I wasn't surprised by the news; I'd been dead for years. I had felt the sickening flow of red silk spill from my neck, beckoned by a pointed blade. The only thing about this particular bit of non-news that irked me was the question of what this meant for my present body, suddenly acutely aware of the stubborn throb dancing between my bones.
Sokolov's bony hand motioned for me to come closer, his other staggering limb reaching for a nearby pouch, unfolding it to reveal more medical equipment. I could feel the pressure of Corvo's hand increase around my arm before fully releasing me. The man was tense.
I kept my mind as blank as possible, focusing on the information that was important as I stepped towards the physician. I was Melvil.
And I was sick.
"Sit on the table," Sokolov urged, his rasping timbre scratching my sensitive eardrums now that I stood closer to him. I reached out to the cold metal surface nearby, pale fingers smoothing over the icy material. I carefully complied, minding to move as naturally as I could. I lifted myself up in a graceful swing that managed to surprise even me. As my limbs came to rest upon the elevated surface, I was intensely aware of the way the cold metal burned through the thin silk of my pants.
That's an odd thing isn't it? Burning cold.
I turned my eyes towards the physician who immediately got to work, noting Corvo's hulking presence behind him.
Sokolov operated in a stifling silence, occasionally rasping strange mutterings under his sour breath. I could feel the words whenever they hit my skin, their warmth rippling over the white expanse. He started by disinfecting both the wound on my abdomen and the recent cut he'd made, applying a piece of cotton soaked in alcohol. It stung, like tiny pinpricks searing into my bones. I felt my body react, muscles contracting involuntarily. I refused to allow my face to show any of the discomfort. It was petty, but I wouldn't hand the man the satisfaction that easily.
His thin fingers removed the sloppy stitchings, replacing them with trained precision. Now that the blackened wound had been closed properly, it didn't look quite as menacing as it had before.
After storing the supplies back into the leather pouch, he moved to the rest of my body. His spindly fingers turned white around the edges as he scribbled down his findings in illegible script. He asked me to stand for a bit as he carefully assessed my height, scratching the numbers down on the yellowed paper.
He peered into my ears, tested my joints, shone a light into my eyes, cut a strand of hair, and took my blood. He patiently listened to my heartbeat, closely inspected my skin and the blue veins that pulsated beneath with strange bulky tools. His frown deepened with each new revelation, conflicting thoughts flitting over and consuming his features.
The longer I stayed in that damp basement, the more accustomed I became to its darkness. An ability that had been locked away from me for centuries. I could tell my body temperature had dropped, waiting without the warmth of my robes. The places where Sokolov had touched me still sang with the memory of his skin, dry like parchment.
This wouldn't be the first time my thoughts wandered off and touched upon the darker presence at the back of my mind. The question of why I was here rang through my ears. I tried to convince myself of reasons — any reason — why this would be worth anything. A promise at my expense. But the alternative would be death, anyway.
I could hear Sokolov word several things to Corvo, who's responding rumble settled in my chest until I couldn't distinguish it from my own heartbeat.
"Strange." Sokolov's gaze darted from his notes to me. I could see Corvo attempting to decipher the almost foreign scrawlings. Sokolov stroked his beard, spindly fingers entangled in the mass that more closely resembled a cobweb than anything else. Meanwhile, the overhead lights continued to flicker, emanating a constant buzz that soaked into the walls. "You're going to have to take off the rest of your clothing," Sokolov ordered. "I need to check off a few more things."
A jittery tension settled on my forehead, my brows furrowing at the words. Moving to loosen the bands that held my pants together, my eyes never broke away from the older man's gaze. Corvo didn't move a muscle, his broad shoulders looming over the Physician and me in a silent testimony of distrust. His rigid form hung like a dark cloud in my peripheral vision.
Sokolov didn't speak as he moved with studied premeditation, much to my relief. I could feel the cold that nipped my tender flesh, leaving a broad path of goosebumps in its wake. It wasn't that I was particularly self-conscious — I had been kept unwillingly awake to witness the vilest secrets of humanity. Morals. Rules. They were nothing but a thinly veiled attempt to hide and disguise the sickness that hid throughout the world, throughout society. The true plague. I knew Sokolov understood.
Yet this was different, somehow. Something so fundamentally physical. I felt degraded, reduced to nothing but meat and bones.
Just a boy.
My eyes snapped to Corvo, finding that he had been watching my face. His gaze glinted in the half-shadows of the lab, strange shapes obscuring his features. My back was straighter than it had been before, shoulders squared as if to brace myself for impact. Sokolov's hands burned into my skin, my mind too sharply focused on his movements.
"You can redress yourself," Sokolov ordered, turning away to make some final notes.
Corvo's eyes hadn't left my face, their eerie glow reflecting from the shadows. I took the bundle of clothes and set to covering my cold limbs.
"Like I said before: you're skinny for a nobleman," Sokolov noted. "Turns out you have the knees of a beggar, to boot."
I watched the man as I redid the ties around my pants, steeling my features to prevent any hesitation from showing. "I've been sick, as you already knew. Prayed a lot."
Sokolov hummed in response, eyes not meeting mine as the scratch of his erratic scribbling filled the room. "Yes, could be." He put the papers away, the yellowed material carefully folded into one of his deep pockets. "Aside from that, you appear to be in reasonable health. Your heart sounds normal, no irregularities. The sphygmograph points to low blood pressure, but nothing to worry about. Breathing appears normal. You're skinny, which means you have an unusually low muscle mass. This makes it harder to tell how physically mature you truly are.
"However, you do exhibit several other signs of maturity, thus indicating that you might have aged faster or hit puberty sooner than most. It's hard to tell for certain until you gain a healthy weight, or until you start showing other clear signs of ageing. Regardless, that wound is not healing as it should..." I watched Sokolov's eyes cloud over, his many thoughts almost audible as he mulled over his findings. "It's almost as if... it's lacking." I saw the moment when the idea popped up, the way his face lifted and his eyes turned just a bit brighter. "Something like..."
