In the quiet, sterile room of the acupuncture hospital, the faint rustle of needles being prepared by a certain doctor fills the air. He works methodically, his delicate fingers moving with an unhurried precision.
The patient, reclining on the padded treatment bed, let out a faint groan, shifting uncomfortably. His discomfort stemmed from the weight of his chronic pain that had persisted despite every modern and alternative treatment thrown at it.
The patient is a middle-aged man with a dignified demeanour, who exudes importance, which is reinforced by a dozen bodyguards stationed strategically around the room.
The blonde-haired doctor glances at one particularly intimidating guard standing directly in front of him. The man’s towering frame and stony expression didn’t faze him in the slightest.
The doctor's light green irises, flecked with shimmering gold and tinged with a familiar lavender hue, caught the dim light. Beneath the unusual blend of colours, his retina gleamed with a subtle golden sheen. They reflected a mix of calm and mild annoyance, as if the guards’ presence were a minor inconvenience.
“I can’t work under these conditions,” the calm doctor says bluntly in a firm voice.
“The accuracy of my acupuncture depends on an undisturbed environment. These guards...”, he waves a hand dismissively,” are of no use here and will only hinder my work.”
The middle-aged patient nods with a faint smile. “Anything you say, Doctor .” He gestures to his head bodyguard.
“Leave us. All of you. Wait outside until the doctor is finished.”
With a wave of his hand, the patient dismisses all the guards. As the door shuts, the atmosphere becomes more comfortable.
moves with quiet efficiency, every motion deliberate. His curtain haircut framed his face, the blonde strands falling just short of his golden-green eyes.
His lithe frame is draped in comfortable clothes covered with a white gown, and his skin is covered in mysterious bandages that wrap around his body up to his neck. His clothes are paired with simple soft slippers that shuffle softly against the floor.
Despite his untrustworthy and somewhat peculiar appearance, there is an undeniable history of competence about him. His hands move with confidence, a surgeon’s precision in every gesture, and his sharp gaze takes in every detail of his patient’s body.
He inserts the first needle, his hand moving so fast it almost seems like a flicker.
“This will feel like nothing,” he murmured, “but it will start working over time.”
The patient lays on his stomach, his broad back exposed under the soft glow of the room’s overhead lights.
Horus works with precision, inserting each long needle into carefully chosen points along the upper back. As the slender needles pierce the skin, the patient exhales deeply as the tension in his body begins to release.
“I’ve heard about your skill, Doctor Galen,” the patient said, his voice low and slightly muffled by the position of his face. “They say you can treat anything, even the untreatable.”
Horus pauses for a second, expression remains neutral. His golden-green eyes with a faint lavender tint flicked to the patient’s face before returning to the needles.
“…Flattery won’t ease the pain faster,” he said in a dry tone though not unkind. “But it’s appreciated.”
The doctor resumes his work, his fingers deftly positioning each needle.
What the patient could not see, and what Horus rarely reveals, is that his skill was not entirely natural. Horus is always more than a mere acupuncturist, he is another , gifted with a unique ability to heal. The true extent of his power is extraordinary, capable of treating even the most severe injuries and ailments in moments.
However, such raw effectiveness will risk his safety and well-being. To maintain control and avoid drawing unnecessary attention, Horus has developed a method to channel his healing energy through acupuncture.
Each needle he uses is infused with a diluted amount of his healing power, carefully calibrated to treat the patient without an immediate result. As he works, a faint, almost imperceptible glow pulses at the base of each needle, the energy radiating outwards to harmonise with the patient’s body.
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This subtle yellow light, a manifestation of the Bounder's ability, could not be seen by normal humans. But there are people who, while unable to wield abilities themselves, could perceive these anomalies. Though they are few, it’s a risk that Horus couldn’t afford to ignore.
Before placing the last needle on the porcupined back, Horus’ concentration is broken by the sudden appearance of Valencia next to him. The unexpected sight startles him, eliciting an unrestrained scream as his hand jerks. The needle pierces into the patient’s back with an alarming depth.
“AH!”
The patient jolts at the sudden noise, his head lifting slightly from the pillow.
“What was that? Is something wrong?” he strains to see past his position but can’t get a clear view of who is beside Horus.
Horus’ face has a mixture of shock and irritation, his voice dropping to a hushed whisper as he quickly adjusted the misplaced needle.
