A Gamer's Guide To Beating The Tutorial

And just like that, Kitty left. His back faded into the darkness, away and out of sight, leaving Emil alone in the light. Alone, and empty. With Kitty no longer at his side, the darkness that surrounded him appeared all the more deep and impenetrable, the light he’d summoned weaker than ever.

A trembling little breath found its way down his chest, and somehow, he was able to remind himself that people were relying on him. They needed his help, and every second he spent standing dazed and alone in the hallway was a second he could have spent at their side, healing them and caring for them. And so, with newfound strength, he uprooted his feet from the spot, the hallway soon bringing him to his next patient.

It was a simple formula. All he had to do was smile, cast a healing spell or two, chat for a few moments, and then move on. It was easier when they were asleep—then, all he had to do was heal them and move on. If only there was a spell to heal infected tissue… If only his penicillin was more effective… If only he could have pushed through more effective methods of prevention, then…

He shook his head. It was alright. According to Kitty, in the past two weeks, the total number of infected had sunk from two-and-a-half thousand to one-and-three-quarters thousand. That was good! But not good enough. There was still so much left to do, so many more people to help, so much more…

Exhaustion Resistance Lv.8>

He waved the window away. He didn’t have time for that, so without pausing, he used a healing spell on himself, feeling his body jerk at the unwanted energy, tense muscles flexing to relax, his brain filling with static. And when it was over, he breathed a bit more, and now he could keep going, just a bit more. Down the hall, the next door loomed ahead. Just a bit more.

His hand rose to push it away, only to pause halfway up. It might be Kitty. Maybe something had happened? Uncertain, he opened it.

everything OK at hospital? You’re sure

you don’t want Jazz to help?

It’s OK even if it’s late. Isn’t it weird

being all alone with Ben Evil and .. Kitty?

I heard from + about what happened

today & I’m sorry I wasn’t there Linne

almost croaked again & … but that isn’t

important. Sorry. I wanted to save

some food for you but it was TBH kind of

gross … Did you eat dinner yet?

We’ll be staying up a few more

hours, Rat will do night shift in 3h, but

I’ll wait up for you. How much longer

will you be staying? Please remember

to rest a little. //Sully>

A pang of guilt shot through his chest. It wasn’t enough to worry Kitty, now he was making his party worry, too. With only a moment of hesitation, he began writing a response.

Thank you for checking in on me,

it means a lot. But you really don’t have

to worry about me! You have work tomorrow

so you really should get to bed soon.

Please don’t wait up for me. I’m okay.

I’ll try to be back before Rat gets here.

If you’re worried that I’m staying late

because of what happened today,

that’s really not the case. We’ve both

seen worse, right? Besides, if I need company,

I have Kitty. He’s a really good listener,

and even though he seems suspicious of Benevil,

I think they’ll get along eventually.

Again, thank you for checking in on me.

I’ll be home soon.

PS: I’m sorry, but as I told Plus and Jazz,

I’d prefer it if you refrained from messaging me

while I’m working, I’ll tell you when I’m done

but again I really don’t want you to stay up.>

He grit his teeth. He hated being so curt with his friends, but he was busy with work, and their worry only made him less able. So even though it hurt, he sent the message away, breathing a sigh of relief as he turned his attention back to work—back to the door in front of him.

It was only when he opened it and stepped inside that he remembered to whom it belonged.

There, alone in the cramped little room, laid Linne. His small silhouette appeared for a moment like a knotted-up octopus, limbs tangled together one over the other, some drawn as tight as cords and others puffed up like swollen sausages ready to burst. Had it not been for the fact that the core of the bundled-up form heaved and moved with uncertain, gasping breaths, Emil would have presumed him to already be dead. The smell certainly gave off such an impression, the poor man’s festering wounds spreading a stench throughout the room much like that of a rotting carcass.

Steeling himself, Emil crossed the room. Linne had been admitted as of a week back, when they found him collapsed against the doorstep of the hospital. He had barely been lucid even then, the persistent wound on his hand wound with worn scraps of fabric. The smell when they’d removed the makeshift bandage had yet to be upped by any scent Emil had experienced. With no background to go off of and no personal belongings aside from a diary written in sheer gibberish, they could only assume that he was homeless. Benevil had commented on his state and suggested letting him pass on painlessly, but Moleman had rejected him. He could be saved. He had clearly come to them with nowhere else to go—had he wanted a quick and easy death, he would have gone to the barricaded entrance instead. To turn him away was against every single principle Emil held. And yet, now, here…

‘Today’, he heard Kitty’s voice echo through his head.

Gritting his teeth, Emil wandered over to the water basin in the room. There, he grabbed a small hand towel, dipped it in the water, used a spell to warm it slightly, and returned to Linne. The goblin’s face twisted in pain, a sheen of sweat and grime spread across his forehead. Casting a cleaning spell on the towel, he wiped down Linne’s face gingerly, removing the dirt and perspiration. Then, he cleaned his arms and legs, making sure to wipe between the folds of his swollen skin, removing pus from the opened bulbs, refraining from the urge to recoil at how stiff his bulbous stomach was; at the feverish heat of his skin; at the smell of the open wounds. There wasn’t a single part that wasn’t bleeding in some way, or otherwise decaying from the outside in. He washed his feet, his body, and then resolved himself to the most difficult task. Holding his breath to avoid the worst of the smell, he removed the tight bandages wrapped around Linne’s infected arm.

