Kian's hands trembled as he tore the blood-soaked tunic from Kaito's chest. The fabric ripped with a sickening sound, exposing the brawler's torso to the freezing air of the sunken forge.
Lucio stumbled backward, his spine hitting the stone wall. He clamped a hand over his mouth, his eyes blown wide in terror. Kian just stared, his face devoid of all color.
Kaito's left ribcage was completely bent inwards, the skin stretched taut over sunken bone. The bruising was an angry purple, with ruptured black veins webbing across it. Lower down, a jagged wound tore through his abdomen. Thick blood pulsed from the wound with every shallow heartbeat, spilling over the frozen black iron of the anvil.
Eila pushed his entire weight against the weapon racks near the stairs. He didn't speak. He just gripped his fractured left collarbone, his breathing ragged as he watched his teammate bleed out.
The old blacksmith's breath hitched. Sohrab tore his hollow eyes away from the blood pooling on the anvil. He stumbled backward, his knees buckling, lowering his frame. He threw a hand out to catch himself, hitting a wooden tool rack.
It tipped over, sending heavy iron tongs and hammers crashing onto the stone floor with a deafening, chaotic clatter.
He retreated into the deep shadows of the unlit hearth, clutching his head.
"Just meat," the old man choked out, his voice suffocating. "Waiting to be ground."
The rotting door swung open with a loud crash. Riko rushed in, dragging a hooded man by the sleeve. He carried a stained leather bag. Riko's eyes bulged at the sight of Kaito's ruined chest. She tore her gaze away, her breathing ragged.
"I couldn't find a priest," Riko gasped, pointing at the hooded man. "He's an alchemist. He says he can heal."
The man dropped his cloak, slammed his bag onto the stone floor, and pulled out two flat surgical blades. He threw them towards Kian.
"Put them in the fire. Hold them there until the steel glows orange," the Alchemist ordered, his eyes locked on Kaito's caved-in ribs. He dug into his bag, pulling out a thick needle and a vial of bubbling blue tonic. "His ribs are dust. I need to open the chest and fuse the bone fragments now, lest they puncture his lungs."
Kian rushed to the oil lantern, holding the blades over the flame.
"Bring them!" the Alchemist barked.
Kian handed over the glowing hot steel. The Alchemist pressed the searing blades directly into the purple flesh over Kaito's ribcage, using the extreme heat to slice through the muscle with ease.
The sunken forge was filled with the sickening stench of roasting meat. Kaito's spine arched off the anvil with enough force to almost knock the blades out. A gurgle escaped his throat.
The Alchemist used the second blade and pulled out the shattered bones. He uncorked the vial and poured the bubbling contents directly into the wrenched cut.
The liquid hissed and steam rose from it as it reacted with the shattered bone, forcing the ruined white fragments to fuse together.
"Hold his shoulders down!" the Alchemist grunted over Kaito's muffled screams, threading his iron needle to stitch the incision shut with speed belying his thin hands. "Hold him, or the fusion will be crooked."
The Alchemist stitched the wound in a tight zigzag pattern, the skin pulling over the fusung ribs. Kaito's ragged breathing leveled out, and his rigid spine went slack against the freezing black iron of the anvil.
The Alchemist walked to the stone sink, washing the thickest layers of blood from his hands.
He knelt beside the brawler one last time, reaching into his leather bag to retrieve a clear jar filled with a thick, yellow paste.
"Resin," he grunted, noticing Lucio staring at the jar. "Made it myself. Animal fat and pine pitch."
He scooped out a handful and slathered the thick paste over the stitches to seal the ruined flesh, making sure to coat it in thick layers. He stood up, wiping his hands on a rag, and extended an open, bloodstained palm toward the group without a single word.
The Cinders stared at the hand in grim silence. In the slums, blood was cheap, but mending it wasn't.
"He lost too much," the Alchemist said, his tone flat. "I don't have a substitute. If you have raw mana stones, crush them into fine dust and dissolve them in warm milk. Keep the dosage small, or it will stop his heart entirely."
Eila gritted his teeth, digging his good hand into his pocket. He pulled out his coin pouch, his fingers scraping the bottom. "How much?"
The Alchemist glanced at the unconscious brawler, then back to Eila. "Five Sylbrons. Considering the messy work and the gruesome sight."
Eila paused, staring down at the two meager Sylbrons resting in his palm. He couldn't access his funds without magic.
Before he could speak, Kian stepped forward, dropping five silver coins into the Alchemist's bloody hand. The hooded man didn't say another word. He pocketed the coin, grabbed his bag, and vanished out the rotting door into the fog.
