Welcome!

I have to say that this chapter is one of my favorites so far, after the Luck POV and some of the first few ones. I had a lot of fun planning everything out xD Quickly following that is:

WARNING
This chapter contains: mentions of rape, suicide, abuse, death, gore, blood, emotional manipulation, death of a child… and lots more. There's nothing too explicit, but everything is pretty dark. You've been forewarned, read at your own risk!

Many thanks to everyone who's reviewed, especially! And everyone who's been supporting this story, every little notification means so much to me

Enjoy!

Chapter 18: The Surgeon of Death

Nova woke up with a sore throat. She ignored it, much like she had ignored the fatigue the previous morning, and pushed on. After a quick shower and breakfast alone in the dining area, she joined Will downstairs with the patients. He, however, had everything handled, as the morning was slow, so Nova was left to wrap up her paperwork, Magna and Luck were always a bit too disruptive for her to finish her work properly, and then get all the usual medicines ready for her everyday customers and those who would need refills soon. While she was sitting down, charting, everything was fine, other than an occasional sniffle. Her stomach was a little upset, but nothing that she couldn't handle. She chalked it up to trying a new desert the previous night. But, when she stood up to make the salves and potions, the dizziness hit full force.

Her hands felt slow and groggy, clumsily moving through the motions that she'd become very familiar with. Whenever she turned to get another ingredient, the room would swing and wobble. She sucked it up. She had no time to be sick. There was work to be done. But, the worst part hit her when Will called for cleanup.

Nova walked through the empty reception room for the urgent cases, grabbing the bucket and going outside. The fresh air and the morning sun did little to help her upset stomach and dizziness. As she filled the bucket at the water pump outside, her world was swimming. She even missed a pump, ending up smacking chest first into the metal. With a groan, she splashed some water onto her face, her dizziness clearing a bit, and she continued her work. But, when she managed to drag the bucket back into the Tower and grabbed for the mop, Will stopped her.

"Nova, you're as green as a frog," he said in a worried tone, walking over to her quickly. His hand was on her clammy forehead, seeing if she had a fever. She looked up at him, noticing the frown.

"I'm fine," she assured.

"You're burning up," Will countered in a stern voice. "You can't heal anyone if you need healing yourself. Also, that might not be the best tool for mopping the floors." Nova looked at her hands, seeing that she'd grabbed a flying broom instead of a mop. She reluctantly let him take it away from her. "You're not fine, back to your room."

"Okay." Begrudgingly, Nova headed up the stairs, soon joined by Will at her side. He took her hand and held her with his arm around her waist, making certain she wouldn't fall. While she didn't want to be helped, she also realized that if he let go, she would likely tumble down the stairs. Ten minutes later, she was in her nightwear and tucked in, a steaming cup of chamomile tea on her nightstand. Will had gone to fetch Liz to cover the emergency area while he tended to her.

It was absurd. Nova didn't get sick. She could only remember one time when she'd been ill in her whole life. One time. There had been an outbreak of highly infectious sweating fever in her village, which had taken down household after household, everyone inside sick and sweating for days. She could recall her mother recovering first, taking care of her father and her. She could remember hushed voices speaking through the closed door about the situation. Quarantine ensued. A healer was called from a nearby city to assess the situation and prepare medicine. But, that was it. One sickness. One time she was feeling groggy, weak and powerless, snuggling up in her bed and drinking soup all the time. Barely able to go to the bathroom.

Sure, Nova had had colds. But, that was different. With a virus or a cold, she would pop some medicine and wear a neckerchief as a mask in order not to spread her illness onto others. But, never had those common things forced her into bed. Her father always joked how it was his good genes which made her that way. Her mother would click her tongue at that. Nova believed that it was her mind over matter mentality which made her strong. But, this time, she couldn't even pretend to be alright. Her mind had gone hazy between the climb to her room and getting into bed, so by the time the medicine filled chamomile was drunk, she was fading in and out, struggling to hear Will speak. He didn't appear to mind. He sat next to her bed, a mask on his face, gently telling her something. The last thing Nova remembered before passing out was him holding her hand and patting it softly. Then, she was out like a light.

At first, there was darkness and then, there was rage. She was ready to slaughter them all. Still, she didn't. This required planning, not rash action. Instead, under the light of a single candle, she rummaged through the cabin and grabbed the most necessary of her supplies throwing them onto the bed. Then, she tied them into a bed sheet and then fastened it around her back in a makeshift pack. She brushed her wet hair back and rushed out of the wooden cabin. In the distance, in the dark, through the woods, she could see the glimmering orange and red orbs of light, gathering in the village. Torches. So, the witch hunt was on. Right after the storm had passed. Lovely.

