Chapter 6: A Strange Peace


    The world was distant, muffled like he’d been stuffed under a pile of thick blankets. Screams began to cut through, harsh and panicked, though they didn’t belong to him. They came from voices he didn’t recognize. Faint at first, then growing, like they were fighting to pull him up.


    “Get them out! Hurry—their still alive!”


    “Careful, dammit! He’ll be no use to us dead!”


    The noise was swallowed by a sharper sound, wood splintering and something heavy being heaved aside.


    The screams faded like a gust of wind blowing out a fire, leaving behind echoes of laughter—bright, carefree. It didn’t belong, not in this wreckage.


    Stunned, Levi suddenly saw himself, small and light on his feet, running fast as his legs could take him. His breath came easy, his bare feet kickin’ up dust as he darted through a crooked alley.


    The sun was high, warm on his back, and the smell of fresh bread drifted from a baker’s window. He could hear it behind him, the sound of more feet, more laughter, and he knew they were chasing him.


    “Can’t catch me!”


    He called over his shoulder, his voice younger, lighter, full of mischief.


    A chorus of laughs answered, all of them kids, his friends. There was Amos, the fastest next to him, always challenging him to races; Clara, the bossy one, shouting for him to slow down; and little Pete, struggling to keep up but laughing harder than any of them.


    He darted around a corner, feet slap-slappin’ on the cobblestones, when the warmth suddenly went cold.


    The alley ahead wasn’t empty anymore.


    A figure stepped out, crooked and shadowed, her silhouette stretching long in the sunlight. Sister Bertrice, the nun who ran the orphanage he grew up in. Her black habit hung heavy on her thin body, her bony hands clutching a ruler like it was a weapon forged in hell.


    “Levi Wilson! You little sinner! Stop this instant, or you''ll go in the box!”


    He skidded to a stop, breath catching in his chest as the others piled into him, their giggles dying quick.


    The ruler came down fast, smacking across his face.


    CRACK!


    The hit jarred him from the dream, and pain flooded in like a dam breaking. His eyes flew open, and the bright blue of the sky hit him like a hammer.


    “—!”


    He tried to speak, but could only breath, his throat burned raw, like it had been scraped clean with a rusty spoon.


    He could only suffer in silence as the sun blazed brightly, too damn bright.


    His vision spun, the sky churning like it wanted to swallow him. He barely caught the edge of the cart he was in, its wooden planks rough under his hand, before the darkness dragged him under again.


    The fevered visions continued the moment it went dark, Levi now found himself standing in front of the orphanage he grew up in, and it was on fire. Flames danced and roared, licking hungrily at the windows like the devil’s fingers. The heat kissed his face, but his boots might as well’ve been nailed to the ground.


    All he could do was stare.


    Tears streamed down his cheeks, hot and stinging, but his jaw was locked tight, rage boiling up inside him. The screams of his friends—Amos, Clara, Pete—cut through the roar of the fire, each one stabbing straight through him.


    Then it rose.


    A massive demon clawed its way up from the flames, steel and flesh twisted together in some hellish way, stretching higher than the burning roof. Its eyes burned red, deeper than blood, glowing like twin beacons of hate.


    In its hand, it clutched a golden cross, the light pouring off it so bright it felt like it was cutting right through him.


    “I''LL KILL YOU!”


    He screamed, his voice trembling with fury, but the light swallowed him whole, hot and searing, blinder than the noonday sun.


    BOOM!


    An explosion ripped through the air, louder than thunder. It hit him hard, knocking the breath clean out of him. A scream followed—a sound so raw and full of pain it made his heart feel like it was breaking.


    Bursting through a cloud of smoke and ash, Levi tore forward, running like a bat outta hell.


    The battlefield he found himself on stretched out endlessly, the air thick with shadows that twisted and lunged. His bowie knives like death in his hands, swinging and slashing through the dark like a man possessed. His breath came quick and sharp, each step pounding harder than the last.


