Creating a self-sustaining, perpetuating, and transforming plague is like making music. If you play too traditionally, stick only to the sheet, you will be perfect in terms of function, but also utterly predictable. You will fail to surprise your audience. You will fail to tease and impress them. And sometimes, it is better to make the people who listen feel something—even scorn, or hate, or disgust—rather than nothing at all.

But biology is far more complicated than music, where there are only so many notes to play. While there are only so many sounds to entice, there are so many different pathways in the body. Different diseases that might cascade into other diseases; diseases that might resemble another but yet have their true face hidden due to the slightest differences in symptoms or genetic destiny. And it is in this great maelstrom of opportunity that you can plan your campaign of deception and enduring sickness.

Consider the lungs. Give them cancer. This can be treated by any Adept-Tier Biomancer worth their discipline. But consider making it not so simple. Consider them removing that cancer over and over again, yet it keeps coming back, and it develops faster each time. The lungs start breaking down, coming apart at the seams, and they can’t understand why. They’re too busy trying to fight the tumors and teratomas, when all this time you’ve been distracting them from the true problem.

It seems like there is some manner of mutation, perhaps triggered by a hostile mage. No, not a spell. They have not found the root problem. The root problem is that you specifically age those lungs beyond the rest of the body, and that aging is constantly reversed every time a cancer has grown. And so, the true cause is always veiled. They are too busy trying to remove the outcome, and in the meantime, as the outcome is achieved—the face of disease—the roots are reverted to a point where there is no sickness at all. Sometimes, to stay ahead of those who cure, you must hide your disease within a cured state. And that’s just one possibility. Think of all the other things you can do. Be creative, expand your mind, and the outcomes of destruction and pain you can inflict are delectable and endless.

Play to your desires, play to your heart’s content, and let your artistry reign.

-Odes of Blood and Flesh by Ekkihurst the Sculptor of the First Blood

283 (I)

Return [I]

Aegis of Assimilation: 127 > 130

Shiv provided what aid he could to the sick and suffering, but it still didn’t feel like enough. He wasn’t much use against the smart plague that outstripped Helix’s ability to resolve. The other dedicated Biomancers had also been found wanting before the Vicar’s Legendary expertise. The plague didn’t just have too many symptoms; it also had too many causes that kept changing and building in terms of severity.

The orcs did what they could, but aside from Helix and a few others, most were not dedicated healers. Instead, they were usually the ones manufacturing plagues or unleashing new diseases. From that perspective, Shiv thought they would have special insight—something that could counter the Vicar’s machinations—but it wasn’t so. Apparently, making something that harmed and enfeebled the body was far easier than keeping the body healthy and stable after its immunology and various organs were compromised, and reverse-engineering diseases was easier said than done.

Shiv tried to use his Atlas to pin down the root cause of the plague, but the sheer amount of things happening within every patient varied wildly at any given moment, like a constellation of stars blinking in and out of existence. Microspells were there, and then weren’t. The internal architectures of the patients constantly shifted as well, with cancers appearing but then turning to sores the next minute. No symptom remained in place for longer than a few hours, and when someone tried to change it, the disease altered itself immediately, as if designed to outpace any healer.

With this, Shiv learned another lesson: Vicar Sullain deserved death, but killing him effectively made curing this disease a great struggle. Helix applied a whole suite of treatments to the sick and dying, slamming spell after spell into their bodies faster than Shiv could hope to shape a single one, trying to strengthen their natural immune and internal defense systems. When that didn’t work, he tried transplanting some external biomass onto the patient, seeing if the disease would creep over. Yet the plague was smart. It knew what the flesh of the original patient was and what was implanted foreign material. It avoided what it couldn’t contaminate, and Helix’s ire grew to new heights.

Finally, Helix deliberately tried to infect Shiv. He shaped spells that turned into a stream of crimson, a connected chain of spiraling brilliance. It skewered Shiv, tunneled through him as a snake would pass through a porous body, and it carried with it sicknesses, ailments, and more. The disease was forcibly infused into Shiv. The plague settled in him briefly but then dissolved in an instant as his Plaguefueled skill saw it evaporated without any struggle.

To Shiv’s surprise, he didn’t gain any benefits—didn’t even get a buzz from consuming that disease. He found that hard to believe, with the sheer death and calamity it wrought on the survivors of Blackedge.

But Helix let out a rage-filled snarl, clearly having gleaned the reason. “The plague doesn’t even bother with you. It doesn’t transform. It just lets your immune system burn it out. It’s designed to hurt anyone with Adept-Tier Toughness and below specifically, designed to inflict attrition and long-term ailments on someone who has Master-Tier Toughness, but effectively ends there. If you have both Master-Tier toughness and Physicality, it seems to just let itself burn out, resembling little more than a flu. That’s why Roland Arrow was so unaffected, he and a few of his more elite house guards. And considering there’s barely anyone in this town who has a Disease Resistance Skill, well, it seems that the Vicar has taught the plague to pick its targets wisely, and it knows you are beyond its means to kill.”

