Apotheosis (Song of Sophangence Book 3)

by E. I. McAllistair

  Rubbing her head, “I know. It is really scary. We are going to help you get better at controlling that, okay? For now, I need you to go with her so she can get you clothes, and food, and get you in school. I’m in school too, so I have to get my work done, but I promise to come see you.”

  With a final nod, she walks hesitantly to Ixnes who tenderly talks to the girl in French. He forgot she was a master linguist and also a mother many times over, so her ability to change her demeanor so quickly took him by surprise. Smiling at them as they continued to talk, he turned to walk away, only to be stopped by Ixnes.

  “Are you not going to give me a report?”

  “I think you have other, more important things to worry about. Also, I’m tired and want to get some sleep before seeing my boyfriend I was torn away from.” He hands her the credit card, but she shakes her head.

  “That is yours to keep. I am sure it will come in handy as it is untraceable and has no limit. Consider it your payment for this mission.”

  “Can we agree to not call this a mission? Given the circumstances I do not think it is fair to Seles, nor is it appropriate.”

  “That is a simple request, I can do that. Once you have rested however, I will need to know everything if we are to help the child.”

  Picking up his bags with a sigh, he turns to leave, only to be stopped by a now open wormhole. Turning back to James with a small smile of gratitude, he travels through it back to his room so he can finally get some sleep and properly process the multitude of events which had occurred to him in the past few days.

  5

  Cognizance of his overwhelming weariness began as a slow trickle, crawling at a steadier pace until all at once he was flooded with a strange sensory overload. He could finally tell he was lying in a bed, not the most comfortable he had experienced, but a bed nonetheless. Just trying to move proved to be a trial, and he found his fatigue was accompanied by not only a dull pain, but something else.

  When he finally began to make sense of all the feelings, Phavian realized he seemed to be tightly bound from head to toe in bandages of some sort, and his body itched in many places. Trying to relieve himself of all the itching was what made him acutely aware of the prison the bandages made for him. He could even tell there was only a small slit for his eyes, nose, and mouth.

  With some difficulty he was able to make out the intravenous drip coming from his left arm, leading to the pole with three bags of fluids atop it. His shifting also made him aware of something quite uncomfortable inside him, which he realized given his setting must be a catheter. Even though him simply being able to look around should have been evidence enough, being in the hospital could mean only one thing: he was alive.

  For a long while, he seemed unable to understand why being alive would come to him as such a shock. Why would he be anything else but alive? Then again, why would he be in the hospital? If he ever got injured, he had an amazing boyfriend who put regular Medics to shame as if they were nothing but frauds. What could have possibly happened that caused him to need outside medical treatment?

  It was then he began remembering the fight he had with Anaar about Merc. If he had been hurt while they were in a fight, maybe Anaar decided to leave him to the mercy of those far less powerful and skilled as a punishment. That seemed extremely childish and not like the man he knew, but Phavian understood there were many layers to the wonderous man he had yet to come close to exposing.

  He could not figure out what Anaar saw in Merc. He was nothing if not faithful and loyal, so there could be no chance Anaar was cheating on him. Though he would not admit to it, and definitely not label himself as such, namely due to his distaste of labels, Anaar was without a doubt a nonconformist. Most things that seemed to follow the flow of societal norms or constraints, he staunchly rebuked and worked against.

  If one was to consider that portion of his nature, it was not so unreasonable for him to tolerate Merc. Given his penchant for unrealized and uncontrolled grandeur, he probably did not even see it as tolerating Merc, he likely had some genuine concern for their wellbeing that he could not turn a blind eye to. He often chose to find solutions to problems instead of allowing them to fester and become intolerable. Could it be that he simply saw Merc as a problem that needed fixing? That would fall very comfortably in line with his personality.

  His contemplation into why Anaar would bother with Merc only jogged more pieces of his memory. He had waited with anticipation for some sort of apology or explanation from Anaar for stepping all over his feelings, but it had never come. What did come though, was the interaction he had with Merc posing as Anaar in order to antagonize him, no doubt.

  Disregarding his calls, canoodling with the two girls he had never seen before, it was clear Merc wanted to start an even bigger fight. It was not enough to have driven a wedge into their stabilizing and deepening relationship, they had to do their deed to completion by utterly destroying it. Phavian found himself seething with anger until more pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place, completing the picture that was his fragmented memory.

  These thoughts he was having were not novel in the slightest. In fact, he now remembered having them when attempting to confront Merc. If he had already worked through all of these things and decided Merc would pay the price for their meddling, how was it he was lying in a hospital bed? Merc was not a skilled combatant, their power and reputation came from a mastery of deceit and subterfuge. How had he ended up in this situation?

  Like standing in a sealed steamroom that suddenly had the door thrown open, the haze became clearer and clearer until the clarity was something he wished to desperately undo. Because he had spent so much time believing it was Merc who would seek to harm him, and their grave offense of the usage of his boyfriend’s likeness, he had temporarily blocked out his assault upon Merc.

