The Crack In Heaven [A LitRPG Progression Fantasy] Chapter 15: Chapter 15: What Survival Costs

Read chapter 15 of The Crack In Heaven [A LitRPG Progression Fantasy] by Adamus_Auguste on NovelPedia.

Chapter 15: What Survival Costs Kael twisted on his sweat-drenched sheet, sometimes vomiting what little bread Tonio forced down his throat along with lots of bile and even more black blood. Other times, he burned from the inside like a coal-lit furnace. He begged for water, but even when the liquid should have relieved him, a single gulp made him jerk his face away. Taste of clean water, yet he trembled, terrorised by the idea of approaching it. Blisters painted a canvas of corruption across his skin, before receding, then blossoming again. Even though they couldn't burst, his wounds cried pus down his chest and cheek in a spectacle that would have horrified him if he understood what was happening to him. The worst was his mind. It felt like sludge hammering his skull and shattering his thoughts. One second, he remembered his ledger. The next, he was back in Arthur's home with a younger Els and his mom, before illness consumed her. He barely stayed there for a second, then he was in Garrick's office, denied payment, wounded, humiliated, and betrayed. Occasionally, he caught bits of conversations, mainly about him. Things like, "The brat fought well, but he won't last another day." As if he'd die. Never! In these rare moments of clarity, he focused on a single goal: to heal. He would. He had to. But when he believed his torment couldn't worsen, it did. Fits of cough worse than Arthur's and his mom combined made him think he'd spit out something really important with the blood. His guts felt like a battlefield, with swords chopping at his organs, with arrows puncturing his throbbing heart. Perhaps Giovanni was right. He didn't know how many days he clung to life—it felt like forever—but he might not pass this night. When the brutal reality settled between two coughs, furry fingers sneaked into his hand. They interlocked with his, while warm tears pattered on his forehead. "Friend no die. Friend heal." Tonio sobbed. Why? It was that damned rat-man's nails that had infected him. Now he cried? Dumb thing. But somehow, feeling someone's warm hand and strange care helped Kael clench his jaw. "I... persist..." His voice came out ragged and broken, and he passed out. But the battle continued within. He swelled twice his width. The lethal cocktail of illnesses advanced relentlessly through the wider battlefield. His metabolism wrestled for its rightful control. And his truth of endurance fueled what its resistance lacked. Antibodies fought back and failed, but each new generation lasted longer, struck harder. The water that made him tremble even in his sleep became a silent source of comfort again as rabies fell. The black plague that tried to turn his skin into a volcanic chain of pus had its roots torn out along with the shrinking blisters. The burn that made him beg for water he feared, faded when his cells contained the cholera's dehydrating onslaught. Finally, his ragged breath stabilised. No more coughs, no more blood. Not after he quelled tuberculosis. Kael slept the rest of the night peacefully under the widened eyes of Giovanni and Riccardo, and the relieved laughs of Tonio. When Kael's eyelids fluttered but felt none of the splitting headache or pain that had become his closest friends in the past few days, he reached for his chest. The five nail wounds were gone, and with them, his putrefied flesh recovered its pale shade. His head felt clearer than he could ever remember. Or was it just his joy of forming coherent thoughts? Probably the latter. Didn't matter. He survived! "Friend awake!" Tonio's voice came from above him. The rat-man instantly shoved the canteen of fresh water against Kael's chest. Expecting the irrational fear of liquids to punch his throat, Kael recoiled. A second passed, then two. No fear. Eyes wide, he gripped the canteen. He jerked his head back, chugging the water as if he hadn't drunk for a week. It spilt down his lips, tracing clean lines across the dried bloodstains smearing his chest. At any other