    The shadows surged, claws and teeth slashing through the air. He moved like his life depended on it—’cause it did—his knives cutting through the smoky shapes, but they kept coming.


    His boots hit wet ground, the squelch of mud mixing with the clash of steel and the screams of the dying. Then, just like that, the ground changed.


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    The wet muck began to crunch.


    He looked down, his stomach twisting into knots at the sight of bones—piles and piles of them, stretching as far as he could see. Every step shattered skulls and ribs underfoot.


    Before he could move, bloody hands shot up from the bone pile, their bony fingers wrapping around his legs and yanking him down.


    “Stop—!”


    Levi thrashed, his knives flashing wild, but the hands just kept pulling, harder and harder.


    As he sank, a bright light seared through the darkness, hotter than a blacksmith’s forge. Pain bloomed in his shoulder, sharp and unrelenting, like fire crawling through his body.


    His eyes sprang wide, panic surged as he now found himself strapped to a table, cold metal digging into his bare skin. His body was laid open, his chest flayed wide like the pages of a book. Heart beating like a jack rabbit. Above, the Doctor stood over him, his mechanical eye whirring as it telescoped closer, the green glow making Levi’s soul dim.


    Then, the Doctor’s face blurred, twisting and changing like heat waves. For a moment, it wasn’t the Doctor at all.


    It was a woman—a soft, beautiful face hovering above, her eyes filled with something tender, almost sorrowful.


    The vision flickered back to the Doctor’s cruel grin, then shifted again. The woman’s face returned, just for a blink. It happened over and over, each switch making Levi’s mind spin worse than a busted wagon wheel. Pain ripped through him, white-hot and blazing, as he writhed against the restraints.


    Then the grotesque arm descended—a massive thing of steel and gears, its needle gleaming like the fang of a serpent. He couldn’t move, couldn’t fight.


    “No, no, no!”


    His voice cracked, horror floodin’ him as the needle stabbed deep into his chest. The hiss of sedatives filled his ears, cold and cruel, freezing him from the inside out.


    “Bastard!”


    His curses cut through the void before the vision slipped away, swallowed whole by the black. The darkness came heavy, pulling him into a stillness so deep it didn’t even leave room for dreams.


    ----


    Levi didn’t stir as a red-haired nun stepped back from his unconscious body. Her face was pale but steady, her Vaporguard hands trembling just enough to show the weight of what she’d done.


    The worn leather syringe kit beside her spoke of experience, her movements calm and practiced as she placed it away.


    Edmond stood over them both, his broad frame casting a long shadow over the cot as she wiped her hands on her apron, the lilt of her Irish accent cutting through the heavy air like a prayer.


    “I cleaned his wounds and re-stitched what I could. That infection’s a nasty one—any longer, and he’d be a goner. Surprised he could even stand, let alone move. The rest''ll be up to him and the Lord now.”


    Sitting back with a heavy sigh, the nun’s eyes lingered on Levi’s bandages, worry writ clear across her face.


    “This poor child… what did they do to ye?”


    Edmond shifted, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall.


    “Never seen scars like that on a kid. How long you think they had him?”


    "From the look of him, not long."


    Her brow furrowed as she studied Levi closer. Slowly, her eyes lifted to Edmond, serious-like.


    “You’re sure it said rehabilitation facility?”


    “Take a look yourself.”


    Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out the folded bounty. The paper was creased and dirt-streaked as he handed it over.


    She shook the dust free and unfolded it, her eyes scanning the words. The more she read, the darker her expression turned.


    “His augmentations are fresh. From the look of these wounds, he didn’t give himself so much as a day to heal before makin’ a run for it. And look at those scars…”


    “What about ’em?”


    “Not a one of them’s surgical. At best, they’re makeshift. Looks to me like the lad stitched himself, likely more than once.”


    She folded the paper up quick, her movements sharp, then shot Edmond a look that could cut steel.


