered its path. It beelined towards me. With an insubstantial body, it should have covered the distance quickly, but it actually knocked over Ættir as it moved to intercept me.
That small delay gave me the time I needed. I stumbled into the hærlið. He actually had enough resistance to the deleterious mental effects to turn his head to see me. In the corner of my eye, death approached at an increasing clip. I raised my hand, keeping my thumb on the top to prevent spilling. Black spots filled my vision, and I guessed the location of his mouth. I tilted the vial, the cool liquid sloshing against my thumb. I tried to empower it. After all, my skill was [Enhance Medicinal], not [Enhance Healing Potion]
My forehead went cold as my skill activated, consuming my Energy and flowing into the potion. However, it struggled, as if missing something. Direction? Intent? Knowledge?
I threw every ounce of will, every thing I had learned from using [Resist Disease] at [Enhance Medicinal].
Let this work.
The skill responded, finding greater purchase in the violet liquid. I could have screamed with joy, but none of it mattered if the liquid didn’t reach his mouth.
I lifted my thumb and then cursed as liquid trickled down my finger.
Had enough made it in?
Eiræk roared, and the crushing weight on my soul vanished. I slammed my thumb back over the vial and stopped channeling [Resist Disease]. The head-splitting pain dialed down to a dull thrum.
Then something dark moved at the edge of my vision. Out of instinct, I triggered [Quicken Thoughts].
The world froze.
***
