DB Lazarus
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60. Acquired Immunity - IV
🕑 Added 2025-03-27 02:01:01 +0000 UTCHi, this was a double post (none this Sat). Make sure you have already read the previous chapter (III) before reading this one.
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That was the only invitation he needed. He was charging before the red light of his marks hit full brightness. Yesterday he would have been too fast, but hitting the second tier had changed something. More Energy coursed through my channels, and I had more control over where it went. My mind thrummed like it had found a new gear. I could perceive and process minute changes in his movements and predict where he would be—and that was without [Quicken Thoughts].
The world became a stop-motion video, each step caught in the flashes of the skill’s activation. He never deviated from his approach. No guile. No restraint. He saw me as nothing more than prey to be run down. If only I could say otherwise…but I knew my limits. I needed an opening, and nobody would hand it to me. I would have to create it myself.
Between each flash of a crystalized world, I kept adjusting my body. I pushed back against the tedium and then the discomfort. The rapid-fire use made my head ache by the time he was halfway to me. The skill had made things easier, but [Quicken Thoughts] didn’t want to be used this way. Still, what other option did I have? I only had one chance to get this right. With the speed he was moving, I wouldn’t be conscious or lucid enough to try it again.
I savored the surprise on his frozen face as I managed to sidestep his charge and get an arm up to deflect his strike. Even blocked, it pushed me back a few steps. In the moments it took to steady myself, he had turned with inhuman agility to face me.
Rage filled his face, but so did hunger. “So you did learn—“
I poured Energy into my muscles. My tendons screamed as my arm blurred and the dirt that I had picked up when rising flew from my hand. The clod hit him in the center of his vile face. He recoiled and sputtered, but I didn’t allow him the time to recover. I poured every ounce of Energy I could into my muscles and shoved him.
Even though he had had more levels, I was still bigger. He stumbled then fell backward. I didn’t wait to see how he landed. I had only one option: my longhouse. It was strong enough to withstand monsters. It should be strong enough to hold them back…hopefully.
I sucked down air and Aether as I sprinted towards safety. A howl erupted from behind me, making the skin on the back of my neck crawl and my hair stand on end.
Yes, body, I got your warning this time.
I didn’t dare look back. I pumped my legs. Even empowered by Aether, they burned.
Three-quarters of the way—
A hand grabbed my shoulder, pulling me back. I shrugged it off, but it had done the damage. I stumbled, slowing down enough that the Volk caught up. I flew the air for the second time that night, but this time, I didn’t have the coordination to land well.
The world was spinning when I opened my eyes. I stabilized myself, my hands digging into the soft soil. I then dragged myself to my knees, but it was a futile move. I had no chance now—company had arrived.
“What should I do with him now, Huntmaster?”
That was the first time I had heard one of his flunkies speak. The deference could only mean he was a lower level, though as a [Miner], he would have plenty of strength to break my bones.
“You brought him down. You earned the first strike on this hunt.”
I couldn’t help but smile at the slight pain in my tormentor’s voice. How embarrassing to have a lesser do what he couldn’t. Too bad it won’t make the upcoming pain any less.
Knuckles cracked. The mud and grass took on a subtle red cast. A figure blurred, coming into focus next to me with his leg pulled back, readying a kick. I closed my eyes and braced for the inevitable.
A loud crack sounded—but it wasn’t from my ribs.
My eyes flashed open, and my would-be attacker now lay sprawled on the ground at least ten feet away. He wasn’t groaning. He wasn’t even moving. I blinked, and then I knew why.
The world stopped, and, even from this distance, a list of his injuries popped into my head: skull fracture, brain contusion to the frontal lobe with contrecoup injury to the occipital lobe, and negligible abrasions and bruising on his back. He would need a potion and possibly a [Healer].
How hard had he been hit?
Oh…based on the seven-foot Ættar standing in front of me, hard enough to shatter stone.
The Volki’s leader recovered first, his voice thick with anger. “What do you think you are doing, greenskin?”
