Rules of Biomancy: A LitRPG Healer Fantasy

It was raining. It was all going to shit and it was raining. The alchemist could feel blood running down his neck from a stray arrow that had cut his ear and it was raining. His world was falling apart and it was raining.

Was he weird for focusing on that fact? The alchemist wasn’t sure, though rain pelting him without mercy certainly refused to let him forget about its existence. How did everybody else stand and fight in this weather?

Do the hounds even feel it?

He could hear their shouting through the rain. Even with the intense thunder, winds, and rain making everything around him a blur, that cheering and chanting was without end. Axes were swung and thrown, warriors were cut down, and they were having the time of their lives while suffering just as many losses.

If not more.

This wasn’t a village where they were attacked. They were two weeks away from the next one they were meant to burn down. This was meant to have been a relaxing day of silent work, yet the sky had broken in two and the strong rain had hidden the force that was ready to meet them on the road.

Hundreds of warriors, mages, and archers, wearing Serenova’s colors and shouting for their blood to be shed. The alchemist had feared the sight, ready to run, but the others had been thirsty for blood. They’d been stupid, too used to villagers who could barely wield a spear. They couldn’t fathom that there was a chance they might lose, that they would be running into their certain deaths.

The alchemist knew otherwise. He saw otherwise when the first volley of arrows and spells flew towards their charging bodies. He watched enchanted arrows fly straight through the muscle-bound freaks, saw as the spell burnt them to a crisp, and saw some lost chunks of flesh or even entire limbs.

And they laughed, too drugged up to even register anything. They saw red, saw a person that could spill some more, and they charged onwards. No fear, no sense of worrying, nothing but that thirst for slaughter.

It disgusted the alchemist, but he did nothing.

He just obeyed as his leader shouted at him to prepare everything and anything that could help them. Maybe she saw the painting on the wall, maybe she just thought they could use it, but it didn’t matter. She shouted at him to help the wounded so they could go back into the fight, and that was what he needed to do if he didn’t want to be cut down by his side.

Is it even my own?

The arrows didn’t seem to care, flying within a finger’s width of his head as he ran through the field. People were dying around him by the handful every time he looked, so he stopped checking. If he died, he died. If one of the enemy’s Mages wanted him dead, there was nothing he could do. He could only run and hope that they didn’t care enough about him to spend a second aiming his way.

“That’s five!” one of the hounds near him shouted after cutting down one of the enemy warriors, a roar of laughter leaving him before a bolt of light impacted his chest. A moment of stillness came before the body was ripped apart and thrown in every direction.

The alchemist kept running. His legs were burning, the pain from his lungs was starting to reach his limits, and the adrenaline couldn’t keep it up for much longer.

Lighting flashed before his eyes, the sound of cracking thunder reaching his ears a moment later. He felt it as his eardrums were pressed inwards, as liquid other than water filled his ear canal, and suddenly everything else seemed to become a little quieter.

“You filth!” still came through, however, and the alchemist was presented with a close-up of two fighting just a step away. One of the hounds and a similarly sized warrior. The green-veined berserker wielded little more than a massive axe and a smile, while the warrior possessed a shining claymore along with thick leather armor.

Who had shouted before was a question the alchemist couldn’t answer. He tried to get up from the muddy grass to run again, yet his strength seemed to leave him as soon as he tried to stand. It was surprisingly hard to breathe. Had he been hit?

“I’ll drink out of your skull tonight!” the hound promised the warrior as the distance between the two was closed. A wild swing from the former just barely missed the shoulder of the latter. With the hound open for a counter-attack, however, the warrior surged forward with his blade in hand.

The berserker didn’t dodge, a deep cut running through their left bicep. The arm fell limply to the side because of it, distracting the hound enough for a hit to the head to knock them over.

Were they dead? The alchemist couldn’t say, not having time to consider their health as the warrior looked over at them.

Oh no.

Freezing in place didn’t make them less interested in him, but his legs weren’t helping him run as he could barely stumble away. Before he knew it, the warrior was above him, sword raised high, and eyes emotionless as they tensed their muscles to cut him in two.

“Gotcha, idiot.”

The hound had recovered and dropped his axe, closing in on the warrior from behind and putting their hands around their head before they realized it.

No.

There was no looking away, as the muscles flexed, and the metal helmet the warrior had worn stopped the crushed head from leaking out too much. The alchemist didn’t know what to think. Had a hound just saved his life?

