Chapter 08 (part 1/2) - Soul Damage

  When he woke up, all he could feel was the cold stone beneath his body; it had drained so much of his warmth that Vincent felt like a corpse.

  What…? Where am I?

  Disoriented, guided only by a faint lamp, he panicked as he tried to recall what had happened. Had he lost his memories? Could he still move his body? That was the first thing he wondered. He tried moving his hands, then his arms, uncertain if the stiffness came from the cold stone or the spiritual damage caused by touching the artery. Only when he sat up and regained some warmth did he feel the true pain: a faint but deep pulse coursing through his entire body. It was an odd sensation, as if his very soul trembled, echoing through every meridian.

  My flow… did I do it?

  He placed a hand on his stomach, just above the diaphragm, focusing his attention on the meridians. He couldn’t see them, but he could feel them, swollen, red within him, as if he had ripped away a spiritual scab. To his surprise, even without consciously directing it, a faint current was circulating through his body. Part of the energy leaked out through tiny fissures. Realizing this, Vincent took a deep breath and forced himself to contain it, sealing the leaks through concentration. The effort made his meridians ache, but it was necessary. What was escaping wasn’t energy… it was his own soul.

  He didn’t know how long he had been unconscious or how much memory he had lost, but he was certain part of his vast internal library had eroded. His nearly perfect recall had once allowed him to consume entire books in precise detail, down to the page number and paragraph placement, but now everything felt blurrier, covered in dust.

  I’m not losing specific fragments… it’s like my entire being is fading. If I let my flow run freely, I’ll keep losing memories. I have to stay focused.

  The idea of spending another sleepless night didn’t appeal to him, but at least now he knew what he was facing this time… only pain and exhaustion. At first it seemed manageable, but soon he realized the hypersensitivity wasn’t fading. Every fiber of his clothes hurt, brushing against him like burned skin. He searched through the satchel Lily had left him and found the third potion.

  I assume the anesthetic potion is for this… but if I want the pain to stop completely, I’ll need the restorative one.

  He regretted having given it away. Perhaps he could have blackmailed them or convinced them that he would take the blame in exchange for leaving the belts where they were, but there was no point dwelling on it now.

  Vincent removed the belts clumsily and stored them in the satchel. To his surprise, the blood bulge had turned semi-transparent. When he stopped the circulation, one of the fetuses had attached itself to the wall, beginning to gestate. At another time, he might have worried about the life he had accidentally sparked into being, but now the pain filled every corner of his mind.

  He wondered how much time had passed while he was unconscious for such a thing to occur. When he stepped out of the organic structure, everything was dark, yet he didn’t feel rested at all. He moved through the tower’s corridors guided by the floor lights; during rest hours, the crystals dimmed their brightness, leaving only a faint blue glow along the walls.

  Vincent wondered if that happened automatically, but his brief distraction cost him control. The moment he lost focus on his flow, he felt part of his energy slipping out of his body. He didn’t let himself get distracted by trivialities again.

  When he reached the study room, Lily wasn’t there. The books had been put away, though on the table there was a sheet of paper with a note written in English, smudged to the point of being almost unreadable. Someone had sabotaged it.

  Drestan… I’m sure it was him.

  To his surprise, the anger didn’t distract him, it strengthened him. It fueled his will to live, to prove Drestan wrong. He took the note and left quickly, though carefully, afraid they might be waiting for him. He held onto the hope that Lily would be in the dorms, but it was too late for that to be realistic.

  She’ll probably look for me first thing in the morning. I just need to make it through one more night. I hate asking for help… but she can get me another restorative potion. Then, finally, the pain will stop.

  The pain was growing louder in his mind. Every movement was difficult, and he barely managed to reach the dormitories. The throbbing sensitivity intensified with each step, and having to descend hundreds of stairs brought him to the verge of collapse.

  When he crossed the threshold, everyone was already in bed, though a few restless souls stirred at his arrival.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “You’re still alive?”

  Charly asked in disbelief, whispering. Beside him was the large man, Ben, who seemed tempted to help Vincent walk, but was stopped by his companion. This time, Charly didn’t do it out of cruelty; he knew it was better not to touch him.

  Vincent staggered to his bed and collapsed without a word, too weak to cover himself or remove his clothes. Once lying down, his own pulse thundered in his ears. Every stretch where his meridians ran burned as if they had been traced by a red-hot blade, from his temple to the tips of his fingers.

  The stress was so intense that it gave him a fever; the delirium made it almost impossible to keep focus. He tried to endure it for hours, but eventually exhaustion won. He let the energy, his very soul, flow freely through his fractured meridians, and at last, he fell into a deep sleep.

  The rest didn’t last. Only a few hours of torturous unconsciousness later, Vincent woke up screaming in pain, drenched in cold sweat.

  “AAAAHahAAA!”

