Chương 221: 208. To drown or not to drown

Peter sat on the bed, his gaze glued to the desk cluttered with books, notes, and even a few bottles of unidentified liquids, the chaotic mess completed by a rapier with a black snake twisting itself around the blade. The sight reminded him of Sam's storage, but much smaller, contained in one part of the small apartment.

"You sure I'm the one you want to talk to about this?" The female voice brought his attention from the clutter to the speaker. She was an apprentice to the very same man who had proposed drowning him as a way of curing him.

"Not sure who else," Peter whispered.

"Your mom? Boyfriend? Sam?" Ophelia quickly proposed, reciting the people in the know.

"The cats. Whoever you want. I'm happy to help, but…"

"We're not exactly close," Peter finished for her.

"I know. It's just that… My mom, I'm pretty sure, is not happy about my involvement in the magical world. The things I tell her and her…" He paused, looking for a proper description as his gaze jumped over the room.

"particular brand of faith," he finally added, "they don't mix well."

"She's your mother," Ophelia said.

"She has a right to have an opinion about your life." Peter was about to protest, but the next words, spoken in a rather harsh tone, stopped him in his tracks.

"And you have every right to ignore her. Be your own man, even if it hurts her." Peter frowned, bringing his gaze back to the woman. Her features, normally relaxed into a neutral, calm expression, had changed slightly as her jaw muscles flexed, giving her a harsh look.

"If someone gives something to you and then spends every waking moment telling you what you can and can't do with that thing, then it's not much of a gift, is it? Just because your mother gave you your life doesn't mean she gets to tell you how to live it. In the end, the decision is yours."

"I know," Peter agreed after a few seconds of silence.

"It's just that… I don't have many people in my life. I don't want to lose my mother, and I'm afraid that if I become some strange creature, she might be another person gone from my life."

"Can happen," Ophelia agreed, earning a wince from Peter.

"So how did you deal with it?" the boy finally asked.

"When your life changed. Was it worth it?"

"Yes," Ophelia answered without hesitation, surprising even herself with the firmness in her own voice.

"But in my case… well, let's say I didn't miss my mother much, nor did I have many people to lose, if any. Although… I do think of my parents sometimes, especially around Sam."

"Why?" Peter was taken aback. Of all the qualities he would ascribe to the man, being family-oriented wasn't on the list. Sam made him think of serial killers from TV dramas, if anything, not family life.

"He didn't tell you about his upbringing?" Ophelia asked.

"Not much."

"Well, you should ask him sometime. For all his secrecy and weirdness, he does like to reminisce about that. He told me about his father teaching him curses and how to hunt and kill. About how he taught him about the gods of his family. And when I listened, it made me think of the people in my own life. All my mother taught me was to fill out online forms for get-rich-quick scams. It was so strange to see a trained killer reminisce about his childhood with a smile I couldn't mirror. And it did hit me at some point.

There is no in-between, not if the change is that extreme. As harsh as it might sound, the only way for those in your life to remain in it is for them to accept the change, because there won't be enough of the old you left for them to cling to."

"That's rather harsh," Peter whispered, his gaze on the snake coiled around the rapier.

"And there is one more difference…" Ophelia said, pausing until Peter turned to her, noticing she was waiting for him.

"The lifespan," she finally said.

"You will age differently, if at all. You will see them age. Sam usually speaks about it as a benefit, but everyone around him comes from the arcane world. It's just another aspect that will differentiate you sooner or later. Your friends will have lived their lives while you'll have barely changed. So I believe it's better to have people around who will go on that hundreds-of-years-long journey with you. At least that's how I try to see it."

Peter stayed silent, trying to find an argument, trying to push the truth away, but the words stuck, landing in his mind and taking root. Sam mentioned he would live longer, but Ophelia was right. He sold it as a side note alongside the adventure and power. The reality of not aging didn't really register, with something as drastic as drowning ahead of him.

"Cut anyone not flinging spells out of my life?" Peter asked, a bit of anger making it into his voice.

"Tell them I'm in a different world now?"

"No." Ophelia shook her head.

"But don't lie to them or yourself. I wouldn't talk to you about how it feels to receive a vision from a god, because there is no way you can understand. But I can discuss that for hours with Sam or Myhur.

I doubt you will find much relief after a battle in the arms of someone who can't understand what it's like," she said, her eyes losing some of their focus as she continued speaking in a lower tone, "what it's like to see an image of a divine being wrapped around a spire of a dead city, what it's like to see a god's messenger stand before you and demand its payment. It's a world closed to those outside." Peter once again paused, bringing his gaze to the snake, the creature locking eyes with him.

He could swear it nodded ever so slightly, as if understanding the whole conversation.

"So how much am I willing to give for that change, huh?" Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

"Exactly." Ophelia nodded. Peter stayed still, opening and closing his mouth a few times before his voice finally rang through the room, heavy yet clear.

"I did so much to avoid dying, only to drown." He smiled lightly.

"Funny how that works." Isaac watched his teacher work, hunched over the old desk while using only candlelight to illuminate the piece of paper in front of him. That was the issue with a place like this—technology tended to go haywire, not to mention it might just be dangerous. And Father Andrew always taught him the importance of stability and certainty, whether in tools or people. And so Isaac spent a good few hours just standing at attention, ready to light more candles or bring a new pen if need be.

