7.10

“I love the darker heroes, they are just like me.” - The Revenant King, famous for calling genocide ‘forced conscription to the greater good’.

Johnny Joymoon sat with a notebook, chewing his pen as he looked at the ghost before him.

“No luck?” Melinda leaned over.

He shook his head, tilting his head like how he saw Dustin did sometimes. “He only says one thing.”

The spirit groaned, “Mud…”

Melinda tilted her own head, biting a biscuit as she mimicked Johnny’s stance. “That’s a strange thing for a ghost to say. Sometimes people don’t keep all their facilities when they die, but most can talk at least.”

She offered the ghost a cookie.

Johnny turned to her, “What did you get from his body?”

The woman seemed down as the ghost ignored her cookie. Somber and silent for a moment, Johnny asked again, “Ms Melinda? His body?”

“There was not a lot left.”

“Huh?”

She held her arm, looking away. “It had to be a closed casket funeral. I did what I did to make him look presentable, but I wasn’t able to fix his body for his family.”

Johnny nodded. Walking away and talked to the next ghost, while she silently turned to another.

“Suffocating…”

He arrived at another ghost and winced. The previous ghost’s body was left in shambles, but this one’s spirit was damaged as well. He gulped, there was no blood, only gaping gashes and the scent of burnt fat.

“Johnny!” Melinda rushed up to him, “I can take him if you’re uncomfortable.”

He shook his head to her. “No, I can handle this, I’m strong.” He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince with that, still, drawing in a deep breath, he asked, “What killed you?”

The man gaped, as if gasping for breath, “Dirt…”

Nothing. Well, nothing that hadn’t been heard before. It seemed like many of them were buried alive, but what caused their wounds then? Only Utoqa would’ve survived those injuries long enough to be buried. Johnny kept chewing his pen, grinding it down with his teeth until he tasted the ink, this was a mistake, it was pointless, he wasn’t doing anything that mattered!

In the corner of his eye, he caught movement. A ghost, hidden before the myriad crowd of all others. He was whole, a grown man, built large like a bear and wearing a blacksmith’s apron. His calloused hands were clutching his head as he shook, whimpering.

Johnny pushed aside the numerous ghosts near him, a sea of spirits parting as he arrived beside the lonesome one. Still whole, still conscious.

Still legible.

“What killed you?”

The ghost turned to him, looked at him with hollow eyes. They were haunting things, browns orbs of the once living, ripped from hope and buried in an abyss of despair.

Johnny did not flinch, for he saw similar eyes in the mirror.

“Clay. Clay killed me!” the ghost began to shout, waving his arms in madness. “I WAS COVERED! COULDN’T MOVE AS FIRE BAKED ME AND ATE MY SOUL! I CRACKED AS ALL POTS DO!”

He flinched back now, something was telling him this ghost was dangerous. An intuition for spirits he wasn’t sure if he always had. For not all ghosts were ephemeral, benign things. Some could affect the physical, some would haunt a place for centuries, lashing out at the living in inexplicable ways. Johnny knew this was one such ghost.

He turned to the monster he knew, that monstrous thing made of arms and the dead spirit of lies, “Ghost! Kill it!”

It began to move, unfurling in a mass of violence as it approached them. The blacksmith ghost beside him roared. His own ghost wouldn’t make it in time. He had put it too far away, for it still reminded him of the past.

The blacksmith ghost grabbed his shoulder.

Melinda raised two hands, one at the ghost of lies and another at the ghost of the blacksmith. “Mr Hauerdian. He is trying to help you.”

Both ghosts stopped, like twin candles sputtering out to darkness.

“Remember your wife’s pies? She leaves them out to cool by the window, the smell is divine,” she smiled, sitting beside the ghost as if reminiscing with a friend. “I suspect she does it intentionally, she’s quiet mischievous isn’t she? She leaves them out just to make other people jealous.”

Melinda gently rested a comforting hand on him. “The kids from the Hearthhome always stole her pies. She scolds up a storm worthy of an imperial tutor, but she always leaves the pies in the same spot for them.”

Mr Hauerdian blinked, as if having woken from a long dream, he looked at Melinda, then Johnny. For a moment, sanity and recognition flitted by his eyes, and with it, Johnny saw a pained man. But it was gone as quickly as the warmth from a blown candle. The ghost turned around, held his head and continued to mutter and shake, leaving Johnny frozen, and Melinda looking… sad.

