Chapter 10
TEN
As I make my way toward the infirmary for a new day at work, I’m surprised to see Mine waiting for me outside.
He’s dressed in his uniform, and even I have to admit he looks quite dashing in it. His dark brown hair curls onto his forehead, obscuring part of the scar on his face.
“Minnie,” he calls out, his lips curling up into a smile. “Just the person I wanted to see.”
I regard him suspiciously. “Why?”
“Here,” he says and hands me something wrapped in tissue paper.
I tentatively take it from him and slowly unwrap the tissue paper to reveal a donut. A glazed donut.
My gaze snaps to his, new light blooming in my eyes.
“For me?” I whisper.
He nods.
“Eat up.”
I lick my lips.
It’s been a couple of days since I last had something sweet and I’m already salivating at the prospect.
I was right. Mine isn’t so bad. How can anyone who gives me sweets be bad? That in itself is a fallacy.
But as I wait for him to leave so I can eat the donut in peace, I notice he’s not moving.
“Thank you,” I say, hoping he would get the clue and move out of my way. Since it’s a glazed donut, I’ll likely get the sugar all over my face, and I don’t want an audience for it.
“I’ll be flying out today,” he mentions.
“Huh?”
“I have a mission. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
“Oh. All right.”
He’s still not moving. “Aren’t you going to wish me good luck?”
I blink and stare at him. “Do I have to?”
“It would be nice.” He shrugs.
“Well… Good luck.”
He beams at me. “I’ll be back.”
He finally leaves.
Odd, odd male. But at least now I’m alone with my donut.
Oh my, it already smells so good. I take a tentative bite out of it, intent on prolonging the experience. But the moment the sugar hits my tongue, I know it’s a lost cause. I take big bites of it, all but shoving the last bit into my mouth. Then I take a deep breath and mourn the fact that he only brought me one.
Alas. I may be able to purchase some with my earnings after work.
The prospect of more donuts spurs me and I get to work in a good mood.
Unfortunately, the mood around the infirmary is anything but good.
The doctor is in a corner with a few nurses, and as I approach, he comments.
“We lost two more men last night.”
“What happened?” I ask.
“The nurses on duty didn’t realize it until it was too late.” He sighs.
Two men dead. Two more souls missing. It could be that I wasn’t in the vicinity, but after a bit of probing, I found out the men died around the time I was in the infirmary.
Suspicious.
Kai might not believe me, but my instincts are telling me there is something happening here. And I aim to find out exactly what. Then both Kai and Commander Azerius will have no choice but to recognize my outstanding abilities.
I smile to myself.
I quite like the thought of that.
But first.
“Miss Anyan. Please start your rounds.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
I still need to do my job if I want to buy myself some donuts at the end of the month after I get paid.
Armed with a chart, I start taking notes on each patient.
“They’re flying out today. We’ll probably have more wounded in by the end of the night,” a nurse notes.
“We don’t have that many empty beds left. We might have to expand,” another answers.
I continue to work, but I cannot help but eavesdrop on their conversation.
When I came here for the job, I did not realize this was an American military base. I had no idea about the bad reputation the 100 th Bomb Group had, or the fact that although they have great benefits for hired nurses, a lot of them end up quitting due to the high workload.
Too many injured.
Too many dying.
From what I hear, any other group would have been preferred to the 100 th since everyone believes it to be cursed.
I scoff at that.
Of course I don’t believe it is cursed. I do not sense any type of witchcraft surrounding the base or its people—well, aside from that ongoing problem with a certain soul snatcher. But with the way people are talking about the 100 th , it is clear that it has one of the highest mortality rates—so much so it’s not just the nurses who dread working here; the airmen who get assigned to this group think they’re doomed, too.
I’m ambivalent on that matter. Work is work. And if nurses quit, then it will be that much easier for me to hold onto my job with my limited skills—I might be clueless about nursing, but I am not afraid of hard work.
Yet as I’m changing the bandage of one of the patients and I note the severity of his injuries, my thoughts stray to Mine.
He said he’s a pilot, no? Does that mean he’s in the direct line of fire?
