Reincarnated as an Apocalyptic Catalyst
Chapter 89: Fractured Foundations

Chapter 89: Fractured Foundations

I woke up wracked with pain, a dull, throbbing, and constant pain that I couldn’t shake. My skull felt like there were thousands of hairline fractures running through it, each crack enacting its own unique punishment on my nerves. As far as I could tell, every one of my muscles must have been torn to varying degrees, as I couldn’t move my arms even if spiders were crawling over my face. No matter how hard I willed my body to function, it refused, choosing to rather teach me lesson after lesson in agony, and a large part of me felt as though this were entirely deserved.

I groaned, shifting, my body refusing to cooperate. Everything felt wrong, it was either too heavy or too stiff. Eventually, I found the strength–or simply because desperate enough– to twist onto my side, dragging a shaking hand to my head, fingers gripping at my scalp in hopes of holding my skull together, fearing that if I let go, everything would fall apart.

For a moment, nothing existed beyond the agony and the slow rise and fall of my own breath.

Then, sensation crept in—small things, things I shouldn’t have noticed in my state. The brush of fabric against my bare skin, the familiar weight of thick blankets, the distinct coolness of a pillow pressing against the back of my head.

Slowly, hesitantly, I pried my eyes open.

Candlelight flickered against familiar walls. The familiar scent of my room filled my lungs, providing me a sense of peace and tranquility despite the trauma my body had been though. Still, it was hard to enjoy as my vision wavered in and out before finally sharpening, revealing the iconic bedside table, unfortunately, naked without the decanter of alcohol sitting on it’s surface. Rather it was replaced with the contents of my pockets on that fatefully day that everything was taken from me.

I clenched my jaw, sucking in short, shallow breaths, my only real option to keep from blacking out again. After everything I had been through, I wasn’t going to let myself go quietly into the night nestled in sheets that cost more than a year of tuition at the Academy.

After what felt like an eternity, I forced my body to cooperate—just enough to twist onto my side. My breathing came in rough gasps as I reached a hand toward my head, fingers gripping my scalp as if I could hold my skull together through sheer force of will.

A sharp breath rattled in my chest as I tried to push myself up, but that was a big mistake as pain shot through my body. The second I put strain on my body, my arms buckled, and I collapsed back into the mattress, pain flaring through my ribs like I’d been stabbed all over again. I clenched my teeth so hard I thought they might crack, my body trembling from the sheer effort. God, I was weak. Not just tired, not just sore, but weak.

I had never felt like this before. Even when I first took this body, even when I had barely known how to use magic, even further back when I was a wriggling parasite on a platform of decaying flesh—I had never felt this. I always had control of my destiny to some degree, control of my body. Here, now, I had nothing. I could be killed by a child with a dull blade in my current state.

I hated everything about this, and yet I deserved it all. Honestly, I deserved so much more, to have failed so spectacularly. If I spent every moment of my life in this hellish purgatory, it would be too small a punishment. Still, trapped in my body or not, I would find a way out.

The memory of Mara being dragged through that portal flashed through my mind like a dagger to the heart. Her wide, terrified eyes, the silent way she had mouthed my name. I failed her. I failed her. I failed her. I failed her. I failed her... I squeezed my eyes shut, my breath coming fast and uneven.

I needed to think. I needed to move. I needed to focus on something else. My stomach churned violently and my goal changed from focusing on something new, to not drowning in my own vomit. Forcing my mind away from my failures, I focused on my surroundings. The bed was too soft, too warm. Someone had taken care of me. Someone had wrapped my ribs, tended to my wounds, and ensured I didn’t drown in my own weakness.

Vance?

I suppose it’s possible, though I’m not sure what he himself had to deal with after all of that.

Ronan? Maybe. But he wasn’t exactly the type to play nursemaid. Still, his sense of duty would make sense.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps echoing down the hall.

I didn’t bother trying to move again—I’d had enough of that failure for one day—but I did force my head to tilt just enough to glance at the door as it creaked open to reveal Ronan.

Oh, so it was Ronan? The sorcerer stepped inside, his ever-present, emotionless expression locked in place as his glowing eyes flicked toward me. Though, oddly enough, behind him, a girl followed– a new girl I didn’t remember seeing.

Platinum hair, delicate features, and robes that marked her as a healer—even if they were tattered from whatever she had been through. She was likely a survivor of the attack on the Academy, though I didn’t remember her. Her eyes were filled with something heavy, something distant, but beneath that weight, I saw something else. She didn’t seem terrible enough, but what was she doing here?

She met my gaze, lips parting slightly, then tightening into something more resolute. Ronan took a step aside, nodding once toward her. "She insisted."

I narrowed my eyes. "Who the hell is this?"

"I’m here to help." She replied casually.

I stared at her for a long moment, trying to process what the hell she thought she was doing here.

A healer.

