Chapter 9: Scars of the Living

Alex continued to move forward walking through the wasteland he had created with Celeste in his arms. He carried her for hours, his strength fading with every step, until he finally collapsed to his knees, too exhausted to continue. Ahead lay a broken, toppled corrupted tree. He dragged himself toward it, pulling Celeste’s unconscious body along the ground. When they reached the trunk, Alex pulled out Onimaru, poured the small amount of mana he had managed to recover into it, and stabbed the blade into the ground. A faint ripple of magical energy spread outward as the demon repelling barrier formed around them. With Celeste’s head resting on his lap, Alex leaned back against the tree. His eyelids grew heavy, and he finally drifted into sleep, his exhausted body at last finding a moment to rest.

Several hours later, Alex’s eyes slowly opened. Rested at last, he blinked and looked around. No demons in sight, only the desolate wasteland he had created. He looked down at Celeste, checked her breathing, and sighed in relief. She was still unconscious. She must have been really hurt by that attack, he thought. I need to find a way to heal her. Closing his eyes, Alex began to focus, gathering what little strength and mana he could muster.

Then Alex stopped and thought for a moment, frowning. “I can’t just heal her yet,” he muttered. “I need to make sure it actually works. I don’t want to cause any more problems.” He glanced down at his right arm, still covered in dried blood from where the stone monk’s blade had cut deep. I guess I can start with myself, he thought. If I can heal this wound, then I’ll try it on her next.

Alex then closed his eyes and focused, trying to form an image in his mind of what true healing looked like. There were no such magical abilities on Earth during his time, so the only reference he had came from comic book heroes who could regenerate their wounds in seconds. He imagined how their bodies might look as they were stitched and pieced back together. Once the image took shape, he concentrated on his left hand. A soft green glow began to form in his palm. He touched his wounded arm and called out the name of his new spell. “Regeneration.”

At once, he felt heat spread through his arm. The tissue beneath his skin began to shift and grow, slowly closing the gash. It worked, but not perfectly. The healing was rough, uneven, almost stuttering, as his mental image was still incomplete. His imagination derailed, and so did his magic, leaving his arm healed but scarred and slightly disfigured.

Alex looked down at his arm. “Well, the healing spell isn’t perfect, but it’s not terrible either,” he said to himself. “I’m going to need a lot more practice. I don’t even want to try this on Celeste if this is how my arm turned out.” He paused, thinking about how he could improve. After a moment of hesitation, he reached into his bag and pulled out Muramasa. He stared at his left arm and muttered, “Well, here goes nothing.”

He drew the cursed katana across the top of his wrist, wincing as a deep gash opened and blood began to drip onto the ground. Setting Muramasa aside, Alex forced himself to concentrate through the pain. He reconstructed the image in his mind, clearer this time, more focused, until the green light formed once again in his hand. He pressed it against the wound and called out, “Regeneration.”

Just like before, the flesh began to knit together, but the process was still rough and uneven. His focus wavered, and the spell faltered. When it was over, the bleeding had stopped, but a jagged disfigured scar remained on his wrist, mirroring the one on his arm.

Alex continued this process several more times until his entire left arm was covered in scars up to his elbow. His mana ran dry, and frustration overtook him. “Let’s just take a break and keep moving,” he muttered. He slid Muramasa back into his pack, lifted Celeste, and rested her head against his shoulder once more. With weary steps, he pressed forward through the wasteland, following the strange tugging sensation that guided him toward the next portal. As he walked, he silently hoped that, in time, Celeste would awaken on her own and heal her own wounds.

After a few days, Alex was still unable to fully heal his wounds. Now his left arm was scarred all the way up to his shoulder, and his right arm was nearly the same after he began testing on it. Both arms were covered from hand to shoulder in jagged disfigured marks, and his patience was wearing thin. “Damn it,” he growled. “What am I doing wrong? Maybe picturing a superhero healing doesn’t work, no matter how perfect the image is. There’s something I’m missing.”

He took out Muramasa, turned his hand over, and stared at his palm. This time, instead of merely quickly slicing it open, he watched carefully as he pressed the blade into his flesh, dragging it slowly across. Each layer of skin parted until the muscle below was visible. Blood welled up and streamed from the wound, dripping to the ground. Alex didn’t flinch. He just sat there, breathing steadily, his gaze fixed on the open cut. Then he closed his eyes, his mind turning as a new idea began to take shape.

He tried imagining the wound closing in reverse, each layer of flesh and muscle stitching itself together one by one until the final layer of skin sealed shut, smooth and unbroken. Holding that image in his mind, he gathered mana into his hand. A green glow formed once more, illuminating his palm. He pressed it against the open wound and spoke the word, “Regeneration.”

This time, as he watched, the wound began to heal in perfect sequence. The deeper layers reformed first, then the muscle, and finally the skin, closing cleanly over the injury. When it was finished, his palm was healed with only a thin scar running across his palm.