    “Keep him hidden. Speak to no one about him—not a soul—’til I return.”


    She began gathering her things in a hurry. Edmond reached out, his large hand catching her arm.


    “Hold on. What if he wakes?”


    She yanked her arm free with ease, already back to packing.


    “There’s things I need to look into, Mr. Gunn can handle the rest. I’ll leave medicine for the lad.”


    She grabbed a couple of bottles, setting them down on the table beside Levi. Then, just as she was about to leave, she stopped at the door and turned back. Her eyes fixing on Edmond, stern as a judge.


    “Remember—nothing to no one.”


    “Yes, ma’am."


    Edmond replied with a small nod, his tone resigned. He knew better than to argue with this woman. As she reached for the door.


    “And Moira… thanks.”


    She glanced back, her face softening for just a moment.


    “Sister will do, and you’re welcome, Edmond.”


    With that, she stepped out, shut the door behind her, and her footsteps faded fast as she left the orphanage.


    Edmond stayed put, listening. He could hear her boots growing faint, but it wasn’t long before another set started making their way closer—heavier and far less graceful.


    Bursting through the door with all the grace of a buffalo, Edmond barely had to glance to know Rufus was already wound up tight. The creased brow, red ears, and those snapping fingers sparkin’ like flint—it was a storm ready to break.


    "Now I gotta act nursemaid for him?! Who said she gets to boss me around just ''cause she''s pretty?!"


    He jabbed a finger in Edmond’s direction, pacing like a caged wolf.


    "Now, stop broodin’ and remind me again why we’re not turnin’ in our bounty? Why the hell them kids are gonna be lookin’ at us like liars when we tell ’em it’s beans again?!"


    "You saw it."


    Edmond replied, calm and steady as he picked up one of the medicine bottles and turned it over in his hands. His voice didn’t rise, didn’t waver.


    "Those folks woulda lost their children if it weren’t for him."


    It had been a long day—too damn long. The rush to get back to Denton with an injured kid in tow, began with decisions Edmond hadn’t even thought twice on, but had drained every bit of energy he had left.


    "So he saved ’em. Does that wipe the slate clean for the folks he killed? You read the bounty. Sure, we can tell ourselves he did somethin’ good, but there ain’t no reason to stick our necks out while keepin’ our cupboards dry."


    Edmond didn’t bite.


    "Watch him. I’m gonna go talk to the kids."


    "Why’s it always gotta be me watchin’ ''em?!"


    Edmond moved to the door, his steps unhurried but final.


    "’Cause I was never much good at doctorin’."


    He didn’t bother waitin’ for Rufus’s reply, just shut the door behind him with a soft click that said the conversation was over.


    "Always takin'' liberties! Not my fault I trained as a medic!"


    Rufus let out a string of curses under his breath, stompin’ in a small circle like a bull about to charge. Finally, with a heavy sigh, he kicked a stool over, propped his boots on it, and slumped into the chair. Pulling a smoke from his jacket, he lit it with a sharp snap of his fingers, his one good eye pinned on Levi.


    "You better have a good fuckin'' story, boy. Or you’re fucked worse than a jailbird walkin’ on Sunday."


    The room settled quiet-like, the only sound the slow pull of Rufus’s cigarette as smoke curled lazy through the air. It drifted over Levi’s face, still as stone, his breath slow and even.


    The world outside Levi’s unconscious state hung heavy, quiet as the grave. That cold, dark stillness pressed down on him, but it weren’t the kind of weight that hurt. It was the kind that dulled the edges, smoothed over the cracks—left him numb and far from the pain that usually dogged him.


    Maybe it was pitiful, but there’s a kind of peace in having nothing claw at ya—no dreams, no danger, no weight of the world pressing on your shoulders.


    In that moment, with the fire in his chest snuffed out and no past or future to haunt him, Levi might’ve been better off than he’d been in years. As old-timers might say, sometimes the best you can hope for is a little quiet, even if it ain’t the kind you can keep.