Chapter 19: Übermensch
As Asher and Kaspar entered the hospital's bustling hallway. Overcome with a foul stench, a stream of blood made its way up the stairs.
The head nurse, a tall woman with a sharp gaze and a stern air about her, looked them over with a mixture of curiosity and judgment. She quickly shifted from her duties to address them.
"Ah, you must be Otto's apprentices," she said, inspecting them closely. "I was informed that followers of the God of Steam and Machinery had arrived."
Asher paused, unsure how to respond. He wasn't a priest, and he wasn't entirely sure he believed in the God of Machinery that Otto and Kaspar followed. But before he could speak, the nurse continued.
"Now, I ask for your patience. Some of the people here..." She faltered for a moment, glancing around as if searching for the right words. "Many of them come from factories. They're sick from poor conditions, or they've been injured in accidents and lost their jobs as a result. Some of them are bitter towards the God of Steam and Machinery. They've seen the cost of progress firsthand, and they're not always kind to the ones who worship that god or follow 'His' teachings."
She looked pityingly at the rows of people maimed or ailing throughout. "It can be difficult for some of them to reconcile their suffering with the idea of machinery and industry as a divine blessing."
Kaspar grinned, his voice light and nonchalant. "It's whatever." He shrugged as though the words were no more than a passing breeze. "Follow the machine, eh? We all do, one way or another."
Asher shot Kaspar a glance, still unsure about the whole situation. Kaspar leaned closer, lowering his voice just enough for Asher to hear. "I know, I know. No belief. But just follow along, eh? 'S what I do. Easy."
Asher muttered something that sounded like a reluctant thanks, but before he could say anything else, a loud, angry yell echoed from above, followed by the sound of frantic footsteps.
The nurse's eyes flicked toward the stairs. "Wait here. I'll be back in a moment."
She quickly ascended the stairs, leaving Asher and Kaspar in the hallway. They exchanged glances, and after a moment, both of them followed.
Upstairs, the scene was chaotic. Two wealthy individuals—clearly out of place in the hospital's stark, utilitarian corridors—argued heatedly with the staff. Their fine clothes and expensive jewelry were a sharp contrast to the rough surroundings. Between them, a servant stood holding a young girl in his arms, her skin pale, her face twisted with pain as an arrow jutted from her chest.
The nurse was trying to reason with the couple, but her words were lost in the heated exchange.
"She needs the room to herself!" the father bellowed, his face flushed with indignation. "She's the only one that matters here. The rest of them can wait!"
His wife, standing next to him, added with an icy sneer, "These filthy workers can't be in the same space as my daughter. Do you know who we are? We fund this place!"
The servant shifted uneasily, clearly uncomfortable with the tension but holding the young girl tightly as the wound threatened to worsen.
"Time is critical!" the head nurse insisted, her voice sharp.
"You can't just demand a room while your daughter is losing blood."
But the father, now ignoring his daughter's condition entirely, raised his voice again, this time even more venomous. "We'll withdraw our funding. Do you think you can run this place without our support?" He glanced over his shoulder, as if dismissing the nurse's concerns like an inconvenient fly.
Kaspar, standing just behind Asher, grimaced at the scene, his voice a low whisper. "So much noise, so much… annoying."
Asher's gaze flicked between the girl's injury and the increasingly tense argument. His discomfort grew as he watched the entitled parents tear into the staff, all while their daughter bled out in the servant's arms.
"They don't even realize they're killing her, do they?" Asher muttered under his breath.
Kaspar's answer was matter-of-fact, almost bemused. "Nope. Not really. Money good for stuff, not brains."
Asher's eyes locked on the girl, heart pounding. He couldn't just stand by and let them continue like this.
His Spirit Vision told him everything he needed to know: if the arguing didn't stop soon, she wouldn't make it.
The father's shouting reached a fever pitch as he raged against the staff.
"You can't just take her onto those shit-stained boards you call beds!" The father's voice cracked with frustration, his face nearly purple with rage. "We're funding this whole place! You owe us a private room!"
The nurse opened her mouth to respond, but it was clear she was losing the fight. The arguments were getting louder, more disconnected from reality.
Asher's mind raced.
Spirit Vision helps, but it doesn't do anything if I can't help stitch a wound or magically heal them.
Nor does this have anything to do with a crimson moon or path of light.
Intuition can probably help, but what can I even use it for here?
If only I could remember how to treat a wound like Kaspar...
Kaspar!?
In a burst of inspiration, Asher whispered urgently to his right.
"I've got this, just help her alongside the nurses."
With a mildly confused nod of acknowledgement, Kaspar began weaving his way through the small crowd toward the girl.
Asher stepped forward in front of the small crowd. "Excuse me, Your Highnesses," he began, his voice loud enough to cut through the shouting. "But could you maybe take a moment to notice the fact that your daughter is bleeding out in front of you?"
The father turned to him, his face contorted with rage. "Who do you think you are, interrupting me? This is none of your concern!"
"Oh, it's definitely my concern," Asher shot back, his voice laced with mock cheer. "See, I've got this awful habit of not staying quiet when people act like total idiots."