He didn't complete his sentence, instead moving to a table at the back of the room, retrieving a container of whale oil. Except it didn't look like whale oil anymore. The vibrant blue was turning black, large dark splotches bleeding into the volatile essence. Sokolov grabbed the recently extracted vile of blood, taking the lid off as he simultaneously opened the vat. Carefully, he poured a drop of my blood into the thick oily mass, keeping his distance as he did.
The substances hissed loudly as they met — a strange and almost deafening hum bursting through the room — the vat now crackling with reinvigorated energy. Corvo took a step forward, the sounds of his boots slapping against the wet stones muted by the deafening noise. We all watched the oil light up in front of us, now as vividly blue as it had ever been.
Sokolov's bony fingers stroked his greying beard, a deep scowl distorting the sharp angles of his face. His eyes darted across the room, focusing on me with a slight tremor. He held my gaze, the whites of his eyes a strange shade in the dim lights. His lips spoke without sound, but I could read the word they wrote with their shapes.
Leviathan.
The name hung in the air between us, seeming to chill the room even further. I could feel the mood change, felt the air become thicker. I swore I also felt the rapid vibrations of Sokolov's racing heart.
"What were you thinking, Corvo?" the physician rasped, his voice quieted by the heavy implications. He shook his head, beard waving along. A bony hand came up to stroke his skull, the bald patch shining in the flickering lights. "Do you take me for a FOOL!?" the old man burst angrily, rounding on the Royal Protector. His arms were as wild as his eyes, knocking the nearby medical tools to the ground. They crashed onto the wet stones, the force taking chips out of the solid bricks. Corvo remained calm, his towering presence immovable at my side.
I watched the both of them, the one thing I best knew how to do. My feet pulled at me, tempted me. I knew I couldn't just walk away, couldn't just leave them to deal with the situation. But I wanted to.
"I think it's in both our best interests that this boy's name is Melvil and he needs to be cured." As Corvo spoke he emphasised certain words, narrowed eyes not leaving the shaking Physician.
Sokolov's gaze settled back to me, penetrative eyes burning. I cocked my head in interest, my face as neutral as ever. I could nearly smell the resentment radiating off of the old philosopher, the pent up frustration at my strange existence. All those years wasted, searching for a boy that never spoke to him. I felt a smirk tug at my lips, a strange satisfaction in knowing that the idea of me had tormented the man to near desperation.
I felt my instincts kick in, felt the need to confront the man that had been screaming my name in blood and death. I loathed his kind; I had died for the Sokolov's of the world. I felt the words fall from my lips before I even knew what they meant, the ease with which they came a pleasant feeling.
"Anton Sokolov: sire to 14 children, but a father to none. A brilliant mind at a terrible cost, enlightenment in exchange for the dark depravity of the soul. Fingers that turn the times into a revolution of progress, the same fingers that touch upon women as they do the cold inventions they craft. Objects close to his heart — objects from his mind.
"The stench of alcohol in his bed, his clothes, his skin. Liquors and paints. Paint on the canvas, paint dripping from his fingers, paint in the eyes of the beggar he found in the flooded slums of a place forsaken. The stench of rot still fresh on his teeth as he smiles at young Emily Kaldwin and tells her: 'Don't worry dear, here in the tower you are safe.' Don't worry dear, for I know the truest evil lies not within the high walls of Dunwall but within my hands and mind and within the flooded basement where a woman screamed and bled until she hung her head and closed eyes from which the dark paint still leaked — forever.
"The human body — like clockwork — taken apart in exchange for coin, for valuables. But those things Anton Sokolov values most lay outside of his intellectual grasp; for all the reasoning in the world he is but a cold, lonely man in search of a higher purpose that is but a lie of his own twisted imagination. A delusion of grandeur.
"How does it feel? One's biggest regrets are but feelings of little consequence. The true disease is the sickness that allows one to enact true consequence on an innocent in the name of a self-prescribed fate. But I suppose that's the curse of boredom. That, is the curse of brilliance."
I glared at the man now, feeling a shift within me, a surge of something new and strangely foreign. He cowered from me, actually cowered from the teenaged boy standing in front of him. The boy with the dark hair and light eyes and the sunken skin and protruding bones and joints that were far too worn for a body so young. I took a step forward, and another, enjoying the way the older man slinked further back, his eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. I realised he was terrified. But I knew it wasn't me that scared him.
I knew exactly what scared Anton Sokolov.
"Does it surprise you? I suppose it would not. You possess more knowledge of the world than all the people in this pretentious tower combined.
"However, I will help you expand on that knowledge. I carry names with me wherever I walk. Names you never bothered to know as you butchered them one by one. Their names. Marie-Anne, Greta, Adeline, Jane, Rosemary, Lucille, Genevieve, Keira, Blythe, Antoinette, Cora, Estelle, Julia, Leah, Nancy, Noreen, Elvira, Abby, Beatrice, Larissa, Page, Mabel, Kate, Edith, and Darlene.
"Women who came apart like clockwork at the gentle nudge of a scalpel held in your artistic fingers. Their bodies but a mere canvas for your ambitions. Women with hopes, dreams, tender skin-
"-and the knees of a beggar to boot."
Sokolov took one last cowering step back, his hand raised in front of his face as if to shield himself from my words. His mouth moved, pushing out the same word over and over again: 'Please.'
I saw within his eyes the gaps that filled with my words — the answers to all of his questions — and lastly, the understanding of what these answers meant for him. Time flowed around me in a strange and slow hum. I acted on a whim, pure feeling fuelling my muscles. I was out of the room before I even knew I was moving. Continuing forwards — keep moving forward. Keep moving.
I walked, almost ran.
I didn't look back, didn't hear what Corvo was yelling after me. This was the last power I possessed. So I ran, the hallways twisting before me like the pulsating insides of a whale hung for slaughter. I felt myself growing accustomed to the flow of twists and turns and quick jumps to avoid yet another guard on patrol. The wallpaper around me melted away to reveal greasy bricks and desperate writings, scribblings of the downtrodden. The wails of the diseased — last memories of the deceased.
And as sudden as the feeling had struck me, it disappeared. The wallpaper was back in place, my feet covered in expensive shoes.
