The Demon's Remedy
Calm down. I'm a doctor. (Not really.) —Tup.
When I carefully placed my hand on Sion's shoulder, her faintly trembling body flinched and went rigid.
“Nyang? Wh-what is it, nyang?”
Sion began staring at me with an expression that clearly said, What the hell are you doing? On the surface she looked bold, but her wildly pounding heart betrayed her anxiety without mercy.
“You don’t need to fear me, rogue. I have no hobby of eating cats.”
“Wh-what! When did I ever say I was afraid of a crow, nyang! How ridiculous, nyang!”
No one—not even a passing dog beastman—would believe her when she said that while shaking like a leaf.
Right now, Sion was using me as a mirror to reflect the ghosts of her past. Before we could get to the main task, I first had to help her focus on the present me. Like this.
Light.
—Click.
I activated the “Red Eyes Flash!” light, one of the completely useless functions of the Plague Doctor Mask. The black lenses, once pitch-dark, now glowed with a crimson light, radiating a mysterious yet threatening aura.
“...Nya?”
Sion flinched at the sight and began staring at the red dot as if entranced. Being a cat, her gaze toward the red point was intensely hot.
The demonic eyes that pierce through fear.
—Not really, but I hoped it felt that way. I lowered my voice as much as possible and began the act. It was time to regress to my days as a Sherpa who pretended to be a special NPC and fleeced newbies.
On the Air. The performance begins.
“Do not dare hide your fear from me, rogue. I am the demon who governs terror, the origin of primal fear. No being can conceal their fear before me. Not even a god....”
Ah, bringing gods into it was a bit much, wasn’t it?
I’d gotten a little carried away with the madman act after so long, but fortunately Sion’s reaction wasn’t bad.
“...Is that true, nyang?”
No. Whether she believed my words hook, line, and sinker, the pendulum motion of her golden-yellow pupils showed no sign of stopping.
“The Demon of Terror, huh. If that’s the case, everything makes sense. That grotesque appearance different from other demons, the thick scent of blood that stirs fear, and even Regina’s reaction of subtly showing fear despite being the same kind of demon. Come to think of it, crows are also symbols of war, death, and curses. All of those are related to fear....”
“....”
“....”
My contractor was lost in her own misunderstanding, muttering rapidly without even breathing. But that wasn’t important right now. The priority was giving psychological treatment to our nekomimi veteran so she wouldn’t suffer from weirdo PTSD every time she looked at me. I may not be a real doctor—just a Plague Doctor cosplayer—but I have plenty of treatment experience. Most of my patients have been myself, though.
“You are afraid of me. Aren’t you?”
“....”
Still fixated on the red dot as if hypnotized, Sion nodded in affirmation.
“That must be because I look similar to that weirdo. But I am a demon. A fresh one who hasn’t even set foot in this world for a single day.”
“...I know, I know that, nyang. Of course I know you’re not a weirdo. But......”
Her eyes were a mess of fear and anxiety. Sion herself knew very well that I wasn’t some weirdo. But just like someone bitten by a wolf convulsing at the sight of a pit bull, even if the mind knows better, a body imprinted with terror can’t help but shrink back.
...This is pretty severe. And yet she still came to us?
Thinking about it, it was strange. Guiding a normal newbie party would’ve been far easier and safer than sticking with a middle-schooler cosplaying as a tall crow-headed monster and a black mage. Why us, then? Was it an effort to overcome her fear? A sense of responsibility as a veteran? Conviction? Only Sion herself would know.
Anyway. As you can see, this thing called PTSD has the characteristic of forcing its host to face the darkness of the past instead of looking at reality. But that’s fine. The method to sink the black, sticky ghosts of the past into the river of oblivion isn’t as difficult as you might think. All it takes is crafting belief from truths that feel like lies, and lies that feel like truths. With just a small shock.
I am an observer. A minimalist observer who feels sorrow in the subtle curves of wood grain and names drifting dust motes to ease loneliness. A pioneer of social misfits who prefers waiting over action, delusion over conversation. A hikikomori demon. But. For the sake of that kind veteran who reached out to a pathetic newbie party. For the sake of that brave soul who approached me first despite the fear, despite my filth. I will not merely observe. I will take a step, extend my arm, and personally cut away the bud of anxiety you carry. Even if it means becoming the “Demon of Terror.”
—Shwaaak!
Like a crow spreading its wings, I boldly threw both arms wide. The attention of everyone present gathered on the over-two-meter-tall crow-headed monster’s performance.