The father spluttered. "You—how dare you—"
"And that jacket," Asher interrupted, pointing at the man's shiny coat. "What is it, made of gold threads? Reflecting your wealth back at all us poor folk? Very subtle."
The man's face reddened further. "You insolent little—"
"Meanwhile," Asher continued, ignoring him, "your daughter's over there, about to die because you're too busy playing dress-up and shouting about your status."
The mother turned on him, her eyes blazing. "You have no idea who you're speaking to. Do you think a nobody like you could ever—"
"Save it," Asher cut in, his tone sharpening. "You want to throw insults? Go ahead. But it won't change the fact that while you're busy defending your pride, the doctors and nurses are the only ones trying to save your daughter's life."
Asher's voice dropped, his words slower now. "Look, I get it. You're scared. You're worried about losing her. But this isn't helping. Let them just do their job."
Behind him, Kaspar had already moved to assist the nurse. While Asher kept the parents distracted, Kaspar worked quickly, extracting the arrow with steady hands under the nurse's clear instructions.
He moved seamlessly into suturing the wound, his focus unwavering despite the tense atmosphere.
The father's voice began to falter as the weight of Asher's words sank in. His gaze shifted to the blood-soaked bench his daughter had been forced to lie on due to his own antics.
His eyes lingered there, shame etched into his features, before moving to Kaspar and the nurse, who continued working with calm precision.
When Kaspar finally stepped back, wiping his hands on a rag, the tension in the room broke. The mother's shoulders sagged, and the father took a shaky step toward his daughter, who was now stable, though still pale.
The mother's voice was quiet, almost a whisper. "Thank you," she said, her eyes moving from the nurse to Asher. "I… I'm sorry for what we said."
The father nodded, his expression heavy with guilt. "We were… overwhelmed."
Asher crossed his arms, his voice firm but measured. "Don't thank me. Thank the nurses you were arguing with, the ones who worked alongside Kaspar to save your daughter. If it weren't for their patience and skill, we wouldn't even be having this conversation."
The mother blinked, looking toward the nurse who had held her ground earlier. Her lips trembled as she stepped forward. "You're right. I—thank you. I don't know how to repay you."
The nurse gave a wry smile, the corners of her mouth twitching. "Well," she said dryly, "we do accept apologies in installments. And maybe a little less yelling next time."
The father hesitated, his cheeks flushing, then bowed his head. "I'm sorry for our behavior. It was inexcusable."
The father hesitated for a moment, then reached into his coat and pulled out a thick wad of notes, quickly selecting a 10-pound note before handing it to the head nurse.
"For your trouble," he said stiffly, his voice carrying an edge of forced gratitude.
A 10-pound note?
That's one hell of a tip, even for saving a life.
Otto would probably be salivating if he were here to see this.
The nurse took the note with a polite nod, her stern demeanour softening just a touch.
"Thank you," she said, although the way she said it made it clear that it wasn't about the money—it was the principle of the gesture.
The parents, now visibly exhausted, exchanged one last glance over their daughter's unconscious form, then turned to leave. The father's shoulders were stiff, but his steps were slower, more deliberate now, as if the weight of the situation had finally begun to settle on him.
"Keep her company, will you?" the father called to the servant, who nodded quickly and moved to sit by the young girl's side.
As the parents finally departed, their tension lingering in the air, the room felt quieter, more settled. The head nurse finished cleaning up, her movements deliberate and efficient. Asher stood nearby, admiring her quiet strength.
"Hey," he said, stepping closer. "You did great. I don't think she would've made it if it weren't for you."
The nurse glanced up, eyebrows raised. There was something soft in her gaze now, though she kept it professional. "We do what we can. But I'm not the only one who kept that girl alive," she said, looking pointedly at Kaspar, who was still standing near the door, tinkering with a small contraption. "You're the one who worked that magic."
Kaspar shifted uncomfortably at the attention. His usual nonchalance faltered, his cheeks flushing a bit. "Uh, first time I've, uh, done that… not much to it, really. Just... hands work, y'know?"
The nurse studied him for a moment, clearly impressed. "First time? Then we've got a superman on our hands. Not many would have done the extraction and suturing that quickly—apart from me, of course," she added, a hint of pride in her voice. "We could use hands like yours around here."
Kaspar shifted his feet awkwardly, looking down. "It's just... follow the steps, yeah? Not too hard."
Asher chuckled quietly at the scene, watching Kaspar squirm in embarrassment. He couldn't help but feel a flicker of pride. Kaspar, the reluctant hero, had just saved a life without even breaking a sweat.
The nurse turned her attention back to Asher. "Don't think I forgot about you. Thanks for helping to calm them down. It's been a long day, and she probably wouldn't have made it through that without you."
Asher grinned, feeling a bit of warmth at the compliment. "No worries, I barely broke a sweat."
Her tone lightened, but there was a playful challenge in her voice. "Then it'd be a shame to let someone who barely breaks a sweat just stand around, wouldn't it?"
Asher chuckled again, the weight of the day momentarily lifting, but then it dawned on him.
This day is going to be a long one.
Authors Note: I'm way too lazy to properly double check my work for grammar errors etc, and just hope for the best, so please point out any to better my work.