Alex looked at his hand and smiled widely, realizing that with the right image, he could truly heal a wound. But then his gaze shifted to Celeste’s body. She had no visible injuries, the damage had to be internal. And aside from what little anatomy he remembered from school, he knew almost nothing about the inner workings of the human body. “Damn,” he muttered. “How am I supposed to picture that?”

He thought for a moment, then looked toward the endless horizon. “Maybe I need to take a detour instead of just following this pull. I need to find a city or something that used to have a hospital. Maybe there’s something there that can help me understand.”

He stood, stretched his tired limbs, and lifted Celeste again, resting her head gently against his shoulder. Then he began walking once more through the wasteland, scanning the distant horizon for any sign of a city, any direction that might hold the remnants of a hospital, a clue, or even a fragment of knowledge that could help him heal her in this twisted world.

As he proceeded through the wasteland, something caught his attention. He heard faint footsteps. Alex stopped and glanced around but saw nothing among the jagged stones and fallen trees. Shrugging it off, he continued walking. It must’ve been my imagination, he thought.

Then he heard it again, closer this time. Pebbles tumbled down between a cluster of boulders to his right. Instantly alert, Alex crouched low as he laid Celeste down and turned toward the sound, drawing Muramasa. Not willing to take chances, he charged mana into the blade and swung it. A wave of black energy blades erupted outward, slicing through the boulder. Stone shattered and dust billowed through the air.

Through the haze, he caught sight of a shadow darting quickly behind another pile of rocks. Alex narrowed his eyes, gripping Muramasa tightly, readying another strike until a trembling voice suddenly echoed through the dust.

“Please wait! Don’t attack me! I’m harmless!”

Alex froze, lowering his weapon slightly. He stepped forward cautiously. “Why were you hiding?”

The voice hesitated before replying, “I was just curious. After this giant wasteland appeared, I came out to investigate. And so far, the only thing I’ve found is you. So I decided to… observe you for a bit before approaching.”

Alex frowned. “Alright then. Come on, step out so I can see you.”

From behind the boulder emerged a hunched-over man with short black hair, wearing a shredded business suit. His eyes were sunken with dark rings beneath them, and his skin was pale, almost corpse-like. From both of his wrists, deep slashes oozed black, tar-like blood. Alex’s expression shifted from caution to shock. “Wait… are you human?”

The man looked up at Alex and spoke in a hollow voice. “I was in the past. Now I’m just a halfway being. I sinned and wasn’t able to make it into heaven. So, for the sin of taking my own life, I fell down to hell and became this.”

Alex stared at him, still gripping Muramasa tightly. “Are there more of you? Or are you the only one?”

The man gave a faint, tired smile. “Oh, there are cities of us on almost every layer of hell. Depending on our sins, we were sent to different levels. Some of us remain where we fell, others wander between the layers. If you know where the portals are, you can travel freely between them, but there are always powerful demons nearby. Most of us prefer to stay put.” He paused, then added, “By the way, my name’s George. And may I ask, how did you, a living human, end up all the way down here?”

Alex paused for a moment, uncertain if he should tell the truth. If this man wasn’t trustworthy, the wrong information could spread quickly. He decided to dodge the question and decided to just make something up. “I was sent here for classified reasons. I can’t say more than that.” Then his tone softened. “But I do have a question for you. Are there any hospitals or medical facilities in this area? My friend is injured, and I need to find a way to help her.”

George’s gaze shifted toward Celeste, still wrapped and covered in dry, flaking blood on the ground. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “If you head in that direction, you’ll reach Saitama Prefecture. There should be an medical facility there. You can’t miss it, it has a statue of three women standing in a circle right out front. That’s the place you’re looking for.”

Alex nodded. “Thank you, George. You’re a lifesaver.” He then thought for a moment, trying to figure out what he could do to thank him in return. “Hey, George,” he asked, “what’s your favorite food?”

George blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Spaghetti and meatballs,” he finally said as he looked at Alex in confusion.

“Alright then, give me a moment,” Alex replied. He set his backpack down, reached inside, and pictured a steaming bowl of spaghetti and meatballs. When he pulled his hand back out, the dish was there, hot, warm and ready to eat. He handed it to George. “Here you go. Enjoy it. I really appreciate the information, but I’m in a hurry. I need to go.”

With that, Alex slung the backpack over his shoulder, lifted Celeste, and began walking swiftly in the direction George had pointed. As he disappeared into the wasteland, George stared down at the bowl in disbelief. The steam rose gently into the air, and his hollow eyes widened.

He gulped, then devoured the meal hungrily, savoring each bite. Wiping his mouth, he sat back and muttered, “Damn, I forgot to ask him if he knew anything about this wasteland.” He tossed the empty bowl aside and sighed. “Oh well, back to exploring.” He wandered off down the path, unaware that the very man who caused the wasteland had just left his sight.