If anyone ever believes that war is honorable, that brave men and women fighting and dying should somehow be romanticized, they were fools, cowards, or idiots. They only needed to spend a moment knee-deep in blood and shit that survived the aftermath of war before they realized how lacking in honor or romance battle truly was.

I hated every second of it, despite the need. And even with the bulk of the Cyclops killed in the trap I’d created, there were still a dozen or so that had to be slaughtered. Tia and Ag had managed admirably to gain the attention of the Cyclops, those that were still intent on killing the Sidhe and not running. The remaining humans were broken in spirit and will and, from their appearance and demeanor, would be easily killed.

Their plight angered me almost as much as the Cyclops’ actions, but that would not stop me from delivering [Justice]. They had attacked my people, and among those people had been children. To attack a child was blasphemy so severe that even death was a kindness for the person responsible. The Sidhe revered children more than anything. Even for our blessing of immortality, maybe because of it, it was hard for us to conceive and bear children.

Some rituals could help. And the creation of a new Sithern was always accompanied by the gift of new life, but those instances were rare, leaving the Sidhe filled with awe for every precious new life as the treasure they were.

I channeled that anger into the fire that wreathed my sword, springing forward using my high agility and strength attributes to butcher them. Those still standing and willing to fight, those who were running hoping to escape. I didn’t lose myself to madness, but there was no forgiveness.

There was no finesse in my actions. No real skill other than maintaining the fire that licked the edges of my blade. My attacks were more akin to cutting down trees. I was merciless, each strike of my sword severing legs and arms until, finally, a final flick would send their head careening across the field.

Five seconds was all it took to annihilate each of the Cyclops completely. Their defenses were laughable when compared to my own attack stats. The [King’s Regalia] unnecessary in dealing with them. They were foot soldiers at best. Even their Chief was barely a challenge now that I had embraced the call for [Justice].

I would have liked to sate my thirst once the final legionnaire had died, the rigors of combat, even as overpowered as I was against these foes, required me to expend resources. But hunger and thirst were secondary considerations. Need demanded I help those injured and share my abilities to heal just as judiciously as I had shared my ability to kill.

I would work as diligently to save lives as I had to take them.

I considered for a second the tales of heroism ascribed to war, noting that in all of those tales, bards, and poets always seemed to gloss over the ugliness. Those purveyors of false stories should be forced to triage the wounded, to deal with the cries of pain and despair that followed the battle’s end, and sink their hands and arms into the ruptured bowels of the wounded to stem the loss of life.

There was nothing left of the Cyclops that had been within range of the pillars when I had triggered them other than a piece of bone or a stray ember of ash. They had been cleansed completely in the pyre of burning fires that had slowly guttered out. There wasn’t enough left of them to even nourish the land that had borne the brunt of my attack.

It was as if they had never existed, but for the Sidhe that bore the scars of their attack, the reality was all too real. And the aftermath was proof that a terrible price had been paid. The smell of blood, piss, and shit permeated the field as those Sidhe that had died voided their body’s waste with the final ultimate indignity.

The moans and cries of those that had survived but were so badly damaged that their natural healing abilities would require time to repair reverberated across the field where the battle had taken place. What was worse were the wails of the survivors, stricken with grief and despair as they cradled the body of someone they had loved, someone who was lost forever, an immortal life ripped from the wheel of life. This battle would be the stuff of nightmares for some of the Sidhe for eons.

It was where the wounded were gathered that I found Ag, Tia, and Caraid safe, trying to give comfort to those they could. As I made my way to them, I released [Beleros Aura], transforming it from a weapon to a buff. It had always had this dual function, the ability to heal as well as kill.

I enabled the change in function, and as I did, I expanded my reach, casting the aura across the entire area populated by any Sidhe. Beleros Aura wasn’t as effective as targeted individual healing, but it began the work that needed to be done. It started the healing process for everyone that still had some spark of life, stabilizing those that might not have been saved.

“Ag and Tia, help Caraid and continue healing those you can. Use this ointment and liberally apply it on any wounds that were made from iron,” I said as I removed an unguent that would leach the iron from the wounds. Once they had accepted the potion, I moved to follow my own order.

I had once wondered why Sidhe received healing spells. With our regenerative abilities as powerful as they were, it seemed an unnecessary and redundant skill. I had been naive when I’d first broached that idea with Caraid. That naivety had been removed after finding Irvin so badly tortured that even my most powerful healing spells could not restore him completely. That failure had removed any lingering question I might have about the spells worth, except to wonder why there were any restrictions on [Greater Heal].

Each of us has a healing unique to who we are as Sidhe. Of the four of us, Ag’s healing method was most closely linked with her nature. The relationship between Cu Sith with the wild was known. She was Sidhe, but she was not a person. And her healing method relied on the bestial nature of her species. It forced her to prioritize people with gaping wounds, those still bleeding. Once she had identified a wound she could affect, she licked, each stroke of her tongue releasing healing energies as a component of her saliva cleaned and soothed. Her method of healing allowed the skin to knit together, the wound to heal, and any scar to fade.