My breathing was out of control, heart beating wildly in my heaving chest. I stood in the middle of a dark hallway, a large hand covering my shoulder. The scent that had quickly become familiar wafted from behind me, my sensitive nose picking up on it almost immediately.
"Calm down." Corvo's masculine voice spoke into my left ear. My fingers shook, thumb rubbing against the cold rings. I stared at the black boots that fit snugly around my cold feet. "Is there anything I can do?" Corvo asked, his hand still on me. Touching me.
No one ever asked if I wanted to be touched.
I glanced at him without turning around, noted the tense expression on his face. He was breathing loudly as well, had most likely ran after me. I narrowed my eyes as I felt the brewing pit within me overflow. I felt congested, overloaded — unprepared for what might spill.
And spill I would. My mouth tasted bitter from residual thoughts that still lay dormant within my mind. I carried words like mountains and knowledge like the ocean. I drowned within myself, passage after passage of empty meanings and useless memories. The dam that had held back the angry waves had crumbled at the cold prodding of a physician. And now my veins throbbed with hot blood warmed by the electrical storm that ravaged my nerves.
I knew only one release.
"'Be real and grow up.'" I spoke slowly, closely watching the man behind me. Corvo had gone completely still, his hand tightening around my bony shoulder. The hallway we stood in suddenly felt cramped. The lack of windows and ventilation made the air dry and stifling. Next thing I knew my vision exploded with white sparks, my feet dragged out from under me as I felt my shoulder land against a nearby wall with a loud bone-cracking thud.
I was on the floor, a sharp pain stung the side of my face. It took me some time to focus, to get rid of the blurry vision filled with tiny stars. I looked at Corvo, who glared at my fallen form, fists clenched tightly next to his hips. His nostrils flared, angrily staring me down. I could see the muscles in his face twitch, noticed the slight shaking of his shoulders. I reflexively flinched as he pointed a tense finger at me, the tip shaking in the air.
"Don't you fucking dare," he bit out, teeth clenched and lips curled back in anger. I could feel my cheek throbbing, and if I didn't know any better I'd think my face was swelling like a balloon. But I'd seen what punching did to people. I knew their faces never truly inflated after a punch. My fingertips touched the hot skin just to be certain.
I returned my gaze to Corvo, my emotions brewing inside of me — consuming me with their intensity. I was absolutely livid. I surprised myself as much as Corvo when the man suddenly flew back, wiping at his cheek with the hand that had just been pointing fingers at me.
My saliva glistened on his bearded face. I crawled back against the wall, sitting up straighter with the steady structure there to support my back. I continued to glare at Corvo, my heart beating in my ears. There was a strange ringing that penetrated my skull and gnawed at my brain. My face, shoulder, and torso all throbbed painfully. I could feel fresh blood trickling down my abdomen.
Corvo stared at me, surprise painting his features, wiping away the wetness with the back of his hand. He didn't say anything, his silent stare worse than his sharp words. The wall pushed harder against my back, or perhaps my back pushed harder against the wall. I felt the urgent need to disappear, to soak into the structure caging me. The thought occurred that I might be feeling overwhelmed, but I didn't possess the clarity of mind to understand what I was doing. All I knew was that I was angry, and that anger made me want to lash out. I wanted to hurt the man in front of me like I had hurt the physician.
All these words, all these people echoed through my mind. The wails and screams of souls long gone. I could see them all, remember their faces, their names, their feelings, their pleas, their families — their deaths. I was coming apart at the seams, my mind unraveling all that had been carefully wound up and stored away.
I noticed Corvo crouching down in front of me, the earlier resentment strangely absent from his face. His dark eyes kept my attention to him, spoke to me with their strange glint. My spine hurt as the wall I leaned against dug into my back, causing my legs to grow numb. Corvo's features swam before my distorted vision whilst particles still danced in the corners of my eyes.
"Are you okay?" the man asked.
What the fuck kind of question was that? I fought off the urge to spit in his face again, knowing it would most likely result in another painful cheek. His arm came up to hold onto my shoulder, but he stopped himself halfway as he suddenly appeared to think better of it. His eyes darted across my face — an annoying habit of his.
"Stop looking at me," I growled.
Corvo sighed, his hand traveling through his greying hair. His eyes didn't leave me. "What is it you need?" he asked, the calmness in his voice causing me to hesitate, to think for a second.
What I needed?
I didn't know what I needed, only what I wanted. I wanted plenty. I wanted to not be me for example. I wanted to not be here. I wanted to not know what I knew and to not loathe what I loathed. I wanted to forget myself and forget everyone else. I wanted this uncontrollable anger to stop burning my insides.
I wanted…
"Fuck you!" I spat out, shoulders bumping against the wall and sending a shock of white hot pain through my body. My eyes twitched but didn't look away from the dark pair before me. Corvo simply nodded and stood, sending me a look over his shoulder.
"Come," he ordered before walking away, leaving me a heaving mess against the wall. I didn't want to follow the Royal Protector. But I didn't want to remain in the unfamiliar hallway, either. The conundrum frustrated me to no end, but I knew sitting there wouldn't be any better than what might come if I chose to obey.
And so I stood, the muscles around my shoulder protesting the movements. I knew my stitches had been torn, but I wasn't about to make a fuss about it. I wouldn't allow Corvo to know just how much his punch had wounded me. I fell into step with the broad man before me, following him with fists at my sides and teeth clenched tightly together.
The more we walked the more my anger dissipated until I was filled with a strange hollow feeling. The energy that had electrified my muscles and driven my heart to near explosion leaked out of me; my spine relaxed and wilted, causing my aching shoulders to slump. This wasn't me. This had never been me. Anger took caring and I definitely refused to care. Should I feel ashamed for allowing my emotions to overflow in such a way?
No. This hadn't been me. Something was going wrong. I was feeling. Too many feelings. It was something with Sokolov. Something to do with him. Why had he done this to me? No. It wasn't something he had done. I needed control. Control had always been my forte, the thing I did best. I thrived on control. But my anger had been about control, had it not? I had baited both men into doing what I wanted them to do. I had pulled the strings and used my knowledge for ill-suited means. Pettiness.
