Healer Spawn - Episode 1 (Patreon)

If you’ve ever been in the kitchen of a Chinese hole-in-the-wall, and no, not that decent little place on the corner of Pine Street and 5th Avenue, but a real, so to speak, authentic one, where the walls have long absorbed steam, oil, and years of nonstop work, where the tiles under your feet feel slightly sticky not because they weren’t washed, but because they can’t be fully cleaned anymore, then you probably know that smell of stale, greasy stench that makes you want to get the hell out immediately.

However, if after that you go down into Ethan’s basement, that Chinese joint will feel like a perfume shop with rose petals.

Here there was a thick, warm, almost sweetish cocktail of sweat, stale energy drinks, reheated instant beef noodles, and crumbs of chips that had been lying all over the table for the third day already. The air was so dense you could cut it with a knife, and even the small fan on the system unit couldn’t handle it — it only lazily pushed this mixture around the room, making it settle on the monitors, the keyboard, and on Ethan himself.

Ethan Foster sat hunched over at his desk, which had long stopped being just a desk and turned into something like an ecosystem — with layers of crumbs, stains, sticky rings from cans, and random objects he didn’t even remember when or why he had put there, but was sure they had to stay there.

His fingers, still greasy from chips, tapped quickly on the keyboard, while a smile was spread across his face, although no, not a smile, it looked more like a predatory grin of a herbivore that, having neither fangs nor claws, still tried in some stubborn, almost desperate way to look dangerous. And it did, at least that’s how it looked to Ethan himself.

Finally, he slammed the Enter key hard, it bounced slightly, trying to hold on with its last strength, and one of the crumbs stuck between the keys, as if sensing freedom, immediately jumped out and ended up on the desk, looking around and probably thinking it would’ve been better to stay between the keys than out here in this “freedom”.

— Ha-ha-ha! So what, you swallowed it? Farmed all that gold and still can’t fucking pull off a proper rotation, — Ethan exhaled, almost snorting with his own satisfaction and immediately glanced over his comment on the left monitor.

On the right one, a Discord server was open, where the stream of messages, as always, looked like a race, where even there everyone was competing over who was “cooler”. Even when someone just talked about going to the store, it somehow turned into a little performance where they absolutely had to prove they did it faster, cheaper, and overall “more optimal” than anyone else.

Ethan quietly snorted, glancing there for a moment, and tossed another handful of chips into his mouth, not noticing how the crumbs scattered over the desk as usual and, of course, joined their brothers between the keys.

— Clowns… — he muttered, shifting his gaze to the corner of the screen where the queue timer blinked “3 hr 42 min”, counting down to the raid, making him grimace and say, in a calmer tone — Long…

He chewed and watched the timer ticking for a bit longer, and then, suddenly rolling his chair back with a scrape, he stood up, pushing himself off the desk heavily with his palms and placing his hands on his lower back, bending backward hard, feeling his spine crack unpleasantly, responding with a dull, but in some way pleasant pain.

— Fuck… — he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut and freezing in that position for a second while the sensation slowly spread along his back and then faded away.

He straightened up, scratched his stomach, lazily looked over the desk as if seeing it for the first time, and with some strange detachment noted that the energy drink can that had been standing on the right that morning was now lying on its side near the keyboard.

— Did I… knock it over? — he muttered, but immediately waved it off. — Whatever…

He turned and took a step toward the stairs, immediately hearing a Discord notification behind him. Did someone mention him? Or some asshole on a server hit @everyone again?

Ethan twitched, turning his head, but at that moment his bladder, the reason he had gotten up, pressed so sharply and insistently that he just grimaced, exhaling shortly through his teeth, and waved his hand as if brushing off the very thought of going back to the screen right now.

— You can wait… — he muttered somewhere toward the monitors, as if someone there could actually hear him, and started making his heavy steps toward the stairs, not forgetting to scratch his ass, which he was used to, though it still itched unpleasantly.

The stairs creaked quietly under his weight. He climbed slowly, lazily, not really holding onto the railing, and being quite tall, around six-one, he always felt, when going up, a bit… awkwardly big, especially here, where the ceiling on the first floor seemed lower than it should have been. Maybe that’s why he tried not to come out of there.

The fresh air immediately hit his nostrils and Ethan involuntarily stopped for a second, lifting his head slightly, feeling his head start to spin a little — whether from the fresh air or from having climbed the stairs too fast.

— Oh… — he exhaled, grimacing, and for a second closed his eyes.

He frowned, ran a hand over his face as if brushing that feeling off, and moved on, dragging his slippers across the floor, which felt unusually cold even through the soles. Something in the house felt off. It wasn’t that usual “silence” where no one talks but something is still happening. No. Something was off, even though the rain was howling outside and the TV was muttering in the kitchen.