  The scream shook everything. It woke his roommates and echoed all the way to the women’s dormitory. The pain was so intense that it shattered his ability to think; even if he tried to stifle it, his soul was being torn apart. Hiding it was impossible.

  “W-what’s happening?”

  “It’s Lily’s mutt.”

  Awakened by the agonizing cries, his roommates slowly gathered around him. Using quartz stones to light the scene, they examined his body. At first glance, there were no visible wounds, only skin glistening with feverish sweat. But upon closer inspection, they froze. His entire body was reddened, traced with a violet circulatory network: his meridians were visible beneath the skin.

  It didn’t take long before those from nearby rooms began whispering at the door, blocking the way for anyone who tried to fetch help. Some attempted to ease his pain with basic spells, but those who understood meridional damage knew it was useless. Putting him to sleep or numbing his suffering would only make things worse.

  “What’s going on here? What’s happening!?”

  Custodian Drestan burst into the room, dressed in a simple robe and wearing the distorted face of a man furious at being awakened at that hour.

  “You?”

  He stared in disbelief, outraged that Vincent was once again the source of trouble. He approached and grabbed him by the shoulders as Vincent writhed in pain.

  “Hold him down, damn it… and turn on the lights!”

  Drestan’s hands felt like burning iron against his skin. He called for help to restrain him, but that only made the screams louder. He tried to see what was wrong, and it wasn’t until the lights came on that he understood.

  When he saw the marks covering Vincent’s body, he released him instantly. Horror washed over his face; it was like witnessing a victim of radiation burns disintegrating before his eyes.

  “By the gods, boy… how are you still alive?”

  Even someone as cold as Drestan was shaken by the sight.

  “Your meridians… how did you-?”

  Drestan immediately turned to the other husks, his eyes filled with suspicion. He said nothing, but he knew. They were involved. A hollow couldn’t have pierced an artery by accident and then made it back to bed on his own; someone had helped him… or used him.

  Drestan could be a bastard, but even he found this kind of act repulsive. For a moment, he stood there, torn on what to do. Vincent looked like a Chernobyl victim; the most humane thing would be to end his suffering.

  “What’s going on here? Where’s Vin!?”

  Before anyone could react, Lily burst into the room, barefoot, disheveled, and still in her nightclothes. She ran in screaming, desperately searching for Vincent.

  “W-what did you do!? Was it you!?”

  Lily shouted, accusing Drestan without hesitation.

  “Calm yourself, Magister. I just arrived.”

  “What’s happening to him?”

  Lily approached but pulled back before touching him. The diagnosis was obvious.

  “His meridians…”

  “Yes… they’re exposed. So torn and inflamed they’re visible through the skin.”

  Terrified, Lily was left speechless. With the meridians in that state, according to what she had read, it was like being flayed alive by crows. A wave of helplessness and guilt froze her; she didn’t know whether to act or apologize first.

  But it was Vincent who broke the silence as soon as he sensed her presence.

  “L-Lily…”

  “I’m here, Vin. Right beside you.”

  “KILL ME! KILL ME, LILY!”

  The pleading scream stole the air from her lungs. She collapsed to the floor, trembling. It was the only thought in his mind, to end his suffering. The pain consuming him was inhuman; it was as if molten iron coursed through his veins, burning him from the inside.

  Meridians were unlike any other organ. Their properties were complex, but one thing was certain: overexerting them caused them to tear, like overworked muscle. Yet the pain they produced wasn’t localized, it spread across the entire body. Flowing parallel to both the circulatory and nervous systems, the constant assault on his meridional network tormented every cell of his being. No potion or spell could ease it.

  “Vin… don’t say that…”

  “It’s the only sensible thing, Lily. You’re just prolonging his suffering. It’s madness that he’s still alive at this point. If you truly care for him, show mercy.”

  “SHUT UP!”

  Lily shouted without thinking. She didn’t want Vincent to hear another word.

  Against all odds, he was still alive, and the only way that was possible was by deliberately keeping his flow contained. It was an incredible feat, but she knew his focus wouldn’t last long under such unbearable pain. When the body’s suffering reaches a certain threshold, the soul itself seeks escape.

  There were few records of soul damage this severe. Who could cling to a live wire when they could just let go? What Vincent had done was pure madness. In most cases, the arterial flow ripped apart any meridians in contact with it; the only possible treatment was amputation of the affected limb. But Vincent had gone beyond that. He had controlled the flow to shatter his entire meridional system, something seen only in victims of torture or in the feared art of meridional combat: an exotic, dangerous, and forbidden technique.

  In other documented cases, damage from direct contact with arteries resembled hooking an air compressor straight to the veins: the heart and circulatory system burst at once, causing instant death. But unlike blood, spiritual energy could be guided and contained by concentration and will… and it was that iron will alone that kept Vincent’s soul bound to the living world.

  “We must take him to the infirmary! They need to repair his meridians! They have purer, fast-acting potions there.”