“I suggest you leave,” a deep voice rumbled in reply.
Rægnor? No. It was too dark to be sure, but the voice was different.
“This is our hunt. Back off.”
Had I pushed my luck with the Vísir? Was it open season on Humans now?
“You mistake me. He is under our protection.”
“A Human?“
My tormentor couldn’t hide his shock, and unlike me, he didn’t have a skill that allowed him to sit there and process the sheer absurdity of an Ættar protecting a Human.
“He has earned it.”
“You think you can stop us by yourself?”
Had he not seen Ættir fight?
The Ættar snorted. “Only the weak pick on those who can’t defend themselves.” Though outnumbered, the Ættar spoke with confidence and finality. Covered under a thick tunic with long sleeves, I couldn’t make out any of his Marks, but I would still put my money on the Ættar any day. ”Do not test me.”
Then the idiot did.
The Volkski body blazed crimson. Twin red lights spiraled down his arms and sank into his claws. He left an afterimage as he charged. He held nothing back. He moved faster than he had with me to the point that I could barely follow.
My Ættarsk rescuer—which still didn’t seem possible—stood still as my tormentor pushed off the ground in an upward strike. His claws, emanating the same Energy that allowed wood to cut stone, reached for the Ættar. The Ættar didn’t move. Perhaps I imagined it, but I thought I made out a snort of derision. Then Ættar’s hands blurred, and a crack of thunder filled the air.
I blinked in shock at the sight. My rescuer hadn’t moved, but he now somehow held the Volk in the air by his wrists—both now shattered, crushed by the iron grip of the Ættar. Instinctively, I cataloged the remainder of his injuries. The wrists came out as the least of his wounds. What had to have been a headbutt by the Ættar had fractured the Volkski nose and skull.
He spoke without malice, only pity. “You were warned.”
The Volk just gurgled in response—hard to talk with blood pouring down your throat.
I tried to find a shred of sympathy, but nothing came. Instead, I found relief at the horror of the sight and, to my greater dismay, satisfaction at his pain—which only continued to grow as his foolishness persisted.
The Volk struggled, drawing on the Aether. He hadn’t channeled more than an iota when his body blurred, moving downward, into the path of a knee. The loud wheeze couldn’t cover the familiar sound of breaking bones. Injuries flooded my mind: multiple rib fractures, pulmonary and cardiac contusions…
The Ættar picked the limp form off his knee by the back of his shirt. He strode over and dropped his leader next to the other fallen Volk. He then addressed the remaining Volki, “Have I made my position clear?”
The Volki cowered, showing no trace of defiance. One managed a whimper. “Yes, m’lord.”
The Ættar gestured to the Volk responsible for all my beatings. “If he wakes up, I expect you to make sure he remembers.”
The Volk nodded before fleeing in terror.
“We are done here.”
My protector turned around, without even a hint of concern over showing his back to enemies. Even in the darkness, I could easily make out his face. After all, it along with all his injuries had seared itself into my memory when I had knelt frozen time on the cavern floor. The hærlið.
“You are okay.” I couldn’t help but smile. It was one thing to hear the truth. It was another to see it with your own eyes.
“Yes. Thanks to you.”
“The Vísir did most—“
“She has always taken more credit than what is due. I have heard the truth. I live only because you kept me alive long enough for her to arrive. For that, I am in your debt.”
My eyes flittered between the incapacitated Volki and the Ættar. Did this make us even?
One of the down Volki gurgled as he gasped for air. I stopped intentionally suppressing the information from [Sense Injury], only to almost reinstate the blockade as I processed the information the skill provided.
They were going to die without healing.
I knew it. The Volki knew. The hærlið knew it too. Yet, no one moved to provide a potion.
How would a Volkski death—no two deaths—at the hands of an Ættar go? Provoked or not, I couldn’t conceive a scenario in which things turned out well.
Damn. I had only one solution.
I walked over and knelt beside the injured minion.
“You waste a potion on them after what they have done to you?” He loomed behind me, but for the first time this evening, the skin on the back of my neck didn’t crawl.