“You’re telling me Sullain deliberately made a plague to kill non-martials and civilians?” Shiv’s face twisted in disgust.

“Quite so. That, and it is also a potent mage-killer. How many magi do you know who have Master-Tier Toughness and Physicality, after all? The Biomancers in the town are the only ones who might be able to contend with the plague, but since it’s hyper-infectious as well, shaped to spread across all vectors, they would be overwhelmed. The Vicar’s constant attacks, paired with Roland’s need to be kept standing and stable by his best Biomancers, meant that the town would be driven to the brink, sapped of all logistical capacity to resist.”

Helix pulled his spectacles off and used his coat to scrub at them. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but these people here have impressed me. I would have expected nothing but corpses, considering how feeble—” Helix coughed violently as Shiv glared pure murder at him. “I mean, the people are remarkable here in many ways. The fact that so many of them have survived is a testament to Blackedge’s endurance and defiance. A testament to the spirit of the people here.”

Suddenly, there came a loud kissing noise from outside the door. Bonk stuck his head in and puckered his lips at Shiv and Helix. “Yeah, that’s right,” he said. “Kiss his ass real good, Helix. That’s what the Insul needs right now. More ass-licking.”

Helix waved the loincloth-wearing orc off, as if facing a flea. “Away with you, cretin. We are discussing serious matters here. Serious matters that we have to contend with. Show some respect. Do you not see our Insul is grieving? He’s lost someone dear to him. His heart is fueled by dark fury and an urge to commit himself to Biomancy in order to avenge himself and never let this tragedy happen again.”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Sage of the Enkindled Heart: Helix is trying to use subtle psychology to get you to commit more to Biomancy.

Sage of the Enkindled Heart 135 > 136

Not that subtle, to be honest, Shiv replied.

Despite how blatant the orc’s attempts were, Shiv didn’t feel that offended. Frankly, he didn’t feel much of anything right now aside from a bone-deep exhaustion. He felt worn, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him from doing what needed to be done.

“Yeah, right.” Bonk coughed. “Oh, sorry, Insul. I heard that chef of yours was known to some of our guys. Pretty good cook, I hear. Always a shame when one of those guys goes. They’re not good to torture. They’re not good for fighting. They make good food. Seems to me it’s an overall loss. Sad day for us all.”

Bonk sniffled. The large orc wasn’t good at sharing his non-existent sympathy, but the fact that he decided to provide his condolences rather than jab at Shiv’s open psychological wound—like a few others, who were now very dead orcs—was a testament to his self-control. Shiv knew that all the orcs around him were feeling the itch. They had the opportunity to hurt him, and they had to resist it, lest they meet a similar, most bloodstained and gory fate shared by their more foolish brethren.

Even as Helix tried a few experimental and extreme approaches, including melding Shiv into a few of the patients so that his Plaguefueled skill could fight for both of them, the plague still avoided them. It went dormant when Shiv merged with another patient and simply waited for him to detach.

And eventually, he would have to. Shiv’s skills had transformed his body drastically, and he only discovered how much when it was put into proportion beside an Adept-Tier Pathbearer. His Legendary Physicality meant that every heartbeat sent his blood surging through his veins, quite literally. It took a considerable effort on Helix’s part to slow Shiv’s blood flow so that it wouldn’t rip through the other patient’s circulatory system, shredding them apart from the inside.

According to the orc, Shiv’s blood moved at staggering paces, fast enough to combust the air, fast enough to cleave open wounds through steel and continue on into the horizon. If someone managed to open one of Shiv’s arteries while his heart was pounding fast, it would burst free like a jet stream. The only reason it hadn’t during some of his earlier fights was because of his Shapeless Tides. It allowed him to exert much better control over himself, and subconsciously, he made sure his blood flow trickled out slower as well. That was why he didn’t bleed out so fast anymore, either.

Pair that with the extreme changes that came with his Toughness as well; how his bones were materials too unnatural for both bodies to accept. If his orichalcum-hard flesh was stitched with another person’s sinews and muscles, a rejection would take place for both bodies, and then Shiv’s Plaguefueled skill would turn offensive, all but boiling the other individual to death and overloading their weaker immune system by flooding their biology with hyper-aggressive white cells.

The Deathless was practically a different species from most other humans by this point. Even an uncontrolled blood transfusion from him could prove to be most fatal. Once more, it astonished him how far he had progressed from the moment he obtained his Path. Not so long ago, many among the sick would have driven him mad with envy, their Adept-Tier capabilities putting him to shame, seeming superhuman, beyond his reach, the height of power for an ordinary person. Now, he had to treat Adepts carefully and gently in order to ensure their survival.

But his ego was slain by Georges’ death, and his swelling pride was diminished by the fact that Jessica Hawgrave was a superior warrior to him, at least for now. Pair that with Sullain time and time again proving his genius as a Biomancer, beyond Shiv and all of his orcs, and there was another lesson. There were levels to this. Levels even at Legend, and likely levels beyond. One could never stop climbing, never stop improving and learning; otherwise, eventually, they would find themselves among the afflicted, unable to determine their own fate.

