Sorry for the delay, but I got myself a beta reader. This chapter was bought to you with the help of Darkicedragon- check out their work too!
So much has been done, exclaimed the soul of Frankenstein—more, far more, will I achieve; treading in the steps already marked, I will pioneer a new way, explore unknown powers, and unfold to the world the deepest mysteries of creation.
- Chapter 3, Frankenstein
End of 8th century
Gregorian Calendar DCCXCVI
Year 796
Deep Underground
"Professor?" Professor. "Are you here?" Are you here.
His call bounded off the stone walls, making even his voice ring cold as it echoed down the airless hallways, built like a serpentine maze some miles deep in the earth. Like the dead. The young boy shifted, holding up his torch light as if to fend off the darkness. No reply echoed back from it. It didn't seem to bother him.
The professor was perpetually busy, but these days the periods he was gone were becoming shorter and shorter—and that made the boy wince.
He clapped a hand to the wall and traced the rock forward, focusing on feeling the rough scrape under his palm as it slipped out of his fingers, rather than being forced to listen to the empty click clack of footsteps ringing down identical corridors. The sound echoed back from the labyrinth in a lofty chorus, seemingly welling out from the pitch dark. The illusion of a horde of strangers was enough to repel the superstitious. And everyone was superstitious. But the Professor had taught him not to be.
It made the boy wince—he knew the Professor was tampering with his own entire schedule, slowing down his precious experiments to make time to spend with him. And his discoveries meant the entire mankind's advancement. To the boy, he was rearranging planets to mark his latest nerve chart—'Now, I want you to label the nervous system on the body, before I dissect one for you next week. I'll have it embalmed so it can last a bit more. Any qualms? Where do I get them all? The grave, of course, where else?"
Torchlight hit the far wall, shedding light onto a dead end. The boy straightened up, pushing his body off the wall until only his fingertips grazed it, and then took four methodical steps backward. Click, clack, click, clack. Four steps for him; three for the Professor. Smiling slightly, he fumbled his fingers up the coarse rock, reaching as high as he could. Huh? The familiar indentation was lower than he'd remembered. Thanks, Professor, he thought, guiltily pleased.
The wall creaked, tearing apart almost strenuously to reveal a spiral staircase, reaching lower into the ground. Dumping the torch into a hold, the boy flounced to a lever, hovering his hand over it as if to ready himself, savour the moment. And pull! The wrench of his wrist made him stumble, but he waddled back expectantly, having eyes only for the ceiling. Two seconds delay, and a pair of lights flickered cautiously on, and another, and another, oscillating like lightning striking before it bathed the walls in white. The electricity crackling tamed behind each shard of glass—especially fashioned—was like turning on the very stars in the night sky.
The boy bounded down the spiral steps to the bottom, and his smile wiped off his face. Realisation dawned.
There was his room on the right—doorless and greeting, with a shelf full of his favourite scrolls. Three-quarters were written by the Professor, anyway. But on the left—Oh God. The Professor's private quarters were open. The boy ambled towards it, peering into the crack of light that seeped out. The Professor was really gone. And he'd left his quarters unlocked.
Unguarded.
This was also why he hated being alone. The childish awe that came with watching the very lightning being harnessed as easily as trapping a glow bug vanished, and he pushed open the door. The boy lingered a minute…two minutes…three. Quiet reigned. The gravity of the situation set, and he made his decision.
Don't forget what I'm here for.
He rushed across the room, stacked neatly to the brim with books, scrolls (undoubtedly all the Professor's) until he almost skidded over a loose piece of paper that had strayed off the desk. His hazel-gold eyes skimmed over the electric lamp—noticing the more even spread of energy, the yellower hue, the less glaring quality of the light—but he didn't give it a second thought. Here, he poured over the pile of notes.
He'd expected the cursive handwriting to make little sense, but this…this was boggling. The stacks of ink on paper covered most of the desk: on different parchments, in different inks, and to his awe, different languages. The boy leaned over the pages, sifting through the confusion. He only knew three languages at the moment: his own and what the Professor had taught him, but he could make out more here—some he'd never so much as come across before. German, French, Italian, English…what he thought must have been Russian…perhaps Indian? And he knew that was in an Asian script, though he couldn't tell what it was. Maybe Japanese. Probably Korean.
He picked out a lambskin parchment, and squinted at the German.
"Unter…Seelen?"
What was this? 'Taking souls?' It wasn't the strangest thing he'd come across in the Professor's writing anyhow. He moved on.