What was happening to me?
A number of soft knocks were the only sounds that alerted me as the door silently opened. I didn't turn to look, continuing to gaze out over the seemingly endless sea instead. I sat in a wooden chair, my bare feet propped up against the windowsill in front of me. I'd been sitting there for hours now, the physical pain of what had happened earlier still freshly present. The stars hadn't left my vision, their strange shapes hiding in the corners of my eyes.
The window showed me her pale face poking out from behind the heavy wood, checking to see if it was okay to enter. I did not meet her gaze.
I heard the delicate steps inching closer, and knew a cart of something must be following behind as I heard the wheels squeaking. She came to a halt next to me, her fine perfume filling the air around her. I knew exactly which brand she used and why she had started wearing it. I also knew that she kept a few spares hidden away in her safe room, just in case it went out of production someday.
"Hey." She spoke softly. As one might approach a child.
I didn't react to her careful greeting, eyes still focused on the dark twisting waves — they wrote my name in foam and salt, but I found myself unable to read the words. She hesitated, a soft hitch of breath betraying her nervousness. The weather was cloudy, casting the world in a sorrowful grey light, the endless shroud a vision of something akin to melancholy.
Which was utterly ridiculous.
"I brought you some food..." she started, and I could see her reflection move. "Doctor's orders."
I glanced at the cart she'd brought, the expensive silver only reflecting the dreary greyness that hung outside. I didn't feel particularly hungry anymore, the emotional overload having left me sick. The pain didn't help either. Corvo had warned me, told me to cool my burning cheek.
I hadn't.
I could see the dark bruising that had steadily spread during the past hours, my face undeniably swollen on one side. I knew she was trying to look at it; her gaze had always burned straight into me. She lifted the lid from the food, revealing a large meal that could feed at least two people. The scent, strong and sweet, hit me in the face with its intensity. She didn't say anything, waiting for a response from me instead. But I wasn't in an interactive mood, I'd had enough of people for the day. I glanced at my bare feet, my pale toes covered in tiny scars. Some I remembered, but most I didn't.
"What did you say to my father?" The question was sudden.
I didn't bother to look at her, my glare pointed toward the waves instead. If I listened closely enough, I could hear the hidden tunes that traveled all this way, even through glass.
"I'm talk-"
"Go," I cut her off, my voice a deep rumble. I hardly recognised myself anymore. My hair an unkempt mess, face bruised and swollen, and my voice strangely aged. I didn't even know who I was now, and that just sounded pathetic. I could hear the songs approaching, felt them nearing in my bones. A strange hum. It crackled within me, tickling my sensitive ears.
"I can't leave until you've eaten all of this," she said, her voice hard and unrelenting.
I turned to glare at her at last, noting the mild surprise as she witnessed the extent of my bruising. She recovered quickly, schooling her features back into a stern mask.
"Doctor's orders, like I said." Her hand was on her hip, thin fingers splayed against her blue robes, the curve of her thigh accentuated by the gesture. I turned my eyes back to the window in front of me. My heartbeat had increased again, hot blood pulsing through my body. I reflexively removed my jacket, leaving me in a thin white undershirt. I felt instantly better, the stiff fabric no longer suffocating me. I turned my gaze to the food at my side, my gut protesting the large meal.
"What did you say to him?" she asked once more, her voice more insistent.
I prodded the food and watched it move away from the pressure. "It's private," I told her without turning, knowing exactly what her face would look like right now.
"Alright." A small hint of anger mixed through her otherwise careless tone. "Either you tell me, or you eat."
I rolled my eyes at her perseverance, knowing she wouldn't let this go. If there was one thing I knew about her it was that she was as stubborn as they came. All regal control and that sort of thing. I wasn't going to tell her anything. I had my reasons, as nonsensical as they sounded — even to me. That left me with only one option to stop her nagging.
I fully turned my body towards the cart, picking up the fine cutlery and ignoring the waiting Empress. I started forcing the food down my throat, small bites flushed away with the water she'd also brought. The greasy meal made me feel sick, my stomach disagreeing with the continued consumption. Pretending the Empress wasn't there was harder than I'd hoped. Her flowery scent distracted me. My keen awareness of her burning stare did me no favors, either.
I wondered if these had truly been Sokolov's orders, but without having heard them from the physician himself I could only assume they were. Would the old man have told the Empress about his assessments? Or perhaps he only informed Corvo. No, that would be silly; the Empress was in charge. She'd know everything. Would Sokolov omit how I'd lashed out? Even if he did, I was certain Corvo would tell her. Judging from her behaviour and questions, she knew almost exactly what had happened.
That meant that she knew something was up, and that she would probably try to get me to talk about it. It was just who she was. But for all the talking I usually did, I wasn't keen on talking about personal subjects. I'd opened up to her out of pure necessity — I had made myself believe. There was no need for her to know more than I'd already shared. Not about what I was feeling, at least. No, my feelings were my own — no matter how unfamiliar they were.
"You do this thing with your eyes whenever you're thinking." My gaze snapped to the woman who still stood beside me, her delicate hands leaning on the tray as she watched me "Maybe you've always done this, I just couldn't tell because they used to be so black." She bit her lip. "Your eyes, I mean."
I watched the white teeth that dug into the rosy skin of her lip, drawing my attention in. I didn't recall ever biting mine. Would it hurt? I doubted it. The teeth never appeared to pierce the skin.
"You're doing it again."
My eyes snapped back to hers in surprise, sharpening at her unwanted observations. "Don't you have a city to neglect?" I asked, leaning back into the chair. Just a few more bites and I'd be finished. The Empress's eyes narrowed, eyebrows pinching together.
"You're snappy," she commented.
I returned my attention to the food before me, twisting my fork into the foreign brew.
That's when I felt her hands push against my chest, her thin fingers brushing against my cold skin. She'd lifted my shirt before I could protest, too distracted by her sudden invasion of my personal space. "You've been bleeding this entire time?!" she looked at me with both shock and incredulity, eyebrows up to her hairline. Her fingers were wrapped around the material of my shirt, which was soaked with blood.
