"I cannot leave yet."
Zareth leaned heavily against the damp brickwork while sweat carved clean tracks through the blood on his face.
"I need to find a way to stop this mutation. That madman Vanderznak might have a cure stashed in his lab, or at least notes on how to reverse it."
He pointed a trembling finger at his own body. "I can't go back to civilization like this. Look at me."
The villagers stared. Zareth looked less like a man and more like a failed experiment. His left leg bulged with black veins that pulsed with a life of their own. Under the skin, the bone twisted audibly.
Crackle. Pop.
"Guh!" Zareth gritted his teeth as his knee rotated inward against the joint.
"You want to go back there?" Laviss asked in disbelief. "In that condition? Sir, you look like you are possessed by a bloody Tumor."
"I'm not possessed," Zareth growled. "But I will be if I don't regulate my Gospel to stop the spread."
He looked down at the boy who clung to his waist. "Stay put, brat. Don't wander off."
The boy blinked his red eyes and sat on a dry patch of stone.
"Give me room," Zareth ordered the villagers.
The eight onlookers shuffled backward to stand at a safe distance. They watched with a mixture of awe and revulsion as Zareth slumped against the wall and closed his eyes.
Zareth drew his attention inward. He ignored the throbbing pain in his limbs and focused on the rhythmic thud of his heart. That was the source. The Mellontikos Juice Batch 007 coursed through his ventricles and pumped corruption to every corner of his body.
'Burn it,' he commanded himself.
He forcibly ignited a flame within his heart. It wasn't the explosive fire of his toenails, but a controlled, searing heat meant to cauterize his own biology.
Thump-HISS.
Steam began to rise from his skin. Inside his veins, his own cells ignited to wage war against the invading mutagen. He maintained this dangerous internal temperature and expanded the circulation of his Gospel.
The heat helped. The black veins on his thigh stopped pulsing.
'Now for the reconstruction.'
Zareth clenched his teeth.
'Prayer Art No. 2: Blessed Abundance.'
A soft, green light enveloped his body. It clashed with the angry black aura of the mutation.
SNAP!
His twisted left leg jerked violently. The bone cracked back into alignment. Muscles knit together with agonizing speed.
"Nngh…!"
Zareth suppressed a scream. This was no walk in the park. It felt as though invisible hands were tearing him apart and stitching him back together simultaneously.
He poured more energy into the spell.
Prayer Art No. 2 possessed potent healing capabilities, but Zareth was a warrior, not a medic. His control was blunt. Furthermore, the mutated cells in his left arm were stubborn. The black scales refused to recede. The corruption had already crept past his shoulder and clawed at the vision in his left eye.
'I can't cure the arm.' Zareth realized. 'The density is too high. I have to settle for containment.'
He pushed through the pain and reinforced the barrier at his shoulder. He built a wall of holy energy to dam the flood of poison.
Sizzle.
The black veins on his neck halted. The throbbing in his left eye subsided, though the vision remained slightly tinted with grey.
Zareth exhaled a long breath of steam and opened his eyes. He wiggled his toes. His left leg was sore, but it was straight. He stood up.
"It's a miracle." Laviss made a holy sign over her chest.
"It's not a miracle," Wenamor corrected her quietly. "It is a skill. The Priests of the Convent can manipulate their bodies. I've heard stories."
"He really is a Priest," Laviss whispered.
Zareth ignored them. He lifted his left arm. It was a massive, armoured slab of meat. The weight threw his balance off, and the limb felt distant, numb, as if it belonged to someone else.
'Move,' he willed it.
Nothing happened.
He focused harder. He remembered the adrenaline from earlier when he had sliced Vanderznak and the cleaners in half. He needed that intent.
Twitch.
The massive, serrated claws flexed.
"Good grief," Zareth muttered. "It takes as much willpower to move a finger as it does to lift a crate."
He turned his hand over to inspect the palm.
"Sir Zareth… what is that?" Wenamor took a step back. He pointed at Zareth's hand.
Zareth looked down. A soft blue light emanated from the centre of his mutated palm. There, embedded in the black scales, was a human eyeball.
It was blue. And it was alive.
Blink.
The eye swivelled in the flesh socket and looked directly at Zareth.