Johnny shuffled a cautious step back, “Ms Melinda, he’s still dangerous.”

“I know,” her arms gently wrapped around Johnny. He stiffened, but the embrace felt… right. Like a warm bed after a long winter. “But you have to remember that the ghosts you talk to were once people, and still are in many cases.” She nodded towards the door, where Mr Peterson kept watch outside.

“But not all of them are,” Johnny whispered back. His own eyes avoided hers, drawn to the silent grotesque thing that returned to its corner. His hand went to the ragged doll, tightening around it in a strangle. “Why did he give that thing to me?”

“Because he too, is suffering. He too doesn’t know how to do things right.” She patted his head and stood up, “Now then! There are a lot more people to interview! They’re all counting on us to pass on!”

<><><><>

“You look like shit,” I told Noam as he rested by Utoqa. His wounds were closed, but Celine could only do so much at this great distance. With the new contract, I wasn’t in a position to waste mana, even if my regeneration was great, I was still drained from signing on the toad. There would be little point, Noam was depleted as well, having spent most of his abilities and mana, given his stats, he would not be greatly useful if I were to heal him. I would be losing myself as a combat asset for little gain.

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Despite that, I knelt beside him, and started casting balm spores. He raised an eyebrow, then grinned. “You too, what’s the new ride?”

Utoqa was silently sizing up the swamp elemental, “It would be a tiresome hunt.”

“Glad to see you approve of it.” Coming from him, it was high praise indeed. Maybe I did luck out with the elemental.

Balm spores healed the minor bits Celine didn’t have the power to prioritize or fix. I freshened Utoqa up as well, he was built tougher than Noam, but his arm was still raw. “Pain pain go away, Rain leave for next day, Now feel the numbness, Bring Fix-Up-Fungus!”

I got a bit woozy as I lost the mana, the healing shroom sprouted between us, getting used to the mana sickness now was,in hindsight, a terrible thing to be used to, like being used to growing boils when plague comes, but what could you do?

“That’s the stuff,” Noam moaned, hugging the Fix-Up Fungus as it spewed healing spores onto him.

I did the thing all good friends do when they moaned, I said, “The mushroom is rather phallic isn’t it?”

Noam choked and fell off the healing shroom. “Hey! I’m injured here!”

“Clearly not injured enough,” I chuckled.

He rolled his eyes. “If I was less tired I would be eviscerating you right now.”

Utoqa raised an eyebrow, “When you say that, you imply with weapons, but you mean with words, correct?”

Noam grinned.

“With words right? Dustin is our protector, it would be poor to wound him.”

His grin widened.

Utoqa tilted his head. “Barring teeth is a threat, but amongst the softskins it is supposed to be reassurance?”

I bonked Noam with my staff, “Cut it, don’t confuse the terminator lizard.”

Noam chuckled as he rolled over. “Softskins indeed, after seeing what you can do with your teeth, I think you deserve to call us squishy meat bags by that.”

“Dustin is not made of meat,” Utoqa said. “His flesh is tougher, and more plant like.”

“Trust him, he’s tried,” I agreed.

Noam laughed at that. Utoqa perked up, afraid that the noise would attract something, but he sensed nothing, and sat back down, eyes closed as he focused on resting.

After a while, he opened his eyes. “I am recovered. What shall be our next cause of action?”

“Returning to the city, the Hearthhome, it seems we are in for an extended fight.”

“Dusts,” Noam sat up. “The plan?”

“Working on it,” I bit my thumb. The enemy was a guild of Travelers and the city guard. The simple fact was that we were outnumbered, and though Utoqa by himself was worth almost a dozen of them, all it took was a single mistake. Did they still think he was a Traveler? With magic being so free, there must be a way to keep a Traveler in permanent stasis so that they could not respawn elsewhere. My eyes lingered on the ashes, the use of a prison implied they did not have the capability, but how much longer would that hold true? Traveler’s apparently haven’t been a part of this world for a long time, only returning recently with our wave, but if I was a resident of this world, I might’ve set up a service for detaining Travelers. A magical prison that induced comas, kept threats off the board for a subscription. Of course, the real problem would then be dealing with their pissed Traveler friends, but then I could just sell their freedom back and get paid twice.

I was getting off track again, the simplest solution would be to just kill them and spawn camp the Wayshards. It didn’t stop them from entering the city normally, but it would theoretically keep a Traveler off the board for a while.

If we discounted alley space that is.