“Agh, shit, forgot the skull,” he could hear the muscle-bound freak complain as he shook off the brain matter and picked up the dropped axe. Green veins had sprouted on their biceps, twisting and tensing the muscles disgustingly, but the regenerative abilities were more than able to heal the wound. “Hey, dude, you got any booze on you?”

The sight before the alchemist stun-locked him. The berserker looked down at him casually as his stomach and arm bled profusely, rain and thunder pelting down at them, and the people in the back all fighting and dying without end. It almost brought a sense of calm into his dissociated mind.

Almost, as the sight of several charging warriors made him shrink back in fear, back on the feet that a second before had refused to move at all.

“More skulls!” shouted the hound while laughing. How, even with the drugs, they weren’t filled with fear mystified the alchemist. “Get the booze ready!”

That last order was meant for him, but he couldn’t get himself to do much else but witness the berserker meet the three warriors’ charge with his own. The final lunge that felled the one in the middle only made it crazier.

Then the fantasy died, however, and the side with more numbers began to show their prowess. The one pushed to the ground used the chance to stab the berserker in the same place as the other one had, while those on the side cut and slashed at the hound. Wounds piled up, blood was shed, and so little of it came from the warriors’ side.

For now.

The axe was swung directly into the grounded warrior’s chest, killing them instantly. One death in exchange for a blade inserted into the upper chest. It was ripped out of the warrior’s hands a second later, but that didn’t stop the wound from rapidly being covered with red.

Even when several meters away, the alchemist heard it as the throat and head were ripped off the warrior, alongside the screams of their final moments.

For a second, he thought the brute could win the fight.

Then they slowed down, letting their arms fall to the side. The last of the three didn’t falter at the opportunity, raising his sword and trying to cut from the berserker's chest and down to their stomach.

It got stuck on one of the lower ribs, the bone and muscle holding it in place.

A gurgling sound left the hound as they grabbed the warrior’s arm and pulled them close. The other free arm wrapped around their midsection and hugged them tightly.

They fell to the grass motionless.

…

“You got the booze now?” the berserker said in between the blood running from his mouth. “Need something to wash this… down.”

The alchemist looked on as they fell. Their body was twitching, the elixir doing its job faithfully as it infested more and more flesh to keep the berserker alive. It was like a corpse being electrocuted.

“A life for a life.”

Horror settled into the alchemist’s bones as he saw the third warrior stand up weakly, a dagger in hand as they stumbled towards the fallen berserker. They were weak, likely to die within the next few minutes, but they could still take another with them within that time.

Was the alchemist going to let that happen? The first answer was a yes, as he’d already gotten his share of near-death for now. The rain was still powerful above, the enemy was still ready to run to him and cut him down, and there was little hope for him if he continued just standing here.

But…

The warrior was right.

A life for a life.

Taking out the dagger meant to cut herbs and nothing more, the alchemist ran toward the downed berserker. The rain kept his steps hidden, the thunder made no shadow appear, and the warrior never thought to look to the side. They could barely see it all, with the blood running down their face.

A perfect target for the weakest around.

The alchemist’s dagger barely met resistance as it was plunged into the side of the warrior’s throat. He felt the weapon vibrate as the man tried and failed to shout, to curse, to do anything other than slightly turn his head and look at his killer.

Would there ever be a time when he could forget those blood-filled eyes?

He couldn’t say, and neither could he spare the thought another moment. A shove made the knife dislodge from the warrior’s throat, and they fell to the ground truly dead. No threat to the alchemist or the berserker anymore, though the latter barely needed it. The body was starting to calm down in its flinching and moving around on the ground, but not because the wound had healed.

The elixir was simply beginning to run out of stamina. A reservoir of energy meant to be endless, one meant to push the hounds forward for days at a time, emptying because of wounds like this? Pitiful, though the alchemist could only blame himself. He’d probably been the one to brew whatever this freak drank this morning.

“You helped me, so I help you,” he muttered, bringing out the golden concoctions from his pockets. Recently put together, still hot to the touch, and hopefully powerful enough to do something. “If you’re awake, please swallow this.”

He emptied the bottle in the berserker’s mouth, watching as it began to bubble at the touch of flesh. It had instantly seen the error in the body and tried to remedy it, but the wounds it focused on were the wrong ones. The berserker didn’t need a clean head to live but instead a clean core.

Focus.

Channeling of [Plant Bond] has been activated! Current cost: 9MP/sec

It was a stupidly high cost, but one that was needed to have any control over the direction of the healing energies. The alchemist massaged the berserker’s throat to make them swallow as much as possible before moving downwards and holding his hands to their chest. The body fought him every step of the way, as threads of Mana entered the altered flesh, guiding the healing and repairing of the vital organs. The heart was pressured to the point of failure, the lungs were filled with more liquid than he’d thought possible, and the stomach was festered with blood, meat, and… the alchemist didn’t want to think about what he could look directly into.