Something else caught his eye, and he couldn't avert them. It was a drawing. Not like the collection of inventions the Professor had designed; blueprints, he remembered, but something else. A wispily drawn, double-headed spear seemed to snake across the page, coloured in a substance he didn't know. It's golden colour almost emanated off the page into real life, demanding attention. It was slim, yet quaint, and at the same time, regal; he wondered why the Professor chose such a weapon.
A double-headed spear.
A 'qiang' in Chinese. It was peculiar.
But the careful sketch was uncannily drawn, the lines looking coarse yet at the same time, precise—with a fervent intent that meant this was important. The genius Professor had left the room so consumed by his work that he'd neglected to bolt his door with those six locks—one hailing from each continent (save the land of ice).
He felt horrible.
This wasn't merely important.
This was momentous.
The boy rolled back his sleeve, using ink on the desk to scrawl down his findings on the inside of his forearm. He needed to give away this location soon—very soon, but for now, it seemed this place held better secrets than the other hideouts.
"Recolte," harvesting, French.
"Resuscitatio," reanimation, Latin.
"Menschliche Waffe," human weapon, German.
Were the different languages coded too? Which of the codes did he use? The boy knew only two of his. Should he try scrawl down some circled words in the languages he didn't know? Try sketching the diagram? Nick some papers? But the Professor was too sharp; he'd know if something was missing. Or perhaps—
"Tesamu?"
The boy spasmed, agape, ripping his sleeve back down.
"Professor Frankenstein! You're back." He shifted over to greet him, knocking over a stack of books in the process. They collapsed, messing up the order of the papers he was seeing. "Ughh…sorry Sir."
"What are you doing in this room?" he asked intently. Tesamu smiled, skipping happily toward him. "I didn't mean to intrude, Professor, but…I—you—left the door open and I was just so…curious."
Tell the truth, he thought. It was the best way to maintain his cover; Frankenstein was just too sharp. Tell the truth.
"I told you not to call me Pro…haah." The scientist cocked his head without shifting his eyes, and moved to a crouch. "Tesamu, you should have waited next time before trespassing. It's not always safe in my room. What if there was an experiment on that desk instead? Do you want to lose a finger?"
He hesitated for a second. "I, could have struck you down…if I failed recognise you in time…my reflexes are rather—unorthodox. " His voice wasn't even warning, almost…desolate.
"Sorry." The boy hung his head. "I didn't mean to. Sorry."
The scientist sighed jokingly, and laid his hand out to his apprentice. Tesamu took it with a smile. But he drooped when the Professor led him back to the desk. He looked up tentatively, but the Professor only smiled back, emitting warmth. Happiness.
Trust.
"So. What's caught your keen eye this time? How may this humble experimentator assist the young genius?"
Tesamu flushed, pleased with an embarrassment.
"You're not angry?"
"Tch, tch; Tesamu if I was ashamed of my curiosity… Let's be realistic—if more people were like you—hn—people wouldn't insist the world is flat," he said, almost bored.
"Or," Tesamu continued, "that the sun star revolves around the earth."
"Ha!" He was seeing him smile more and more these days. "Exactly." A white glove appeared to flick his fringe, making Tesamu pull back animatedly.
"Alright! Mercy already! Alright…so, so, why do you have this…two-headed spear design. My first impression was Asian, but I can't be sure…What's it for? Isn't the crossbow you invented more efficient? Why the colour gold? Isn't that unfavourable—wouldn't a more discrete colour suit? It'll give away your location too easily, won't it?"
Tesamu flung his head back to look pointedly at him. "What is it constructed of? Have you discovered another element I'm not aware of?"
He saw the scientist pull back to stifle a chuckle. "Aha…I wouldn't have had to be the world's only heretic if you'd come about a century earlier, Tesamu."
"Hey…"
"Hm…excuse me, that was supposed to be a compliment, but to be excessively honest, the only time I talk to people is when I insult them."
"Liar."
"…Pardon?"
"You're not really like that, Professor. You're not a cruel man. You're not like them."
He played the part of a mad man, because that was all humanity could see him as. The scientist hated the hate in his apprentice's voice. How could so much contempt roll off such a young boy? One that had seen too much and more than he deserved.
He set his jaw.
"It's a weapon I designed to fight Nobles."
Tesamu blinked up at him, and then back to the drawing. A new light lit up in his eyes.