Not Vance. Not Ronan. Not some grizzled war medic with scars and a drinking problem. A girl who looked like she should have been at the Academy, studying for exams, not standing in my room, in my hideout, looking like she had already lived a lifetime of loss.

I had seen plenty of students die at the Academy. Some had fought, some had run, some had just... crumpled. Most of them had been utterly useless. So why was this one standing in my room, acting like she had anything to offer?

Her shoulders were set, her lips pressed into something just shy of determination. But I could see through it. The exhaustion in the way she held herself, the hollowness beneath the surface.

She was broken, like all of us, she was equally fucked up. Still, it was not only here, but Ronan seemed to be willing to vouch for her.

"I’m here to help," she repeated, a little stronger this time as if she thought sheer willpower would be enough to convince me.

I let out a slow, ragged breath, barely managing to suppress the groan of pain that followed. "Help?" My voice came out hoarse, raw from whatever hell I had put my body through. "Yeah, sure, let me just do a quick stretch and we can start the trust falls."

The girl—Nythera, I think Ronan had mentioned—didn’t flinch at my sarcasm. That was already more than most people could manage.

"I can heal you," she said.

I huffed out something that might have been a laugh if I weren’t currently dying in my own bed. "Oh, great. A healer. I bet you’d do wonders for my emotional trauma, too."

Despite my best sarcasm, her expression didn’t change. Ronan, of course, stood there like a particularly unhelpful statue.

I sighed through gritted teeth. "Look, I don’t know what sob story you dragged in with you, but I really don’t think you want to waste your time on me."

"I’m not here for you," she said.

Oh? That was certainly a start, I suppose I could hear her out if she could actually get my attention. My brow furrowed upon her response.

"I’m here to fight them," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "The ones who did this. The cult. I can’t do that alone, but I can keep the people who can fight alive."

Okay, so she was another force against the cult, I suppose that wasn’t the worst thing. The enemy of one’s enemy and all of that. Still, I didn’t respond right away, I needed to allow him to give me more information. It wasn’t because I didn’t believe her—because honestly deep down, I did. I had seen enough shattered souls to recognize one when I looked at it. And she was easily as shattered as I was, if not more– if that were even possible. Still, what she was asking for? If she really wanted to dive headfirst into this bullshit, that was a whole different level of insanity. If she wanted in, I couldn’t prevent her.

I let my head drop back against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling, half-laughing at the absurdity of it all.

"Kid," I muttered. "You have no fucking idea what you’re asking for."

Nythera didn’t waver. "I know enough."

I scoffed. "Oh, you know enough? Sure. Sure you do. You know what it’s like to be knee-deep in corpses, covered in blood that isn’t yours, feeling your ribs crack because you weren’t fast enough, weren’t strong enough, weren’t good enough? You know what it’s like to lose everything and realize you were never enough to stop it?"

"I know what it’s like to watch everyone I love die in front of me."

I didn’t doubt her, but still, I couldn’t believe that the shit she went through was anything like what I went through. However, I couldn’t dismiss her problems, and it was clear that all of her problems were valid, so I had to give her that. She lost people, sure, be it friends or family, or her goddamn cat, it didn’t matter. She lost people and I would have to respect that much.

I turned my head slightly, eyes narrowing. She didn’t look away.

There was no bravado in her words. No dramatic weight, no false heroism. Just plain, honest, truth.

I sighed, closing my eyes briefly before cracking one open and flicking my gaze toward Ronan. "This was your idea?"

"Yes, she insisted and I felt that she would be of use in our venture."

"Riiight..." I responded dryly. "I suppose if you trust her, we could give her a chance..."

I stared at Nythera again, watching the way her fingers twitched at her sides, the way her lips pressed together so tightly they might have bruised. She had lost much. That was obvious.

I exhaled sharply through my nose. "Fine."

Ronan barely reacted. Nythera, on the other hand, straightened just slightly, like she hadn’t really expected me to agree.

I shifted, biting back the groan that threatened to escape as I forced my arm up just enough to gesture vaguely at myself. "You want to help? Fix me." I asked helplessly, though my voice didn’t betray such things.

A flicker of relief crossed her face before she quickly smothered it, stepping forward and raising her hands.

Warmth flooded over my skin, a soft golden light seeping into my battered body. The pain ebbed—not gone, but manageable. The tightness in my chest eased, and I could breathe properly for the first time since waking up.

I let out a slow exhale, my muscles no longer screaming in protest with every tiny movement.

Nythera watched me carefully, her brow furrowing slightly. "That should help, but you need rest."

I snorted. "Yeah, I’ll get right on that."

She hesitated, then, in a voice so soft I almost didn’t catch it, she murmured, "I mean it."

She was fragile, but there was still steel buried deep inside that quiet, uncertain voice.

I let my head hit the pillow again, exhaustion pressing down like a weight I couldn’t shake.

"Welcome to the fucking party, then."