Her method wasn’t elegant, but it was effective, and as she moved from person to person, healing those wounds that she could reach and affect, the people she healed were thankful for her efforts instead of repulsed by her method. But they wouldn’t have been if there hadn’t been so many wounded. They were Sidhe, and while the Sidhe did not abhor the Cu Sith or treat their abilities as warped or offensive, they still preferred to be healed with a spell.

Caraid’s ability to heal was interesting and the first time I’d seen it used. I wondered if it would differ in the body that was held for him in limbo, the body he would use for those times he was summoned to the Hunt. For this body, the horns on his head glowed a soft blue aura was released, a visual cue that the spell was forming. Once a field of energy had been formed, the magic that he summoned burst forth, engulfing the individual and doing a more thorough healing than Ag was capable of.

Tia couldn’t do much more than clean wounds, apply the cream I had given her, and give comfort. The Cait Sith’s ability to heal others had never developed. It was one of the spells they were forced to forgo. Most thought it was because they could cheat Fate by returning from the dead nine times. That the ability to cheat death demanded a sacrifice and the healing spells that would allow them to help others had been subsumed by the arcane and esoteric requirements that allowed them their nine lives.

They could heal, but that healing was restricted to self-healing. That was a gift in most instances, but for an unlucky few, those where self-healing triggered automatically, it might become a curse. If they had been rendered unconscious, the ability to direct and guide their healing spell was lost. When that happened, healing was done without direction and could have dire consequences.

Disfiguring and debilitating wounds would be healed and replaced with a scar. An eye that had been lost and healed while unaware would heal the eye socket without restoring the eye itself. A leg or arm that had been amputated, once healed, remained missing. There was virtually no way to undo the process.

Cait Sith, with lost eyes, notched ears, broken tails, and missing legs, abounded throughout Talahm. They remained trapped in bodies that had been savaged, riddled with scars and proof of battle. And worse, their disfigurement translated across lives. If they used one of their nine lives, the scars carried over. Their body somehow programmed to embrace the changes that had been made when they healed themselves. Fortunately, those limitations to self-healing were unique to the Cait Sith.

My healing spells were different again from the others and came in two forms. The [Beleros Aura] that I had already triggered and expanded to include everyone that had survived was more of a heal-over-time spell, increasing the natural regenerative abilities of those wounded. My other spell was a directly targeted ability that allowed me to focus on the individual. It came in two levels, [Heal] and [Greater Heal].

I was still ignoring the fact that I could use my spells and abilities without System access. I would feel the occasional twinge, the certainty that what was missing was still there. It was like a person who had an arm or leg amputated but still experienced phantom pain or itching. I knew the System functions were disabled for the most part, but I continued to use those abilities in the same manner as I would if they were active.

Working through the survivors, I tried to prioritize those most seriously wounded. People that had lost limbs, people that had great open wounds with internal organs being held in place by hands desperate to keep death at bay. It was those that were closest to embracing death that I prioritized, even at my own expense.

The drawback of my ability to heal was the shared pain that I was forced to endure. Each time I cast my healing spell, each person I targeted, I established an emotional connection, a bridge that linked us. A feedback loop that forced me to absorb their pain. I embraced that limitation, believing that it was my duty and honor to endure their pain until the healing had finished working and the person was restored to health.

As I moved around the battlefield, releasing healing spells one after the other, I ignored those moments of intense pain and embraced the euphoria of success. Each time a person recovered and was healed, the spell rewarded me as well. The spell was worth the cost of the pain, even without that reward. But once I succeeded, I was rewarded with the same emotional connection. A release of their endorphins, an increase in the processing of neurotransmitters that triggered joy and happiness.

This type of healing, a dichotomy of pain and pleasure almost orgasmic in intensity, was not unique to me. Danu had gifted our people with the ability to heal and had changed our response so that we experienced that pain and pleasure to foster an understanding of the ramification of our actions.

She did it so that we would understand the consequence of our actions, that injury has consequences. She believed that pain should be shared. But she also felt that the gift of healing should be encouraged. She hoped to reward those individuals to encourage that shared experience. Her answer had been to create the feedback loop, a way for those who are healed to share their pain and the relief and joy they felt once they were made whole.

I believe her decision was a response to the indifference and the almost casual disregard a race of immortals had developed for compassion and empathy.

I would have continued to move from person to person, lost in a healing fugue, if I hadn’t tripped over the torn and mangled body of a dead child. That atrocity brought me back to myself and made me aware once more of the moment. I had made my way methodically across the field, healing as I went, until this small child’s dead body reminded me that for all my efforts, we had arrived too late to save everyone.

The Phalanx that had attacked had given little care to whom they killed once they had ambushed the Sidhe. Their lust for killing had been all-consuming, their hatred for the Sidhe so intense that they had not had the decency or the compassion to spare even those so young that they had not begun to live their lives.

Immortal lives that might last until the planet itself dies.

As I stopped and gently closed the eyes of this young child. Eyes that seemed filled with accusation, I noticed for the first time the tears of grief and regret that were streaming down my face.

I arrived too late. There was too much that I needed to know to protect the Sidhe. And this first day on a quest that would see the Tuatha de Danann wake did not give me much hope that my task would be easy or accomplished quickly.