The scientist pulled out his chair, prompting Tesamu to sit and began his explanation, knowing the bright boy would lap up his every word, soaking up knowledge and sharing his hatred of nobles, like he did.
Chapter 2
Merry Mary Silly Shelley.
Peace had finally found its place in Frankenstein's house, amid the part-werewolf, the enhanced humans, the young nobles, and the Noblesse. The chaos of battle between the traitors and the Union was replaced by the impending doom of mess—crumbs lying idle, food wrappers strewn everywhere, and stains on his modern, luxury couch. The children who had befriended his Master bought their own, different kind of chaos into Frankenstein's house every other day, and he tolerated it—anything—so long as it made his Master happy. As time drew on, he grew strangely accustomed to the sound of chatter and noisy commotion.
But no acknowledged peace, unless it was shattered.
It was quiet at first. But as the days passed, Frankenstein couldn't ignore the subtle presence that grew in him. Perhaps at home, or in his office at school, he could feel the slightest wind of movement behind him, or the smallest of a breath somewhere. All the while, he couldn't ignore the prickling of his hairs at the back of his neck, the sudden change in the atmosphere around him. His senses never dulled and all the time, he could feel it, he knew it. Frankenstein was being watched. That fact didn't alarm the man, but it was another thought that did.
He wasn't sure.
Frankenstein couldn't tell whether there really was someone or something tailing him, stalking him in the distance, or whether his senses were just too keen after the last battle. He didn't like it. Not being sure. In a busy street, he felt the crowd around him change, and he couldn't pinpoint what it was, the source. It had happened for too long now, and his mind was growing itchy; his paranoia flaring up. Sure that he himself was not going…insane, he decided, finally, to tell the rather old news to his Master before he graded it as too desperate or insignificant.
But first…he had to prove it on a viable basis before he told the enhanced humans the young nobles. And the school children, he had to wait for them to leave before—
"Frankenstein?"
The questioning voice of Shinwoo dragged him back into the kitchen.
"Mmph?" He turned around, mildly. "Yes? Shinwoo?"
It was as if someone had switched off the lights. Though the room was the same, the space had changed and M-21 and Takeo pricked their heads around to stare at the back of Frankenstein's. They had noticed it before even he had, and his mistake lay thick and groggy in the air. Frankenstein had answered to his name. His real name.
"What did you call me?" Frankenstein asked flatly.
"Eh? Chairman?" the teenager called back without looking.
Frankenstein stood from the chair, facing the table. "I'm asking why you cal—"
"Ffffrankenstein! Chairman Lee!" Tao's loud cry cut through his, and he bounded off his seat as well. "Ahaha! Look, Chairman Lee, Rai got a copy of 'Frankenstein,' " he stressed, "the book."
Frankenstein paled. The strange realisation wavered. Something like anger welled up inside him. He bit it down, swallowing the feeling, but it left his eyes cold.
"Principal?" Shinwoo said suddenly, "…did I say something?"
"Hn, no—no." His voice was low. He could feel M-21 and Takeo shift uncomfortably behind him. Frankenstein looked to his Master's back. He hadn't moved an inch. Picking up one of the papers from the kitchen table, Frankenstein busied his eyes on it, smiling again.
"So, Mary Shelley's Frankenstein—curious gift isn't it? Who gave it to him?" He didn't lift his sight from the paper, though he wasn't really seeing it.
"We don't know; Rai found it on his desk between classes."
"Still think it's a secret admirer? Who thought to give a present like that?"
" 'Frankenstein'—isn't it…like a horror story?"
"I guess…" It was Yuna who spoke. "But I've read it—yeah, me of all people who can't sleep with those kinds of stories!—and I wasn't scared…" She peered at the book. "If anything, it's quite sad."
The kids went back to their slumping on the couch. Frankenstein listened, his eyes never leaving the paper.
"It's about a young scientist who becomes obsessed with knowledge and…well, his ambition, because of that. He was a genius, and things in his life drove him to his ambition. Uh…his mother, right? His mother died of scarlet fever. So, he discovers the way to breathe life into his very own being—something like playing God, you could say."
The children were listening, fatigue in their eyes, and they were oblivious to how tense the air had become.
"Yeah?"
"So, he creates the monster and brings it to life. But then—" Yuna paused. M-21 looked to Frankenstein. He had closed his eyes. "—he, well, rejects the monster because it didn't turn out how he created it to be. He was ugly—stitched together with stolen body parts…his blood vessels were visible under the skin, he was super huge…the scientist could hardly look at it."
