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Eldritch Horror? No, I'm A Doctor
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Ren's knees hit the tile floor hard. His hands gripped the toilet bowl, knuckles white, as his stomach emptied itself in violent waves.
"Fuck. Brghhh. Oh god, fuck."
Another heave. His throat burned. The acidic taste filled his mouth, bitter and wrong.
Why. Brghhh. Why is it always like this?
He gasped for air between spasms, his whole body shaking. Sweat dripped down his temple, falling into the bowl below. The fluorescent light overhead buzzed faintly, too bright and too clinical.
I just. Brghhh. I just saved someone's life and here I am. Hugging a goddamn toilet like a freshman at a frat party.
His stomach twisted again. Nothing left to give, but his body tried anyway. Dry heaves now, worse than the actual vomiting.
Son of a bitch. I hate this. I hate this so much.
Ren spat into the water, trying to clear the taste from his mouth. His arms trembled as he held himself over the bowl.
Ten years of medical school and residency, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut against another wave of nausea. You'd think I'd be used to blood by now. But no. Every single time. Every surgery, every procedure, my body decides it's time to stage a rebellion.
He coughed, throat raw. His eyes watered from the physical strain.
I can perform the surgery fine. Hands steady. Mind focused. I can cut through muscle and tie off vessels like it's nothing. But the second it's over? The second I step out of that operating room? My body remembers.
Another dry heave made him grip the bowl tighter.
Oh, it remembers that I spent the last three hours elbow-deep in someone's guts. And then it says, 'Hey Ren, let's empty everything you've eaten today. Right now. Immediately.'
His grip on the toilet loosened slightly as the waves finally started to subside. He took a shaky breath, then another.
I used to think it would get better. That exposure therapy would kick in eventually. That one day I'd just... not react anymore.
Ren laughed, a bitter sound that echoed in the small bathroom.
But here we are. Year after year. Surgery after surgery. And every single time, without fail, I end up right here. On my knees. Praying to the porcelain god.
He pulled himself up slowly, legs unsteady. His hand reached out to flush the toilet.
The worst part isn't even the vomiting. It's the fact that I'm good at it. I'm a damn good surgeon. My success rate is high. My patients recover well. I save lives.
He turned toward the sink, gripping the edge of the counter.
But I can't enjoy it. Can't feel proud. Because the second I finish, my body punishes me for daring to overcome my fear long enough to do my job.
The faucet turned with a squeak. Cold water rushed out, and Ren cupped his hands under the stream, bringing it to his mouth. He swished and spat, trying to wash away the taste.
People think doctors are supposed to be fearless heroes. Nothing bothers us. Blood and guts are just part of the job.
He splashed water on his face, feeling it run down his neck.
But I'm terrified. Every single time. The sight of blood makes my stomach turn. And here I am, choosing to wade into it day after day because apparently I'm a masochist.
Ren straightened up, water dripping from his chin. He reached for a paper towel from the dispenser.
At least it's familiar. This horrible, awful, familiar feeling.
He dried his face slowly.
"Ah, son of a bitch. That's what it feels like to be afraid of blood again. This familiar, terrible, can't escape it feeling that I almost missed. Almost. Not really. Actually, not at all."
The paper towel went into the trash. Ren looked up at the mirror.
His reflection stared back. Pale skin, almost gray in the harsh light. Dark circles under his eyes. His hair stuck up at odd angles. Lips bloodless and chapped.
"I look pale as shit. Like a vampire who forgot to drink his morning blood smoothie."
He leaned closer, examining himself.
The kind of pale that suggests blood loss or shock. If anyone sees me like this, they're going to try to admit me. 'Sir, please lie down, you appear to be dying.' 'No, no, I'm the healer, I swear.'
Ren turned away from his reflection. His plague doctor mask sat on the small shelf beside the sink. He picked it up, feeling the familiar weight.
The mask slid over his face, leather settling against his skin. The world narrowed to what he could see through the tinted eyepieces.
Better. Always better with the mask on.
"It's time to go now. Time to pretend I didn't just have an intimate moment with a toilet."
He adjusted the straps. The mask is armor. Protection. A way to hide the weakness underneath. Also, it makes me look cool, which is important when you're almost thirty and still care about these things.
Ren pushed open the bathroom door and stepped into the hallway. His footsteps echoed as he walked, boots clicking against the tile.
He made his way back toward Henry's room. Past the nurses' station where staff members definitely weren't staring at the plague doctor walking through their hospital. Past another patient room where a television played. Past a janitor who took one look at Ren and decided his mopping could wait.
Henry's door was closed. Ren pushed it open.
"Huh. What are you guys doing?"
Henry was on the floor, in the middle of a pistol squat. His new legs bent at perfect angles, muscles flexing. Sweat glistened on his forehead, his face red with effort and pure joy.
Irene sat in the chair by the window, looking amazed and concerned. Old Han stood near the bed, arms crossed, shaking his head with long-suffering patience.
Henry's face broke into a grin. "Hey, Ren! You came at a great time!"
He pushed up from the squat, then dropped to the floor. His arms shot out and he launched into rapid push ups. Up, down, up, down.
"The limbs work great!" Henry shouted between reps.
Ren stopped just inside the doorway. "Yeah, I can see that."
Twenty push ups. Thirty. Henry showed no signs of slowing.
"Thanks, Ren! Seriously!" He was breathing hard now. "If I recover this quick, I'll beat your ass next time we fight. I promise!"
His arms were starting to shake but he kept going.