I have yet to find out what exactly these airmen do besides fly planes, but I suppose they fight with them, too? I shall have to ask him when I see him again.
If I see him again.
I shake myself. For some reason, I do not want to contemplate the thought of him dying. I suppose it’s the donuts. Who else will bring me donuts until I get my first wage if he’s gone?
But he’s a high-ranking official. He wouldn’t be one if he wasn’t skilled. In Aperion, you must not only open your ninth energy gate, but you must also be distinguished in the army to advance in rank.
I mutter a string of curses under my breath. Here I am, with only my fifth gate open and no opportunity in sight to advance. If only my parents would see that I make a better warrior than I would a wife.
“Good job, Miss Anyan,” the doctor praises me as he takes a look at my chart.
“Thank you.”
“You may take your lunch break. Miss Enid will take over for the time being.”
Oh, finally!
I look at the clock and realize I’ve been working nonstop for the last seven hours. My stomach growls in hunger, and if today’s course is the same type of succulent meat as yesterday, then I’m in for a treat.
Or…not.
Oh, yes, the high officials get to eat that delicious meat. But I get only a measly potato stew with no meat.
On top of that, the nurses are supposed to eat in the same hall as the soldiers, and that means I must grit my teeth and not retaliate against the lewd comments they make about women.
Males. Ugh.
The nurses on break are all sitting at the same table, and I spot an extra seat. Holding on tightly to my tray, I head there. I may not have interacted much with them, but I will try to be friendly—after all, we will be living in close quarters for the next one hundred and one days.
I put on a smile as I greet them. But when I try to go around the table and take a seat, one of the females places her bag on the empty seat.
“We’re full here,” she tells me.
“But there is a seat there.” I point to where her bag is.
“No, there is not,” she quips with an even faker smile than the one I’m sporting.
I narrow my eyes.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have messed with Eva,” another nurse mentions.
“Who’s Eva?” I frown.
They all turn to glare at me.
“Lucy Rawlins. It’s your fault she didn’t get the job.”
The name sounds familiar. It takes me a moment to realize they’re talking about the girl with the book who got dismissed.
“It’s not my fault she did something wrong.” I shrug.
“She was our colleague,” the same girl adds, giving me a nasty look.
Since I’m not about to sit with people who do not like me, I release a loud humph and turn around, scanning the hall for an empty seat. Unfortunately, all of them are taken either by the nurses or the soldiers and workers.
With no other recourse, I take my tray and head outside. I can eat just fine on the grass somewhere.
I don’t want to be anywhere near the cantina so others can laugh at me, so I walk some fifteen minutes until I find a secluded spot. I take a seat under the shade of a tree and dig into my food. By this point, it’s not only meager but also cold. Alas, since I only had a few bites at breakfast and that donut, I am ravenous.
Although I try to pace myself, I end up eating all the stew in just a few minutes. All that’s left is a slice of bread, and considering how hungry I still am, I try to make it last.
Breaking it into small pieces, I lay it on my tray and stare at it.
In Aperion, I would have had a banquet with countless delicacies, while here I’m forced to survive on tasteless stew and a few pieces of bread.
I sigh.
At least I’m not eating a rat. I suppose I should look on the bright side.
I take a piece of bread and slowly chew on it.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see people start running in the direction of the runway.
“The planes have arrived,” someone calls out.
Grabbing a handful of bread pieces, I shove them into my mouth and get to my feet. Perhaps it’s curiosity. But I find myself following those people toward the runway, wanting to see the airmen who came back from their mission.
In the distance, I see the planes heading toward the runway. One after another, they search for a place to land.
A crowd of people has gathered a safe distance away, and a male soldier starts counting the planes as they arrive.
“Five… Six…”
There is excitement, but there is also the underlying fear that some of their friends have not made it.
All the while, as I squint to get a better view of the planes, I wonder which one of them Mine is flying. But they all look the same to me.
“Which one is Major Vitry’s plane?” I ask a man in uniform.
He turns to me, his expression tight.
“The Virtuous,” he answers with the nickname of his plane. “But it’s not here yet.”