Worms. Wriggling. White larvae, white eggs, clashing against the glistening black flesh, necrotic and dead and hot and cold, tiny teeth gnawing at flesh with hungry fervor, beady eyes seeing everything and nothing, the whole hand so swollen he couldn’t tell the palms from the fingers, bone exposed in areas where there should be nothing but flesh and liquified tissue where there should be skin. A swath of what might have been skin loosened alongside the bandage, the flabby thing dripping with pus and white inflammation, and all of a sudden Emil wasn’t in the room anymore, he was someplace much darker, much more putrid, the smell of death in life and decay invading his nostrils and his eyes and his mind, little bodies staring at him, begging him for salvation, corpseflies in the air, bodies clasped in desperate final embrace, and Kitty—Kitty…

‘Hey, man, pull yourself together.’

The words drew breath from his chest and he blinked, tears in his eyes and the smell of putrefaction suddenly in his throat, clawing itself down into his lungs, burning, anxious for him to join.

The heavy bandage flew from his hand across the room and he stumbled, gripping onto the bed frame, disgust and horror fighting in his skull like a pair of rabid dogs. He tried to breathe, in and out, but each breath was accompanied by the horrible stench of death, of what would soon die, what was already dead, and…

Emil fell to his knees. He felt feverish. Everything was trembling and the world was a blurry dark mess in front of him. At least, on his knees, he couldn’t see Linne.

His head found rest in his arms. Above him, Linne was still alive. His chest still rose with strained breathing, his heart beat yet. But not for much longer. Emil knew that. He’d known it for a week now. Every single moment Linne lived was another little miracle. But those miracles were spent. Emil knew that. Of course he knew that. He wasn’t blind, nor was he deaf.

Was it so wrong to hope that Linne could get better? That he might be able to beat the odds, to recover, to show the world who he truly was? They didn’t even know his name! Linne was simply the only words he’d been able to say when he arrived. They couldn’t even tell if it was a name, or the name of someone he knew, or downright words in a language they simply didn’t know. Whoever he was, tonight, he would die. A healing spell or two might have been able to delay it by a few hours, maybe enough to see dawn, but…

What was the point?

His muscles felt exhausted and spent, and yet, he worked himself to stand, his legs wavering beneath him, ready to give out at any moment. There was only one chair in the room, standing modestly in a corner. It was with great difficulty that Emil staggered over to it before lifting it over to place it next to Linne’s bed. He took a seat, his back hunched and his head slung low to face the floor. It felt as though he had a five-tonne weight pressed against his chest. Wiping his hand across his face, he found himself chuckling bitterly. “Why did I even do that?” he muttered hoarsely. “You’re deaf. You wouldn’t have been able to hear the chair even if I scraped it the whole way.”

On the bed, eyes pinched close and mouth open in a dead-man’s gasp, Linne’s chest rattled as he tried to breathe.

“What do you want?” Emil asked. “Do you want to live? Or do you want to die?” He grit his teeth. “Does it even matter? You’re in pain. If you’d been an animal, you would’ve been put down a week ago. Because suffering is worse than death, right? That’s what Benevil says. But he’s wrong. Living is a delight. Who doesn’t love to live? Living is…” Something hot and burning bubbled up and suddenly Emil couldn’t see anymore, his vision blurred. “It’s good. It’s great, really. I—I love…” He swiped at his eyes with his sleeve, but it wouldn’t go away. “Damn it. What the hell am I doing? I’m not…” Throat thick with tears, Emil reached out, putting one hand on Linne’s shoulder. “I can’t save you. You’re already dead! Don’t you get it? What I’m doing, trying to keep you alive… It’s selfish. It’s horrible pride, and your suffering is the toll I’m trying to pay.”

He laughed. “Because, see, the truly horrible thing isn’t my pride in keeping you alive—it’s the fact that I could save you. All I need is to say the word, and you’ll be saved at no cost to myself. I won’t even have to get my hands dirty. I just say the word, and you’re brought back, in prime condition, better than ever.” In the dim room, not even Emil could tell whether the sound he made was supposed to be a laugh or a wail. “Isn’t it cruel? No, it’s worse than cruel—it’s kind. If I didn’t have this option, then your death would merely be tragic. Another victim in this plague, another casualty to be tallied tomorrow. But now?” Emil felt his manic grin twitch painfully. “Now, it’s almost funny.”

He stood up. The world swam around him and the floor swung nauseatingly beneath his feet. The only thing keeping him upright was his grip on the edge of Linne’s bed. He could feel the harsh sting of bile rising at the back of his throat.

Mutely, he let himself fall forward, his upper body now mere inches from Linne. Within the darkness, he could see the little glints of his tears falling onto the dying goblin’s face, streaking down, mingling with new sweat. His face twisted with grief, everything stiff and painful. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I never should have let you go this long. I’m so sorry. I really wanted you to get better. I thought, if only I cared enough, if only I helped you, if only I loved you enough, then…” He stifled a sob. “But it doesn’t work like that, does it? When you’re as sick as you are, you only get worse. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it earlier. I could have saved us so much suffering, but now…”

He gripped his hand into a fist, drew in a deep, shivering breath, and looked down at Linne. Saying nothing, he leaned down closer, put his arm around the poor thing, and hugged him tightly. Linne hissed with pain, uttered a gurgling, whimpering sort of noise, and then slumped again. “It’s okay. You don’t have to forgive me. Just sleep, and when you dream, dream of warm summer days, and soft grass, and the smiles of those you love. I’ll be with you in time. But until then… Goodnight. I love you.”