The heavy oak door to the Healer's chambers burst open despite the iron locks and massive weight.
He stood up from his desk near the warm fire.
"What sorcery is this?"
Only then he saw the white hair of the old woman known as The Seer. She was leading a group of people who carried a large man in a blanket. He was unconscious.
"I need your help tonight, old friend."
The Healer looked into the blanket and examined the man in armor. It was Our Hero.
"What happened?"
"We need to get this armor off him right this instant!"
The Healer ran his fingers along the underside of the thick breast plate. It was deeply gouged and dented from countless battles.
"Why did you bring him here? Why wake the whole castle with this in the dead of night?"
The Seer showed him the unfastened straps dangling off Our Hero's body.
"How are these armor plates staying on him?"
"Look closer, Wise One."
Once again he ran his fingers under the armor and gasped. "I can't tell where He begins and the armor ends! It's meshed with is flesh! It's a part of him now!"
"And if we don't get it off his body soon, he will die."
"He's dead already, my old friend. There's no way to get that armor off his body. It is now one with him."
"No! We can cut it off. It'll take some time and patience, but we can do it. You, a skilled Healer, can do it."
The Healer looked up at the faces of those who brought Our Hero into his lab in the basement of castle. They each wore expressions betraying their thoughts. Worry, sadness, anger, disgust, and contempt.
He struggled for so long, he just needed protection
I hope he doesn't die like this....not like this.
How could he have been so stupid!
Pathetic! Nobody needs armor like that!
It's weakness. He's not a hero, he's just a weak man!
"I will need each of you to assist me."
"Well," said one of the group. "I've got plans. I mean, really, I need to get going. Besides, you guys have this under control, so bye. Tell him I'll send a pigeon courier some time this week, okay? Thanks!"
After she left the room, the Healer and The Seer spoke to each other in hushed tones.
"He's not going to want to lose this armor," she said. "He doesn't think he can live without it."
"How many years has he worn this on his body?"
"At least nine, that I know of," she said. "It became a habit after having so many battles."
"His enemies will smell blood and come for him. And we can't protect him."
"I know," she said. "But if we don't do this, he will surely die."
The Healer rubbed an ointment under Our Hero's nose while The Seer chanted a spell.
"He will be asleep for a while longer but once I start to carve this off his skin, he will awake from the pain. I hope none of you are shy about blood--there will be a lot of it tonight."
A few left, the most loyal stayed, and the grim work began.
The first cuts were shallow, to test the flesh, and to see how bad it was.
"What's that horrible stench?" A member of the group held a rag up to their face.
"It's infected," said the Healer. His face held in a grim mask. "And you're right, my dear friend. If we don't remove this soon, he will die."
"Let us pray we made it in time," she said.
The Healer looked at her for a moment, and raised an eyebrow.
"I did not see his Fate, my Healer friend. I don't know if this is his last day with us or not."
"Then I shall work faster," he said. Sharp scalps were on a tray next to him, lined up in a row. He would grab one, slicing as delicately as possible the skin away from the armor that had protected Our Hero for so long.
Bit by bit, the Healer released the skin from the armor. The cold, stone room filled with the stench of necrosed flesh and infection. As a scalpel's blade lost its edge, he would put it down carefully and grab another.
One finger on Our Hero's right hand twitched.
"He's waking up!" One of The Seer's helpers put both hands on his arm.
"We've only got a few moments left," said the old crone.
"And I've got at least an hour's worth of work to do," said the Healer.
Suddenly a chair flew across the room and smashed against the opposite wall.
"What in the hell was that?"
"It's one of his demons," cried The Seer. "It's found him!"
"I can't see anything," said one of the helpers.
"And you won't," said the Healer. "They belong to him. But be careful because they'll kill you just the same."
A table disintegrated into a pile of splinters.
"He's coming for him!"
And then Our Hero's eyes shot open. One hand reached for his sword and there wasn't one strapped to his waist.
He sat up and looked around. One of the loyal friends who stayed to help was pushed aside without seeing the creature that did it.
Our Hero grabbed two of the dull scalpels and a battle ensued. He sliced and stabbed an monster only he could see but everyone in the room could feel. After the better part of an hour, there was the sound of limp flesh hitting the flagstone floor.
The battle was done. He was exhausted, covered in sweat, and blood both his own and otherwise. Frantically he felt for his armor.
"What have you done?"
The Seer knelt down next to him, placing a hand on each side of his head, holding him firmly so his frantic eyes would focus on her.
"Listen to me! Listen to me! You are dying! Can you understand that? This armor is killing you and it has to be removed. You are dying!"
"No!"
"Yes! You cannot heal with it. You are dying from infection. It has become toxic."
"It's my armor! I need it!"
"No," said the old woman. "You do not. You only think you do. And you cannot rely upon it anymore."
"I'm going to die without it."
"You'll die with it, too."
The Healer and the loyal friends slowly surrounded Our Hero, lifted him up, and brought him back to the table.
"No," he said. "Don't take my armor." It sounded more like a plea than anything else.
"This is killing you," said the Crone. "I know you might have needed it in the past, but it has to go."
"You can do this," said The Healer. "You're stronger than you think."
A day later, Our Hero was in a bed, covered in sweat and shivering. He tried to talk but couldn't without vomiting. His skin was white and once every few seconds he twitched. He was oblivious to the two people in his room with him.
"He's not good," said The Healer. "I can't give him anything to sleep because it'll make the infection worse."
"I know," said The Seer. "If he survives this, he'll be fine."
