A Healer's War

Chapter 75 - Assay of Hosts

Chapter 75: Assay of Hosts

Translated from:

Disc - Shepherd's Stone

Sub-ring - Codex

Script - Law of Hosts:

Assay of Hosts:

If all other Assays are passed, then let the Candidate's integration be the final test.

A Candidate passes if the Seed lets them live.

A Candidate fails if the Seed destroys them.

Amendment (s):

- None -

—

"Mr. Nash?" a voice called from behind a bright light. "Mr. Nash, are you awake?" A pause and the smell of wet earth followed. "He's breathing! Get him moving." The voice returned louder again. "Mr. Nash, you're safe now. Can you open your eyes?"

Rory's body crashed against his senses. His head throbbed, and he squeezed his eyes tight to clot the pain. Weightless, yet heavy. Rocking, yet still. Something rough against his skin. He opened his eyes, wincing at the moonlight until the bobbing, starry sky came into focus above him.

"Where's...Jacklyn?" He sounded terrible—hoarse and raw.

A commanding voice replied. "He spoke! Hold on." The stars halted, and a red-haired man with angular cheeks leaned into view. He wore a crisp black suit, the kind that meant money. Rory tipped his head to the side and found they weren't alone. Blue-armored men carrying strange, sleek rifles - like something out of a sci-fi movie - surrounded them.

"Mr. Nash, I am so relieved." The red-haired man's smile beamed down. "I'm Dr. Kenneth Connell, but you can call me Ken. I came to help."

Fatigue fogged Rory's mind, and he felt hot reflux burning his throat. That name -  he knew that name.

"Connell?" He remembered Khloe saying something about him. And Megan's magazine. That felt so long ago now.

Ken continued. "I'm certain you have questions, but we can't loiter. The Broken Star will-."

"Put me down," Rory croaked.

"Mr. Nash, we need-."

"Now."

Ken sighed and looked ahead, then nodded. "Of course." He gestured to Rory's handlers. "Set him down. Gently, please." The stretcher lowered and nestled on the ground as the guards all watched him from behind their black goggles.

Rory sat up and looked around, spotting the plane's wreckage behind them, with a swarm of people picking over the scattered debris using squat vacuums. Three sleek, black helicopters parked on the airstrip buzzed with activity. Small groups of hazmat suits walked around putting out fires while others, armed with long forceps, gathered rocks and placed them into individual bags. The place was being scrubbed.

"Quite a mess," Ken said and half-heartedly chuckled. "The freeway clean up has been challenging. There are still witnesses to locate."

Rory raised an eyebrow.

Ken put up his hands. "Not like that, I assure you. We purchase their silence. A handsome sum for those who got lucky, but that's how the world works, isn't it?"

Rory blinked at the man. Ken sounded genuine and could have locked them all up while he was unconscious if he'd wanted. Rory hefted his leg over the edge of the stretcher and sat with his foot on solid ground for a moment, willing his head to stop pulsing.