“Nothing is wrong. Please remain still,” he says soothingly to the patient to keep him calm, even as his attention shifts to the woman standing next to him.
His voice, is now low and sharp, as he glares at her. “What are you doing here?! I almost hit a vital spot on this patient!”
Valencia stands there, arms crossed around her stomach. There is blood dripping from her hands, staining her clothing. The sight of her, clearly in pain, sends a surge of irritation through Horus.
She always comes and goes without warning, showing up in thin air with minor scrapes and bleeding. She could never bother to explain or ask for direct help, yet always expecting him to patch her up. It has become a habit for them.
But this time is different.
The unsteadiness in her stance, the amount of blood—her injury is more severe than how he’s used to see. He can tell she’s just been impaled or, worse, shot.
Valencia, looking slightly dishevelled and apologetic, pulls on a strained smile. “I’m sorry for interrupting. It’s…I need immediate treatment,” she explains as she is trying to hide the growing pain and numbness.
The golden-green eyes fall to the blood now dripping from her hands, and his face twists in concern with slight annoyance.
“Get on the bed,” he commands sharply. “The opposite side of that patient. Now.”
Without a delay, Valencia obeys, wincing with each step. Horus glances at the patient and quickly adjusts the electric pulses on the needles, hooking them up to the machine beside the bed. He turns back to the patient, expression remains stern.
“Your treatment will be complete shortly. Please relax,” he reassures, his hands moving over the controls as he worked with practised speed. “I’ve got another 'guest' to deal with quickly.”
The patient, still a bit disoriented from the jarring noise and the sudden shift in atmosphere, opens his mouth to speak.
“Doctor. What do you mean earlier, hitting a vital spot—”
Before he could finish his sentence, Valencia, sensing the rising tension, approaches the bed in a swift manner. She places her palm gently on his forehead, and in a soft and forceful wave of energy, she knocks him into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Horus quickly slips on a pair of surgical gloves and turns his attention back to Valencia as she settles onto the bed, her blood still staining her clothes. Her presence seems to bring tension to the air, but it is her condition that dominates his thought…
He takes a deep breath, clearing his thoughts and close his eyes as he calls upon the full extent of his healing power. A warm, golden light begins to radiate from his hands, the energy focused through his fingertips. He places them carefully on Valencia’s bloodied stomach, the energy flowing through her and slowly knitting her wounds together.
Despite the effectiveness of his ability, there is something strange about the way her wound responds. The bleeding has almost stopped, but the healing energy didn’t settle as it should. Horus's brows furrow, something is blocking the flow of energy.
“The wound…” Horus murmurs, “It’s not closing with my healing ability. What were used to inflict your wounds?”
Valencia pulls a bloodstained silver bullet from her side pocket; she clearly had removed it herself before coming to him. Holding it up to the dim light, she examines it carefully using her technique.
“A specially crafted tool,” she murmurs. Though sweat beads along her cheeks and her clothes are soaked with blood, her expression never wavers. “Designed to counteract healing. They knew exactly how to deal with Bounders.”
Horus’ surprise is quickly replaced by a flash of anger, he’s about to scold her for removing the bullet from her wound with no medical procedure, but his focus shifts as he takes in the extent of her injury.
Instead, he swallows his words, setting them aside for later.
With a steady hand, he reaches for the white cloth on the silver tray, his thoughts clear that her healing comes first. Unable to completely heal the wound with his ability, he begins cleaning the wound before wrapping her in bandages to stop the bleeding.
Horus looks at her, his eyes narrowing slightly. “…Who are ‘they’?”
“I got ambushed by, perhaps, non-military soldiers,” she pauses, eyes darkening. “But more importantly, they are affiliated with , an influential scientist. He’s after an artifact…something I stole.”
“You stole—” he starts, but stops himself, sensing there’s more to her actions than he initially thought. Valencia isn’t the type to take something out of whim or greed.
“The artifact… it’s not just a relic. It’s a weapon of unimaginable power, and they’ll stop at nothing to get it back.” She takes a slow breath, wincing at the pain in her stomach.
Horus frowns, his gloved hands still hovering over her injury. The weight of her words settling over the room, he pauses for a moment, mind wandering.
“Valencia, you need to rest. The wound needs time, and you’re in no state to talk further about this right now.”
He puts bandages around her carefully, voice softening. “We’ll discuss this later. For now, just rest here.”