A few more planes land, and trucks rush to the runway, together with a few ambulances to carry the wounded.
“Is it here now?” I ask after the last plane landed.
He shakes his head.
“We have twelve missing,” he says to another soldier. “Must be one of the worst ones so far.”
I listen in, hoping for some more information. My understanding of their military is paltry at best, but it’s not the first time I’ve heard of a number of planes going missing.
“What happens when they go missing?”
The soldier shakes his head.
“Shot down by the Luftwaffe, or they crashed from damage from flak.”
“Flak?”
I’ve heard the term before, but I am not sure exactly what it is.
“German anti-aircraft weapons. They shoot at the planes from the ground.”
I nod. That sounds bad.
“Are you sure Major Vitry’s plane is not here?”
I don’t know why I need that assurance. But he’s the only person I know here who’s been kind to me. He brought me a donut.
The soldier shakes his head.
Worry gnaws at me. Was Mine shot down, too? Did he crash? Somehow, I need to know what happened to him.
Making my way back to the infirmary, I note an ambulance in front being loaded up with nurses. Seeing this as my chance to get to the runway, I hurry in and take a seat in the back of the car.
“They radioed in that three more people are in critical condition. You must focus on the task,” the doctor tells us as we ride toward the runway.
“Yes, Doctor,” the three nurses present say in unison.
The situation must be dire if they require so many ambulances to head to the runway.
As we reach the planes, I note that most of them have some damage to the wings or the body. There is smoke coming from one of the cockpits and people are rushing to put the fire out inside.
We all get out of the ambulance to intercept the wounded.
From the corner of my eye, I spot five messengers standing in the field by the runway, waiting. If there are five messengers around, there should also be five souls they are waiting to pick up.
I look left and right, but only two souls exit their mortals’ bodies, at which point the messengers assigned to them step in to guide them to P’asala. But that leaves three souls unaccounted for.
Damn it! Is the demon around here? Is it feeding on the souls?
I try to see if anyone is acting suspiciously, but there are too many people coming and going, making it confusing. Without my powers, too, I cannot sense the souls, so I can only rely on my sight.
Moments pass as I sift through the many people around in an attempt to identify the missing souls. It’s only when one plane is moved that I spot three more. They’re standing next to their bodies, their expressions filled with confusion as they watch people fuss around them and cry about their deaths.
The messengers assigned to those souls are now by their side, urging them to follow. Two souls do. The other continues to stare at his body.
He’s little more than a teenager, and he’s already dead.
I feel sorry for him, but at the same time, he needs to follow the messenger and move on to the afterlife.
The messenger stands there, waiting.
The clock is ticking.
A messenger will not wait forever. If it’s clear the soul has no intention of leaving the mortal plane, or if the soul proves to be too difficult, messengers simply depart.
The task of apprehending those unruly souls then falls down on the collectors—vicious creatures that I always avoid at all costs. They’re like rabid dogs when they go after rebel souls. Especially since the more time a soul spends outside its body, the more powerful it becomes as it channels onto its emotions—which are usually hatred and regret.
Vengeful souls are the worst, and to deal with them, the collectors have to be equally bad.
I shudder just thinking about those nasty beings.
Unlike messengers, who are not sentient, collectors are deities who’ve been caught on the wrong side of the law—the ones whose sins were not enough to warrant an execution. They go through rigorous training to become collectors, and unlike in the military, in the collection game, there are no rules.
Those bastards play dirty. And they hate Aperite warriors, which puts us at odds.
But then there’s the other alternative. If the soul doesn’t leave with a messenger, it might become food for demons. And if there is a demon nearby…
I don’t even know what’s worse at the moment—have the soul linger until a collector comes or until a demon senses that juicy energy and wants a bite.
“Nurse Anyan!” the doctor yells at me.
Lost in my thoughts as I was, I didn’t even realize when people around me started moving, so I try to keep up.
Yet there, in the distance, the messenger has disappeared.
The soul? It’s still around.
I draw in a long sigh.
“Pay attention, Nurse Anyan.” One of the girls snickers at me.