There's something endearing about Henry's absolute refusal to be intimidated by cosmic horror, Ren thought. Most people saw my true form and screamed. Henry saw it and decided it was a challenge to overcome through vigorous exercise.
"Thanks. That's so fucking reassuring."
"I mean it!" Henry pushed through five more. "You got lucky this time, doc. Next time, I'll be ready for whatever freaky doctor shit you pull. The tentacles won't surprise me twice!"
"Looking forward to it."
Henry finally stopped at forty-seven, rolling onto his back and breathing hard, grinning at the ceiling.
"Best money I ever spent. just two old normal arms for new good arms? Worth every penny. I could do this all day."
"Please don't," Old Han said. "We're in a hospital. There are sick people trying to rest."
"I am a sick people! I'm just a sick people who can do push ups now!"
Irene cleared her throat, standing up from her chair. She clutched her purse, fingers twisting the strap nervously.
"Ren, about the calamity core..."
"Sure." Ren reached into his inventory. His hand closed around the core, feeling its weight and the faint pulse of energy. He pulled it out and tossed it to Irene.
She caught it with both hands, fumbling before securing her grip. Her eyes went wide.
"Ten million dollars," she whispered.
"That was the agreement."
Irene pulled out her phone with one hand, still clutching the core. Her fingers flew across the screen to her banking app.
"Okay. I'm transferring it now."
A few taps. A confirmation screen. Her thumb hovered over the final button before pressing down.
Ren's phone buzzed. He checked the notification.
Transfer received: $10,000,000
More money than I made in my entire previous life, he thought. Enough to buy a really small island or several hundred thousand cups of terrible hospital coffee.
"Got it," he said, pocketing his phone.
Irene let out a breath she'd been holding. "Thank you. Really. This is going to change everything"
"You earned it. You were there for the fight."
"Barely," she said with a weak laugh. "I mostly just tried not to die and screamed a lot."
"That's more than most people can say when facing a calamity rank monster. Most people just die immediately."
"That's a really dark way to give a compliment, Ren."
"I'm a doctor. We specialize in dark compliments."
Henry sat up, still grinning. "So what's next for you, doc? Opening that clinic you keep talking about?"
"Eventually." Ren moved toward the door. "Cause, I need to train."
Old Han spoke up. "Train? You just fought an Extinction rank monster and won. How much stronger do you need to get?"
"A lot stronger. What I did back there was sloppy. Inefficient. I barely came back alive"
Lu Changcheng, who had been sitting silently in the corner, let out a laugh.
"You sound like a real cultivator right now, Brother Ren."
Ren glanced at him. "Sure I do."
"I'm serious." Lu stood up. "That's exactly what someone on the path would say. Always looking ahead to the next breakthrough."
"Maybe I picked up more from you than I thought."
"Then let me give you one more piece of advice." Lu's expression grew serious.
"Don't push yourself too hard. Even cultivators need balance. The path to power is long. There's no need to rush."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"How long will you be gone?" Irene asked, tucking the core into her bag.
Ren paused, thinking. A place where I can push my limits without worrying about collateral damage. Where I can figure out what I'm capable of without holding back.
"I'll come back in a year's time. Please wait for me until then."
The room went quiet. A year was a long time.
Henry was the first to break the silence. He pushed himself to his feet, testing his new legs. He walked over to Ren and extended his hand.
"A year, huh? Alright then. I'll be even stronger by the time you get back. Strong enough to actually give you a challenge."
Ren clasped his hand. "I'm counting on it."
"And I'll have paid off my family's debts," Irene added. "Maybe even became S rank hunter I've been planning."
"Looking forward to seeing what you accomplish."
Old Han nodded. "Stay safe out there, Mr. Ren. We need good healers in this world."
"I'll do my best."
Lu Changcheng stepped forward last, placing a hand on Ren's shoulder.
"Brother Ren. The path of cultivation is lonely. But remember, you don't walk it alone. We'll be here when you return."
"Thank you, Brother Lu. For everything."
They stood there for a moment, the weight of goodbye settling over them.
These people had become something unexpected, Ren thought. Not quite friends, not quite family. People who watched me transform into cosmic horror and decided to stick around anyway.
Ren stepped back. From his inventory, he pulled out a card.
"What's that?" Henry asked, leaning forward.
"Transportation."
He raised the card and swiped it through the air. The motion left a trail of light. The trail expanded, widening into a circle, then an oval. Space rippled and tore, edges crackling with energy.
A portal formed in the middle of Henry's hospital room.
"Showoff," Henry muttered, but he was smiling.
Ren turned back to face them one last time. Through his mask, he could see each of their faces clearly.
"One year. I'll see you all then."
"Don't be late," Irene called out.
"Wouldn't dream of it."
"Bring back cool training stories," Henry added.
"I'll take notes."
Ren stepped toward the portal. The energy washed over him, neither hot nor cold. The boundary between here and there.
He took one step through, then another. The hospital room disappeared behind him, replaced by mountain air. The portal began to close, shrinking back to nothing.
Through the narrowing gap, he heard Henry's voice one last time.
"Kick some ass out there, doc!"
Then the portal sealed shut with a soft sound. Ren stood alone on a mountain path, surrounded by mist and silence.
He looked down at the card in his hand. The symbols had stopped glowing, dormant again.
One year. That's how long I've given myself. One year to figure out what I really am. One year to master the powers sleeping inside me. One year to become strong enough that I won't need luck or desperation when the next calamity comes.
Because it will come. That much is certain. And next time, I want to fight it without vomiting afterward.
He had a year. Time to make it count.