Apocalypse Healer - Path of Death

"Who the hell did it!?" David growled, stomping into Arc.

Acid splattered onto the ground, sizzling on the cobbled street as he searched for the culprit, waves of anger flooded every part of his body.

He was certain he got them all, yet the power of Unity disappeared. Some Skills had leveled up, but that was all he had gained from slaying hundreds of venomous cretins—for enduring an hour filled with nothing but pain as the acid burned his skin and flesh while the venom corroded him from the inside out. The gains were not enough. Not after he had experienced the power of Unity.

He charged through Arc's outskirts, coating his body in [Holy Touch] to remove the remaining acid burning his skin and flesh, then cast [Restore] and [Purify] to cleanse the venom filling his body. The healing process was slower than usual, but that was the least of his concerns at this moment.

Who stole Unity from him?

His gaze drifted across Arc, and it was not long before he found a faint life signal near Arc's outskirts. It looked weak—ill. David leaped across the ruins of a building and charged toward the life signals, where he found the corpse of a spider. There he was; the man responsible for the loss of Unity!

David's anger rose to his head, but he studied the perpetrator before a word escaped his lips. The perpetrator was not a man. It was a… child?

His eyes narrowed to tiny slits as he approached the young Tirac. It held a small dagger coated in green blood in its trembling hands and stood frozen. The spider had bitten it, and the venom was spreading fast. The child, if it wasn't treated in time, was fated to die in the next few minutes. However, instead of looking at him with fear, the child stared at him in defiance.

"I did what I had to do," it whispered. "Protecting my mother is more—"

The child's legs caved in, and it slumped to the ground, heaving heavily. It was only at this moment that he discovered a dying life signal behind the child. It was an older Tirac. A female—the child's mother. He hadn't noticed her, as all that helped her stay alive were traces of life.

David stepped closer, noting the child stirring, trying to rise to its feet, but he planted his hand on the child's head, ruffling its short hair. "Forget what I said earlier. You did a good job."

Fuck this shit, he cursed inwardly, but it was not like he could hold the child accountable for protecting its mother.

He cast [Weave of Life], attached an overclocked [Healing Sphere] to both of them, and forwarded a mixture of [Purify], [Holy Touch], and [Restore] to cleanse and heal both child and mother.

The child's condition improved quickly, and it jumped to its feet, clutching the dagger handle tightly.

"I won't do anything to your mother. Other than healing her," David said, trying to reassure the child, but it didn't budge.

Could it sense his anger? Or was it still wary from his earlier outburst? Either way, the Tirac were safe, though he would love to know why they weren't in the Panthea like everyone else. If they had been in the Panthea, he would have found the escapee and kept Unity.

But there was nothing he could do about it now. David had to accept his loss, even if it hurt. The power of Unity would have been great.

Maybe I can find a similar Skill Rune somewhere.

***

"Are you really not giving Unity to him? I was certain you would sponsor him. I mean, he is not a bad specimen if we ignore his personality," a deep voice echoed through a small, pristine hall covered in dozens of murals displaying worlds. Every world looked different, but they had one thing in common. A luminous figure of a woman shrouded the worlds, embracing them tightly. The woman, her golden hair cascading to the ground, smiled lovingly at the worlds as if they were her children.

"He failed the challenge," a voluptuous woman, resembling the murals engraved into the pristine walls, responded lightheartedly.

"But…" the whisper of a voice resounded.

The woman chuckled, turning to a small trinket filled with silver liquid. She tapped it, and images surfaced in the liquid, replaying the horrifying incident that destroyed Arc.

"Yes, I am interested in him." She nodded. However, no kindness shone in her eyes as she stared at the changing images in the trinket. Instead, they held a withering sharpness. "Don't you think he is interesting?"

"Why? He is just one of countless dead ones who managed to survive thanks to the Cycles."

She snickered. "You don't get it, do you?"

Her attention drifted left to a shadow. "Bereth ensured his survival. This young and promising fledgling would have died without Bereth's help. You don't know that thing as well as I do, so you might not understand the Guardian's antics, but he would never do something like that. Not unless he was one hundred percent certain it was necessary—that a man fated to die was the key."

The shadow stirred and separated from the ground. It turned to mist and formed a small, humanoid shape.

"Didn't Bereth contribute to Zachariah's regression? Because of him, my poor youngling lost her memories instead!" the shadow spat, but the woman waved her hand dismissively, her eyes trained on David as he stomped through Arc.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

"You think Bereth vouched for Zachariah for the dead child? Why would he do something like that?"

"I don't know." The woman smiled, her golden irises glowing brightly as she looked at the shadow. "And that's what makes it even more interesting."

***

When the Protectors returned, David healed them along with Zachariah. The regressor's voice rang in his ears, but he couldn't understand a single word. His eyelids grew heavier, and he closed his eyes, paying the price for pushing his mind, soul, and body beyond their limits. Sleep overtook him.

David had no sense of how much time had passed when his eyes fluttered open. Had it been an hour? A day? He leaned against a statue, scanning the faces around him, and sighed deeply. It hadn't been a dream. Arc was still destroyed, and most of its population had been killed on the spot.