"What kind of an admirer gives their crush a book like that?"
"Shht—Shinwoo," Tao's snapped, unjokingly.
"And then, the monster is hated by everyone, so he vows revenge on Frankenstein," Yuna leaned back on the couch, "his creator."
"You're a kind girl, Yuna." The table looked up again. Frankenstein slid off his glasses. "You call the monster a 'he.' " She shrugged, thinking nothing of it.
"Ok…?" Ikhan piped up. "But who gave the present then? I mean, I dunno, Halloween's a long way away." He fiddled with a wrapper, the rest of the food on the table forgotten.
"Someone's idea of a joke or something," Suyi scoffed, brushing back disgust like she did her hair. "Wrapped it up all nice too. Don't think about it, Rai, it's fine."
Something finally clicked with the students, and they all looked to each other with abrupt disbelief.
"You saying someone's trying to scare Rai with this? What the hell?" The tiredness drained from Shinwoo's face, and his eyes became predatory. "What kind of person—"
"I am fine, Shinwoo," came Raizel's voice, soft and gentle.
"No. It's not fine."
"A mere book does not faze me."
"Yeah?!" Shinwoo inhaled agitatedly. "…Alrigh—I know already. Just—whoever gave you that book…man they have a lot of spare time."
"Kuh. I agree. " Suyi said lowly.
Frankenstein put down the paper and clapped a hand onto the table. "Ok now, everybody. It's only getting later tonight. I'll ask Regis and Seira to escort you home once you say goodbye to your classmate. I won't be blamed if you come late for school tomorrow."
The children shrugged themselves off the couch, scrunching up their plastic bags. "Ok then, night, Rai. We'll see ya at school tomorrow."
"Yeah, let's go to the internet cafe after parent-teacher night."
Ikhan pursed his lips, looking worried for a moment. He tossed his last toffee to Rai, who just barely caught it in his lap. Rai held it up cupped in one hand, showing Ikhan carefully.
"Hey, I'll treat ramyeon tomorrow, ok? Whatever you guys want. Except you, Shinwoo—one bowl only. My present to you, Rai."
Raizel lifted from the seat and strode over to the door, seeing them out. "I am fine, Ikhan. Thank you." He smiled.
"Later!"
"Night Rai, hyungs and adjussi."
"See you tomorrow, Chairman Lee."
"Funny though—for a second there, I actually thought the Chairman answered to 'Frankenstein.' Hah."
"Later guys!" Tao waved them out.
Frankenstein lifted his brows, grinning. "Goodnight." He shut the doorand immediately turned on the trio.
"Who the hell gave Master that book?" There was demand in Frankenstein's voice, and Takeo felt guilty, even though it wasn't anything his fault. How could it be? When they were security members who patrolled around the schools, not in the classrooms between the kids classes.
"I—we don't know. It was a present. Wrapped in a parcel, placed on his desk—we only know what the kids just said."
Frankenstein winced inwardly, and trailed into the kitchen. They realised he was making tea, and not planning the murder of some insecure high school kid. "That was simply just pathetic of me. I almost slipped my identity." He rounded a corner, carefully placing tea before his Master, who had sat again.
"So what does the book mean?" M-21 strode over to the couches, taking a seat next to Rai. M-21 hovered a hand over the book, searching Raizel's eyes—and he nodded his consent.
He held up the book, flipping quickly through before shutting it. A musty smell wafted from the yellowish pages. "It's old."
He narrowed his eyes on the cover. This was why the children were offended? The title, Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus was inscribed in gothic, green lettering over the shadowy image of a man. M-21 held it closer. The man's face wasn't exactly what he'd call 'ugly.' It looked like something out of a classical art period: hyper-realistic, and almost ethereal. What little light hit the man's face was glowing. But the kids were right: there was a horror in the picture. The man's face was partly covered by a pair of hands, more contorting over it than touching. As M-21 looked, he could guess what the figure was doing—trying, and failing to hide the multiple red, uneven scars streaked across, keeping his face together. He stifled the urge to lick over the scar on his lips. A few black wisps bled from the monster's hair. His skin didn't look human.
"…Creepy, huh?" Tao breathed over his shoulder. M-21 bashed a shoulder into Tao, and handed the book to Takeo.
"So, what did this used to be?"
"What?"
"I mean…I thought it was an old-timey movie or something. Ghost story. Isn't it?" M-21 mused. Wrappers crunched around him as he shifted, and he started picking them up and off the ground.
