Pure Blood

By: Sleepwalking Dreamer

A Trinity Blood Fan Fiction Piece

DISCLAIMER:

Trinity Blood © Yoshida Sunao, Tomohiro Hirata, and GONZO

Katherine Sandoval, Morgan O' Clare, G Leggieri and other members of the Lazarus Project © Sleepwalking Dreamer

Anything and everything else © respective owners

NOTES:

As far as I know, as of the time that I have started writing this story (2006 C.E, or A.D., whichever you prefer), cryonics is sufficiently advanced to allow preservation of the human body, but a process to revive people from that state has yet to be achieved. It is always speculated that advancements in nanotechnology will allow future generations to revive cryopreserved people with minimal damage to their physiology, and that is the premise I am operating on in this story – after all, Martian technology seems to be sufficiently advanced to accomplish this revival. The symptoms of the revival as related here, however, are entirely speculation on my part.

As for the effects of the Pure Blood on the Methuselah who drink it, I operate on the idea that the Bacillus could have changed the immune system of the Methuselah who have it in them, but the reason why Terran blood is not deadly to them is due to the weakening of Terran immune systems after residual radioactive fallout from Armageddon. The "purity" referred to in "Pure Blood" is that of the immune defenses of the blood itself. The white blood cells of those who have Pure Blood react aggressively to the Bacillus in Methuselan bloodstreams, destroying them, consequently destroying the blood – and hence, effectively killing the Methuselah in question.

Finally, regarding the preservation of deadly viruses – including the ones that are responsible for SARS and AIDS – this is a practice that is still undertaken today for the sake of research. In fact, there are samples in existence that come from deadly pandemics of long ago, such as the bubonic plague that swept Europe in the Middle Ages, and the so-called Spanish flu, which swept the world from 1918 to 1920 and caused a severe loss of life. That people would continue to preserve these, believing that future generations would be able to find a cure for them – particularly for the more recent viruses that have come out – is not too far-fetched.

TIMELINE:

This is set nearly immediately after the anime, and runs on the canon as set out by the anime. Please don't scold me or tell me off for changing the story post-anime; I don't have access to the manga or to the novels, so a majority of what I am writing here will be as based on the anime.

GENRE: Action/Adventure; Sci-Fi; Romance

RATING: T

TEASER:

While investigating rumors of Rosen Creuz Orden activity in Romania, Abel and Ion stumble across a facility dating back seventy years before the conception of the Red Mars Project. Upon entering, they discover that the facility was dedicated to a secret international government project called the Lazarus Project, whose aim was to cryonically preserve people in the hopes that in the future, advances in medical technology would allow them to be revived. What they find is an entire underground city of people, each preserved in their own cryopreservation machine. However, they have only managed to save the important files from one of the main computers when they are attacked by Orden members. In the confusion, the entire facility is destroyed, with only six machines left intact.

Acting upon personal agreement, the Methuselah and the Crusnik send three of the machines to Byzantium, while they accompany the other three to the Vatican. There, they make a startling discovery: first, that they can revive the people in the machines. And second, that these people may provide a solution to their problems regarding the Orden…as well as provide even more problems themselves…

For Noey:

Who breathed life into Morgan,

Who adored G's real name even if he doesn't,

And most of all,

Who loved this story before anyone else ever did.

Thank you very much, and I hope you'll love reading this as much as I loved writing it.

First Drop: Winter Cold, Secrets Deep

Cold: unforgiving, merciless cold. That was all that he could feel – or if he could even feel at all, considering the fact that he was probably frostbitten in his extremities by now. He pulled his scarf tighter around him to prevent snowflakes from finding their way into his nostrils, and squinted as he attempted to peer through the blizzard, and managed to make balls of soft yellow radiance in the distance. He looked over his shoulder at the hunched figure that trudged along just behind him. "The inn's not that far!" he yelled, so that he might be heard over the roaring of the wind. "I can see the lights of the inn!"

"I hear you!" Ion Fortuna yelled back, which assured him that the young Methuselah nobleman had not lost his way. Then again, the boy was Methuselah; they were far hardier than ordinary humans in harsh conditions.

Of course, he himself was Methuselah, after a fashion, but only when he commanded the nanomachines in his body to kick in – and even then, he was no ordinary Methuselah.

Slowly, the little balls of light that had been visible through the blizzard became clearer and more distinct, and managed to illuminate a rather pretty building: the Fireside Inn, their residence for the past few nights, and for the succeeding nights. It wasn't luxurious, but it was comfortable, with a fireplace that lived up to the inn's name. In the high reaches of the Carpathian Mountains of Romania where the cold was one's most constant companion even in summer, such a simple thing as a blazing fire was considered wonderful indeed.

After several minutes that felt more like several hours, Abel finally heard the tip of his boot collide with the front porch of the inn, and he sighed loudly in relief. "Thank the Lord," he murmured as he pushed the door open, holding it just wide enough to let Ion in and keep most of the snow out.

"Welcome back, Father, Young Master! It is a good thing you managed to get back before the worst of the blizzard hit."

Abel grinned at the cheery, melodic voice, and looked up to see the young barmaid, Crina Salahori, coming towards them, a tray balanced on her hand. "I thought that that was already the worst of it."