She glanced down to her hip, counting the glimmering weapons against the black dress. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. The glint of metal seemed to wink up at her. She fingered the scalpels, the cool, smooth surface comforting. There was shouting in the distance. She moved her hand away from the blades, the kiss of cool metal still on her fingertips. Instead, she gripped the rough material of the bed sheet tight.

She turned away from the glimmer of torches in the distance, coming towards her up the narrow path in a single file manner, and ran up the trail.

"Has she been handling anything poisonous?" It took her a moment to recognize the voice. Owen was somewhere in the room, accompanied by his telltale scent of sea salt, coffee and fresh herbs. It should've been nauseating, seeing as the combination was odd, but it brought her comfort.

"Nothing out of the usual, and I always made certain she was handling it properly." That was Will. She could tell. His voice wasn't as deep as Owen's, but he had distinct pronunciation. Like a nobleman, even though he wasn't one. Just properly educated.

"Give me a list of whatever she's touched." Owen again. "Contact the Crimson Lions, get their mission report and bring me the group leader for the mission. It could be something she's come in contact on the road. Tell Mary to get ready if there's need to trace everywhere she's been while on mission." Then, silence. Shuffling footsteps.

"We've got you, Nova." That was her name. Nova. Right. Her name was Nova. Nova Goldin, the untamable burst of a star, sprinkled in gold. She was the sleeping power, waiting to tear the world apart. Destined for greatness. "You hold on and we'll get you right as rain." Rain. Rain and thunder. The scent of fresh water droplets hitting the ground. The flash of lightning, followed by a rumble. The baby-blue eyes, carefully assessing her.

"What's wrong with her?" Who was that? She knew that voice. It wasn't the usual voice, but the deeper, serious tone only reserved for special occasions. Lucky. Lucky. Lucky. The hard body, battle-formed, yet gentle when it hugged her. The warm body that took care of her and protected her. The fluttering feeling in her stomach and the thunder of her heart. Luck.

"Nova? Damn, she looks ready to go pay homage to the Gods." Gunpowder and apples. The jokes. Crackling Magna typhoon. And the pudding. Spells and mayhem.

"Out." She didn't know that voice. Too crackly. Too painful. But, it caused her pain. It was her own, she realized. "No spells inside." A laugh. Then, a warm hand holding hers gently.

"Come on, Nova." Troublesome Magna.

"She will be okay." Lucky Luck. "They know what they're doing."

"I hope so."

The formula was off. Some ingredient had been off. The stench of burned flesh dug into her nose and made her sick to her stomach. Still, she ignored it, the blood and the guts, as she dug through the corpse. Something had been miscalculated. The scalpel slashed through organs, intestines and then bone like butter. The best tool ever to be held. She needed to find the condensed poultice and analyze it. Next time, she would get it right. Next time, it would work. They couldn't keep dying like this. She just needed a bit more time.

How dare they? How dare they do this to her? The rage was an ever burning, bright fire inside of her, consuming her. How dare they, after everything she'd done? After the years she'd spent serving like a loyal dog, they did this. This. To her.

She would make them pay. She would make them rue the day their pitiful mothers opened their legs to birth them. She would make them regret every undeserving breath they'd taken, sucking the oxygen from this beautiful world. She would make an example of them. One by one.

It was like a drug. The more she did it, the more she wanted to. Toss, direct and then, clench. Take everything they were. Suck the very life out of their veins. They would pay. For everything they'd done. She would take it all. She would take them all. Every ounce of their mana. Every bit of their being. She would make them all suffer. Respect. Toss, direct and clench. Respect. Her mana. All of it would be hers. She would make them pay. Respect.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes."

"Any other changes in her life in the past few days?"

"Not that I know of."

Who were those people? Those voices, those scents, those warm fingers on her hand and her forehead. She knew them. But, she didn't. Like a memory from a dream. It was too far away. She was too angry. Too hurt. Everything hurt.

Those brown eyes. She would always remember the cold, calculating look they'd held. The smirk on his face when he knew he'd succeeded. The mark on the door before she entered. The blood on the walls. The scorch marks on the furniture. The leftover water from the ice that had melted. The deep gauges in the wood. The bodies. The bodies. Those would never leave her head. The mouths opened in a silent scream, forever frozen. The building dread in her stomach when she'd walked in. The realization. The scream, alien to her own ears, leaving her throat sore. The sobbing. The begging. The denial. The rage. The rage. She would make him pay. She would make them all pay. Respect.