But he didn’t care about that right now, because his body was already demanding, forcing him to speed up despite all his reluctance. Taking a couple of quicker steps forward, he pushed the bathroom door open with his shoulder without even checking if it was locked, and quickly relieved himself, standing slightly bent forward and bracing one hand against the wall.

The stream hit the porcelain with a dull, almost soothing sound, and Ethan involuntarily exhaled deeper, feeling the tension that had built up somewhere in his lower abdomen gradually release.

— Fuck… finally… — he muttered, rolling his eyes slightly.

He didn’t rush, just stood there staring at one point on the tiled wall, then gave a short shake, zipped up, without turning on the light, and without washing his hands, went back out into the hallway.

And only now he realized he hadn’t imagined it. That familiar “silence” really wasn’t there.

He frowned. Took, this time lazily, in his usual way, a couple of steps toward the kitchen and stopped at the doorway, freezing.

— What the… — he muttered quietly, frowning.

The kitchen looked… strange.

As if someone had been here, but left not because they were done, but because they suddenly changed their mind, leaving everything exactly in the position it was in at the last moment, not caring about order, logic, or even how it would look from the outside.

There were plates of food on the table, one, apparently his father’s, almost finished, the second not even touched. A spoon lay on the floor, and next to it a slipper. Probably his mom’s, judging by the pattern.

Ethan slowly stepped inside, squinting.

— Hey… — he stretched out, a little louder, but still lazy. — Where are you?

No one answered. Only the TV kept muttering something about another crisis, wars, or some other bullshit that had never interested him.

He grimaced.

— Fucking great… — he muttered, a bit louder now, but instead of anger something like confusion suddenly showed in his voice, which he himself didn’t fully register yet.

He stepped closer, picked up a fork from the almost empty plate, turned it in his fingers as if checking whether it was even real, and immediately tossed it back with a quiet metallic clink.

— Didn’t even finish… — he muttered under his breath, snorting, but the snort came out empty.

From above, a sound came again, which he had stubbornly ignored before and which this time was a bit clearer.

A short, strained exhale turning into a quiet, almost suppressed moan, followed by some movement, as if someone had suddenly changed position.

Ethan froze.

He slowly raised his head, his gaze fixing itself on the ceiling as if he could see something there.

— …seriously? — he exhaled with some childish irritation and the sudden realization that his parents could be having sex, as if they were doing something disgusting, vile, horrible.

— Hey! — he shouted louder. — Mom!

But no one answered him, even though they should have heard him — the walls in the house weren’t that thick and he shouted loud enough.

And only after a couple of long, dragging seconds, a quiet, muffled giggle was heard, which immediately cut off as if someone tried to suppress it.

Ethan clenched his jaw.

— What the fuck is wrong with you up there… — he hissed through his teeth, already taking a step toward the stairs as if about to go up, but stopped halfway because something inside suddenly tightened unpleasantly, making him freeze.

Suddenly he really wanted to eat, because the smell here was actually very appealing for his stomach.

He stood like that for a few seconds. His face still tense, but no longer from anger, but from some dull, irritating choice between “go deal with it” and “eat”.

— …ah, fuck you, — he finally exhaled, grabbing the plate of food prepared for him and left by his mom, and, not bothering with reheating or finding clean utensils, just went back to his lair with it.

After just about five minutes, Ethan had already completely forgotten about his desire to deal with his parents. He sat there, finishing what was left on the plate, tossing the last pieces into his mouth, while typing with one hand, having read through the entire stream of comments people had left while he was gone.

"...go on, go on. You wanna say you’ll find me IRL and beat my face in? Who’s the loser here, that’s you @ShadowFury, and how the fuck did that nickname even come into your head? Looks more like @SwallowFurryCum. Oops. Looks like I just revealed your real name, sorry!"

The reply came almost instantly.

ShadowFury:

"Oh, look who woke up, the fatass. What were you doing? Watching Mommy show you what real gaming is?"

Ethan froze for a split second, the fork slipping out of his hand and clattering to the floor along with the leftover food, but right now that didn’t matter at all.

— You fucking asshole! — he barked, slamming his fist on the table so hard the plate jumped and hit the edge with a dull clank.

His fingers dug sharply into the keyboard, grease still on the pads making the presses slightly slippery, but fast, almost frantic, and the text poured out on its own.

CryMorePls:

"You talking about your mom who gave birth to you and regretted it? Or the one carrying your ass through raids because you can’t even hold aggro properly?"

ShadowFury:

"Just say you chickened out and you think a loser like you will never even come close to handling a normal raid without being dragged by the hand with dev hints like a sack of shit"

Ethan didn’t even notice how his breathing picked up — short, sharp inhales, as if he wasn’t just reading anymore, but already standing in front of that bastard in real life, fists clenched, jaw tight, and all that shit he was typing stopped being just text on a screen and turned into something personal, almost physical.

