The tests were conclusive, much to the doctor's dismay. Blue orbs gazed upon the two puncture wounds on his arm. Although they no longer bled. No longer hurt. If he had even noticed the pain at the time. He should have been more careful! Damn it! When one of those creatures, "Vampires" as some cultures called them bit into his flesh he thought he was at deaths doorstep. One bite was all it took. Their meaning held nothing but disparity. Like a snake bite would leave venom coursing through the life supply until death was the intended outcome, these two marks filled his veins with venom so much worse. The desired conclusion of such a rend on flesh was as tainting to the soul as any acts against God could. He never really believed in a God after his mother took ill. How could a God that the Catholics claimed cared for his children allowed such a disease to torture such a kind soul. His belief became non-existent the more he learned of science. Evidence and reason is what drove his belief system. There was also a time he never believed in monsters either. That all changed when he first heard the anguish cries of his own creation. Monster did exist. And now he was cursed to become one. How ironic must his life be, the creator of monsters was fated to become one. Victor never thought this would happen. Nor could he imagine such a nightmarish end to his life. All his work was for naught the moment his eyes looked into his blood sample. Was this what he deserved for his crimes? Was this his punishment? Wasn't he punished enough by his creature alone? As evidence pointed to the contrary, this was his atonement. A fate worse than death.
Perhaps, this is what I deserve?
All he can stare at is those two pin prick marks. So small, so final.
I wonder how long it will take before I go mad?
That thought sent a shiver through his spine as he leaned back in his chair. Madness just now crashing like waves of the sea on his mind. His genius that he prided himself in, slipping away from him. Going insane with blood lust as he saw of the man he had tried to cure. How that man screamed for them to feed him. How he bit into his own wrist just to drink. To survive from starvation. Living like that.
That is something I cannot allow.
He wanted to curse the world in that moment. He cursed the day that his colleagues had met him. Convinced him to join in their adventures. He cursed his own need for finances for his work that he couldn't provide himself. He cursed ever going to the theater in the first place. A bitter chuckle escaped his lips at the irony of it all. His own obsession that drove him to create that monster of a creature who took refuge in the theater was also the same place that his life had gone to shit. How long did he have before the affects took him? How much time did he have to even find a cure? Like death, time was not on his side and it only caused more disdain for his situation.
His skin begun to sweat as the anxiety was over taking him. The doctor had always been a seeker of the unknown. To find answers to questions that haunted his existence. Further science and make his mark on the world. Now. Now.
Placing his forehead on his hands he wished he could take it all back. Reverse time and never begin his quest of understanding and discovery. Be like his brothers and prefer athletics over knowledge. To simply not be Victor Frankenstein. Wishing was for children. The past could never be changed and now he had to live with the consequences.
Jumping up from the table he slams his fists down on the wooden surface. An outburst of ire that he rarely displayed from his normal stoicism.
"I will not become like that! You hear me!" He screams to no one in particular but to everything in existence. Damn him if he would allow such an experience happen to him! He will fight this! He will not become one of those things! He will not go insane! He will not live a life on the blood of innocence. Damn the whole world! He is Victor Frankenstein! A scientist! A doctor! The one man to bring life to death no matter how much of an abomination it has become!
His body shook, seething his enteral rage at the world. Of his life. Of everything he has come to known. Exhaling heavily, his blue eyes turned to his medical bag. The contents of his other addiction inside. A man of addiction. That's who he was. He needed a distraction. Just one tiny comfort. An escape from the feelings of uncertainty of a grim future. The moment that he injected the morphine into his veins, his fears started to vanish with an autumn's breeze. Calming in the familiar high. Now he could think of his options. Now he could focus on finding a cure for such an inflection as his. He wouldn't give up. Allowing the fog to clear his woes. Until, he started to feel the wound burn. Gasping his hand went to the teeth marks. His veins started to burn. Pulsating at an alarming rate. His heart beating in chest so fast it felt like his vital organ would burst. Blue veins popping in his arms.
"No. Not now. I need time. More time." His broken voice gasped out the words.
His knees started to buckle as his grip moved from his wound to try and steady himself. Fear encasing him and trapping him in its strangling embrace. The pain was unbearable as a scream ripped its way out of his throat. Tears dripping from his eyes, mixing with the sweat dampening his skin. Why was this happening? Why was the drug affecting him like this? Dread claimed his body. The drug was having adverse effects with the venom in his veins. A heart beat that was not his own pounded in his ears. Like a drum calling all his attention. Cardinal coated his vision. Everything dyed red. Eyes snapped towards the floor in the corner as he could smell copper. Residue that must of remained. When. When. Shaking his head violently he tried to shake away those flashes of his sweet Proteus dead. Murdered by his first creation. Blood so much blood, like a white canvas painted red. Crimson washed his face then. In his eyes, in his hair and in his mouth. Sweet bitter cooper smell, sent pleasure to his mind. It was euphoric. Sounds of pleasure came from his throat. Like a moan with a lovers touch. He would be thankful to be there now. Drink away the wasted life supply. He created that life so why should it be denied to him now in only memory? A memory that once felt his heart with disdain was now a thought of bliss. As he imagined his thirst. His hunger. Licking his lips he felt sickened by the sensations consuming his body.
What monstrous thoughts for me to even think.
Falling to his knees he felt bile rising in his throat and all he could do was wretch the contents of his stomach onto the wooden floor underneath. The vulgar taste in his mouth disgusted him, but he could barely pay much mind to that. Burning, his skin felt like it was on fire. All he could do is kneel there and weep. Begging for the pain to leave him be or for darkness to take over him. This disease that was overcoming him felt maddening. His vision was blurred but all he could see was the tint of carmine. The constant never ending sound of a heart beat hurt his ears as it called to him. A taunting sound that screamed to come closer. No other sounds could be heard to him. All that seemed to matter was that heartbeat. Pounding away in his ear drums as it beckoned him to move towards it.
Caliban entered the home of his creator. His mood already ire as thoughts plagued his mind. His creator was taking too long. They had the body of the woman necessary for to bring life to his mate yet Victor hardly spoke of when that time would come. Cruelty was thee creator. Choosing not to take his creations life but to mock his existence more by delaying him what was promised. If his creator wanted to toy with him for his own amusement than he would have none of it. Screaming stopped him in his tracks at the bottom of the stairs. Creeping fear slid into his bones as he listened. Was his creator being attacked? Would the assailant have weapons that could make death come to quickly? Caliban wasn't sure and a primal instinct kept him stuck on his spot. If his creator was being rend then all would be for naught. A thought that was more driving him forward than his momentary fear. The screaming stopped and all could be heard was weeping. A noise that never would comfort the mind he had learned and it only made him more irate. His maker playing the role of victim in the horror he had brought forth infuriated him. Caliban didn't wish to exist and yet Victor gave him no choice. Abandoned him to suffer alone and now his maker prolonging it for his own selfish agony never caring for his own creation. Avoiding responsibility for his actions.
As he turned the corner in the room cautiously his gaze capturing no introducers he made his way more into the room. Weeping growing louder and the vile smell reaching his nostrils.
Why do thee weep oh creator of mine? What woes have you brought on thee life this time?
Yellow eyes landed upon the small man that genius-obsession-madness- brought him into the world. Cowering on his knees, his vomit on the floor underneath him. All Caliban could do was stand there for a moment. Scanning the room he spotted the syringe on the floor as well as his makers' medical bag contents spread out in an art of their own. He knew of his maker's addiction. Weeks of observing him from afar he had learned of what inflictions Victor consumed himself with. Pointless ways to rid himself of his own displeasures his maker did. Alcohol helped some men with the day to day of hard labor. Whores in a tavern helped men avoid their miserable marriages at home. Morphine was the doctor's comfort. Comfort was something that Caliban was so often denied from others. Incensed he stomped his feet closer to the shaking man who payed him no mind.
"Does thee wish to scorn your own creation, with this imprudent addictions?" His voice only held sullen for his creator. "Avoidance to what thee has promised will not spare you, Frankenstein."