"Nova, Nova, please." It wasn't a voice she knew. It was familiar, but not something she knew. "Wake up. We don't know what to do anymore."

"There has to be something better than just sitting by her bedside." Who was that? So familiar. Carrying the smell of rain. The flash of lightning across the skies. The storm that swept everything in its wake, unapologetically.

"If the healers don't know what to do, what can we do?" The comforting fireplace, warming her up. The smell of gunpowder and the spice of apples. The smell of home. She was safe here.

"We can't just sit and call out to her!" The storm. "I wish it were an enemy I could beat up." The heavy downpour, which wasn't scary at all. The rain revitalized the earth. It fed the plants and provided water. The source of life. It gave her life.

But, not even the storm could wash away her rage. She would make them pay. Respect.

She was cold. So cold. Too much blood had been lost. Her mind was hazy. Not even her steady rage, the ever burning flame could hold up in the face of death. She was mortal, in the end. Everything was mortal. She had ignored the wounds, but now they would be the end of her. The drain on her mana as she tried to heal herself. The spark of rage in her, muted, diluted. She needed to live. She needed to finish what she'd started. She needed to get them all. Condemn them all to the pain they'd caused her. Cruel, cruel men. Cruel. She'd been cruel, too. She didn't have any hope for herself. She was doomed the day she'd set out on her crusade. But, if this was the end, she would make it a good one.

Gather the strength, gather the mana and gather the scalpels. She would become the cold steel. She would be as cold and unforgiving as the steel.

Respect.

The meadow was green. So green and lovely. She'd grown up there, by the slow rolling river, with her sisters. Six of them, including her. They'd played and joked and planned to be married well in the village. That was when it had happened. She had just turned fifteen when it happened.

Her younger sister lost her mind. They said it was a mental break she'd suffered. But, mental breaks weren't something a carefree girl, with no history of mental illness, suffered so unprovoked. And the aftermath. The vacant look in her eyes. The muttering and murmuring. The switches in personality. It was no mental break. It had been a whole different beast. The boys who'd found her on the ground said that she was just lying there. Liars. They knew something else. Something sinister. It didn't matter. She would heal her sister. She had the means to. She had wanted to be a healer anyways. This would be her first patient. She would create a tool that could fix her sister.

Her older was the next to get broken. At the tender age of twenty-two. She'd just gotten started on the rest of her life. She'd married, a nice lad from the village who'd courted her for a long time. She'd had a baby. And then, her body had gone frail. Nothing out of the ordinary, the healers had told them. It sometimes happened to the mothers, if they gave birth to a child with particularly large mana reserves. The mother's mana would be sucked away, during the breastfeeding period. Nothing to worry about. As soon as the babe was able to eat solids, the mother would get better. There was nothing to do but wait. Yet, two years post birth of her son, her sister was still weak. First, the coughing. Then, the dizziness. Finally, she was bedridden. She would heal her, however. She had the means to. She had started on her healing career and was already outperforming almost any healer in the Kingdom. This would be her second patient. She would create a tool that could fix her sister.

But, she wasn't the only one to want to help. Her baby sister, the youngest of them, also held similar ambition. However, she didn't choose the right path. She didn't want to heal, she wanted to fix. Quick and dirty, as her she'd said. The path had been too dark. She'd delved too deep into the arts. She got infected with the dark magic. Too infected. She needed to be subdued, until the darkness could be expelled from her. And, she knew how to help her sister. She had the means. She knew the rituals, she knew the magic. She just needed a bit more time. Her knowledge as a healer was growing with every day spent at the Capital. This would be her third patient. She would create a tool that could fix her sister.

One of her middle sisters had gotten drafted into the Magic Knights. She'd succeeded in it. It was a marvelous day of joy, even her older one had managed to get out of bed and celebrate. It was a day of joy. And then, just a month after she'd begun performing her duties, word was sent home. Her sister had stopped an ambush all on her own. It hadn't been protocol, to have a lone Knight on the mission. It hadn't been expected. It had been an ambush. Her sister was poisoned by unknown magic. But, she could help her. She was a prominent healer. She just needed a bit more time. She just needed a little more time. The tools were almost ready. This would be her fourth patient. She would heal her sister's poison. She would create a tool that could fix her sister.