But the main purpose was the wait itself. It was a lesson in both patience and control. Those became increasingly common as he tended to lose both his control and his patience around his parents. The wounds in the undead flesh didn't heal naturally and required a necromancer's work to mend, adding unwanted complications. And most of all, his teacher was worried he could lose it in front of his growing congregation.

No matter how many times Isaac protested that he would never, lessons in control became part of his daily routine. Finally, he heard the pen hit the paper for the last time as a particularly pronounced dot made its way onto the white sheet, and the priest straightened in the chair, stretching his back while wincing at the supposedly painful stiffness. Whether it was real or part of the man's elaborate act, by now second nature to him, Isaac wasn't sure. But he was pretty sure the pain couldn't be real.

He saw what the man was capable of, after all, and there was no way sitting in the chair could have been anything more than mild discomfort.

"Take those and carry them to the office, then wait outside for their approval or rejection, no matter how long it takes," the priest commanded.

"Yes, Father," Isaac agreed, going to pick up the papers, trying—and failing miserably—not to snoop as his eyes drifted to the first page.

'Regarding the next steps,' the document began.

"Are you curious?" Andrew asked, making Isaac jump. He was about to protest but noticed the light, relaxed note in his voice, meaning this was a time to answer questions, not to punish.

"Yes," Isaac said hesitantly.

"What now? The enemy should soon walk into the trap. So once it's sprung, what comes next?"

"The Alhazreds or Sam, to be more precise. Don't call him 'the enemy.' Names matter, and using labels like that only adds to the legend. Call your enemies by their names."

"Yes, Father."

"And the answer is… nothing."

"Nothing?" Isaac repeated in surprise.

"Yes. The FBI, the Alhazreds, or anyone else who might wander in like a fly to a fire are inconsequential. They are separate from our next steps. And we shall do what disease does before being cured—" The priest trailed off, looking at the young man, prompting him to answer.

"Spread?"

"Exactly."

"But…" Isaac steeled himself. He did not like disagreeing with the old man, but he needed to know.

"Aren't they a threat? Doctor Terry thought so and—""Terry focused on personal glory, got blinded by his own meager talent, and paid for it. He was a fool. He did not understand the nature of our work."

"But," Isaac continued, seeing his teacher was in a good mood, "what if they destroy our laboratories? What if they live through it? Why not kill them when we have the chance? Why not kill the en—Sam when we have him trapped?"

"That kind of thinking is what turned Terry into a corpse. And I'm not saying we won't try to kill him. But it's a mistake to plan on the assumption we can kill someone who's entirely unpredictable, whose entire family history is based on that unpredictability. It's better to base our plan on keeping him busy. That's much easier than killing."

"So we'll just destroy so much of our work to keep him busy?"

"No, we'll do that to try and kill him, but even if we fail at it, we'll still have achieved our main objective. As long as he makes it to the cells, he should realize how to move around here, and if he does, he should be arrogant enough to press on further ahead. And once he does that, he'll either be dead or 'busy.' We win either way, because our main goal here is to—""Spread," Isaac answered. He stayed silent, yet was clearly not happy with the answer.

He did not like losing what they had already built, even if it made sense. If they could kill that man, it would be easier and less expensive, surely. Father Andrew quickly caught on to his mood as a flash of contempt crossed his face, yet before Isaac could notice it, his expression relaxed back into the light smile he usually wore as he continued teaching, deciding to change his approach.

"What do you think is the greatest Bible story?"

"The miracle of Lazarus," Isaac answered quickly.

"Yes. And why?" Isaac was left with his mouth hanging open.

"Well… because. Because…" The answer had been taught to him, a central part of the teachings. He could recite many reasons, but he also knew that if he repeated anything without giving it enough thought, his teacher would not hesitate to punish him. The older man took a deep breath before exhaling, silencing his stuttering answers.

"When you ask a man about the beast he fears most, he will name a predator, a lion or a bear. Some might try to be more philosophical and say 'human.' Those in the know might think of wendigos and chimeras. But very few will say 'bacteria,' yet despite that, diseases are among the best killers on the planet. Completely invisible to the naked eye, impossible to kill once and for all. But most importantly, they kill you slowly as you're lying helpless, giving you time to reconcile your sins."

Andrew paused, his gaze wandering for a few seconds before he came back to the conversation.

"When Jesus cured Lazarus, it was not simply a triumph over death, but over disease. The story of Lazarus is the reverse of David and Goliath. It's man against something so small it cannot be seen with the naked eye, and yet the Son of God himself had to come to do battle against it." He got up and gazed around the strange room where metal intertwined with natural stone, creating the strange space around them.

"And it's not in the nature of disease to fight battles and try to hunt down its enemy. No, that's in the nature of the beast. Disease simply spreads and grows. And it's that spread and growth that we should focus on until God's Son comes to cure the sick." He turned back, looking at Isaac.

"And it's your congregation that is the most important part now. Like a virus in a well."

"Mine?" Isaac asked in disbelief. He knew his group was big, but it also wasn't the largest in the church.

"Yes. A vector crucial to our spread," Andrew said, giving him one of his rare genuine smiles.

"Keep up your work, and soon we will be able to take the most crucial step yet. One that will secure our victory."