Chapter 331: Flemish Baroque (2/2)

“I did,” the mother said. “It was very strongly-worded.”

The nurse glanced over at the receptionist, who nodded.

“We’re working with experimental procedures,” the nurse said. “The company is protecting millions, sometimes billions in investment. We’re able to provide you with free care only because you’ve agreed to provide testimonials once the product rolls out. I’m sure you’ll be more than enthusiastic once you see the results for yourself.”

Several minutes later, the young girl was sitting upright on an examination chair, disoriented from a potion that would dull her senses and leave her memory hazy. Her head was held in place by a head frame, like that of an optometrist, on which she was resting her chin. She was also holding onto handles on the side of the frame, which helped her not topple over from the potion-induced dizziness.

“That’s excellent,” the nurse said. “You may hear something behind you but I need you to keep your head in the frame and not look back, alright?”

“Okay,” the girl agreed in a doped-up, sing-song voice.

Behind the exam chair, a hidden door opened in the wall and Jason stepped silently into the room, his cloak of stars already in place. That way, if he was spotted, it would fit into the hallucination story the clinic was selling. Since his display at the children’s hospital, numerous individuals had subsequently come forward, claiming to have been healed by, or even be the Starlight Angel. With the waters already muddied, a few extra stories wouldn’t blip on the radar.

Jason murmured his spell as quietly as he could get away with and still have it work.

“Feed me your sins.”

“Ooh, I see the colours,” the girl said. “I feel funny.”

“You’re doing great, sweetie,” the nurse said.

After he was done, Jason retreated through the door, which closed silently behind him. All through the clinic, other essence users were doing similar things. they had even taken to wearing dark cloaks with sequins to further the Starlight Angel narrative.

Jason was the only person at the clinic whose cleansing power actually replenished his mana rather than burning through it. This made him one of the clinic’s most valuable assets. The ability to clear out poisons and toxins was valuable, with the inability to heal injuries his only major shortfall.

Dealing with highly visible wounds was a trickier prospect for the clinic than largely invisible afflictions. They did not deal with normal injuries, as that would rapidly get them exposed, leaving such cases to ordinary hospitals. Instead, they specialised in ‘experimental procedures’ that would allow otherwise permanent injuries to recover fully over time.

The clinic did have an emergency department, where arrangements had been made to redirect the worst injuries before they reached a hospital.  Those cases had a frequent occurrence of the person’s injuries turning out to be not as bad as the initial EMT assessment.

After Jason was done, the girl was given a bed in the recovery ward for observation. This allowed the staff to watch for any adverse reactions to the magic while adding enough medical rigmarole to make the results seem like less of a miracle cure.

The private clinic was almost the size of a full hospital, but operating without fanfare or even signage. Network-affiliated personnel in hospitals around the country made quiet referrals and transfers to clinics all around the country, making sure any inconvenient medical records discreetly disappeared.

Jason increasingly spent his mornings and early afternoons at the Sydney clinic while Farrah settled in at the Network’s training facility outside the city. In the afternoon they would portal back, pick up Emi from school and do their own daily training routine, much of which had to be hidden from prying eyes.

They would start with Emi in Castle Bluff Park for physical training, followed by meditation. They would then return her to the houseboat, her home or her mother’s restaurant before engaging in heavier training. Weights could be done on the houseboat, while the more extreme mobility training required portalling to a remote location.

Farrah had claimed a section of ground on Ken’s property and used her Earth-shaping power to create an outlandish obstacle course that looked more like an art installation than anything navigable by people. Ken would often watch, astounded by the acrobatic prowess of the two bronze-rankers.

Any of these processes could be and were interrupted by dimensional incursions which, given the scope of the whole country, were taking place every day. The most common were category one incursions, which Jason didn’t participate in. Farrah did in the course of training up recruits, who were exposed to carefully curated iron-rank monsters.

Most days had a category two somewhere in the country, with Jason participating in almost all of them so that the Network could make use of his communication and looting services. It didn’t take long before he had participated in incursions across each of the eight states and territories, showering riches down on the country’s various branches.

Jason and Farrah both took the lead in category three incursions. Rather than take on the silver-rank monsters they were best suited for, they started going for less ideal matches to push themselves. Jason only did this to a limited degree, as many silvers still provided him with plenty of challenge.

Farrah would go further, taking on creatures like yowies where it was not her skill but her resource management that was pushed to the limit. Her power set gave her the strength to overpower even the stronger silver-rank monsters in short order, but doing so exhausted her reserves. The challenges that would help her cross the line into silver were not ones of power but of endurance.

Weeks became months as winter moved into spring. Jason and Farrah settled into life on Earth, with Farrah’s façade of being alright following her ordeal slowly becoming reality. They did not lose track of the idea of finding a way back to the other world, however, as they went over the large collection of astral magic books they had every night.

Spending the increasingly pleasant evenings on the open top deck of the houseboat, they studied the books together. Farrah had the superior grasp of theory but Jason was the astral magic specialist. He also had the advantage of much of his learning coming through the same books they were studying. Clive had seen little point in educating Jason in astral magic that would soon be obsolete when Knowledge had provided such an unparalleled asset.

Jason had the original books on astral magic given to him by Knowledge, which were riddled with notes made by Clive both before and during their time in the astral space.

”Astral magic isn't my area,” Farrah said, ”but even I can tell this is far more advanced than what we had in the past.”

“That’s what Clive said,” Jason told her.

“How smart is that guy?” she asked, shaking her head in disbelief as she read through his notes. “This is beyond advanced and he deciphered it like it’s nothing. Every book I pick up is full of brilliant insights. The guy’s a monster.”

“Good thing, too,” Jason said. “He’s the reason that Greenstone wasn’t wiped out and a bunch of diamond-rank super golems aren’t rampaging across your world. I just wish I knew if they made it out alive.”

“They did,” a voice drifted up to the top deck. Jason and Farrah had both sensed a person on the marina, but the unfamiliar, normal-rank aura had caused them to dismiss it. They went to the edge of the deck to look at the person standing on the dock in front of the houseboat.

It was a woman who looked around thirty, with alabaster skin and long, ruby hair. She was wearing a white summer dress with orange and yellow accents.

“Permission to come aboard?” she asked.

“Who are you?” Jason asked.

She frowned.

“Sorry,” she said. “We’ll have to do this later.”

“Do what?” Jason asked, then his and Farrah’s phones started beeping, the message that meant there had been a dimensional incursion.

“Another day, Mr Asano,” the woman said as she walked away. “It was nice to finally meet you, though.”

“But not me, apparently,” Farrah muttered.

“Who are you?” Jason called out.

“Your favourite painter,” she called back, without stopping or turning.

“You’re Peter Paul Rubens?” Jason asked in a confused voice.

The woman stopped and turned around to give him an incredulous look.

“What?” Jason asked. “You claim to be a man who died in 1640 and you’re the one who looks surprised?”