"Let's just hope when he leaves here he doesn't find more armor."
He stood up from his desk near the warm fire.
"What sorcery is this?"
Only then he saw the white hair of the old woman known as The Seer. She was leading a group of people who carried a large man in a blanket. He was unconscious.
"I need your help tonight, old friend."
The Healer looked into the blanket and examined the man in armor. It was Our Hero.
"What happened?"
"We need to get this armor off him right this instant!"
The Healer ran his fingers along the underside of the thick breast plate. It was deeply gouged and dented from countless battles.
"Why did you bring him here? Why wake the whole castle with this in the dead of night?"
The Seer showed him the unfastened straps dangling off Our Hero's body.
"How are these armor plates staying on him?"
"Look closer, Wise One."
Once again he ran his fingers under the armor and gasped. "I can't tell where He begins and the armor ends! It's meshed with is flesh! It's a part of him now!"
"And if we don't get it off his body soon, he will die."
"He's dead already, my old friend. There's no way to get that armor off his body. It is now one with him."
"No! We can cut it off. It'll take some time and patience, but we can do it. You, a skilled Healer, can do it."
The Healer looked up at the faces of those who brought Our Hero into his lab in the basement of castle. They each wore expressions betraying their thoughts. Worry, sadness, anger, disgust, and contempt.
He struggled for so long, he just needed protection
I hope he doesn't die like this....not like this.
How could he have been so stupid!
Pathetic! Nobody needs armor like that!
It's weakness. He's not a hero, he's just a weak man!
"I will need each of you to assist me."
"Well," said one of the group. "I've got plans. I mean, really, I need to get going. Besides, you guys have this under control, so bye. Tell him I'll send a pigeon courier some time this week, okay? Thanks!"
After she left the room, the Healer and The Seer spoke to each other in hushed tones.
"He's not going to want to lose this armor," she said. "He doesn't think he can live without it."
"How many years has he worn this on his body?"
"At least nine, that I know of," she said. "It became a habit after having so many battles."
"His enemies will smell blood and come for him. And we can't protect him."
"I know," she said. "But if we don't do this, he will surely die."
The Healer rubbed an ointment under Our Hero's nose while The Seer chanted a spell.
"He will be asleep for a while longer but once I start to carve this off his skin, he will awake from the pain. I hope none of you are shy about blood--there will be a lot of it tonight."
A few left, the most loyal stayed, and the grim work began.
The first cuts were shallow, to test the flesh, and to see how bad it was.
"What's that horrible stench?" A member of the group held a rag up to their face.
"It's infected," said the Healer. His face held in a grim mask. "And you're right, my dear friend. If we don't remove this soon, he will die."
"Let us pray we made it in time," she said.
The Healer looked at her for a moment, and raised an eyebrow.
"I did not see his Fate, my Healer friend. I don't know if this is his last day with us or not."
"Then I shall work faster," he said. Sharp scalps were on a tray next to him, lined up in a row. He would grab one, slicing as delicately as possible the skin away from the armor that had protected Our Hero for so long.
Bit by bit, the Healer released the skin from the armor. The cold, stone room filled with the stench of necrosed flesh and infection. As a scalpel's blade lost its edge, he would put it down carefully and grab another.
One finger on Our Hero's right hand twitched.
"He's waking up!" One of The Seer's helpers put both hands on his arm.
"We've only got a few moments left," said the old crone.
"And I've got at least an hour's worth of work to do," said the Healer.
Suddenly a chair flew across the room and smashed against the opposite wall.
"What in the hell was that?"
"It's one of his demons," cried The Seer. "It's found him!"
"I can't see anything," said one of the helpers.
"And you won't," said the Healer. "They belong to him. But be careful because they'll kill you just the same."
A table disintegrated into a pile of splinters.
"He's coming for him!"
And then Our Hero's eyes shot open. One hand reached for his sword and there wasn't one strapped to his waist.
He sat up and looked around. One of the loyal friends who stayed to help was pushed aside without seeing the creature that did it.
Our Hero grabbed two of the dull scalpels and a battle ensued. He sliced and stabbed an monster only he could see but everyone in the room could feel. After the better part of an hour, there was the sound of limp flesh hitting the flagstone floor.
The battle was done. He was exhausted, covered in sweat, and blood both his own and otherwise. Frantically he felt for his armor.
"What have you done?"
The Seer knelt down next to him, placing a hand on each side of his head, holding him firmly so his frantic eyes would focus on her.
"Listen to me! Listen to me! You are dying! Can you understand that? This armor is killing you and it has to be removed. You are dying!"
"No!"
"Yes! You cannot heal with it. You are dying from infection. It has become toxic."
"It's my armor! I need it!"
"No," said the old woman. "You do not. You only think you do. And you cannot rely upon it anymore."
"I'm going to die without it."
"You'll die with it, too."
The Healer and the loyal friends slowly surrounded Our Hero, lifted him up, and brought him back to the table.
"No," he said. "Don't take my armor." It sounded more like a plea than anything else.
"This is killing you," said the Crone. "I know you might have needed it in the past, but it has to go."
"You can do this," said The Healer. "You're stronger than you think."
***
A day later, Our Hero was in a bed, covered in sweat and shivering. He tried to talk but couldn't without vomiting. His skin was white and once every few seconds he twitched. He was oblivious to the two people in his room with him.
"He's not good," said The Healer. "I can't give him anything to sleep because it'll make the infection worse."
"I know," said The Seer. "If he survives this, he'll be fine."
"Let's just hope when he leaves here he doesn't find more armor."
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