novelraw Chapter 80 - Peace // In Our Time
Chapter 80 - Peace // In Our Time
Afternoon light filtered in thin and medicinal through the new window in the surgical chamber. It wasn’t quite warm, but it wasn’t quite cold, either. ‘Sterile’ was the way to describe it.
That was probably a good thing for the clinic as a whole.
As the last consultation patient exited through the front door, Gael lay supine across the surgical table, legs crossed, arms folded behind his head, gaze fixed upwards at the pristine new ceiling: ceramic tiles unmarred and depressingly smooth. His pillow, however, was a soft and fluffy beast: Grimlet. The giant three-headed hellhound wheezed softly in his sleep, his massive back warm and twitching with the occasional nightmare.
The surgical chamber had been reborn after Maeve destroyed it. Gone were the rotting floorboards, the peeling tiles, and the festering stench of blood seeped into the walls.
Now there was new furniture, new windows, new vents, new doors, and new… everything.
He let out a sigh.
It’d been a month since the standoff with the Repossessors down in the pipes, and since they stopped coming around entirely to ‘visit’, more and more neighborhood folk were starting to meander around the clinic, if not only to walk among Liorin’s verdant trees so they could bask in the fresher air and the soothing aura of the aero-resonating stones.
As a result, they’d also been getting more regulars visiting the clinic for consultations, checkups, and medicines. As per their initial contract, Maeve had been working reception at the front counter by the door with that celestial, pretty face of hers. Cara had been handling the light cases—coughs, rashes, and basic first-aid—while Gael handled the harder ones. Necrosis, infections, curses and the like.
Outside of the medical department, Evelyn had truly turned into the clinic’s errant swallow. Off she went every morning, wings flaring and baskets in tow, delivering tinctures and powders and off little pills to every decrepit patient of theirs across the ward. Meanwhile, Liorin also had a new job in addition to taking care of his miniature forest outside the clinic: he’d been tending to Gael’s not-so-secret underground herbarium, and he’d also been the one making the flower bracelets they gave to anyone visiting the clinic.
Gael exhaled again, and he held it this time.
And thank the Saintess we have the security to back up our slight expansion in territory.
For the time being, they had Fergal and his five goons running security for the clinic alongside the four giant hellhounds, and they patrolled the neighborhood all day and all night long. Cara hadhired the six former gangsters—since they were currently out of a gang and all—but honestly, Gael was still surprised they could handle their new job rather well. Having abandoned their patchwork leather masks for the clinic’s flower-themed masks instead, they were actually quite well liked by the neighborhood folk.
They were also pretty scary-looking alongside the hellhounds. After all, the clinic hadn’t been attacked yet.
Oh, sure, the Repossessors swore an oath in front of the Rot Merchants, but oaths are only really as good as the teeth behind them.
If that Palm ever decides revenge outweighs reputation, he’d come in swinging.
But for now? Peace. Tentative peace, but peace nonetheless.
It was a strange thing. ‘Peace’ in Bharncair. The word sounded… soggy. Like living in a house with no corners. It was strange to think that just six months ago, their clinic was a drab, gloomy, depressing thing at the end of a street nobody frequented, so what did he want now? More patients? More fame? More money? More power?
For the first time in a while, he didn’t have a clear direction in his head as to how he could improve their clinic.
So he clicked his tongue and sat up straight.
As he turned his head, the new clock caught his eye, hung crookedly on a hook beside the front door. Its hands ticked with a smug little rhythm, informing him he had roughly thirty minutes before the next person came for the staff interview.
Just enough time to tinker a little, he supposed.
He groaned and sat up, sliding off the surgical table with a soft thump so Grimlet could continue snoring behind him. Crossing the room, he plucked open the battered crate of leftover Myrmur parts—spoils from their last venture into the pipes—and lugged it back to the table.
With an inelegant heave, he upended the contents. The clatter of chitin plates hitting steel echoed through the chamber, though Grimlet still didn’t flinch.
“Heavy-sleeping mutt,” he muttered. “Get back out there and work if you’ve got the time.”
He ran his hands through the dull, rusted chitin plates. According to his book on bioarcanic engineering, the Rustwights were Myrmurs known as ‘Mold Beetles’—not any impressive monster by any means. According to his book, they had no volatile organs, no hidden venom sacs, and nothing particularly special, really, he could activate with glyphs.
If they had any advantage at all, it was that their chitin plates were unusually tough—tough enough that Maeve needed to specially modify her umbrella just to be able to damage their armor—so he huffed through his nose.
Guess I'll just keep this new equipment simple this time.
No need for anything fancy. No glyphs and no carving. He’d strip out the old armor plates between the layers of his coat and replace them with these new plates, and… he unsheathed his bladed cane, setting it onto the table as well. He supposed he could try to layer his silver blade with the plates as well, because it wouldn’t do if his strength continued increasing while his blade’s durability didn’t.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
He’d rather not have it snap on him mid-swing.
Sitting cross-legged in the center of the table, sleeves rolled to his elbows, he took off his coat and began threading a needle and thread through cloth and carapace. Removing the pre-existing plates would be troublesome, but it wasn’t like he was planning on fighting anything anytime soon, so he could take his time.
Just as he finished removing his first plate from the coat, the front door slammed open like the world itself had barged in.
Fortunately, it was just his wife, while high-pitched shouting and screeching echoed from the prayer hall behind her.
“What the fuck are they arguing about now?” he mumbled without looking up, carefully guiding a long, black-threaded silver needle through a chitin plate. “Lemme guess: Liorin wore one of Evelyn’s shoes outside, and she’s pissed off because she just bought it fresh from the bazaar.”