Shiv had little doubt that there was a world out there somewhere in the Integration where the mana threshold was much higher, where even Heroes or Legends would be lying in sickbeds waiting to die when faced with a disease forged by a Post-Legend of Biomancy.

Shiv had no intentions of ever becoming one of those people.

Though the plague was no closer to being resolved, Helix was still more than capable of fighting its various symptoms and repressing them from rapidly progressing, even reversing them in a few cases. This allowed a stay of execution for the sickened. It didn’t mean they were going to be healthy by any measure, but it also meant that they were going to be able to survive for a time.

How long? Helix was unsure. He’d declared that he still needed more time to study and to decipher the intricacies of the plague, that he was inevitably going to succeed. Shiv suspected most of that was the orc’s pride, but Helix was a Hero in Biomancy. It wasn’t impossible. But Sullain had been a Legend, and for all of Sullain’s failures, it seemed that his mastery of the lores of magic was so substantial that even most geniuses could not dream of attaining it in a lifetime.

But not me, Shiv thought to himself resolutely. Not me. I don’t have enough knowledge now, but I will. I must.

With their attempts to cure the plague stymied for now, Helix instead directed Shiv to isolate and heal more surface-level afflictions. The Deathless stole away wounds and detected other non-plague-affiliated diseases. There, he worked with Helix to mend and resolve other biological weaknesses afflicting the few survivors that remained.

There were 34 left in total out of the inflicted. 34 out of thousands. Most of the dead that had been possible to recover were now being moved to the makeshift crematorium built at the center of the field hospital. The only reliable way of stopping the plague entirely was through concentrated Pyromancy—followed by a burst of Cryomancy. The shift between hot and cold was necessary, as Sullain proved his vile genius one final time. The heat fed the disease with a surge of power, and once it went past a certain threshold, it would turn the disease into a Fire Elemental, which would then wreak havoc within the bowels of Starhawk’s Perch. There were scorch marks along the walls, and from what Shiv could see, bits of tissue burnt into the scoured concrete. He suspected more than a few Arrow Family guards met with the most fatal outcome when Sullain’s final surprise took shape.

Shiv treated the remaining survivors with his full dedication. He used his Bifurcated Processing to amplify his memorization, pushing his mind to the limit as he drew in every bit of knowledge that the orc Biomancers, especially Helix, could provide. He still lacked a lot of context for what they knew, but he was absorbing information like a sponge now. A sponge that developed spontaneous headaches as he forced his cognitive abilities to the very limit.

Bifurcated Processing 75 > 77

Atlas of the Flesh Scrier: 109 > 111

Memorization 20 > 24

After he stripped the patients clean of any physical wounds, he decided to take things further and use his Hydromancy to bathe them. He cleaned their bodies as best he could, making sure that they were nourished with a fresh dose of water as well. Most of them were still in a delirious state, but a few managed to crack open their eyes, muttering barely audible thanks, asking him if he was some kind of angel, some miracle made manifest dispatched to them by the Ascendancy. Shiv didn’t have the strength to disagree. He wished they’d never find out. He wished that the Republic weren’t the way it was. Shiv wished for a lot of things.

Eventually, Shiv found his way to his last patient, the one he’d been avoiding for a while, giving her more time with Adam. Isabella Van Stormhalt wasn’t the woman Shiv remembered. Most of her hair was missing. She was bone-thin and looked on the precipice of death. She seemed destined to follow where Georges had gone, and Shiv couldn’t bear the sight of her. She looked like she was being consumed from the inside. Adam kept a brave face and joked with her, whispered sweet nothings. Shiv tried to play along as best he could, but she was only half there anyway. Her mental abilities were diminished as well. Even so, she tried to smile, but her nerves and her muscles weren’t fully under her control anymore.

But where her physical state was already heartbreaking, it was the pain behind Adam’s gaze that made Shiv look away, lest he reopen his own psychological wounds again.

We need a proper healer. We need someone who understands disease pathologies. Maybe Dven back at Weave could help. Shiv began putting plans together. As soon as they arrived at the Gate, they needed to send for assistance. They needed to request the Composer’s help. The orcs were powerful; Helix was a determined practitioner of Biomancy, but he didn’t know everything. He had limits and blind spots. And if even Dven couldn’t help, then Shiv would request the assistance of Tulveg. Not for his own expertise; Tulveg was a Legendary Biomancer, but he was not a healer, his Biomancy serving a more offensive role. He’d already stated there was little he could do to help here.

But there was something else Shiv would ask of him if necessary. He would ask Tulveg to find his former master: Ekkihurst the Sculptor.

Shiv would do anything to see the sickness finally broken, to see Sullain spited one last time, if only to honor Georges’ memory. He would even be willing to deal with the First Blood to achieve it.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep