Plague Doctors: Beginning of the End-Chapter 9 - : Reality check

The town square was a cacophony of brass and steam, the air thick with the scent of oil and coal, mingling with the acrid tang of fear and anticipation. Gears turned in the towering clock at the center if the square, it's hands ticking ominously as if counting down to some inevitable doom.

The cobblestone streets were lined with vendors' stalls, their wares forgotten as the crowd surged toward the raised platform at the far end.

The platform itself was a grim spectacle, a scaffold of iron and wood, adorned with pipped that hissed faintly, releasing plumes of steam into the chilly air.

At its center stood a woman, her hands bound, her face pale but defiant. Her dress was tattered, her eyes darting across the sea of faces, searching for a glimmer of mercy? Or maybe a certain someone. There was none to be found.

The priest, a gaunt figure in dark robes adorned with black insignias, stood at the edge of the platform his voice amplified by a mechanical megaphone that crackled with static. He recited the charges with a tone that wavered, his eyes flickering to the woman and then away.

"By the order of the Church and the will of the people, this woman stands accused of witchcraft," he intended, his voice trembling slightly. The crowd roared in response, a wave of jeers and cheers crushing over the square.

Men in top hats and women in corseted gowns waved their fists, their faces twisted in a mixture of rage and glee. The viscousness of mankind, oozing out and overflowing.

Among them, a young teenager stood frozen, his hands clenched at his sides, his face ashen. He knew her, he knew she was no witch. She had been kind to his kind, a lover to his loved one. Now he could only watch in horror, as a man with a blow torch stepped foward, the flame from it casting an on orange glow on his grinning face.

The boy turned back, shoving his head through the dense crowd his heart pounding in his chest like a piston on overdrive, he however did his best to not lose control, not there. There were too many people around, he couldn't risk losing control, attempting to save her, at least by himself her would have resulted in the same.

The sea of bodies seemed endless, men and women: he ducked under elbows, squeezed through shoulders, and finally broke free gasping for air as he stumbled onto the cobblestone streets. He needed to calm down, his eyes! They had started glowing, his pupils had morphed into slits. He shut them, shook his head while clenching his jaws hard shut.

A moment later, when he opened them, they were back to normal, he was calm. He proceeded to dash off, not too slow but not so fast that people noticed his inhuman prowess. Though late, within a few minutes he burst into a house, his home. His chest heaving, his words stumbling out in a frantic rush.

"Dinah! She's - she's at the town square!" He gasped, his voice crackling. "They're burning her alive!" The two adults in the room, a man and a woman, froze, their faces draining of color. The woman, tall and mildly built staggered back as it struck. The man, his hands covered with blood from a sacrifice he had just performed a few moments prior, dropped his knife with clatter. For a moment, the room was silent, save for the boy's ragged breathing. Then, the woman's expression hardened, she bolted for the door, the man close behind calling to her, "Alika!"

As soon as they were outside, the woman stopped abruptly. Her hands clenched into fists and with a sound like a steam valve releasing pressure, flames erupted from her palms swirling around her arms like a fiery cascade. The air around her shimmered with heat as she crouched slightly, then launched herself into the sky with a burst of fire. The intensity holding back the man and the teenager as she left back a trail of smoke in her wake.

"We need to follow her! Come on!" He exclaimed as they both took off running, their footsteps echoing through the narrow streets.

Back at the execution scene, police officers were present, clad in brass buttoned uniforms and armed with steampowered guns and batons. They stood at the periphery, their expressions unreadable. They made no move to intervene, their presence a silent endorsement of the spectacle.

Nearby, a sleek black carriage with golden trim and smokestack idled, it's windows tinted with darkened glass. Inside a man with a tailored suit leaned back, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he observed the scene. He tapped his finger against the carriage door, the rhythmic clink of his rings against the metal echoing faintly. For him, this was entertainment, unjustified justice.

The executioner ignited the wood around her, the flame igniting with a ferocity that almost seemed sentient, their orange tongues licking angrily at the dry wood around the stake this supposed 'witch' was tied on. The fire climbed higher, it's heat distorting the air around her, making her figure shimmer like a mirage.

Her clothes caught fire almost instantly, the fabric curling and blackening as the flames consumed them. The smell of burning wool ams flesh filled the air, a nauseating mix that made some in the crowd cover their noses but did little to silence their fervor. Her skin blistered and cracked, the fire steering through layers of flesh with a horrifying efficiency. Her hair burned away in moments, the acrid stench of it mingling with the smoke that billowed upward.

Alika was near, soaring above the rooftops, her flames further illuminating the darkened sky as she descended at the center of the town square landing beside what remained of Dinah. It was thunderous, the impact sending a shockwave through the crowd. The priest ejected off the platform while the executioner exploded into nothing by his blowtorch catching Alika's fire.

People stumbled back, their cheers turning into screams as they tried to scramble away from the fiery figure now standing beside the burning pyre. Dinah was barely visible through the flames, her body slumped and lifeless. Alika's hands blazed brighter as she stepped foward, her voice a roar of fury and grief.

"Enough!" She bellowed, her flames surging outwards in a wave, extinguishing the pyre in an instant. She proceeded to drop to her knees beside the charred remains of her lover. The only flames around at that point were those on her, flickering yet hot.

The police officers formed a circle around her. Their rifles hummed with energy, gears whirring as they charged their shots. The barrels glowed faintly, steam hissing from the vents as they took aim.