"Yeah, there's been heaps of stuff—movies and plays, created off of it." Tao answered.
"So which one is most accurate?"
Takeo placed the book down near Raizel again. "Huh?"
"The book—duh."
Frankenstein scoffed suddenly, turning their heads, and they watched him chuckle. The faint, malicious aura festered up again, glowing purple, and he cocked his head to the side. "If it's accuracy you want," his voice was low and dangerous, "I can give you all an accurate account of my life."
It clicked.
"No way." Tao looked estranged. "The scientist in the book is based on you." He looked as if he didn't know what to do with that information, tilting his head. "I mean…it was kinda obvious, but I didn't want to ask."
"Then ask."
That stumped him. Really though, he didn't actually want him to ask, did he?
When Takeo broke the silence, Tao was more than thankful. "You can't actually give life to inanimate things, can you? Not even you."
"Well…" Frankenstein pulled back, "it depends on what your definition of 'life' is. Aris made the two cyborgs…the eighth elder existed, and then those anti-clan leader weapons…" He jut a finger into the air, "and soul weapons. Soul weapons are sentient."
Frankenstein's face drooped the moment those last words came out. Tao suddenly didn't want to pry. Frankenstein always answered their questions, always gave them straight answers, but for the first time…he looked uncomfortable.
The conversation still ended incredibly quickly.
Frankenstein tilted a hand toward his centre, bringing his eyes to the floor. "My Lord. Are you alright?"
For the first time since the evening, Raizel turned his gaze towards Frankenstein, drinking in his bothered image. The connection sifted open and a rush of warmth surged to Frankenstein. Warmth and love and caring. Frankenstein's malice wilted in his embrace. Raizel turned to him. "Even the children are worrying for me. But I do not need such concern. It is as I said. It is a book." Raizel nodded carefully to him. "You are angered by this. I do not need you to tell me that this is a lie constructed by your old enemies. I know you, Frankenstein."
That thought had never concerned him, no. But Frankenstein felt shame tick through for Raizel to have thought to jump to his defence. Frankenstein lowered his shoulders, strangely relieved, but looked far from relaxed. A vacancy resided through his eyes, and he shook it away to bow to Raizel. "I'm not angry at all. Forgive me for imposing."
He turned to the trio. "Miss Mary Shelley, unfortunately, was a Union spy. As were a lot of people in her time. The 1800's was a…trying time for me, to say the least." Frankenstein smirked though gritted teeth.
"Ok…so, does some high school kid have a grudge against Boss's Boss or what?" Tao asked. Takeo and M-21 turned to Tao. "And why 'Frankenstein?'….The book, I mean."
"To be honest," M-21 said, dropping his hands to his side, "Regis is already going to go ape on guarding Sir Raizel. It's a kid, so unless this book has something else going on…"
"If it's a kid," Takeo intercepted. He parried M-21's stare. "What? Don't you think maybe it's a little suspicious that we get landed with a book titled 'Frankenstein?' Raise any alarms?"
"If someone's trying to go after the Boss, then, wow." Tao sighed heartily, brushing a hand behind his head. "It's not going to be the Boss I would be worried about."
"Or," Frankenstein's voice drew their attentions again, "a high school child is taking the time to buy antique books to bully my Master." His monotonous voice took a turn, and Frankenstein sounded exasperated. "Just rest up for tomorrow. We're all going to be dealing with parents the entire day. Night."
The enhanced humans ambled off. "Night then."
"Boss, Sir."
Frankenstein picked up the finished tea cup on the table and bought it up to refill it, thankful, but not peaceful, in the silence.
Notes
I hope you like flashbacks, cos we're gonna get a looot of those~
Also, Mary Shelley is v cool and I apologise for the title. Shelley started writing Frankenstein at 18 and it's the first true science fiction! She is the mother of the genre.
Um, understand that this may have a lot of historical inaccuracies due to how far back the dates are sometimes, hehe. Of course modern German and French and even conventional latin had not yet evolved back then, so the stuff I used off of google translate isn't correct for the time.
History nod to a heap of famous, rule-breaking scientists and doctors who stole bodies for the sake of medical advancement- including Andreas Versalius and Da Vinci.
Also, the specific cover of Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, can be found with a google search. I've put the link up on the profile page so you can copy/paste~ (go ahead and replace dot with an actual full stop): flavorwiredotcom/376485/monstrous-vintage-covers-of-mary-shelleys-frankenstein/13