I did the first thing I could think of, my pale hands quickly taking hold of her narrow shoulders and pushing her back carefully — reclaiming the air around me. Her eyes had widened with surprise, a few strands of hair escaping her tidy bun and now framing her face. I quickly looked away. Back to the ocean. Back to the waves of foam and salt. My hands lay in my lap, fingers twisting the rings.
I didn't want to talk. Didn't want to be. I was too overwhelmed with being.
The scent of her perfume suddenly stung, and I just wanted to get away from it. So I stood, bare feet touching the dark wooden floor. I walked, but I had no destination. The world was full of places, but I had no place in it.
Keep walking.
I paced.
My hands felt singed by her warmth, and numb from the strange electricity that had shot through them. I'd been bleeding. Leaking blood, leaking life. I was dying, or dead. I didn't know anymore. I felt the cool touch of my rings against my throat as my hand came up to rub it, to hold it —to close it.
It was no use. I was dead. But I was moving. Walking. And she was there. Watching. Smelling — of flowers. Her shoulders warm to the touch, rounded. Her body…
In front of me, blocking my path.
She looked angry, annoyed maybe — her arms crossed in front of her, eyes spitting fire at me. "What is wrong with you?" she asked, her hand rising to accentuate her words, her hip joining the extended limb's movement. I felt my heartbeat in my neck, the veins full of my own sick blood. It was everywhere. Boiling within me. Until I exploded.
"Your perfume is too strong!" I yelled at her, my arms thrown up as if to put more force behind the words. Her eyebrows shot up quicker than I could see, her entire posture changing in the blink of an eye. I'd surprised myself as well with the sudden confession. I could feel another tickling the back of my throat, begging to be released. "And your hips annoy me!"
This seemed to confuse her even further, but it felt good to say these things. For the first time since this afternoon I felt a sense of relief, the burning inside my chest cooling somewhat. I started pacing again, my arms moving as I spoke. "And your father keeps touching me with his large ape hands!" I ranted. "And fucking Sokolov took away my clothes like the greedy son of a bitch he is!" The memory made me shudder, the feel of crusty old fingers and prune-like skin. "And my mind echoes with nothing but dead people and perfume brands!" My fists balled up in my hair now, pulling at the dark strands. "And there's fucking whales outside my window playing music!" My voice cracked as my arm shot out towards the window, motioning at the dark body of water that lay outside. My chest heaved, my lungs burning from exertion.
The Empress just stood there, watching my face with an unreadable expression.
I realised I'd complained about her perfume — twice. The air around me felt lighter, the strange heaviness that had hung over me expelled alongside the pent up frustrations. I hadn't realised I'd been bottling them up, had never had any experience with these sorts of feelings — at least as far as I could remember. I felt a small inkling of embarrassment at revealing them to the Empress before me. But I'd needed it.
Needed. Not wanted.
Her dark eyes stared at me still, mouth slightly agape. She was frowning, her face poised as if she'd just asked a question. I retracted my remaining hand from my hair, realising I'd probably messed it up even further. We continued to stare at each other in silence, apparently both at a loss for what to say.
And then I was surprised by the sound of soft laughter. The Empress's shoulders shook, her eyes alight with amusement. I raised my eyebrows questioningly, confused at her sudden change of temper. This seemed to amuse her even further, shaking her head at me.
"What's so funny?" I dared ask her, suddenly aware of my lack of pockets where I might hide my hands.
She waved at me with one hand, covering her face with the other as she attempted to collect herself once more. I decided to just cross my arms instead, unexpectedly reminded of the sharp pain in my shoulder. "You're hormonal," she said, a smirk marking her amusement.
I took an offended step back, head shaking in denial. "No I'm not," I parried the statement, refusing the entire notion.
She just nodded at me, the strands of hair dancing in front of her face. I stared at the woman in front of me, the surrounding walls suddenly closer than they had been before.
She was wrong.
I had been the face of the Void for over 4000 years; to say I was hormonal was nothing short of degrading. I wasn't just some teenage boy angry at the world — was I? I turned away from her out of frustration, returning to my chair and sitting down in it once more. I stared at my distorted reflection, beyond which the sea danced and tumbled. I wasn't like them — couldn't be. I looked down at my hands, at the blue veins that branched beneath my pale skin.
"It's not just that, though." She had appeared beside me, lowering herself until she crouched next to me. She looked into my face, her features serious and lined with mild worry. "You're not really human, either."
I looked back at my veins, the life that flowed through me. If I wasn't human, then where did that leave me? Alive, but dying. I was an anomaly. An imbalance.
"You're still connected to the Void in some strange way," she theorised.
I frowned at her words. Had I become like the Eye of the Dead God? Just another Void artefact? "What makes you think that?" I tentatively asked, curious as to what she might have come up with. Her eyes danced over my face, hand rising up to take hold of mine. Her soft skin was an unfamiliar and magnetising sensation against my own.
"I recognise it from my dreams." She spoke, gaze distant. Her fingers traveled across my wrist, up my arm. The palm of her hand covered me with its heat, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "I feel it on you."
My breath was stuck in my throat, my eyes glued to hers. She looked up at me, her dark lashes accentuating her expressive stare like a gilt frame on a painting. I swallowed carefully, daring myself to continue breathing.
Her lips moved as they prepared themselves for her next words, the shiny pink skin puckering. "And…" I could see her tongue push against her pearly teeth, her hand tightly wrapped around my bicep still. "...I know hormones when I see them."
Before I could react she had risen again, her face betraying nothing of her thoughts. "You can't just do that," I protested, sounding as affronted as I felt. The Empress just continued to look down on me, eyebrows raised in mild question. I diverted my gaze, feeling oddly betrayed by her.
"And you can't just pull the floor out from under somebody, but that's another discussion entirely," she replied.
I was reminded of her face when I'd caught her, the pure shock that had been radiating off of her. I hadn't been able to touch her then. I hadn't been real. But I'd been intrigued nonetheless, wrapping my hand around her small wrist to pull her up, the faint whisper of a sensation at the back of my mind.