The heartbeat so close now it felt within reach for Victor. Each rhythm playing in his mind. Closer. He wanted it closer. Just enough. Enough for- Barely did he hear the words spoken from his creation as it burst through his thoughts. His vision slowly returning to normal with only the slight carmine tint of color remained. Shaking his head as he couldn't bring himself to speak as of yet he kept his eyes drawn to the floor. The wood seemed comforting in this time of his history. Just to stay here and never move again. To become stone or disappear into the wood below.
"Stand creator and look at me." His creature spoke once more even more audible to him.
Victor could not oblige as his eyes swept over his arm. Blood stopping him in his tracks. A single crimson line from his injection made the burning in his veins cease. Oh how he wanted to taste it. Copper to fill his mouth and wash away the dying hunger within him. How sweet would that be? How much he craved just a simple indulgence.
Just a little taste, is all I need.
That thought was too broken when he felt a hand griped his shoulder. Pounding rhythm in his ears came over him again as it was even closer than before. Licking his lips, he imagined himself tearing into the chilled flesh holding onto him. Chilled? His rational mind snapped him out of the clouding trance. Chilled like death? Death? No. Life. From death to life. His creation. His first obsession that stained his existence. So close.
"D-Don't touch me." His voice warned which only vexed his creation even more and when he was dragged up roughly to his feet he faltered and leaned into the makings of his own ambition. The roughness of the coat scratching his forehead. Muscles that could break him in an instant he felt. His creation and abomination. His regret, fear and now need. Leaning his head against the sturdy chest, he didn't even think on the fact he wasn't being pushed away yet. The body stiffened against him. Nor did he pay much mind. His creations heartbeat against his ear was soothing yet tempting. Just one bite. A taste and he could stop. Not like his creation even cared for its own miserable life. He begged for death, so would there really be any harm now? It would make this hunger leave him. It would end one of his many problems. Turning his head up a little, his face still hidden to the other, his eyes stopped on his creations neck. Just one bite. He's so close now, it would be simple. Doctor Frankenstein felt like he was swimming in the ocean as the waves were trying to drag him down into the murky depths. Where no light would ever reach him again. Hope no longer accessible for the likes of him. His only anchor from the dark was the knowledge of its corruption. It's temptation so close without even knowledge of its own accord.
Away. Be gone or I will sink. Can't you understand that? Can't you see you daft thing? Can't you see? Why can't you see?
"My touch disgusts thee creator. When thee-" Caliban spoke only to notice a whisper come forth from Victor. It made him stop as the words seemed to cage his mind against his will. He has heard similar but the desperation that came forth from the smaller man, made him tighten his grip on his creator for that instance.
"Don't be near... To close..." Victor kept his eyes on the dirty dark coat. The smell of what was hidden underneath flesh was a temptation becoming too straining to bear. "Be gone or be wary." He warned as the doctor tried to control the gnawing madness of this disease. Men sought out doctors to cure them of what ails them. Doctors are a symbol of peace when there is none. Victor is a doctor and his only hope.
I must work or be damned to my fate. If he doesn't leave me then my mind will be taken apart, not to be stitched together. I can't stitch together when I don't have the string to do so.
If his creator wanted to threaten him, he would know what a real threat was. For Caliban has learned the brutality of mankind and if his creator wanted to paint him as the monster he seemed fit to then Victor would see a real monster. Eyes narrowing at the threat Caliban moved his hands to Victor's hair, yanking for their gaze to meet and instantly yellow eyes widen. Garnet colored eyes looked upon him. Sea blue that haunted his dreams were no longer there. This wasn't the small man that he remembered. This wasn't the man who wept when he sinned against his brother. Blue eyes that glistened in the light surrounded by his brother's blood or the hesitation when no gunshots sounded in the room. This was something new entirely. Unknown and dangerous. What was this? His knowledge of the world didn't prepare him for this. Was this some illness that has taken its hold on his creator? A disease with the eyes? That didn't seem to be true. Caliban thought he was so well versed in monstrosities in the world but now that thought had seemed so naive. Garnet orbs spoke to him of something so much worse. Pushing him away like he was burned, Caliban stood back as Victor fell to the ground. Silence consumed them both. One in fear and the other in need. Slowly blue overcame garnet once again. A single thought crept into Caliban's mind. Just one thought.
Oh dear Creator. What monster has thee become?