Chapter 672: True Demonlord [3] (1/2)
”Stand in line, vigilantes,” a ruffled crowd made for a sloppy interior of sterile scent. A day of fighting ended without satisfaction nor concrete achievement. In more ways than one, the task at hand was empty. Vacant walked the health care workers, vacant watched heroes from beyond a plastic sheet, and vacant were the lifeless gazes of the critically wounded. Report stood with 30 out of 50 injured, five of which fell into a comatose state. Nameless and faceless, they were the side characters, and everyone understood so, pawns, cogs of a better mechanism.
”Those who were affected by monster injuries, make way to the quarantine area.” A vague piece of technology in hand, a tag around the neck, and a quantified status of their physical and Sultrian abilities begot a very olden type of hierarchy. Tough times, tough decisions – a young adult, barely of age, arrived a few minutes prior with a leg missing. He bled profusely, the nurses ran alongside the boy to no avail, despite the help, naught could be done. The party beside him cried and mourned; add salt to injury, the current overseer of said establishment, dawning a white-lab coat and mask, strictly asked the guards to escort those members to the q-zone. The scent of the Aedric curse, the demonic energy encompassing the underworld, reeked off the boy.
Ones of the true sight gift saw the particle, evidently, so did the watchers. ”-Have the zone be shut, we ought to have a thorough investigation.” The injured, tainted by Aedric energy, were handed a collar to brandish. They ordered with no questions asked. Heroes of the AHA scowled a few livelier characters, '-they sit and do nothing.'
Grouped by the severity of the curse, not injury, but curse density, tsked a foul taste in many mouths. The least tainted were treated first, opposed to the vice-versa in popular health care establishments. Whatever the treatment was and how cruel it seemed, a prior contract clearly stated the risks and obligations. Short as were, none would dare speak against the malpractice. Then again, a careful explanation said; '-Aedric curses have no cure. The hospice divides into two sectors, one for physical injuries and the other, curses. Priority is to the latter, for if it spreads, the whole town and continent might be at risk. Playing the blame game will bring nothing, stand firm and watch, pray for thy comrades and watch their fight. The invasion of monsters is a pest we must sooner or later defeat. Vigilantes set the questions aside and allow the professionals to do their jobs.'
A bland room kept the mortally wounded boy. The party(cleared for signs of monster afflictions) quietly waited nearby. The doctors worked earnestly – many o' patients in the same situations ran down the hall. The unsavable were given painless deaths.
”What do you think?” asked a tinier lady in a fighter's uniform.
”No chance he'll make it,” said a pragmatic, oval-shaped face man, ”-you weren't there. Jonl and I saw him take a monster square on to save an unconscious fighter. I knew he ran on adrenaline but alas… he didn't die, I killed him.”
”Don't be harsh on yourself,” said a kinder-looking man of somewhat stern build, ”-things happened. We're vigilantes, tis our duty.”
”No, I'm not talking about that. The boy was fast on his feet, a truly rare ability. He's saved so many people, by all means, the alliance should have recognized his talents. Even if he recovers now, without a leg, I don't think he'll be able to accomplish his dreams.”
The short procedure ended, the doctor dowsed in blood, threw an apologetic nod, and headed to the next patient. Nurses behind arrived to break the news, ”-we tried everything, the blood loss and overwhelming extent of the monster curse prevented any magical or otherwise, means of treatment. I'm sorry.” They bowed and left; a figure clocked in black leaned against the window directly opposite the door. He gestured boldly for the party to take a last visit.
”The undertakers,” whispered the pragmatic leader, ”-you have to be strong to endure these emotions on a daily.” Inside laid the boy encased in a transparent barrier. His last moments were peaceful, or so said the expression. ”-Come on guys,” they gathered at the foot of the bed, ”-bid your farewells.” *doup,* a gentle tap broke the moment of silence. The boy watched palely through the cage, recognition in the eyes murmured into a 'I-I-I'm sor,' he bit and tore into his lips.
”-stand back!” cried the undertaker, ”-may you rest in peace,” a press of a button exploded the boy's head and neck. A swarm of greenish pests bickered against the cage, ”-Purify,” two claps, ”-I'm sorry you had to witness this.”
Traumatic expression burnt into the junior members, ”-I understand,” tightly holding their shoulders, ”-please take care of him for us.”