I wasn’t entirely convinced Yellow and Greenie were serious about the place, but given that Celine sent a message of their meet up, it was another ace up our sleeves.

Noam stretched, reminding me of a cat, “Right, I’m physically recovered.”

“Good,” standing up, a mushroom appeared in my palm. “Let’s set up my second ace in the hole.”

He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question it. It was something I realized I should appreciate more about him. Though it sounded obvious, my thoughts happened in the privacy of my mind, yet I always expected others to follow a similar chain of logic. Arrive at the same conclusion, and work together on the same plan.

Noam didn’t know what I was thinking, nor did he think in a similar way. He simply trusted me and offered his hand.

I pressed the Stamp of Symbiosis on the back of his hand.

<><><><>

Mr Hauerdian felt pain.

“We know they all died the same way,” Johnny said, tapping his head with his pen. “But none of them remembered who or what killed them. Mr Hauerdian remembered the most, but…”

Mr Hauerdian felt pain.

Recalling that memory hurt him. Johnny could ask, press for more details, learn more about the monster who killed so many people, he would just be hurting someone else in the process.

After that realization, he wondered if he was even capable of asking, even if it was in service of the greater good. If he simply didn’t know that the ghosts felt pain, he might’ve caught the killer already.

He wasn’t doing the best he could, he wasn’t trying his hardest. Johnny was lacking, and he couldn’t bring himself to fix it.

So they had to try another route. Melinda and Johnny double checked their notes, Johnny read the prior investigations Melinda did, most of the same stuff, only older. There were ghosts decades older than he was, all similar causes of death, but the number increased greatly in recent years. Most of the ghosts around them occurred within the past year alone.

The rest degenerated, years of never resting in peace. Melinda did what she had to, and her notes on those people were covered in tear stains.

He wished could forget seeing those tears as well.

It was when Johnny threw down a stack of notes with an audible thud, that Melinda stopped him, placing a tray of tea and snacks onto the table. “Let’s have tea!”

Johnny brushed away the snacks that she placed by his hand, “I can keep working.”

“You can work anytime you want, but resting you can’t always do,” she said, pushing the snacks back towards him.

“But you said it yourself, they’re relying on us,” Johnny pointed out as he pushed the cookie back.

“You think they want to sent to the after life by someone who looks half dead from tiredness?” she asked, this time she didn’t push the snacks closer, she simply wafted its scent towards him.

They were cookies and scones that smelt buttery, with sugar and jam.

“It’s irresponsible,” he said again.

“You have a responsibility to your health,” she gestured at her mortician’s apron, pointing out crumbs of cookies over the dried blood. “Look! I’ve been snacking whenever I can, you should too!”

The cookie smelt of warmth and home.

Johnny slammed his palm into the table, tea spilling to the ground, “I DON’T WANT TO!”

He stood up, fists shaking. “I don’t want to rest, or have cookies or tea, or whatever you want to give me! I don’t want to be treated like a kid! I want to help someone! I want to be able to save people! I want to...”

His eyes widened, “I want to be a hero.”

He spoke, “I want to be the farmer who slays the giant monster, the Good King who overthrows the tyrant, the party who slays the dark lord. I want to be someone who can save others.”

Johnny raised the doll of the Weeping Child, staring into its button eyes. “That’s why he picked me. That’s why you sought me out.”

He looked at Melinda, really saw her. “You can use your powers, your… ‘blessing’ so freely. I can learn to be a hero with you.”

Johnny could be the farm boy who slays dragons.

Melinda knelt down and wiped clean the spilled tea, “Do you know of Astrologer Joseph?”

Johnny paused in surprise, “The slayer of the last True Vampires? The Hero of Bright Days?”

She chuckled, “Yes, him. He definitely did those things.” She set the cups back onto the table, “He also loved tea, and his wife’s cookies.”

Melinda looked mischievously conspiratorial, like a girl revealing she was the one who ate the sugar cubes from the pantry. “She taught me how to make them, you know? Would never tell Joseph, but he wouldn’t know how to bake them even if she did. He could navigate the stars from memory, but couldn’t a kitchen with instruction.”

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked.

“Not all heroes are as large as you think they are,” she poured another cup of tea. “Some of them are just like you or me-”

“Or Dustin, or Noam, or Tai, or Celine or Utoqa…” he said. “The Weeping Child said the same thing.”

“You can be a hero Johnny, the greatest the realm has ever seen,” she offered him the snacks again. “Just don’t forget the taste of sweetness.”