Chapter 73 — Finding Where the Soul Lies
Just as Ethan was thinking "skipping work for five minutes still counts as skipping work" and preparing to turn off the lights and leave—
The clinic door burst open.
Ding!
The doorbell rang with a harsh metallic shriek, and a gust of wind rushed inside carrying the heavy scent of blood.
A man staggered through the doorway, drenched in blood, clutching an unconscious figure tightly in his arms.
His white T-shirt had been torn apart by dark red stains. Fresh blood and dried patches overlapped in brutal patterns across the fabric.
He lifted his head.
Long hair clung to his face, soaked dark with blood. A scratch ran from his cheekbone down into the stubble along his jaw.
Ethan froze.
John Wick.
The quiet, dangerous man who spoke little—cold, polite, and utterly lethal.
Now his face was deathly pale, his eyes bloodshot, his breathing rough with suppressed growls.
In his arms was Helen Wick, the woman who had visited the clinic not long ago.
Back then she had sat calmly in the examination chair, with only a week left to live, worrying not about herself—but about John's grief.
Now her body lay lifeless in his arms.
John's voice came out hoarse.
"Save her… doctor…"
His legs finally gave out and he dropped to one knee—but even then he refused to let go of her.
---
Ethan immediately took her from his arms and laid her on the bed.
He began examining her quickly.
Dilated pupils.
No breathing.
No heartbeat.
No reflex response.
Her skin had already begun losing warmth.
Dead for at least an hour.
Ethan slowly lifted his head.
John stared at him intensely.
The look in his eyes was like a wounded beast trying desperately to stay conscious.
"You still have a way, right?" John rasped.
"You cured her cancer… there must be another way."
Ethan said nothing.
He continued the examination, checking every detail carefully.
Then his fingers paused at the back of her head.
A slight swelling.
The mark of an impact.
Suddenly the pieces fell together.
Helen's tumor site had still been in recovery—fragile tissue, unstable structures.
A blow had caused a subdural hematoma, compressing the brainstem.
It had been quick.
But fatal.
A healthy person might have had a chance at emergency rescue.
But Helen had already been walking a tightrope between life and death.
This single blow had been the straw that broke it.
Ethan gently lowered her cold hand.
"For her… the impact struck the most vulnerable place."
"The body hadn't yet built compensatory mechanisms. Even a light blow…"
"…was enough to cause irreversible intracranial pressure."
Every word struck John like a hammer.
His entire body trembled.
"You saved her once," he whispered hoarsely. "You can save her again. She can't die."
---
The man standing before Ethan—
The assassin who terrified the entire underground world, calm and precise beyond measure—
Now looked like a hollow shell.
Blood still clung to his clothes. His movements were disordered.
He wasn't even wearing shoes.
It was obvious.
He had woken up, found Helen, and run out immediately carrying her.
Ethan felt an unexpected ache in his chest.
He spoke softly.
"I'm sorry… John."
John said nothing.
His hand moved to Helen's forehead, gently brushing her hair back.
He looked like a statue frozen in grief.
"She just fell asleep for the afternoon…" he murmured.
"There were still so many things she hadn't finished saying to me."
Ethan hesitated.
He wondered whether he should treat the injuries on John's body.
But John remained motionless, holding Helen, trapped somewhere between reality and death.
From the look of it—
John had no idea something like Resurrection even existed.
Ethan stood silent for a long moment.
Finally, he made up his mind.
His voice became steady.
"John. I'm going to attempt something."
"But before I do, you must promise me something."
"What you see today—no matter who asks, no matter the circumstances, no matter the cost—"
"You cannot reveal it."
"You cannot mention my name."
"You cannot describe what I do."
He had no idea how S.H.I.E.L.D. wrote its reports.
But one thing was certain—
There was an irreplaceable difference between a written report and a direct witness.
John did not ask why.
He did not hesitate.
He simply nodded.
John pressed his right hand against his chest and spoke in a heavy, solemn voice:
"I swear on my life—and on Helen's soul in heaven—that everything I see today about you will remain in my mind forever. I will never reveal it."
Ethan nodded.
Then he raised his hand, gathering the Holy Light.
The glow descended.
Warm. Pure.
Yet it fell into the void like a snowflake dropping into an abyss—
Silent. Powerless. Not even a ripple.
Ethan's brows tightened immediately.
This wasn't a matter of insufficient power.
It was as if the spell couldn't even reach its target.
The Resurrection spell seemed unable to lock onto anything—no consciousness, no lingering mental imprint, no echo of a soul.
Helen Wick's soul wasn't here.
A realization struck Ethan instantly.
"The resurrection process requires the soul to return to the body. But Helen died before she entered the clinic… which means her soul and her body are now separated."
He looked up sharply at John.
"Where… did Helen die?"
John forced out a hoarse whisper.
"We were attacked at home. An hour ago… we were still there."
Ethan stood up immediately, his tone decisive.
"Take me there. She must return to the place where she died."
John didn't hesitate for even a second.
He lifted Helen's body and rushed outside, with Ethan close behind.
---
John's car was parked outside the clinic.
The door opened, and Helen was gently placed in the back seat.
The inside of the car smelled strongly of gasoline—and dried blood.
Ethan noticed something else.
The windshield had been pierced by a wooden baseball bat, cracks spreading across the glass like a spiderweb.
This had clearly been no simple attack.
John started the engine.
His profile looked like it had been carved from stone.
Silence filled the car.
He focused entirely on the road ahead, asking no questions, as though every ounce of his mind had been poured into the drive.
The car cut through the night.
Ethan glanced sideways and saw John's knuckles turning white from gripping the steering wheel too tightly.
---
They drove into a quiet private residential district.
John's house stood open.
The front door lock had been violently pried apart.
Metal bent.
Splinters of wood scattered across the floor.
Inside, the living room looked like it had been hit by a tornado.
Furniture overturned.
Glass shattered.
Blood streaked across the walls in long arcs.
And in the center of the floor—
A circle of broken debris and bloodstains marked the exact place where Helen had fallen.
Ethan told John to lay Helen down there.
John carefully placed her body back in that spot.
Ethan rested his hand on Helen's forehead.
The Holy Light surged again.
The air seemed to split open along an invisible seam.
This time—
Ethan saw it.
Countless tiny white lights floating in the air.
Distant.
Dim.
Fragile.
But still present.
Fragments of Helen's soul.
Ethan took a deep breath and began chanting the Resurrection spell quietly.
Holy Light rippled through the air, expanding outward in invisible waves.
The glowing fragments trembled.
Then they began to move.
They gathered.
They spiraled together.
They were drawn inward, summoned, reforming into a complete whole.
Pure Holy Light poured from Ethan's palms—stronger, steadier than it had been in the clinic.
One by one, the soul fragments returned to Helen's body.
Breathing returned.
Her heartbeat returned.
Cold blood slowly warmed.
The gray pallor of death faded back into living color.
Her pupils contracted again.
And suddenly—
Helen gasped.
Her first breath was like someone dragged back from the depths of drowning.
She coughed.
Gasped.
Shivered.
John rushed forward and pulled her tightly into his arms, pressing his forehead against her shoulder.
His shoulders trembled.
But no sound escaped him.
He simply held her, terrified that if he let go, she might disappear again.
Helen spoke weakly.
"…John?"
In that moment—
Despair, collapse, and unbearable grief all loosened their grip.
John's voice trembled as he answered softly:
"I'm here."