“That’s right. And an extremely powerful one at that. A terrifying demon capable of tearing apart hundreds, thousands of weirdos in an instant.”
I made my gestures exaggerated and my tone even more emphatic, spitting out the words.
“That’s way too exaggerated, nyang.”
Sion gave a small smile at my suddenly clown-like, mismatched way of speaking. The atmosphere seemed to loosen a little, but this was only temporary. What we needed now wasn’t a jester who made the other person laugh with wordplay. What we needed was something far more unclean. Far more dangerous. Chillingly terrifying. A demon. I had to display the power of that unknown mythical being and thoroughly imprint upon that small head that I was a demon. So that the ghost of the past would have no place in those beautiful golden eyes—only the present me.
“You really think it’s exaggerated?”
“Nya... nyang?”
If you don’t believe me, then see it with your own two eyes and judge for yourself. And then. Despair in fear! (?) I’ll show you what real terror is.
Deploy.
—Chwararararararak!!!
“Nya... ah?”
Black branches sprouted from my back, tearing through it. Yes. Those were the wings I’d taken out this morning. But the original wings felt a little too plain to leave a strong impact. So I added a small variation.
—Zzjijik!
Suddenly, fruits began to form on the skeletal branches made of black arms. Plump fruits named the dead.
—KieeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!
—AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!
—Hun... gry....
Hun... gry....
—No... salvation....
The bodies of madmen and mutants, entangled and hanging in midair, flailed their arms and legs limply while screaming in agony, instantly painting a scene of hell in reality.
In that moment, I was both a stage and stage equipment. I hadn’t been able to hire professional actors, so I had no choice but to use the acquaintance discount (madmen, enhanced humans, and other meatball clusters), but perhaps because the makeup worked well, the audience’s reactions weren’t bad.
“Ah. Ahhh. Ahhhhh.”
“O Goddess! Protect your little lambs!!!”
“A demon... it’s a demon! A real demon......!”
“Primordial Terror, please... please have mercy......”
Moved by the harmony of the dead screaming while hanging from the black branches made of crosses, adventurers began dropping to their knees on the cold floor, begging frantically to be spared. Among them was our nekomimi veteran.
—Thud.
“Nya.... nyanya....”
Had she regressed from a cat beastman into a kitten? Sion had her head pressed to the floor, unable to speak properly.
“This is Raven-nim’s power. It’s really amazing. Truly a terrifying authority befitting the Demon of Terror.......”
Meanwhile, my contractor was quietly marveling with shining eyes. She seemed a little more scared now.
Is this enough?
Looking at Sion trembling on the floor, it seemed I wouldn’t need to go so far as to have the actors split open their bellies and spill their organs like rain. Good—energy saved.
By the way, this little stunt had consumed enough bio-energy to last two hundred years without eating. But that’s fine. When I think of it as an investment in the future, it doesn’t feel wasteful at all. Along with treating our Sherpa’s PTSD, I could also give a “warning” to any unknown dangerous elements who might threaten me and my contractor in the future. In a way, it’s killing two birds with one stone. This level of insanity should make sure no one dares to mess with us. Definitely not because I was pissed about the Goddess taking my inventory and wanted to vent.
Dismiss.
“Return.”
There was no real need to say it, but I spoke anyway to imprint upon them that I was the one controlling that cluster of corpses. Ah, that might’ve been a little embarrassing.
—Snap!
The moment I flicked my fingers, I reabsorbed the bio-energy of the meat-pie tree.
—Srrrrrrk.
Like a nightmare on a summer night, the fragments of death instantly collapsed and scattered as ash. Only the faint smell of blood remaining in the air and the final screams of the dead quietly testified that the false hell had truly existed.
I tore my gaze away from my contractor, who was watching the ash falling from the sky like snow with an enraptured expression, and carefully extended my hand toward Sion.
—Twitch.
Her entire body trembled as if struck by an earthquake. Her pupils, dilated to their limit, held an emotion that went beyond fear—something closer to awe.
“Can you see me now?”
“....”
Nod. Her head moved silently in affirmation. But unlike before, when she had been cowering toward the floor in terror, her two eyes, shining with golden light, were now fixed on me and wouldn’t look away.
Can you see? That pure belief (fear)?
This is me.
Now that the belief had been drawn, it was time to drive in the final nail called “placebo” and put the finishing touch on the cat’s eyes. Truly, the final stroke that brings the painting to life!
The phrasing wasn’t particularly elegant, though.