"You have a meeting with my father tomorrow at eleven."
I gazed out the window, noticing the darkening skies. The sun had started to set.
"I suggest you catch some sleep, get those stitches looked at first thing in the morning."
I knew I wasn't going to, the Void would freeze over before I'd willingly subject myself to Sokolov again. But I wouldn't protest her suggestion aloud. I saw her glance back at me through her reflection, her features distorted by the glass. I wondered what she was thinking about in that moment, her eyes unreadable from where I sat.
"Goodnight." Her words were soft, hanging in the air a moment before she turned away, walking towards the large doors. I didn't respond, instead watching her reflection silently as she left the room. The door clicked shut behind her, her scent still lingering around me. I slumped in my chair, feeling my lungs deflate at last. The strange tension that had slithered around me finally dissipated. So many things I didn't quite understand, couldn't grasp. But there was one thing I knew for certain.
I wouldn't sleep tonight. So I remained in the chair that had been my sole support in the hours past, the strange tunes of whale song echoing in my ears.
To say I felt fine that morning would be a complete and utter lie. In fact I did not feel fine, not even in the slightest. My body hurt all over — from my face to my shoulders, my back to my abdomen.
As if that wasn't enough, my lack of sleep that night had rewarded me with a pounding headache. The whale song had been echoing through my ears all night: the same notes for hours on end, a somber cry from beyond and below the waters of the Wrenhaven. When the sky started to lighten — the warm arrival of the sun painting the occasional cloud with a golden hue — I had completely lost all sense of time.
My stomach had started rumbling what seemed like decades ago, the lack of food the previous night causing it to audibly protest my hunger strike the day before. The physical reminder of famine left me chagrined, the sensation too unpleasantly familiar.
Was I supposed to join the royal family for breakfast again? The Empress hadn't mentioned anything of the sort the day before, so did that mean food would instead be brought here? I rested my forehead against the window, the glass cooling my skin. I'd been up watching the sea instead of catching some much needed rest. How was I expected to sleep when my thoughts constantly stirred within me. I was restless.
I felt like I stood at the precipice of something — something larger than my sort-of-human understanding could grasp. The sky looked strange to me, a blueish veil separating the clouds from the stars. I could see it move, see it dance in the winds that blew hundreds of feet above the earth. It was but the calm before the storm, and I was present at the eye. Or — if my pessimistic instincts were to be believed — I was the eye.
I closed said eyes, my skull pounding from exhaustion. I was surprised when I heard a set of soft knocks resound from the door, wondering who might come by so early.
I didn't open my eyes, nor did I lift my head from where it rested against the glass. Instead I listened. Shuffling feet entered the room followed by the same squeaking I'd heard the day before. The person paused at the door, gaze burning into my back, before reluctantly continuing forwards. I knew they could be neither the Empress nor Corvo; both possessed a much more measured walk. This person was unbalanced, and it wasn't long until their scent reached my nose — spices and old musk.
"What a rather unpleasant surprise." I spoke, my breath warming the window. "Anton Sokolov."
The old man grunted from behind, but I didn't turn to meet his haggard stare. "Empress Emily Kaldwin sent me." His voice wasn't as harsh as it had been the day before, his tone more controlled.
My interest was piqued at the mention of the Empress's name, opening my eyes and turning around to scowl at the old man. "And what made her do that?" I questioned, pinning the man with my cold gaze. I could see he was uncomfortable. Good.
He licked his lips, hands leaning onto the cart for support. I noticed how his fingers wrapped around the handle just a fraction too tight. "She asked me to attend to your stitches, said she'd noticed they'd been torn." He raised an inquisitive eyebrow at me, his eyes quickly taking note of the dark splotch of purple that covered my cheek. "I assume she wasn't the one responsible?" he asked, gaze flitting between my red stained shirt and my bruised face.
I snorted, turning back to the window. "None of your business." I crossed my arms, resting my feet against the windowsill once more.
The old man let out a soft sigh, his reflection moving his hand up to stroke his beard, fingers weaving through the hair. "She also mentioned something about... dead people and whales?" The physician edged toward the question cautiously.
My heart skipped a beat. So she'd told him? I returned my gaze to the old man, watching him from the corner of my eye. "I remember everything." I spoke slowly, watching the man with great care.
He nodded, eyes moving around the room as he considered what I'd said. "Everything as in...?" He was careful with his words, I noticed. A stark contrast to the day before.
"As in 4000 years of consciousness." I didn't say life, because it technically hadn't been living. I'd been nothing more than an apparition, a ghost floating in the endless depths of the Void.
The physician nodded again, clicking his tongue in thought. I turned my body fully towards the man, interested in what he might say. He appeared to take notice, unconsciously shrinking back now that my full attention was directed at him. "I thought as much," he said, eyes not meeting mine.
With that he moved around to the other side of the cart, lifting the lid to reveal a variety of medical supplies and another plate of the strange food I'd been served the day before. His bony hands wrapped around a small container filled with a black oily substance. I could hear his heavy breathing as he moved, for the first time noticing just how bad his health must be.
He walked around the cart again until he stood in front of me, motioning for me to lift my shirt. I did as he asked without comment, curious about the strange substance. The man lowered himself until he sat kneeling on the wooden floor in front of me, his entire body trembling with the effort. His eyes quickly shot up to my face, only to look away almost immediately. I had deeply unsettled him, I realised. Which was to be expected after the things I'd revealed about him — secrets he had planned to take to his grave.
"I've been up all night working on this." His voice sounded fragile now that the usual contempt was absent. His fingers dug into the substance, the movement drawing strange sounds from the black mass. "It's neutralised whale oil," he explained, lifting two fingers covered in the black sludge towards my abdomen.
I was shocked when the substance hit my skin, its cool and oily texture quickly replaced by a crackling force I did not recognise. The songs I'd been hearing all night instantly exploded in my ears, louder than I could bear. I clenched my teeth, noticing how the black substance shifted to a vivid blue on my skin, seeping into the surrounding veins and filling them with the same bright light. A pattern of white lines was drawn across my stomach, and the skin that had been held together by stitches quickly closed on its own — the wound healing in a matter of seconds.