— Fucking retard… — he hissed through his teeth, feeling that familiar wave rising inside — not just anger, but the urge to prove, to crush, to shut him up, to put him in his place.

His fingers slammed into the keyboard again.

CryMorePls:

"Have you ever done anything yourself besides copying builds from guides and praying not to get kicked on the first wipe?"

He hit Enter and didn’t even wait, continuing immediately, barely thinking, as if the words were forcing their way out.

CryMorePls:

"I’m telling you again, give me any class, any role. I’ll log in and do it better than you. Because I, unlike you, understand the mechanics and don’t just mash buttons on cooldown"

The reply came almost instantly, like the guy was sitting there staring at the screen just as tense.

ShadowFury:

"HAHAHA, you hear that? He understands mechanics. The mechanics of opening a fridge, right?"

— That’s it… — Ethan ground his teeth quietly. — You asked for it.

CryMorePls:

"1v1. New characters, no gear, starting zone. Now."

The chat instantly lit up, but Ethan ignored all of it, waiting for ShadowFury, that asshole, to answer, and without waiting, added:

"You can even keep your shitty character! I’ll wipe you even with a fucking healer!"

Almost immediately ShadowFury replied:

"Accepted."

And right after:

"Create it. Right now. Just don’t pussy out like usual, fatass."

Ethan’s cheek twitched.

— Fuck you… — he exhaled quietly, feeling somewhere inside that he’d probably gone too far, and realizing that fighting with a fresh character, especially a healer, against a geared-up bastard didn’t look like such an “obvious” win at all — it was, realistically, just stupidity.

He swallowed, feeling his mouth go dry.

— Whatever… — he muttered, not as confidently now, but still with that stubbornness that always kicked in at moments like this.

Fingers twitched toward the mouse, trembling from the strain.

The cursor jerked like from a nervous tic, and Ethan sharply opened the character creation window. The familiar screen immediately lit up, showing menus he knew down to the veins under the skin.

— So… come on… come on… — he muttered, licking his dry lips.

The cursor kept darting nervously across the screen, as if it could feel that rising tension, that stupid mix of anger and stubbornness going hand in hand with recklessness, which had clearly taken over everything and wasn’t about to give up, making his breathing uneven, and his eye no longer even trying to hide its intent to start twitching to the point of a breakdown.

— What… swordsman… no-no-no — he muttered when a character appeared on the screen.

He jerked the mouse sharply, as if even the fact that the game offered him something “normal” annoyed him right now, and with some kind of stubborn irritation scrolled further, as if something more than just choosing a class depended on it, as if right now he wasn’t picking a character but trying to prove something to someone who wasn’t even standing in front of him.

— Come on… where are you… — he muttered, squinting.

And there it was — Healer.

On the screen appeared a short female figure with narrow shoulders, almost fragile, with modest breasts barely outlined under light fabric, long arms, and a small pouch tied to her belt.

Ethan grimaced for a split second, feeling his heart clench, his hand almost going numb as his gaze slid over the model, and then shifted to the name generated by the system, "Saelithyn".

— Fuck… — he muttered, leaning closer to the monitor, feeling his heart, already pounding like crazy in his chest, pick up even faster. — Saeli… what?.. Fuck it…

His fingers confidently clicked the confirmation.

Ethan was already about to press “Create” when suddenly, without warning, something in his chest clenched so sharply, as if someone had shoved a red-hot rod under his ribs and twisted it. The air got stuck in his throat. The edges of his vision darkened.

— What the fu—… — he only managed to exhale, grabbing at his chest, but the words cut off, as if someone had yanked them straight out of his throat, leaving only a strained, hoarse sound instead, and everything went completely dark, as if not just the light, but all his sensations had been switched off, leaving only silence... this time truly silence.

No sound. No sensations. No smell of his basement.

Just silence.

…

…

…

And then, through the blanket-like haze that had covered him, Ethan heard it.

A quiet, almost tickling sound, like animal squeaks or... chirping?

Yes. That was it. Definitely it. The chirping of two little birds that seemed to be arguing over something, sharply, almost squealing over each other, jumping from branch to branch.

The sound kept getting louder and louder, as if you weren’t just hearing it from afar, but were actually right there, among these sharp, nervous bird conversations.

— Auhhh! — burst out of Ethan’s mouth, like he had just come up from underwater and inhaled too greedily, as if he had just remembered how to breathe, and immediately arched his back, reflexively pulling his knees toward himself, not even understanding why he was doing it.

— Kh… kh… — he curled up tighter, his fingers clutching at the fabric he was lying on, apparently, and with wide-open eyes stared at the source of the sound, which fluttered right above him, flapping its tiny wings and chirping at each other in some mix of bird and human language. Language, exactly, because Ethan’s ear could understand it, not all of it, but fragments of their argument.

An argument about... herbs?