A few airmen are carrying out one male who has a nasty wound to the head. Upon closer inspection, I realize that brain matter is dripping out from a hole in the back of his skull. He’s still alive, but barely.
The airmen load him into the ambulance and the doctor starts examining him. But soon, another stretcher is brought forward, this time with a male that has an amputated arm. Blood flows out of his limb, and he wails in pain.
I look worriedly around, trying to see if any of the planes is the Virtuous. Most of them have their nicknames etched onto the body of the plane, so I run around, trying to find Mine’s plane.
“Have you seen Major Vitry’s plane?” I ask one of the pilots as he climbs down from the plane.
His lips are drawn in a tight line.
“He was behind us, but three of his engines were struck. I’m not sure if?—”
I tune him out as I gaze up into the sky. There, in the distance, I make out a dark spot against the blue sky.
I bypass one of the planes to get a better view.
There’s something there. Something that emits a lot of smoke.
My heart beats fast in my chest as I watch the dark spot grow larger until I can tell it’s a plane.
“My God!” someone exclaims. “He’s going to crash!”
“Evacuate the runway!” someone else screams.
A commotion ensues as everyone tries to get out of the way, but I stand still, watching the plane wobble in the air.
It goes up and then drops a little, its balance skewed. It leaves a trail of smoke in its wake, and as it gets closer, I see the busted engines on both wings.
“Get out of the way!” a soldier calls out. “Run!”
I can’t.
My body cannot physically move. I stand there and watch as the plane becomes bigger and bigger until it fills my entire field of vision.
There, on its right side, I make out some of the letters of Virtuous.
It’s Mine. He’s coming. He’s not dead.
I shiver, unable to understand the emotions that information elicits inside of me. There’s a warm, tingly feeling in my stomach, and my heart beats so loudly in my chest, it feels as if it’s about to poke a hole through it and skip onto the runway.
The plane makes a deafening noise before it plummets down, its nose heading straight for me.
And yet, I still stand there, staring at it.
The lower part of the plane gives way to the wheels, and as the plane makes contact with the runway, a loud, piercing noise erupts in the air.
“Get out of the way!” more people yell at me as the plane moves with increasing speed toward me.
I’m so focused on it, I barely realize how close it is to me until the nose of the plane is maybe a few paces away, at which point it suddenly stops. Shocked, I teeter back and fall backward.
The weary engines make a choking noise as they stop running. A loud pop erupts in the air as the trap door opens on the belly of the plane.
I hold my breath.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Minnie?” Mine thunders as he slides out of the plane and strides determinedly toward me.
I let my eyes roam over his body, looking for any signs of injury. And when I’m convinced he’s all right, I let out a big sigh of relief.
He looms over me, breathing harshly.
“Hi, Mine,” I say with a smile.
He stares at me for a few moments before he shakes his head. Extending a hand to me, he helps me off the ground.
“You could have hurt yourself, Minnie,” he comments.
“I didn’t,” I quip. “You could have hurt yourself too.”
“I didn’t either.” Slowly, a smile seeps into his features, and I find myself returning it.
“You were late,” I comment.
He chuckles as he glances back at his plane.
“Better late than never, no?”
I nod slowly, still looking at him. It feels nice to see a familiar face.
“I have something for you,” he suddenly mentions. He takes off his jacket and reaches inside his uniform to hand me another item wrapped in tissue paper. This time, though, I can immediately see what’s nestled within. The sugar has seeped through the paper, soaking it. “It’s a little messed up,” he explains.
I take the present with both hands. The donut is a little more squashed than the one he gave me this morning, but a donut is a donut.
“Why did you have this with you?” I frown. Not that I mind. In fact, my mood immediately improves as I bite into it and get some sugar in my system. Now this is heaven.
He clears his throat and looks away.
“I wanted to bring you something back.”
I frown.
“But you got it from the base, didn’t you? You took it with you.”
He nods. “Yes, but I took it so I could come back with it. It’s not as if we have any stops on the way where I could buy some.”
His logic is…odd. I do not understand it. But of course, as long as he gives me more donuts—they are more precious than gold in this world—I am satisfied with nonsensical explanations.
