Infused Injustice: An Apocalyptic LitRPG Adventure by Frank G. Albelo

Author:Frank G. Albelo [Albelo, Frank G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mountaindale Press
Published: 2025-03-05T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Guardians

While I was only at the Nash hospital until the following morning, I was already restless to reunite with my friends. It was one thing when the effort of walking threatened to dump you on the ground and another when your slime companion could somewhat support you like a very squishy exoskeleton to pretend you were more recovered than you looked. Since I managed the latter, Ezrah had no real reason to keep me bedridden. Not that he could, but I didn’t want to argue too hard. Him and Dyonte had been the ones I’d built the most rapport with, which meant the young satyr had been keeping tabs on me. He didn’t seem to mind. Every time the youth talked about the fight against the hurricane, an undertone of hero worship slipped into his voice and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

Of course, leaving wasn’t the only item of business I had with the Nash, even if I wanted to go back to the Embassy.

“She’s not all there,” Ezrah said. “One of our healers gave her some pain killers when our diagnostics said she needed to heal most of the wounds on her own for risk of permanently affecting her health.”

The satyr had reluctantly escorted me to what had once been the office of the chief of critical care on the ground floor. Not exactly surprising, it had zero windows and was being ventilated by some poor elf somewhere else in the building managing the HVAC wherever people were recovering. It didn’t matter that the office was just a deluxe single-person bedroom, what mattered was that the Shaman was comfortable and away from anything that might require her to exert herself.

“Thanks, Ezrah. I just need a few minutes to talk to her and I’ll be on my way,” I said, giving the youth a reassuring tap on the shoulder before knocking on the door.

“I don’t want more drugs!” a nasally voice called from within.

“It’s Ronan,” I said, unable to stop myself from shaking my head at the old woman.

“Bah! Since when are you so polite then! Get your sandy behind in here. It’s not like I’ll live forever!”

“Uhh…” Ezrah searched for words, the sudden worry for the woman spiking in his tone.

“She’ll be fine,” I told him, looking away from him as I leaned down to open the door with a grimace. My ribs were still on the mend, amongst several other things.

Blobby, ever the best wingslime, pushed the door open instead of letting me do it myself. I wasn’t so invalid that I couldn’t do it, but a lot of my concentration was on staying standing and feeding Fievil my recovered mana. If the surface had taught me anything, it was that it’s okay to accept help when one needs it. I gave the slime glommed to my side a thankful poke.

Both walking and channeling mana were tall asks, but if I laid around, my body would naturally entomb itself just for the sake of

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