Her sister paid her a visit in the Capital. She'd had a bittersweet smile on her face during the visit. I love you, she'd said. Don't do anything rash, she'd said. A bone disease. The healers had predicted a year at most. The malignant growths had spread into her joints already. She was ill. Too ill to work. Too ill to seek a husband. Too ill to play in the meadow. Too ill to live. She was dying. But, it was alright. She had the skills. The personal healer to the Wizard King could do anything. She'd already begun fixing her other siblings, after all. She just needed a bit more time. This would be her fifth patient. She would create a tool that could fix her sister.

Six pretty girls, born in the meadow. Played by the slow rolling river, growing, growing, growing. One got raped, so she went mad. The other gave birth, so she lost mana. The third danced with the Devil, so she went dark. The fourth became a Knight, so she got poisoned. The fifth pulled the short straw, so her genetics began killing her. The sixth became a monster, so she was called Death. Six pretty girls, born in the meadow. Played by the slow rolling river, growing, growing, growing.

There were five little mounds, overgrown in wildflowers. The green grass surrounding them was serene. The flowers were colorful. There had been no time. She'd created the tools. Made them all. But, she'd had no time. There would be one last patient for her. One last sister to heal. She would create a tool to fix herself.

Six pretty girls, born in the meadow. Played by the slow rolling river, growing, growing, growing. One killed herself, because she went mad. One died by mana sickness, because she gave birth. The third was killed by the Devil, because she danced too long. The fourth succumbed to poison, because she was weak. The fifth was murdered by her own bones, because she refused treatment. The sixth bore her pain, because she was a healer. Six pretty girls, born in the meadow. Played by the slow rolling river, growing, growing, growing.

Five little graves, sitting in the meadow. Wildflowers grow on each, never watered, never pruned. The sixth lies empty, waiting for its owner. Five little graves, sitting in the meadow. The slow rolling river keeps on rolling. There is no more growing.

"It's necessary." The voice said. "Hold her head up." Something hot went down her throat. But, she just wanted to die. She just wanted to join the graves. She wanted back into her spot. She belonged there, in the meadow, by the slow rolling river.

"This is cruel." The hot liquid still slid down her throat.

"This is necessary."

"I've got her." Such a hard body, trapping her in place. Rain after the storm. The fresh air when one could breathe. How she'd missed that. "Pour it." This time, she drank.

He was so small, her little boy. So tiny. As she held him in her arms, such joy took over her. Joy which couldn't even rival the happiness of meeting her one true love. He paled in comparison to what she felt for this tiny boy in her arms.

The room smelled of sunshine, clean sheets and wild roses. Some would say that domestic ones, grown for the purpose of giving were much prettier. But, she wasn't the most common girl. She was the personal healer to the Wizard King. She had roses coming to her from every corner of the land, whether because she had healed their loved ones or because she was a single, pretty woman. She liked wild roses. The unassuming flower, a different choice, yet with a clear, fragrant message. I love you.

Her room smelled of sunshine, clean sheets, wild roses and baby powder. So fitting that her room would smell like that, while she nursed her little boy. Then, the doors opened and her love came inside. Her love with the darkest eyes and the kindest smile. She mutely extended her hand, calling him to her. He had much the similar smile on his face as he sat on the bed next to her, watching their son. When she glanced at him, she knew, he felt the same way about the baby. He adored their child more than anything in the world.

With a wide, silly, happy smile on her face, she leaned a bit forward and her lover did the rest, coming to meet her lips. The kiss was more silly grinning that anything. Unrivaled joy. She had found her happy place. After years of lonely sorrow, she had found her happy place.

"I won't say." What won't you say? Who was that? Smelling so divine. Sounding so worried and serious. What troubles you, little boy?

"Luck, this is insane." And that? She didn't know them. Who were they? Why were they arguing in her room. "I know you and Nova share some tidbits about whatever books you guys read. Has she been doing something fishy? Can't you see the state she's in?!" Something clattering to the floor.

"If I thought whatever I knew would help, I would've told them everything a week ago." Such a low, pretty tone of voice, hissing so angrily. He was so angry and it was simply adorable. You think you know anger, child? You think you know anger, boy? Come see the rage I feel. Come see the sorrow it has fed on. Let me show your little spark a blazing flame that would devour the world. Come, little boy, I will show you rage.

"Is it illegal?"

"Very. And dangerous."

"By the Wizard King's cape, Luck! Why didn't you make her stop?"

"It's Nova. You don't say no to Nova."