“Thank you, Mine. That is very nice of you.”
He finally smiles. He places his palm atop my head and ruffles my hair.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”
I’m about to chastise him for ruining my perfect updo when two cars and an ambulance surround us.
“Glad to see you made it back, Vitry,” a male dressed in a military uniform decorated with a myriad of medals exclaims when he sees Mine. “How’s the crew?”
At the same time, another male pokes his head out of the plane’s trap door.
“Are you done, Vitry? Can I come out? It’s getting hot in here!”
“Shut up, Holloway!” Mine shouts.
“Why can’t he come out?” the male asks with a frown.
“It’s nothing,” Mine grumbles.
“Tell me you at least got a kiss,” the male peeking from the plane continues.
“Shut the fuck up, Holloway, or I’ll kill you with my own hands,” Mine retorts, flustered.
I stare at him. I did not realize he had such violent inclinations. Then again, he did kill that male a few days ago—with his bare hands.
My eyes are drawn to his hands.
He has big hands. But that is quite normal. He is a big male too. Big and strong. His muscles are well-defined and quite nice to look at, if I do say so myself. Not that I want to notice that, but I couldn’t not notice it when he took his shirt off the other night. I don’t even want to think about his abdominals. I know quite a few deities who would kill to have his body.
But back to his hands.
I’ve never known hands can be interesting. They’re just…hands. But his are. Very, very interesting. A few veins protrude, giving him perfect proportions. There are also old scars and blisters on his palms. He is a male who uses his hands.
“Nurse?” the male in uniform asks me.
“Huh?”
“You should check on the wounded.”
I blink. “There is someone wounded?”
Mine rolls his eyes.
“It’s Holloway,” he says with a sigh. “His ears are ringing from when we took one of the hits. I’m sure he’s better seen by a doctor, not a nurse.”
Now, wait a minute. Is he implying I am not capable of looking after a patient? Of course I’ve never treated someone for ear ringing, but there is a first for everything.
I turn to glare at him and open my mouth to argue. But before I can say anything, he continues.
“Besides, I have a small injury that needs taking care of myself. The nurse was kind enough to offer to look at it.”
I’m confused.
He doesn’t seem to be injured anywhere.
He gives me a look as he steps closer to me, all but dragging me to his side.
“You’re injured? Why didn’t you say so from the beginning?” I ask.
The male from the plane finally slides out, and he wobbles from side to side as he comes toward us. A few other males are behind him, though they seem to be uninjured.
“Damn those fucking Nazis! They nearly blew us off,” Holloway mentions in a slight slur.
Mine places his arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer to him. I don’t know what he’s trying to do. I never allowed him to touch me, or to invade my personal space like that. I may be glad he is still alive and that he is still able to give me donuts, but that is the extent of our acquaintance.
“Take your hand off,” I mutter through gritted teeth. My voice is low enough that only he can hear me.
His eyes glint dangerously as he stares ahead. Yet he doesn’t acknowledge my words. He merely tightens his hold over my shoulders.
Ah, if only I had my powers… He would have been thrown halfway across the field by now.
As I get a better look at that Holloway male, my entire body tenses.
On his shoulder, perched quite comfortably, is a greed demon. Its reddish gray shadows almost connect to form a humanoid body that has its long arms wrapped all around Holloway’s torso, holding on tightly to him. Its eyes are the darkest black as it coils around Holloway, feeding on his energy and controlling its body.
Damn it!
Greed demons are part of a special category of demons that cannot be controlled by the Sons of Tenebreis. They are borne out of mortals’ sins and they continue to feed off those sins while keeping their host alive. Whereas a regular demon simply feeds off a soul’s energy until there’s nothing left, a greed demon can feed off, well, greed, forever, moving from host to host when it suits its needs.
In all my four thousand four hundred and seventy years, I have never seen one of these. They are rare, but they are a handful. There is a special division in the Aperite military that deals with sins demons due to a particular skill set required.
I swallow hard.
Even if I had my powers, I wouldn’t know how to get rid of a greed demon.
Without my powers?
This entire military base is damned.