"Stand down!" Barked one of them, his voice trembling despite his authoritative tone. But Alika merely cradled the remains of her lover, her body radiating an intense, almost unbearable heat. The conventional currents making her details invisible to the human eye.

Around that time, the teenager and the man by him arrived, but hid behind a corner. "No," whispered the man, the teenager almost leaping out to help Alika but he held him back and covered the child's mouth using his palm.

"Fire!" The lead officer shouted, and a volley of bullets erupted from their rifles. The projectiles, encased in brass and propelled by steam, streaked through the air, only to disintegrate before they could reach her. The heat Alika emitted was so intense it vapourised the bullets at a certain range around her, their metal shells melting into nothingness before they could even touch her skin. Upon realising it's futility, the officers stared in silence, lowering their rifles as they took steps back.

The woman did not even flinch, her tears fell, sizzling as they hit the ground, her sobs echoing through the square.

The remnants of the crowd, once raucous and bloodthirsty now watched in stunned silence, their faces pale with fear. Alika's grief was a tangible force, her sorrow radiating outwards like a furnace. She pressed her forehead against the chest of the remains of her lover, her voice a broken whisper, "I'm sorry...I'm so...sorry."

Then her sorrow turned to rage, her eyes blazing like twin suns, and the heat around her intensified. The officers stumbled back, their uniforms singeing as the air grew hotter.

With a roar, she shook the very foundations of the square, she unleashed a blast of searing energy, the force of it sending the crowd and the officers flying. Their rifles clattered to the ground, their metal components warping and melting under the heat. The remnants of the crowd scattered, screaming as the ran in all directions.

Alika rose to her feet, Dinah cradled gently in her arms. Her body glowed with an otherworldly light, her grief and fury merging into a power none around could contain.

With one final, heart wrenching cry, she blasted into the sky, a streak of fire and light thaf illuminated the town square just as much as the noon sun.

The officers now sprawled on the ground could only watch as she disappeared into the horizon, the remains of her lover held close. The square was left in ruins, the air thick with the smell of ash and molten metal. The gears of the towering clock continued to turn, their ticking that even a world of brass and steam, some forces were beyond control.

Back at the Plague School, in the biology laboratories, and more specifically the in their operating room, a surgery was underway. The room itself engineered for this purpose. A massive chandelier hang from the ceiling, it's gears turning slowly, casting flickering shadows over the scene below. A patient lay on an operating table, their chest open, surrounded by an array of mechanical instruments - clockwork scalpels, steampowered suction devices, and complex array of tubes and guages that monitored vital signs.

The lead surgeon, a female plague doctor, stood at the head of the table, her hands moving with precision as she directed the procedure. Her lenses, fogged slightly by the steam, reflected the dim light as she barked orders to her two assistants, her residents.

The first resident, a young man wjth a nervous demeanor, adjusted a series of valves on a nearby machine, ensuring a steady flow of anaesthetic gas to the patient.

The second, a female plague doctor, with a no nonsense attitude, handed instruments to the lead surgeon with practiced efficiency.

In the background, behind a glass screen was a whole class of residents. They watched, what better way to teach than front row seats, hearing it all from the horses mouth. All quiet and still, none wanted to miss a moment of it.

The room was filed with the rhythmic whirring of gears and occasional hiss of steam, creating an almost hypnotic atmosphere. But the tension was palpable, the patients condition was precarious, and every second counted.

Midway through the surgery, a sudden complication arose. The patient's heart rate spiked, and the mechanical monitors began to blare an alarm, their brass bells clanging loudly.

The lead surgeon's hands froze for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she assessed the situation. "Increase the pressure on the ventilator!" She snapped, her voice cutting through the noise.

The assistants scrambled to comply, their movements frantic but controlled. The young man adjusted a series of dials, while the woman quickly prepared a syringe filled with a glowing, amber colored liquid, a stimulant to stabilise the patient's heart.

As they worked, the lead surgeon overheard one of her residents mutter under their breath, " This man...he's a poor drunk. It's mere luck we found him in that trench, with the current fee I doubt he'll be able to pay for all this,"there was a type of remorse in his voice, clear empathy.

The lead surgeon paused again, and for a moment, the room seemed to hold it's breath. The gears of the machines continued to turn, their ticking now deafening in the silence. Her facial expressions hardened under the mask, her lips pressed into a thin smile. Without a word she stepped back from the table, her hands dropping to her sides. "Stop," she said coldly, "We're done here."

The residents, both inside the operating area and behind the screen stared at her with a mixture of shock and confusion. "But...we can still save him!" The young lad protested, his voice trembling.

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The lead surgeon removed her mask, her eyes cold and unyielding. "He's poor," she said, her tone dripping with condescension.

"He can't pay for this procedure and we can't waste resources on someone who's already dying. It's not practical," she gestured to the monitors which were at that point flatlining, their bells falling silent, " See, it's over."

The two residents exchanged horrified glances, the weight of her words settling over them like a suffocating blanket. The young man's hands shook as he stared at the lifeless patient, his mind racing with implications of what had just happened.

The female resident clenched her hands into fists, her jaws clenched as she fought back a wave of anger and despair. The lead surgeon began to clean her instruments, her movements methodical and detached. As if nothing out if the ordinary had occurred.

Realization hit the residents like a punch to the gut, it was not just about saving lives. It was about money, a system that valued profit over humanity. The young man sank into a chair as he took off his plague mask, his face pale while the woman turned away, her eyes glistening with unsheathed tears.

The lead surgeon glanced at them, her expression one of mild annoyance, " You'll understand someday." She said dismissively. "This is how the world works."