Crina laughed, and shook her head. "The mountains are only building up their lungs right now, Father. Soon they will exhale such a blast as you can only dream about in the Papal States." She tipped her head slightly to one side. "Shall I lead you to your table, then?"

"Please," Abel said, and gratefully followed Crina as she wove her way between the tables, Ion not that far behind him. As soon as they were seated and Crina had gone off to get them some of her mother's hot stew and some good wine, he turned to Ion, and murmured: "We have found nothing here yet."

Ion nodded his head. "I know, and it's starting to get annoying." His scowl deepened. "Those Orden bastards are as clever as rats when it comes to hiding themselves."

"It will only be a matter of time," Abel said, both to comfort his companion as much as to reassure himself. "We're getting close, I think. We should be able to find them soon."

And that, Abel thought, was the main reason why they had come here, why he and Ion had set out into the world without even going to Esther's coronation as Queen of Albion. With Cain somewhere out there and most of his highest-ranking commanders in the Rosen Creuz Orden scattered, now was the best time to begin crushing this secret organization – and from there, so Abel knew, he would eventually find Cain, and kill him at last.

Even as his blood thrilled at the prospect of vengeance, sadness caused his heart to twist painfully at the same time. Once, long, long ago, he and Cain had been brothers-in-arms, and brothers in blood, after a fashion. But all of that was changed now, and there was nothing he could do. If he wanted to protect those he valued, if he wanted to ensure that this world remained safe…if he wanted to atone for the manifold sins that had accumulated on his soul over the course of the last nine hundred or so years, then he would have to bring Cain down, and with him, the Rosen Creuz Orden.

"Father Abel?"

Abel snapped back to reality, and he focused on Ion, who was looking at him curiously. "Huh? What's wrong?"

"…Nothing," Ion replied as he turned his gaze to look at the crackling fire. "It's just that you looked as if you were thinking very deeply about something."

"I suppose I was." A particularly strong and particularly wild gust of wind rattled the windowpanes and made the ceiling beams groan, causing Abel to stiffen and look upwards worriedly. Was the storm really that strong that it could quite possibly send this evidently sturdy house tumbling down around them?

Crina's merry laughter cut into his thoughts as she came to their table, her tray laden with more stew and hot, mulled wine that she poured with a generous hand. "Don't worry about the house, Father. The inn has been on these slopes for several generations, and has seen our family and guests safely through more powerful storms than this. You will be all right."

"Several generations…?" Abel sighed when Crina was finally out of earshot. "That's precisely what I was worried about."

Ion chuckled, and shook his head as he sipped the wine. "I find it amazing that Terrans can live here, in the upper reaches of these mountains. Methuselah, perhaps, I can imagine, but Terrans? The conditions are so harsh here."

"It's not all that bad a place to live, if you are looking for security and safety," Abel replied. "After all, the odds are very low that someone will find this place important enough to invade and occupy. No: people come here for safety, and that is what they've had ever since they built the first house here."

Ion nodded his head. "Well, that makes sense." He glanced out the window. "Do you think we will be able to find something tomorrow?"

Abel smiled as he sipped his wine, which traced a warm trail from his mouth to his stomach, and left an aftertaste of cinnamon. "We can always hope. Maybe God will be kind enough, and give us good fortune tomorrow."

"Do you really believe in your God, Father?"

"Certainly. If I did not believe in something, I might as well lose all hope." Abel tilted his head at Ion. "What do you believe in, Ion?"

"Vengeance," Ion replied promptly.

Abel sighed. He had been afraid of that. "And what happens when this is all over? It will end, you know – perhaps well within your lifetime, you being Methuselah and all. When we have found the Orden and crushed it, what will you do? When you have had your vengeance, what will you believe in?"

For a brief moment, Abel wondered what right he had to say such a thing. After all, was he not doing this because he, too, wanted revenge? For as long as the Orden existed, for as long as Cain lived and breathed, he would have a purpose for living, but what would happen when that was all over? Would he go back to Rome to continue working with Catherina? Would he go to Albion, and serve Esther? Or would he go to Byzantium instead, and work with Seth again, to be with all that remained of his family?

He shook his head rapidly then, to clear his thoughts. He could decide on what to do later. For now, he had to focus. There were bigger fish to fry.

---+---

"Our readings indicate that we shouldn't be too far from it now. We are getting quite close."

He nodded his head solemnly, his gaze focused on the violent snowstorm that howled outside. "Good. Do we have any idea as to how large it is?"

"Unfortunately, no; there seem to be many chambers, but there are spaces that appear to be air ducts that lead down below, deep into the bedrock. No equipment in existence can read that deep."

"I see." He inclined his head just so. "Continue with the search, and try to map the area as thoroughly as possible. We shall begin tomorrow night."

As the soft footfalls of his subordinates faded away behind him, he inhaled deeply on his cigarette, the tip glowing briefly before he lowered it, and exhaled the smoke from his mouth and nostrils. They were close now, they had to be. Those files he had "acquired" from the Albion computer archives, as well as those from various other sources, had given him enough clues to be definitive about the location of what he had long thought to be nothing more but rumor and speculation – but which he now believed to be very, very real.

Isaak Fernando von Kämpfer allowed a small smile to curl on his lips. He knew exactly what it was that he sought, and if he could acquire it, he knew that the world would not be too far from the Orden's grasp.

"Soon," he murmured to the wind. "Soon."