  The seething pain was like nothing he had ever endured before, even at the hands of the individual he thought was Merc. How was it possible emotional injury could far exceed that of physical? He was in the hospital not because he had attacked Merc, but because he had attacked Anaar. Merc was a master at their craft, and there were too many differences for them to ever allow.

  Though he could not consider himself anywhere near the status of Anaar, Phavian was well aware a shapeshifter could not duplicate the abilities of those they imitated. The change in image and personality was just one indicator it was not Merc who had inflicted such injury upon him. Truly being on the receiving end of Anaar’s might was something he could never forget.

  It now became clear to him why he was relegated to mediocre care, even though in the scope of the wider world it was of the highest repute. Everything began to spin and swirl out of focus as he weighed the implications of not only incurring the ire of the man he loved, but it actually being inflicted upon him. What could he have done that was so bad it caused such a massive shift in his entire being?

  Phavian immediately thought about Anaar’s struggle with what he called his ‘darkness’ and wondered if the events that led to him being hospitalized were caused by this evil influence. He had seen firsthand just how malevolent of a force Anaar could become when controlled by it. He could now only consider himself lucky to even be alive given the circumstances.

  From what he had been told, Phavian believed the trigger for Anaar’s darkness to be when those he deeply cared about were in danger or hurt. If this was the case, was there much more to Anaar’s and Merc’s relationship he did not know about? Did his darkness completely disregard his feelings for anyone other than the source of the trigger? Anaar had mentioned how much of a liability it was just being around him, but Phavian thought he was referencing his Demolitionist powers. Could it be this was what Anaar truly meant in his warnings?

  Phavian now found himself conflicted. He acknowledged his part in the situation, but he could not understand why Anaar would do such a thing to him. He had heard love hurts, if only for the reason one person dies before the other. He did not think it was sup
posed to literally hurt however, leaving him hospitalized. Perhaps that was the reason he always ran away from love because this was the possible outcome.

  Considering he was hospitalized, he was scared to survey the damage he had received. Even though it was at worst a dull pain, laced with incredible itching, he remembered his arm being shattered, and the smell of his flesh cooking. Not only did Anaar punish him in the moment, he had made sure to disfigure him so no one could ever love him again. The thought of what he would see once the bandages were off, and what he would feel once the drugs wore off terrified him. Unable to bear waiting to find out, he knew he had to see for himself so he could begin coming to terms with it.

  Phavian realized just how weak he was, because every time he went to undo a bandage, he let the heavy resistance stop him. Even though he knew he was more than strong enough to push through the resistance with ease, his fears stopped him. When he saw the monster he expected himself to be, he was not sure if he could go on living. Never had he even once contemplated suicide, but he knew there was a very high likelihood he would complete it once he had confirmation his life of perfection was ruined.

  Finally with a deep breath, he pushed past the force blocking his right arm from moving. He had not noticed before, but it felt like he was wearing a cast, one that covered his entire body. From what he could tell, the bandages were not hard, so he could not understand what could be causing such a feeling. Pushing his arm even farther, he heard sounds that resembled crunching and crackling. With much of his mobility returned in his right arm and hand, he began to undo the bandaging on his left arm. What he found underneath shocked him and was enough to make him gag.

  His arm looked like meat left on an open flame far too long. It was blackened, dry, and bore a hard, crisp consistency. If this was only his arm, he knew it was too much to bear to see the rest of his body. What was strange about his arm though was it looked about twice the size it normally was. Usually flesh shrivels under these conditions, not bloats. Judging by the appearance, it did seem shriveled, so why was he not in more pain? He knew there were powerful drugs out there, but he would have expected to feel different if here were under the influence of such things.

  Flexing his left arm, he heard the same crackling and ripping sounds as before with his right arm, but there were no bandages left. He realized then that his prior observations were correct, the bandages were not hard, it was his body causing the sickening sounds. He had only a very small fraction of his normal strength, no doubt from the fatigue, but with the little range of motion he had, he pulled away a large section of the charred flesh of his left arm, expecting an excruciating pain to accompany it. What happened next, he was not prepared to understand.

  From underneath the now desiccated husk he had peeled off, he saw smooth brown skin, although redder than normal, which even had the hair from his arm almost completely grown back in. Sitting for a long while in wonder and confusion, looking back and forth from the piece of bark that must have at one point been his body, and the now exposed skin underneath that was what he had come to know, he wondered just how long he had been asleep for something like this to occur.

  He had not paid much attention to it before, but his Vizer was still on his arm, looking completely unharmed, and had stretched to accommodate the increased size of his wrist. Peeling off the rest of the of the dead flesh from his arm just past his elbow, he found his Vizer was still perfectly functional. He knew they were supposed to be practically indestructible by most means, but he found it absurd it showed no sign of damage.

  Checking the time and day, he found it was approaching evening, and it had been three days since the incident. He had lost three days of time, but looking at his now stripped arm, it seemed it was necessary for his body to focus on repairing itself. He remembered when Anaar had healed him before, he slept as an afterthought, most likely due to the adrenaline keeping him moving. This time he must have fallen into a brief coma before the healing started.