It wasn't just visual — I could actually feel the light as it filled my vision, the world unbearably bright. The orchestra of whales sang at a crescendo, their sorrowful music thrumming through my bones and beating with the rhythm of my heart. I saw flashes, bits of memories that had been corroded. Saw Daud's ghost in the Void — noticed Billie Lurk behind him. I could hear his voice whisper in my ear, like the turning waves. I could see the streets of Karnaca — Lurk leaning against a wall. I could see rats. Dunwall. Could see the people walking the streets, ignoring me. Saw flashes of buildings, of a home, of canned foods, of Empress Jessamine Kaldwin.
And as sudden as the visions had come, they'd disappeared. The whales quieted as my vision darkened, the room coming back into focus. I was breathing heavily, beads of sweat running down my face and body. I saw Sokolov's face, his eyebrows set in a grim line, eyes following me closely. My heart beat steadily, but fast, the force of it hurting my chest. I noticed most of my pain had disappeared; my face, shoulder, and stomach all feeling warm and pleasant. I glanced at my abdomen and distantly noticed that the wound had disappeared as well, the stitches fallen to the floor. A distinct glow was still visible where the gash had been — the skin appearing lighter than the rest of my body.
I glanced up at Sokolov, who was mumbling to himself again, his oily fingers held at a distance. His eyes met mine with a sharp look, the corners of his mouth turned downwards.
"Do you know what happens after a whale is leached of all its oil?" he asked, hand leaning on the windowsill as he carefully raised himself off of the floor, his knees wobbling.
"It withers away and dies," I replied, frowning at the Physician.
He merely nodded, returning the container back to the cart.
"But I'm not a whale," I added, craning my neck to follow the man as he moved.
He shook his head, hands lifting the plate of food. "No, you're not whale," he agreed. "Whales are ancient creatures, their oil possessing many qualities our current science cannot possibly comprehend." He handed me the plate. "They can live up to hundreds of years — but take away their oil and they rot."
I reluctantly accepted the plate, my stomach leaping at the offered food.
"You're rotting, somehow — withering away." He looked at me with big eyes, stressing the importance of what he was telling me. "Something within the oil carries the same supernatural powers that bound you to the Void all those centuries ago. And something about the Void is now killing the both of you."
I knew the whales and the Void were closely connected, knew that if I was in fact a walking, talking Void artefact I'd be indirectly connected to the whales as well — as I'd always been. I also knew the power of the whales better than anyone, knew their secrets and their shared knowledge. They had always sung to me in my final resting place at the heart of the Void. Now that tether had been damaged somehow, a rip in the natural flow of things. Corrupted.
"That wound was no normal wound," Sokolov added, already busy writing down what he'd learned. "I think it's important you tell me how you got it."
I looked down at the food on my plate, the strange substance of mystery. "I don't know." I spoke earnestly, avoiding the man's gaze. I didn't remember how I'd ended up in that alley, bleeding out on the wet stones. But I had just seen flashes of memories, things that had been wiped from my mind.
I remembered seeing Lurk, not only within the Void but in Karnaca too. She'd been alive — had been there when I'd returned to the world. Had she been the one to let me go? I remembered Daud whispering in my ear, his ghost fractured and corrupted within the Void. He'd been a wandering soul, stuck there forever — initially, at least.
But the more I reached for them, the more confusing the images became. Fragments leaking into each other, convoluting my mind.
Sokolov pointed at my plate. "Eat that, it'll strengthen you up."
I looked at the mass of discoloured food before me, the cloying smell wafting up. "What is it?" I asked, moving a fork around in the substance.
Sokolov regarded me with an interested look, his eyebrows pinched together. "It's a concentrated combination of essential nutrients focused on fat and muscle gain, with a hint of oil," he explained, a teaching tone in his voice.
I lifted the fork to my mouth, tasting the same strange brew of sweet and greasy food as the day before. Except this time I was actually hungry, my stomach eager to receive the filling substance. The Physician was about to walk away, taking the cart with him, when he stopped to look at me for another moment. I continued to eat, ignoring the old man beside me.
"You're nothing like I expected." Sokolov's voice was raspy as his hands once again wrapped around the handle with a vice-like grip. I was slightly surprised by his sudden statement, though I shouldn't have been; of course he'd say that.
"You mean not quite as twisted as yourself?" I questioned, gaze trained on the food before me. I noticed the soft sigh that left his lips, the sound so faint as to be almost inaudible.
"I suppose." There was something distant in his voice — something small and fragile. The high pitched squeaking of rolling wheels trailed the shuffling elder as he turned away at last and left the room, leaving me to my food and my thoughts.
There were many things for me to think about with the unexpected appearance of the Royal Physician, but I felt that my mind was much too tired of itself to truly make sense of all that thundered within the hidden recesses of my brain.
I finished the plate in record time, relieved to be rid of the agonising hunger. I deposited the porcelain onto the wooden floor, noticing the absence of pain as I bent over. I looked at the recently healed wound again, curiosity taking over. There was nothing left of the nasty gash that had decorated my stomach, the skin as smooth as it had always been before. I prodded the patch with my finger, checking to see if all was indeed right.
The pressure didn't hurt in the slightest.
Then I poked at my face and shoulder, surprised that they too felt absolutely fine. I stood from my chair, minding not to step onto the emptied plate beside it. With smoothly controlled steps, I walked towards the small adjoining bathroom. The tile was cold beneath my feet, my skin sticking to its smooth surface. I slowly walked up to the mirror that hung in the left corner, surprised by my reflection.
The bruising had disappeared entirely.
Before me stood the same person I'd seen the morning before, the sharp jawline and high cheekbones as pronounced as they had ever been. The stubborn stubble had grown yet again during the night, dusting my skin in an even darker shadow. Two bright hazel eyes stared back at me, a very minute glow still emanating from them. However the glow was not what caught my attention; that was the sight of my hair. The absolute mess sat upon my head and stuck out at all possible angles.
I let out an annoyed sigh, irritated with the unruly tresses.
