100. The sign

Author's note

This chapter turned out shorter than planned. I decided to cut it at the pumpkin since I have a drawing to help visualize what will be revealed in the next chapter, but I want to try to make it more readable. Since it is shorter, there will be a bonus chapter tomorrow, not to keep you too long on a cliffhanger

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I sat in the cornfield, listening to all the sounds around me. There was shouting coming from the direction of the festival, now joined by fire truck sirens.

My head was pounding, partially from the damage I sustained and partially from all the thoughts running through my mind. I tried to focus on the now, rather than on what I should do and how to deal with the situation.

I had high-grade healing potions on me but couldn’t use them, not yet, at least.

Groaning, I slowly removed my robes. Pulling my arms through the sleeves of the robe was torture. Torture that I had to speed up in case my new healing started to stitch the bone as it was. Wincing and swearing, I finally managed to pull off the tight-fitting sports T-shirt I wore underneath.

I then looked down to check out my ribs, and it was as I feared. There was a visible dent in the side of my chest. I took in some more air and felt a stinging pain that quickly transformed into a painful cough.

I covered my mouth and saw some blood on my hand, so it was most likely a damaged lung. Muscle and skin were easy to heal, but if I let the bones heal in this position, that would mean having to break them and redo the process after. I didn’t have time for that. So instead, I pulled out my dagger and made a small cut alongside the two broken ribs.

I uncorked the healing potion and prepared to chug it.

Taking in a few deep breaths, I quickly put two fingertips into the wound. I could feel that the bone was broken at an angle. My intrusion pushed it a bit further into the lung. I barely stopped a coughing fit. I then took in as much air as possible and hooked my fingers around the bone.

Once I had a hold, I pulled, snapping the rib back in place.

The pain was horrible, almost making me lose consciousness. I wasn’t sure I set the bone perfectly, but that could be corrected later. As long as it was out of the lung, I was good. I immediately chugged the potion, holding my breath the whole time so that my lung wouldn’t collapse.

I then poured the rest of it into the wound, almost falling backward as the world started spinning.

I felt the tissue stitch itself together, feeling a big part of the pain go away, as I breathed in once again. It was still unpleasant, but the wheezing sound was gone.

I then lay back down.

And the question popped right back into my mind. Was I over my head?

The answer seemed obvious, considering what I’d just had to do to myself.

But retreating after confirming the presence of the hook was also out of the question.

So what to do?

I gained some info about the creature and its fighting style. I should have caused permanent injury to one of the minds.

But it was the attack that ripped apart my abyssal spell that worried me. One possible conclusion was that the creature kept a trump card, assuming I also had trump cards. And if they were as strong as that aura explosion, then I didn’t want to find out the hard way.

Calling reinforcements was an option, but few people would be helpful in a fight like that, and that aura explosion, if performed point-blank, would even kill Myhur.

I needed more info. I needed a weakness, a location of the fragmented minds, more pieces to the puzzle. Something, anything… I felt myself growing desperate.

I fought with my own thoughts for another half hour before I started moving once again. I got up from the ground and put on my T-shirt and tied the robe around my waist. I patted the dirt off myself as much as I could.

I still looked horrible, but hopefully I could pass as a drunk festival member. I then walked toward the commotion, paying a visit to the square cut into the corn to pour some alcohol onto myself in case someone wanted to talk to me.

I then walked out.

I was met with the flashing lights of a fire truck, next to which one of the firefighters was talking to a man in a suit.

Behind the fire truck stood a sizable portion of the town, all in a large half-circle, discussing the scene.

But I paid them no attention. I wanted to go straight back into the motel or just to my car to sleep.

I then saw the ghost hunters running around, recording, and interviewing. Cecil looked like a kid on a sugar rush, trying to talk to everyone at the same time. Liz was helping him, running around with the large camera. Mercy and Victor probably continued their mission in the forest as they were nowhere to be seen.

But what caught my attention was Rey.

He noticed me as I hobbled my way out of the corn. He looked at me, but his eyes had changed. They were way past suspicion, and now he seemed to be looking at a guilty man.

He wasn’t stupid, sadly.

But I did not have the strength to deal with him. So instead of going straight to my car, I went around the crowd to the left as Rey just followed me with his eyes.

After walking for a bit, I ended up at the place where, apparently, the farming competitions took place, as some vegetables were proudly displayed on a makeshift stage.

There was no audience in sight, assuming there had been one in the first place. But then I heard something, an argument coming from the direction of the stage.

It was between an older man, judging by the voice, and someone middle-aged. I walked forward and, finally going around the stage, I saw a rather strange scene.

There stood a man in a suit holding up what looked like a trophy in the shape of a pumpkin. He was holding it high in the air like a larger kid trying to keep something away from a smaller one.

In front of him was an older man wearing a typical farmer’s outfit, fulfilling the role of the smaller kid. He was swiping at the trophy, screaming at his adversary in the process.

I stopped to take in the unusual scene.

“It would have been mine anyway! Give it here!” screamed the older man.

“We need an official conclusion from the judges,” the one in the suit tried to say with considerable trouble, as the other person made another swipe at the trophy.

“What is there to consider? I’ll win like every year. Now give it here!” shouted the older man and jumped, only to fall back and grab his back with a small yelp of pain.

“Is everything all right?”

The guy in the suit bent down, concerned, only for the farmer to suddenly grab at the trophy, actually catching it by the upper portion.

“Mr. McLanky, that is unbecoming!” the man shouted in outrage, still holding onto the lower part of the prize.

The two tried to wrestle the prize from one another.

“I won’t dishonor the McLanky name! I’m going back with the trophy, fire or not!”

“You can get the trophy once the judges pronounce you victor, and no sooner,” the man in the suit retorted.

I looked on for a few seconds with slight amusement, the scene taking my mind off the dull ache from my ribs.

I saw a teenager standing to the side, his face red with embarrassment.

Curious about the source of the commotion, I turned to look at the stage, seeing a row of sizable pumpkins.

However, one of them clearly stood out, both in terms of color and size. To any farmer, it would draw immediate attention.

But to me, it stood out for something more.

I stared at it with an open mouth, frozen in place.

I chuckled at first, and then my slight chuckle turned into a full-on laugh. Even with the pain coming from my side, I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

Finally, once done, I wiped the tears from my eyes, not paying any attention to the teen, who now looked between me and the two men, trying to decide which scene was more concerning.

Some of the pieces that didn’t fit previously started to fall into place. I would still need confirmation, but I could get that from the boy.

I chuckled once more and looked back at the stage. And there it stood. For a second, I was afraid it was a hallucination, but it was still there—my glorious, orange clue.

“Looks like I’m not done just yet,” I said to myself and smiled.

It was the biggest fucking pumpkin I’d ever seen, but the most interesting part about it was not the size but a sigil, burned into the front of the vegetable, depicting an infinity sign with a flame behind it. The very base of soul magic, the arcane sigil of Eternal Soul.