“Wake up,” he said when the twitching in the arms and legs began again. The elixir, previously having given up on the future corpse, had been given a violent restart. “I can’t keep this shit up for long.”

If the berserker could hear him, they didn’t make it obvious.

Shit.

The alchemist felt a lurch from his own body as he started getting dangerously close to emptying his reserves. Flares of pain started shooting out from his Core, the magical organ attempting to close down the veins to preserve whatever energies were left. Seeing as the hound was still not alive for good, however, the alchemist forced them back open. He was still breathing, so he still had more to give.

“Last chance,” he tried, bringing out a reserve of smelling salts. A second was spent enhancing them before he practically stuffed them up the nose of the berserker. “Wake. Up.”

With those final words, his Core, for all intents and purposes, gave out. He couldn’t force more Mana to leave his body as there was no more Mana in his flesh to take from. He was empty, left shaking as his physical shell was deprived of vital energy that went into every part of his normal processes. It was a type of torture unknown until now, and the alchemist wished he’d never had to experience it again.

Maybe his wish would come true, seeing as he was going to be killed soon.

“Ugh, that didn’t feel good.”

What?

Though it took more effort than the alchemist could've dreamed, he turned his head to see the berserker sitting up from the ground. Their body was stained with blood and mud, chunks of flesh were still missing, but they could look around and seem somewhat lucid.

No green eyes.

The alchemist laughed at that. He’d actually managed to make a berserker run out of elixir in their body.

“You saved my life so I saved yours,” he said, catching the hound's attention as they scratched the back of their head. “Feel free to thank me before our throats are sliced.”

Was it the lack of energy to do anything about it, or had the alchemist actually started to feel some form of acceptance in his heart? It was insane to think about, but he didn’t feel like it was worth it to try and run. Even if the enemy didn’t want to spare the time to cut him down, his allies certainly would. Traitors to the cause weren’t looked on favorably.

“... I’d rather not die, if I’m being honest,” the berserker said, his words not living up to his title. The alchemist certainly thought it amusing, weak chuckles leaving him as he put his head back down into the mud. “That stuff before felt like shit, so avoiding that seems good to me. Any idea how to do that, savior of mine?”

“Do the impossible and flee without being chased?” the alchemist replied, laughing at his own joke. “Like that’s ever gonna happen.”

“Sounds good to me.”

A reflexive yelp left him as an arm wrapped around his torso, raising him from the ground and into the clutches of the freak he’d given a minute more of breath. He felt like questioning the reason, but his lungs had trouble working normally as the running began.

The alchemist had thought his own speed admirable, as he’d run through the field of battle trying to find somebody in need. The muscle-bound freak, easily five times his weight, made him seem like an ant in comparison. With strides longer than he was tall, they moved through the battlefield without more than arrows flying their way. Some even hit the berserker, which elicited small curses of pain, but they never stopped in their trek. In fact, they might’ve just increased in speed.

To the side of the road, about a hundred meters away from where the battle had been ongoing, there was nothing but thick forestry. The alchemist had dreamed of reaching it, but he hadn’t thought it possible until now.

A branch whipped at him as they passed through the line into the forest and away from the warfare. The rain made it hard for him to see, convincing him they were a moment away from sprinting straight into old oak every second, yet never did he so much as get scratched by the wood after that.

Easily ten minutes later, when the strong winds and rain began to die down, the berserker stopped his charge. Contrary to their supposed endless stamina, the alchemist could hear them breathe heavily, lungs not able to keep the required pace any longer.

“I know I asked this before, but… do you or do you not have any booze on you?” the hound asked, putting the alchemist down on the grass as they rested against a tree. “If we don’t want the others following our scent, we need to continue soon, but I wouldn’t mind a burn to keep me going.”

“I’ve got some pure spirits to clean wounds with,” the alchemist offered. A normal person would have their throats damaged more than anything if they drank it, but the berserker still accepted it with a muttered thanks. With the confidence only an elixir-driven man could boast, they downed half the bottle in under ten seconds.

“That felt great, thanks,” they said, handing the remains back. “A little bland but… damn, it’s been too long since I thought about that.”

“Since you thought about how booze tasted?” he asked.