Maeve sighed heavily. The stool by the door groaned beneath her weight as she collapsed into it, hooking the door shut with her heel as she did. She looked as though she’d been charming people all day long and was now thoroughly disgusted with the concept of human interaction, but there was little privacy in the clinic now—not with two kids shouting constantly—so she probably felt up here was better than down there.
“So?” she mumbled, half-dozing off on her stool already. “What are you making this time?”
“Just some armor for the coat and cane with the Rustwight parts.”
“Ah. Speaking of which,” she sat up a little straighter to open a single eye at him, “how many points did you end up getting from them?”
Gael paused for a moment, looking up at the wall. “Didn’t check. Was too full last night to care.”
“Check. Check. Check—”
“Ok, ok, shut it. I have…”
He clicked his ankles together, tapping the little crest of the two-headed wasp on his ankle cuff, and his status interface crackled into reality on the left side of his face.
[// STATUS]
[Name: Maeve / Gael]
[Grade: A-Rank Wretch-Class]
[Standard Class: Wasp]
[Passive Mutation: Profane Eyes]
[Essence Arts: Purging Blood / Blood Covenant]
[Aura: 768 BeS / 677 BeS]
[Points: 389 vBe / 360 vBe]
[Strength: 4 / 4, Speed: 4 / 3, Toughness: 4 / 3, Dexterity: 4 / 3, Perceptivity: 3 / 4]
[// MUTATION TREE]
[T1 Mutations | Scent Latch Lvl. 3 / Miasma Mantle Lvl. 2]
[T2 Mutations | Basic Tarsagrip Lvl. 3 / Basic Repository Lvl.2 | Basic ChitinLvl. 2 / Basic Chitin Lvl. 3] 50P
[T3 Mutations | Basic Vision / Basic Vision | Basic Setae / Basic Setae | Basic Spiracles / Basic Spiracles] 150P
“... Well, I had a hundred fifty points saved up since the Myrmurs in the forest, so subtract a hundred fifty from three hundred sixty is…” he trailed off for a moment, still focused on threading his needle. “Two hundred ten. I got two hundred and ten points.”
“I got two hundred and thirty-nine,” Maeve said smugly, smirking like a cat who already knew the cream was gone. “I’m still stronger than you.”
He turned his head slowly, one eye narrowing. “‘Cause you ate more than me again.”
“I did most of the work. I upgraded Mistrender. I punched the holes in their armor.”
“And I dealt the finishing blows.”
“No you didn’t. Fergal and his goons did. All you did was make the elixir.”
“I still remember you falling on your ass before we finished off the last Rustwight. If not for the Gulchers coming in at the last second, we’d be drowners now.”
They bickered like old bones knocking in a cupboard, light taps of pride and pettiness and crooked logic. He accused her of cheating, and she accused him of being dramatic. He called her a goblin, and she called him a wretch. Eventually, though, the rhythm wore itself out, and Gael waved the whole thing away with a sigh.
“Whatever, bitch,” he muttered, eyes drifting back to the hovering rows of words. “First thing I’m getting is ‘Basic Setae’. That’s the mutation that lets me stick to walls and walk on them like a bug, right? I’m never relying on you to carry me up and down vertical chutes ever again.”
Maeve nodded. “I’m getting that one too.”
“Then I’ll get ‘Basic Spiracles’ too. That’s the one that automatically filters out impurities in the air, right? The Vile’s only getting shittier by the day, so fresher breaths means better stamina.”
“I’m getting that one too.”
“And for the rest of the points… I dunno. I’ll just scatter them across the mutation levels.”
“I’ll do that too.”
He gave her a sidelong glare as he deposited his points.
[T3 Core Mutation Unlocked: Basic Setae Lvl. 2]
[T3 Core Mutation Unlocked: Basic Spiracles Lvl. 2]
[Miasma Mantle Lvl. 2 → Miasma Mantle Lvl. 3]
[Basic Repository Lvl. 2 → Basic Repository Lvl. 3]
[Points: 360 vBe → 30 vBe]
“You’re copying me.”
“I’m not,” she said quickly.
“You are. Basic Setae, Basic Spiracles—”
“I was already thinking about it,” she replied. “We both need the same upgrades. It’s called compatibility.”
“It’s called plagiarism, dearest wife.”
“It’s called efficiency, dearest husband.”
Before he could fire back with a string of insults, a soft knock thudded against the front door. Both of them snapped their heads towards it, and a second later, Evelyn’s wild little head popped into view.
“She’s here,” Evelyn announced, looking at Gael specifically. “The lady interviewing for… uh, the apprentice physician position?”
Gael exhaled hard and slapped his hands against his knees as he rose with a groan, spine clicking like a rusted lever. He stepped down from the surgical table, brushing off bits of thread and shell dust before he gestured vaguely at the half-finished pile of chitin scraps on the table.
“Keep sewing my coat, Exorcist. Reinforce the back, and make sure the plating doesn’t pinch the seams. If I come back and it’s uneven, I’m blaming your golden upbringing.”
She ignored that as he passed her, trudging for the door. “But tonight’s the night Cara said we’re turning the valve, right? She said Juno’s construction team has already finished building the new pipes, so the water fountain—”
“Yes, yes, we’ll go out later tonight and turn the sacred valve together,” he muttered, pushing the door open as he did. “She’s probably just another wide-eyed hopeful with no brains and too much confidence. I’ll turn her away in less than a minute, and then we can go turn on the water fountain.”