I used my newly replenished energy to wash up, taking my time as I attempted to shave without cutting myself. It was folly to think I'd be able to pull that off — what with my poorly developed motor skills.
Fresh, and with a few small cuts in places hopefully no one would notice, I searched around the room for a change of clothes. I was relieved to find the Empress had thought ahead, discovering a neat bundle stashed away in a large dresser.
Changed into a new set of clothes that looked strangely similar to the previous ones — which was most likely due to them being blue — I cautiously looked out into the hallway beyond my doors. Careful to avoid guards that might trap me with small talk, I made my way towards Corvo's office. At least I tried to, once again aware that I had not been given any directions. And so I wandered, the hallways slowly turning brighter as the sun continued to rise.
I knew I'd found the right door when I confirmed the absence of guards nearby, figuring the Royal Protector would not need protecting. I knocked on the large door, not sure how hard I was supposed to hit the wood, and was surprised to discover how loud my knuckles hitting the surface actually sounded. I took a quick step back, waiting for the door to open.
It wasn't long until the face of Corvo Attano peeked out, his dark eyes quickly locking onto me. "You're early," he commented.
I realised then that I'd completely forgotten to check the time — something I'd never gotten into, or even learned for that matter — as I watched the hulking man move aside for me. He gestured for me to enter, his large hand motioning towards the opening behind him. I silently walked into the large room, Corvo following soon after and softly closing the door.
"I see you cooled that cheek, good." He motioned for me to take place at the impressive table that stood in the center of the space we now inhabited. A large map covered the dark wooden surface, and small pins were stuck all over the worn paper. I sat down, hands intertwined on top of the table as I waited for the Royal Protector to inform me of what I was doing here.
Corvo retrieved a couple of documents first, arraying them before himself as he quickly grabbed some writing tools. He sat down in the chair opposite me, dark eyes roaming whatever had already been written down on the notepad he'd retrieved. He let out a tired sigh, absentmindedly rubbing his temple with the hand that held the pen.
"Do you know how long you've been human?" he asked, now tapping his pen on the paper in front of him as he simultaneously browsed through a couple of documents.
"I have no idea," I replied honestly, watching the dissatisfied frown that pulled at his lips.
"Emily found you somewhere last week — bleeding — if I remember correctly?" His dark eyes shot up and searched mine curiously.
I nodded — a movement he soon mirrored, highlighting random strings of sentences that had already been scribbled onto the pad. "I think it's safe to assume you are a direct link to the whale oil problems; meaning something happened to trigger them before Emily found you. Can you tell me the last you remember?" he asked, the dark circles under his eyes seeming even darker in the muted light of the room. I tried to think hard about the past weeks and the newly acquired scraps of visions.
"It started with Daud," I supplied.
"Doesn't it always." Corvo grumbled as he wrote the words. I watched the ink spill from the pen, mesmerised by its flow across the paper.
"He wanted to kill me." I thought of Daud's travels across Karnaca, the people he'd met there. I had watched him change, revert to ways long forgotten, as society reminded him of the sickness he'd worked so hard to forget. "After Delilah was defeated — the Empress safely put back on the throne — Billie Lurk went out to find him." Corvo's eyes shot up at the name.
"Who's Billie Lurk?"
"A child Daud plucked from the gutter with nothing but the clothes on her back. She found him in the hands of a cult… The Eyeless."
Corvo scribbled down my every word, his attention snapping back to me at the mention of the name. "Who are the Eyeless?"
"A cult," I repeated, shooting Corvo an irritated look. "I gave Billie a set of powers."
"But you just said they planned on killing you," Corvo pointed out incredulously, staring into my eyes as he momentarily stopped writing.
I nodded. "They did." I raised my chin, purposefully curt, my eyes drawn to the windows nearby. "Daud passed shortly after convincing Billie to do it. The last I remember – the last I saw, at least – Billie entered the Void carrying the knife that had cut away who I once was: the only object in existence with the power to end me."
I could hear the distant chatter of guards within the labyrinthine halls of the tower.
"And what do you think happened after that?" Corvo asked.
I sat in silence, fingers fidgeting with the cool rings that adorned them as I considered the question. I didn't know what had happened. I had assumed Billie had attempted to kill me, causing the wound on my abdomen — but the freshly resurfaced memories hinted otherwise. The truth of the matter was that I had absolutely no idea what had happened. Why had Daud whispered my name?
"Would you have any clue as to where Billie might be?" Corvo asked suddenly.
I met the Serkonan's eyes, thinking of Billie in Karnaca, leaning against the wall. Rats in Dunwall, Empress Jessamine… "I might know a place."
"Good," Corvo exclaimed, "she's our first lead. We need her before we can tackle anything else. How many days worth of travel is this location of yours?"
I tried to think about it critically, but I found that my sense of scale and distance was just as inept as my sense of direction.
"4 hours?" It was a guess, really.
"Good. That's close." Corvo picked up the paper he'd been writing on and put it into one of the folders, ordering the remaining files as he did so.
"We leave tonight."
"We?" I asked, surprised.
"Yes, 'we' — I don't know what she looks like or where to find her, and I won't barge into an assassin's home without leverage."
I frowned at my newest role, aware that — unlike her father — the Empress did know what Lurk looked like.
"Think you can mark the location on this map?" He handed me a box filled with the same pins as those that had been scattered around the map.
I nodded as I carefully took a pin from the offered box, finding it difficult to wrap my fingers around such a small object. I turned to inspect the map, trying to find a starting point that might help me figure out exactly what I was looking at. I recognised Dunwall Tower, an intricate portrait of the structure drawn onto the yellowing paper. From there I followed a path from memory, recognising landmark after landmark until I arrived at the place that had been on my mind ever since Sokolov had used the strange whale oil on me.
I planted the pin with great care, feeling Corvo's eyes follow the movement. I wasn't surprised when he let out an annoyed grunt at discovering where we'd be headed tonight — I'd be annoyed if I were him, too.
"That's just wonderful." His tone dripped with frustration.
I couldn't help but smirk, enjoying his discomfort.