  Though he was extremely tired, he was still very curious and quite excited to see if his fears were for naught. Slowly, he began breaking his way out of the dried, crusted layer of flesh, like a bug that was molting. He had not long started the process when a female nurse screamed as she happened upon the now conscious Phavian and what he was doing. Rushing in quickly to chide him, much like a child, he had nothing but questions for why he needed to stop.

  “Mr. Ingraham! While it is wonderful you are finally awake, I simply cannot have you doing that!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you have been severely injured! It is beyond a miracle you are even alive, nevertheless awake and speaking right now. Even the best doctors thought you were all but a lost cause.”

  “Then why am I alive?”

  Shuffling uncomfortably, “I do not think that is important, what matters is that you are!”

  “So… you don’t know how I came back from the dead?”

  Giving him a shocked look, “You were never dead!”

  “But I should have been. You just said so yourself.”

  “I did not mean to upset you, it was just your injuries were so incredibly severe. Only the most powerful of Regenerists would normally be able to survive such an ordeal.”

  “If you didn’t heal me, who did?”

  “I could not tell you, the Headmistress sent everyone away for quite a time. We presumed she was preparing for your… services.”

  “Let me get this straight. You all, a team of world class, elite medical professionals who have seen some of the worst traumas, all left me to die just because one woman said so?”

  Beginning to stammer, “Well… it’s not quite so simple…”

  “What did you people do then?”

  “Well we have been responsible for your care since being allowed back into your room.”

  “Are you the ones who turned me into a damn mummy?”

  “You have catastrophic burn damage! While some Fire attuned individuals boast a much greater resistance to heat and flame, it seems your immunity to hypothermia and cold leaves you quite vulnerable.”

  “I’m all itchy. I can barely move. I’m super weak and tired.” Shuffling slightly, “There is something stuck in my dick.”

  “This is why you must rest! Your body is trying to heal. Given your state, we had to take measures to extract the waste from you…”

  “When can I go home?”

  “You will surely be here for months!”

  “I can’t stay here. I want to talk to the Headmistress.”

  Turning pale, the woman swoons for a moment. “No one here can just summon the Headmistress in such a manner!”

  “Tell her I’m dying, or dead or something.”

  “We can do no such thing!”

  “You can try.”

  The woman found she was getting nowhere with the man, so with a nod, she left, to go contact the Headmistress Phavian hoped. In just a few minutes, a doctor came in to check Phavian’s condition. He talked calmly with the man acting like a petulant child for a few minutes until the drugs which had been slipped into his IV drip took effect and he fell into a deep sleep. Returning to the nurse, he had her rebandage the areas Phavian had taken off and ordered her to keep him sedated until further notice.

  6

  Maggie had begun understanding at least partially how Anaar felt when learning to keep his powers in check. Though she was mainly thinking of his Demolitionist abilities, she could understand how creating and commanding water was not without its drawbacks. Even though Demolitionist’s Destination was never created for the specific intent of being only for people with devastating abilities, there was no mistaking its usefulness for that purpose.

  If she thought her use of the facility was gratuitous when she first learned how to utilize her hammer better with her ability, it was nothing compared to her training with her fan. The main difference between her hammer and her fan was that the attendant did not regularly complain when practicing with her fan.
This was no doubt due to the localized earthquakes and craters she had left behind during her training.

  Since the debut of her new weapon, her friends and peers had been all wondering what new progress she had made. What caused her the most concern was her lack of any such progress. She had come to believe people simply could not understand the intricacies of how difficult it was to master a new ability or set of skills.

  Though she often lamented how seemingly static her ability was on the surface, deep down she understood just how much versatility it truly had. Even though they were all results of her Singularity ability, she appeared to have a multitude of unique powers. It was thanks to this that most people simply had no idea what her manifestation actually was.

  In her desire to grow stronger and get better, she had enlisted the help of her prolific best friend. Unlike her, he really did have an abnormally large host of abilities at his disposal, so if anyone could help and understand her, he could. There was also his obsession with attunements and manifestations which made him constantly ready and able to help, but for now she felt she needed more shared experience rather than just tutelage.

  Because of Phavian’s condition, she was the first to know he had returned from his mission, and she was honestly quite curious to find out exactly what was so important he needed to be wrenched from Phavian’s side. Since her relationship with Dan began, she and Phavian had become much more supportive of one another, so she did not take too kindly to his dismal state. On top of that, she was positive Anaar was doing his best to keep himself together, even when speaking to her. This would prove the perfect opportunity to allow him to vent and do something he enjoyed, which might help ease some of his stress.

  She had been continuing her practice alone, finding her control getting no better, when Anaar had finally arrived much earlier than expected. Even though it had seemingly only been minutes since she asked him, it must be that typical human nature to want things to happen immediately. Luckily for her, he rarely disappointed.