Zareth recoiled slightly. 'How did this get here? This is Vanderznak's eye. I crushed it when I was crawling on the floor. How could it have merged with my arm?'
The eye darted left and right, scanning the tunnel with frantic energy.
'The Mellontikos Juice,' Zareth surmised. 'It must have absorbent properties. It integrated the foreign biomass into my own.'
He clenched his fist to hide the disturbing sight.
"It doesn't matter right now. The only person who can explain this mess is Vanderznak. But that madman is probably dead by now. While his henchmen are busy running around like headless chickens, I should double back to his lab. Maybe I can find a serum."
"If you are going back," Wenamor stepped forward, "I will assist you. I know these tunnels like the back of my hand. I can get you close to the lab without triggering any alarms."
Zareth considered it. "Fine. But under one condition: you show me the way, and then you stay hidden in the tunnel. Vanderznak's henchmen are mutated powerhouses. A bunch of farmers with pitchforks won't last ten seconds."
"Hey now!"
Jerrick stepped out from the shadows. He swung a heavy metal tank from his back and slammed it onto the tunnel floor.
CLANG!
"Who are you calling a farmer?" Jerrick grinned and patted the nozzle of a flamethrower. "I came prepared."
Laviss reached behind her and pulled out a bolt-action rifle. She racked the bolt with surprising familiarity. "And I used to hunt boar before I ran a tavern. Don't look down on us, Priest."
Wenamor lifted a rusted but sharp machete. The other five men brandished pitchforks and iron bars.
Zareth sighed. He rubbed his temples with his human hand.
"You don't get it. You are dead weight. A flamethrower and a hunting rifle? Against creatures that can regenerate limbs and bend steel? You will die before you even pull the trigger. Leave the fighting to me. If you get in my way, I might accidentally kill you myself."
"Accidentally kill us?" Jerrick bristled. His face turned red. "You arrogant mutant! You're barely clinging to life yourself! Look at you! What can a cripple do that we can't?"
Zareth's eyes narrowed. He took a step toward the burly man. The air in the tunnel grew heavy with killing intent.
Wenamor quickly stepped between them. He raised his hands.
"Enough!" Wenamor looked at Jerrick. "He's right, Jerrick. We came for the children, not to fight a war we can't win. If Sir Zareth says it's too dangerous, we listen."
He turned to Zareth. "We will stay hidden. We will guide you, and we will wait for the children. You do the heavy lifting."
Zareth held Jerrick's gaze for another second before he nodded. "Good. Now lead the way."
Wenamor grabbed the torch and motioned for them to follow. They navigated the maze of damp brickwork until they reached a section where the ceiling sloped upward toward a metal hatch.
"Here." Wenamor pulled a crumpled piece of parchment from his pocket. It was a roughly drawn blueprint.
"This vent leads to the central courtyard." Wenamor traced a line with his dirty finger. "I've snuck into this estate before to scavenge. I caught a glimpse of where they kept the captives."
He pointed to a circled area on the map. "Vanderznak calls this the 'Preservation Wing.' It's where he keeps his… precious specimens. Once you exit the hatch, look for a building with a gargoyle that has a broken wing. That is the storage area housing the children."
"Broken wing gargoyle. Got it."
Zareth turned to the boy.
"Come here."
The boy walked over. Zareth grabbed a length of rope from Jerrick's pack.
"Hey, what are you doing?" Laviss asked.
Zareth ignored her. He swiftly bound the boy's hands and legs. He tore a strip of cloth from his ruined coat and tied it around the boy's mouth as a gag.
"Mmph!" The boy glared at him.
Zareth picked the bound child up and handed him to Wenamor.
"Keep an eye on him. Do not untie him. Do not let him near your neck."
"Why?" Wenamor asked, holding the child awkwardly. "Why tie up a little boy? We are here to rescue them."
"It is for your own safety," Zareth said flatly.
Laviss looked at the boy. She saw the whip-thin tail and the red eyes. Her heart broke for him.
'Poor thing,' she thought. 'He must be another victim of Vanderznak's deranged experiments. To treat a child like a monster… it's unforgivable.'
She glared at Zareth, but the Priest had already turned his back.
"Before you go, take this." Wenamor gave Zareth a black cloak for concealment.
Zareth put it on. "Stay here, and pray I don't find an empty lab."
He pushed the hatch open and climbed into the night.