Death’s Row

The guard opened the door and a putrid stench escaped from the infirmary. Emile stepped inside and saw a seemingly endless room filled with beds. Each bed held a patient and was equipped with a night stand and candle.

Blood stained curtains hung from the ceiling and separated the patients from one another. The floor below many of the beds were glossy like they had just been wet not too long ago.

"Hello? Excuse me?" A panicked voice crept up on Emile's ears.

Emile turned and in the corner of the room near the entrance stood a single desk that was being trampled on by a mob of loose papers. A younger boy was standing behind it, his hands leaning forward onto the desk, his body stretched towards Emile, and his fiery red eyes intensely bore into Emile.

"Hey." Emile awkwardly responded as he waved at the boy.

"Are you hurt somewhere?" The boy's eyes gleamed in excitement.

"No—I'm actually a healer."

The boy stepped back onto the ground and looked away, shrugging his shoulders.

"Oh…why are you here? I'm already stationed here." The boy said.

"I'm actually a cadet and I'm here to practice my gift."

The boy looked back at Emile and narrowed his eyes. For just a moment, scorn washed over his demeanor, but it quickly went back to normal. He combed his black hair behind his ear then finally responded.

"Then please—" he gestured to the room full of patients, "although you might find that there's nothing for you to do here, I am quite capable myself." He finished his speech and maintained his coy smile.

Emile looked at the boy for a few extra moments before he left towards the first patient.

'This kid's a freak!'

Emile stopped beside the bed of his first patient. It was a woman, presumably early thirties, light red hair, freckles, and deathly pale.

Emile rested the back of his hand on the woman's forehead, she was concerningly hot. Emile also noticed she had a deep laceration across her forearm, but it had already blistered and become an arc of black blood.

Emile assumed the blacker blood and fever meant she had some sort of infection. Emile went to heal her and then suddenly stopped. He had never actually healed someone other than Emma, his sister. He didn't know where to touch the random woman.

Since he had already put his hand on her head, that's what he decided to go with. Emile placed the palm of his hand on her forehead and closed his eyes. He knew his eyes didn't need to be closed, but closing them just felt right.

Meanwhile, Emile called on his soul and watched his soul essence. He willed the Breath of Life into the woman and watched his soul essence plummet.

[Soul Essence: 100/100…90/100…70/100…58/100]

His soul essence stopped at fifty-eight. Emile opened his eyes and immediately the woman looked more relaxed. Her breath softened and her brows unfurled. Emile picked up the woman's arm and a huge scar wrapped around it instead of the blistered clump of dried blood that existed there before.

Emile pulled out his notebook and wrote 'foot long laceration and infection - 42 essence' and then got up to attend to the next injured soldier.

"Wait!" The boy yelled from behind Emile. "What did you do?"

Emile patiently looked at the boy.

"I healed her."

"But how?" The boy ran up to the woman and held her arm up. The sudden yells and rough movement finally woke the woman up.

"How did you-"

"Let go of me!"

A barrage of words crashed into Emile's ear drums all at once. The woman continued to yell at the boy and struggled to pull her arm from his grip.

"Would you zip it?" The boy smiled at the woman as her eyes rolled behind her head and she fell into the soft embrace of her bed.

Noticing that the boy caused the woman to faint, Emile approached the two.

"What did you do to her?" Emile asked while trying to get to the lady.

"A trade secret!" The boy spat back. He let go of the unconscious woman and stood right below Emile's face.

"The real question is how did you treat her!" He pointed to the woman.

Emile looked down at the boy, transfixed at his uncomfortably aggressive attitude. The boy exuded superiority and arrogance which conflicted with his boyish looks.

"I just healed her man. Did a lot better than you." Emile brushed against the boy's shoulder and walked to another bed.

This next patient was a man. Presumably early twenties, light brown hair, fairly tanned skin, and his lips were beginning to fade to blue.

Emile pulled down the thin, bloodied sheet covering the man to his waist and inspected his condition. More hardened, black blood scaled the man's torso. The towering scabs circled just above his waist, from his stomach to his back.

Emile placed his palm on the man's head and began circulating Breath of Life, but just as he began a warm liquid suddenly squirted onto Emile's face.

Emile opened his eyes and the distorted, ripped apart face of the man was looking back at him. The man's eyes popped from his head, blood painted the wall behind him and thick clumps of blood streamed down his chin.

"Don't worry about him—" the boy stood next to Emile, "I marked him on Death's Row, I just couldn't get to it until now."

Emile's body suddenly froze for a few seconds.

"Did you just kill him?" Emile asked.

"Like I said, I couldn't save him so I put him on Death's Row. It's merciful."

Emile turned and faced the boy. A slight smirk curled at the corner of the boy's mouth. Emile stared at him, stunned at the boy's actions. He had been incredibly callous, from pulling on the woman's arm to imploding the head of the man.

'What the f*** is wrong with this psycho!'.