“Define waste. They’ll die from these injuries without this.”
“They were warned.”
“They were.” I poured part of the potion into the flunky’s mouth.
His injuries were more localized, but the skull fracture put him at high risk for an epidural hematoma. I didn’t have enough experience with how potion handled collections of blood. Would the blood resorb at an accelerated rate? The skull had no clear exit, and I didn’t have tools for brain surgery if it went poorly.
I activated [Enhance Medicinal], supercharging the potion. I poured it into his mouth, watching with [Sense Injury] its immediate activation. I reached out with [Enhance Medicinal] to force only his cerebral injuries to heal, but it resisted in a way no other part of the body had. Even with an increase in Projection, I couldn’t penetrate the skull.
I did what I could. Without a medium to conduct the skill, I could only focus on suppressing the potion’s effect on his most superficial injuries. Still, it sufficed. His brain started healing at an acceptable clip.
Satisfied, I responded to the Hærlið’s statement. “Just because they were warned doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t help them. You have saved me, but this will bring down retribution from the Alfa.”
“You do it for me?”
“I—” I weighed my next word carefully. Honor, debts—I had no past context for conversation. So, I opted for the truth. “I do it for both of us and…because it is the right thing to do.”
I moved to my tormentor and held what remained of my potion over his mouth. Memories of the pain he inflicted assaulted me. My chest tightened and then ached as if being struck again. I struggled to breathe. The liquid sloshed as my hand shook to a degree that hadn’t happened since leaving Earth.
I had a list, and he was on the top. It would be so easy to walk away. The hærlið wouldn’t even stop me. I slowed time, reviewing the info from [Sense Injury]. He might live, though he wouldn’t be mining anytime soon.
This Volk certainly doesn’t deserve my pity…but how about a physician’s? Or a [Physician]’s?
The distinction…did it matter? I had made an oath. This world…this damned world had stripped so much from me. My self-worth, my dignity, even my control. Did it also strip away the rules that bound my conduct?
My vision blurred, and I wiped away the evidence of my pain before the warm tracks could travel further down my cheeks. “He does.” The whisper escaped through my clenched teeth. I was not a judge nor an executioner. If I wanted this world to be better, then I had to lead. This world had no person to take my place, to set the standards of my profession—my class. I had to be what I wanted a [Physician] to be. Even if it hurt.
I poured the potion into his mouth, fulfilling the duty that I had sworn to do. He sputtered as it trickled past his ruined mouth and down his throat, but enough got in to ameliorate the worst of his injuries. He would still need a [Healer] or more potions to patch him up completely, but I had stabilized him. He would hurt a lot tomorrow, but…I was okay with that.
A familiar voice came from behind me. Rægnor. “I told you that he had honor and courage.“
Both the hærlið and I turned to face him as he walked from the direction of my longhouse. For a person so large, he could move silently.
“Brother, you are correct. Just as you were correct to tell me about his situation, and,” he paused, “to have suggested that we could have utilized his skills earlier.” Not truly apologizing, but even with my limited knowledge of their culture’s intricacies, that was an admission of guilt. Rægnor nodded, and an almost imperceptible bit of tension drained from both of them. “Take Daniel to his longhouse. I will stay to make sure they remain safe until they awaken…and to ensure they understand the situation clearly.”
I stood up and faced my savior. “Hærlið, thank you.”
I didn’t question his intention towards the Volki. My duty and generosity only went so far, and, more importantly, I didn’t dare question the hærlið’s honor. He let me heal the Volk. Ættir were not sadistic—at least, no Ættar besides the Verndari and the Vísir had shown any signs of that. The Volki would remain safe; the code the Ættir lived by would brook no other possibility.
He nodded to me. Then, before I could leave, he added, “Eiræk Sistvaktær.”
My surprise almost showed, but I schooled my face and nodded in return.
Rægnor said nothing on the short walk back to my longhouse, and the silence suited me just fine.
Comments
Ruben B
✨Hell yeah✨ Awesome read