“Not just booze but more… everything else?” the berserker explained, feeling at their face. Their fingers traced the lines made up of green, pulsating veins. Even if the elixir had been mostly drained and wiped from their body, the remains were still working hard to keep him healthy in some limited fashion. “My head is just clear for the first time in however long we’ve been doing this. Weeks? Months?”

“I think I remember you from about five years ago, so it’s been a while,” the alchemist corrected, the memory about almost losing his head to a blonde-haired hound resurfacing. And the things that came after… he’d been so good at forgetting that. “You’re the ‘Butcher of Verness,’ right?”

He’d expected a shit-eating grin to appear on the musclebound man’s face at the name of his title, but instead, they just frowned and looked down at their hands. Even with the rain washing them so many times, red stains could still be seen, flesh bits still trapped beneath the nails.

...

“I didn’t want this.”

…

“Sucks for you, then, because you already got it,” he replied, giving in and taking a small swig of the pure spirit himself. It burned like nothing else, feeling like hellfire on his tongue and even worse when it went down his throat. Made him wake up, nonetheless.

“Hey, could you be a little less rude? I did just save your life,” the berserker said, eyes sending daggers at him as he packed away the bottle in his bag once again. It was a good thing he’d brought it along to the battlefield, lest he would’ve lost some of his most prized possessions.

“And I saved yours,” the alchemist countered. Though his body felt shaky and worn, he still got up from the ground and back on his feet. “Now we’re even.”

“... I can’t say anything to that, I guess,” the giant of a man said. There was a flicker of green in their eyes that made the alchemist wonder if they would kill him, but it faded away just as quickly as it had appeared. “You want to go our separate ways then?”

A choice appeared in front of him yet again. Did he accept it and suffer whatever terrors in this world alone, or did he stay with the freak and allow them to live past this rainy season without collapsing on the road?

Because they would, without his help. The elixir might’ve been somewhat purified, but the last pieces of residue would exist for longer than the berserker himself. It would settle in the bones, settle in the muscle, and force the heart to operate at a heightened level until the organ gave out.

Only through careful dosing from the alchemist’s side did any of the hounds live past their initial six-month expiration date, and, for somebody like this that had been on the elixir for so many years, there was little question about what would happen to them if they walked alone.

“I’ve just saved your life, almost taking my own with how much Mana I spent making sure your internal organs didn’t all fail at once,” the alchemist finally said. “I’m going to need to be around, making you suppressants, if you want to live long enough to think about what you’ve done the past half-decade.”

“Harsh,” the berserker commented. They were calm, not seeming too angry at his words. “And I suppose you want my protection in return?”

“I saw you crush a man’s skull with your bare hands,” he replied. “I wouldn’t mind a man like that as my bodyguard.”

A snort left the larger man at that.

“It’s a deal then,” the giant said, offering his hand to the alchemist. It was accepted within a few seconds of hesitation. “Now let’s get more distance from the others. I can still hear their shouting.”

Like a small sack of potatoes, the alchemist was once again brought under the man’s shoulder before they started to run yet again. A slower pace this time to accommodate the longer trek to wherever they were going, and to allow them to get better distance on the others before night fell on them.

“What are you going to call yourself from now on, by the way?” the giant asked within an hour of jogging.

“What do you mean?” the alchemist asked.

“Well, you can’t go around with your old name, since you signed up with that. Too easy to recognize and everything, if we’re discovered,” the sensible berserker explained, bringing up a point that the other hadn’t considered at all. “So? What are you going to call yourself?”

…

Huh.

The alchemist honestly had no clue at all. Even in the passing minutes spent in thought, there was nothing that came to mind. Hundreds of names had been heard before, thousands that had been introduced to him in passing during his time in the villages while reading through their logs for information about their storages. There was much to choose from, yet never did he truly think about taking up one of them as his own. The one he’d technically been granted in his youth, or what people had at least called him, hadn’t been said out loud since the day he joined up.

Only days later, when walking down one of the smaller roads, did the alchemist have an idea.

“What about Elijah?” he asked. “I’ve seen it several times in the villages. Wouldn’t be too uncommon.”

“Elijah… yeah, I can see it,” the giant replied. And so Elijah was born anew. “I’ve been thinking of just taking one of my old uncles’ names.”

“Which is?”

“Aleksi.”

Much rarer outside of the bigger cities, but Elijah didn’t think it would cause more concern than the man’s massive frame.

Not that his own physical body wouldn’t cause questions either. The emptying of his Core, and the subsequent closing off of his mana veins to reduce himself to a non-magical person again, had drained him of all energy. Even within a few days, he’d grown more thin than he’d been already.

But it was all worth it if it meant surviving for even another second.