Professor Healer

Episode 2: The Bathalumans

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In a place far removed from the quaint, sleepy town of San Gabriel, there existed a hidden sanctuary, buried deep in the mountains. It was a dark and secretive enclave, known only to those sworn to its purpose. The air there was thick with an eerie silence, broken only by the occasional whispers of the wind through the ancient, crumbling stone halls.

This was the domain of the Bathalumans, a shadowy group with one sole obsession—power. Their sanctuary was as cold and lifeless as the hearts of those who inhabited it. Dark, looming statues of ancient deities stood guard over the rituals that had been performed in secret for centuries. Flickering torches cast long shadows on the faces of the cloaked figures that moved quietly through the labyrinthine halls, their footsteps silent, their intentions anything but.

At the heart of this sanctuary, in a chamber carved from black stone, sat their leader—Idris. His eyes, sharp and calculating, gleamed with malice as he studied the ancient texts spread out before him. Idris was no ordinary man. He had lived for centuries, sustained by forbidden magics, and his thirst for power had only grown stronger with time. His long, silver hair flowed down his back, framing a face that was both ageless and terrifying.

This day, however, something had changed. Idris felt it—a shift in the energy around him, a pulse of power so strong that it reverberated through the very core of his being. He stood abruptly, knocking over a goblet of dark liquid that stained the table like blood. His pale fingers trembled with excitement, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

The Elixir.

He had been searching for it for centuries, and now, finally, he had felt its presence. But this time, it was not alone. There was another power intertwined with it—the last of the Arcanians. The last descendant of the ancient healing babaylans, whose bloodline had all but disappeared from history.

"Both the Elixir and the Arcanian boy..." Idris whispered, his voice barely audible, though it carried like thunder through the chamber. "Both are in the same place."

His eyes narrowed as his mind raced to formulate a plan. San Gabriel. The power had originated from there. A small, insignificant town that had suddenly become the epicenter of his obsession. He knew the Arcanians were capable of extraordinary healing, but the Elixir... that was something more. It was said to be the key to unimaginable power, the kind that could reshape the world. With it, Idris could live not just in longevity, but in absolute dominion over life and death.

Slowly, a wicked grin spread across his face. The coldness of his smile could freeze a river in the height of summer.

"The Elixir... and the Arcanian boy," he repeated, savoring the words. "They are in that town. Let's make sure the boy knows we are here."

With a swift motion, he raised his hand, and from the shadows, his followers appeared, cloaked in black, their faces obscured by the deep hoods they wore. They moved with silent obedience, their eyes reflecting nothing but cold, unfeeling darkness.

"Gather," Idris commanded, his voice low but commanding enough to echo off the stone walls.

His followers stepped closer, forming a semi-circle around him. Each of them wore an expression of eerie anticipation, as if they could sense the impending chaos Idris was about to unleash.

"We have been patient long enough. The time has come to draw the last Arcanian out of hiding." He let the words hang in the air, savoring the suspense. "But we won't approach him directly. No... we will make him come to us. We will force his hand. He has kept his power hidden, but we will leave him no choice."