Eila tucked his empty pouch away inside the cloak, his hand slow. "Kian, I—"
"No need. I hold the party funds," Kian replied, his voice cracking as he stared at Kaito's bandaged chest. The pyromancer swallowed hard, his hands trembling at his sides. "I... I didn't see the tail, Eila. I should have seen it."
"I-It wasn't..." Lucio stammered, stepping forward from the shadow. "It wasn't present before...the Khasir probably had it hidden. It was an intelligent beast."
Eila didn't offer comfort. His jaw locked. Ignoring the agonizing pulse in his fractured collarbone, he marched over to Kian's pack. Using his good right arm, he ripped the leather flap open and dragged out the heavy, blood-soaked burlap sack.
Eila stepped to the anvil and slammed the burlap sack down next to Kaito's pooling blood.
The wet thud echoed through the sunken room.
"The heart," Eila commanded, his voice cold and hollow. "Etch the rune."
Sohrab flinched at the sound. He looked from the bloody sack to Eila's dead eyes. The old man clutched his scarred head, his frail frame trembling in the dark.
"No."
Eila stepped closer, the temperature in the room dropping at once. "Excuse me?"
"I cannot send you to the grinder." The old man shook his head, his breathing spiraling into a panic. "He was like you. He stood right where you are standing."
"Who was?" Eila's voice dropped to a suffocating, grinding gravel. "You told us to get the heart, a fresh heart. We followed your orders, our brawler got torn apart in the process. You do not get to cower now, blacksmith. Pick up the hammer."
"I thought he could do it too!" Sohrab screamed, his fragile restraint shattering. "He took my saber, and he challenged the Demon General!"
Sohrab dropped to his knees, his scarred fingers digging into the filthy stone floor. His eyes widened into a look of absolute, unhinged terror.
"Do you know what they sent back?" A hysterical wheeze tore from Sohrab's throat, twisting into a broken laugh. He pressed his forehead against the freezing stone. "Not even his face could be shown at the funeral! They covered the remains coffin with his fur coat! There was nothing left!"
Riko clapped her hands over her mouth, backing away from the madman.
"No matter the craft!" Sohrab jerked his head up, screaming at the stone ceiling until his vocal cords tore. "Humanity is cursed to die in the mud! For it is inevitable! INEVITABLE!"
Eila lunged forward. Ignoring the blinding flare of agony in his fractured collarbone, he drove his good right hand into Sohrab's heavy leather apron. He hauled the frail old man off the freezing stone.
"Who?" Eila demanded, his voice dropping the temperature in the room. "Who are you referring to?"
Sohrab's wild eyes locked onto Eila's face. The blacksmith's hands clawed at Eila's grip.
"Elmoire," the old man choked out. "Thirty years ago, just a recruit. He came to my door with a spark in his eyes, begging me to forge steel for Vanguard. I agreed after witnessing the spark. I forged him a saber for his style. Demons attacked Oakhaven." Sohrab let out a broken wheeze. "The Demons left nothing but his shadow at Oakhaven. They draped his old fur coat over an empty box."
Eila's jaw tightened. He released the blacksmith's apron, letting Sohrab slump against the cold iron of the anvil.
Eila stepped back, his boots scraping the frost. He looked down at his own right hand.
"I killed him," Eila stated, his voice devoid of warmth. "I abandoned the title of Hero. I gave demons the map."
The room went dead silent. Sohrab stared at him, the horror freezing the tears on his scarred face.
Eila struck his own chest, his fist hitting over his heart. "The guilt tears at my ribs. The grief strangles my throat. Yet, I look at the world, and I still see a rotting forest begging for the fire."
He turned his head, his dead eyes sweeping over his battered team. He looked at Lucio's trembling hands, Riko's terrified face, and Kaito's ruined chest.
"They cheer for slaughter. They gorge on the weak. Humanity is a disease," Eila rasped, looking back at the old blacksmith. "But I look at Kaito's love for the fight. I look at Lucio's curiosity. I look at Riko's talent. I look at Kian's leadership. I look at Imara's love. I want to save the few who remain pure. I fight so the dirt doesn't corrupt the Lily."
Sohrab let out a broken breath, staring up at the fallen Hero. "You condemn the entire world, yet you demand salvation for your favorites. What is that if not hypocrisy, boy."
Eila didn't flinch. He stepped up to the anvil, his shadow swallowing the old man.
"Then I am a slave to hypocrisy," Eila commanded, pointing his good hand at the bleeding Kharis heart resting on the iron. "Etch the rune."