He saw fear flickering in their life signals, the uncertainty of what lay ahead weighing heavily upon them.

"I was worried you wouldn't wake up," the Tirac Artificer said.

David turned to her without so much as a change in expression. She just smiled and pointed at something beside him. "I removed it. Wasn't sure how much energy—or Blood—you channeled into it."

He glanced to the right, only to see his storage necklace pressed firmly into the street. David picked it up, straining his muscles until Blood entered its reservoir. The necklace felt almost weightless once Blood circulated through it, bringing a smile to his face. He filled the necklace to the brim and put it on.

"How long was I asleep?"

The Artificer shrugged. "A few hours, probably. Not long enough for us to decide what we're going to do, though."

David leaned forward at that. Arc was in ruins—did they really think they could rebuild the Sanctuary?

"You lack Protectors and the materials to rebuild the Sanctuary," he said flatly. One Horde was all it took to kill the remaining Protectors. Even if David wished Arc's people the best, he wouldn't sacrifice his plans to stay there forever. Even if he remained in Arc temporarily, monsters could attack the ruined Sanctuary while he and Zachariah raided other Rifts.

"I think the same. The connection to the other Familia branches has been severed, and the portal to the Vault and other worlds has been cut as well. There will be no more reinforcement from the other worlds or the Pantheon's forces," the Artificer said in the same neutral tone. However, her eyes looked empty as she stared at the statue behind him. "And the gods retracted their power. They gave up on Arc… on us."

True, David thought. He couldn't sense the oppressive presence of the gods anymore. The Panthea of Arc, once a place of reverence—overflowing with the power and influence of the Pantheon—was no more. Only the buildings remained.

"Maybe it's better that way." He shrugged, which earned him a spiteful stare from the Tirac Artificer. "I mean, think about it. If they hadn't retracted their power, more monsters would have forced their way into Arc. Stronger monsters."

He didn't know if they had withdrawn their power for selfish reasons, and to be fair, it mattered little to David. But it was a fact that monsters wouldn't be drawn to something that was no longer there.

The Artificer's expression eased, and her lips curled into a faint smile. "I hope you're right. If not…"

"So," David cut in, "does anyone have a plan?"

"Yep," Zachariah's voice rang out. "We will move to the Dwarven Sanctuary."

Oh? David tilted his head. Moving straight to the Dwarven Sanctuary? That was quite… convenient. Almost too convenient.

"I see." He nodded. "In that case, you guys can make yourselves comfortable in the Dwarven Sanctuary while I settle in the prehistoric Rift."

He licked his lips at the thought of returning to the natural Rift. It belonged to Fortress, but the Dwarven God had never forbidden him from entering or from claiming a monopoly on the Rift Core and its Origin Essence.

That didn't necessarily mean David had permission to take all the Origin Essence, but he doubted the dwarves would stop him.

Even if they try to stop me… David smiled at the thought.

Maybe moving to the Dwarven Sanctuary was going to be interesting.

***

Moving nearly 200 people to the Dwarven Sanctuary was easier and faster than expected. Everyone was exhausted, and the few Protectors who had survived the encounter with the Undead Horde were still injured, but they did not run into any wild monsters along the way. They traveled on the highway with the few things they had managed to salvage and didn't stop moving until they reached the massive gates of the Dwarven Sanctuary.

The gates were already wide open, and Torb emerged, his lips curved into a faint but sorrowful smile.

"Fortress informed me about the incident. What a disaster…" the dwarf said, sighing deeply. "But I'm glad you and the others are fine. Come inside. We have enough space for everyone."

Torb led them in, but David barely paid attention to their surroundings. His focus was on his friend instead. It hadn't been long since they parted ways, but the dwarf looked… different. His shoulders were broader than before, and if David wasn't mistaken, Torb was also a little taller. His physical changes were impressive, and so was the armor he wore—it pulsed vividly with energy as if alive. But what struck David the most was Torb's posture and the change in his attitude.

He appeared more confident. Different, but not in a bad way. More reliable—grounded.

More dwarves greeted them, carrying trays filled with food. They shared food and water with Arc's residents and tended to the wounded and exhausted.

"Unfortunately, while we wish to grant everyone lodging, we cannot do that. Our workers are giving their utmost, but we did not expect—any of this, to be honest," Torb said.

David hadn't expected anything grand from the Dwarven Sanctuary. It hadn't been established for long, after all. But that was also why he—and, from the looks of it, others as well—were so surprised to see rows of dozens of houses spread throughout the Sanctuary's center.

"Fortress will take care of your well-being at no cost until lodging has been prepared," Torb added with a smile, but David only raised an eyebrow.

Why does it feel like Fortress will extort us once everyone has a roof over their heads? he wondered.

But it wasn't as if he had stayed in Arc for free, either. He had paid for his lodging. Not much would change—or so David hoped.

From his experience with the Dwarven God, Fortress wasn't a bad god. He was greedy but focused on the well-being of his people.

David could live with that.