"Fucking hell! Yes, yes you do. Especially if it will get her killed! She doesn't know any limits, just like you don't get it. Fucking hell, Luck! You both lack common sense sometimes!"

"I was careful that she wouldn't do anything too rash."

"'Cause that state ain't rash."

"What I knew she was doing couldn't've caused that."

"And what she was doing on the side, not telling you?" A bitter laugh. "If she was keeping stuff silent from me, which she obviously was because she was telling them you, what kind of shitstorm do you think she was keeping from you?" Silence.

She tossed the last bit of soil onto the mounds, carefully patting them with her hands. The skin of her fingers was cracking, rough and dirty from the work. She had blisters. Her nails had broken, or had soil underneath them, making them dirty. Everything was dirty. She was crying, the whole way. Down, around, then up. She was crying the whole way while she did the job of an undertaker. Nobody else would. She had to bury them.

Her dress had been white. More of a uniform, really, than a dress. Still, the royal tailor had designed it for her. A fancy uniform for a fancy title at court. She had served directly under the Wizard King. The snake. He'd showed her off, on his arm, so many times. At the battlefields before the big day. After she'd healed thousands. When she would bring back his Knights from the brink of death. The snake. She would take his forked tongue.

She tossed the shovel to the side, leaving it there. She didn't have anywhere to stash it. She didn't have further use for it. After what she was planning to do… there would be no grave for her. She wouldn't rest next to her sisters nor next to her husband and child. They could comfort each other in their death.

A drop fell from the skies, onto the freshly made mounds, soaking into the earth. Lightning flashed across the skies, thunder following. Then, the rainfall was silent. The forest was silent. Everything seemed to mourn her loss. Nature wept with her.

Her dress, once white, was stained black and red, from the soil and the blood. She would need a better color. Something where you couldn't see such stains. Black. Black would do.

She raised her head up, the rain falling on her face, washing the tears away. Nova loved the feel of raindrops on her skin. She loved the smell of rain and the silence in the fields and forests when rain fell. She loved the lightning in the distance. She loved the baby-blue. She raised her hands, wiping at her cheeks, leaving trails of black and red. The time for crying had passed. The sorrow that had taken deep root inside of her was overwhelmed by the rage she felt. Heading away from the graves, her resolve hardened. They took her family? She would take theirs. They manipulated her? She would do the same. They wanted her power? She would rob them of theirs. May the world burn. May it all burn down. They wanted a Devil? She would do them one better. Let them have the God of Death.

Entering the small cottage, void of sunlight and stinking of blood and magic, Nova took off her shoes. Then, she took the previously white uniform off. She threw them to the side. She didn't need them anymore. She didn't need anything anymore. Only the tools she'd made. Heading up the stairs, she passed a broken vase on the floor, wild roses withering without water. She didn't pay them any mind. The man who used to pick them was dead. The woman who used to love them was dead. In her room, deep inside her closet, under a loose floorboard, she found an old box. Six tools for six sisters lay in there, silent, dormant. She hadn't used them since she took maternity leave. They hadn't found them when they searched the house, either. Good.

Her rage became cold. Calculating. Manipulative. Revenge? Yes, she wanted revenge. She wanted vengeance for every soul they'd taken before their time. She chose the darkest clothes from her dresser and slipped into them. It turned out to be the dress she usually wore for funerals. How fitting. It would be their funeral when she was done. Nova took the six scalpels, slipping them around her waist on their designated chain. Then, she turned to the door, ready. It was time to let them meet their God. Respect.

Nova was going to kill the Wizard King.

Respect for the Surgeon of Death.

That's all folks!

Reviews:

Kalecream:
Thanks so much for the lovely review!
Luck definitely has no idea how much he destroys Nova and sends her into a panic xD
Poor girl, as much as she's used to carnage, it's the fact that this incident was caused by her that got to her, I think
I'm going for the tension :P Glad it's translating well lol
Luck is such a fascinating character, to be honest! I feel like so much more depth could be added to him, past the portrayal he has in the anime and manga. Though, I recognize that he's a side character there, so I'm trying to do a bit more in this fic :P Glad you're enjoying my version of him!
Hope you'll enjoy the update :D

KEZZ 1:
Thanks for the feedback!
I hope the update was relatively quick, though it could be a confusing one lol

AmericanNidiot:
Thanks for the review!
Lol I actually thought that and was like… maybe I should change it… but naaaah let the innuendos be innuendos xD

VG00:
Thanks for the review!
Spanish is not one of my strengths, but I think I got it right xD I hope you'll keep enjoying the story!