The ancient, expansive ruins were all that were left of the greatest civilization the world had known. They stretched as far as the eye could see, both awesome and vaguely terrifying. Though he had been there dozens of times before, the sight still sent a small shiver down Nikola's spine. He could almost feel a tingle of electricity, contained within the city's labyrinthine interior; he could very nearly taste it. The rush that came from simply breathing the air, better than that of any drug or liquor, made the small hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
He closed his eyes, simply reveling in the intangible gloriousness his ancestors had left behind.
Occasionally, though so seldomly the feeling was nearly irrelevant to him, Nikola experienced regret. Once in a blue moon his breath would catch as he was subjected to a small pang of sadness, so fleeting he often wondered if he had felt it at all. More often, he wondered if it had all been worth it, if he had sacrificed a relatively normal life for the right reasons. He tried to tell himself he had gotten involved with The Five for purely empirical motives, fervently insisting that Helen had had nothing to do with his decision. He was a scientist, after all. That was all he cared about: knowledge, information, enlightenment… and her.
No matter how often he tried to deny it, running through convoluted scenarios in his mind to try to change the outcome, it always, always came back to her. She had been his reason for his involvement with The Five, it had always been her. The rest of them were power hungry fools, but she had been different. So different that Nikola had often wondered if she wasn't simply some greater being, more intelligent, more compassionate than anyone he had ever known.
The tingle he had felt as he laid his long, slender fingers on her arm, preparing her for the injection of source blood which would irrevocably change their lives, that tingle had been the most remarkable feeling he would ever experience: part fear, part excitement, and part… love.
Love? Did he truly understand the meaning of the word? He often wondered to himself, questioning the very foundation of all he believed. Love was about hope and trust, but, more importantly, it was about sacrifice, being ready to give up everything for the person he loved.
Nikola had been ready to make that sacrifice. For him, the source blood had not been about power at all. How could he have known what it would do to him? He could never have imagined that it would change a relatively quiet, brooding boy into a bloodthirsty monster. But that, like so much else in his life, was all in the past. Nikola had an understated control that the others simply did not possess. John had become the raving lunatic, not Nikola, not the one who had sacrificed for love.
There was no denying, though, the blood had changed Nikola. The gentle, already withdrawn boy retreated into the shadows, nearly becoming one himself. He reduced communication with others to the bare minimum, wincing slightly every time someone approached him too rapidly or reached out as if to touch him. Where he once had been pushy and arrogant, he became almost unbearable, lashing out violently when questioned. His physical transformation was just as worrisome. His canines lengthened and pointed unnaturally, his already pale skin becoming nearly translucent. Most troublesome of all, though, were his eyes. Heartbreakingly gentle and serene blue eyes became cold, dark, emotionless. His eyes were what had hurt Helen most of all.
In retrospect, Nikola had barely realized he was changing. He could not feel the alterations himself, but he could certainly see them in Helen's face.
Gradually, he had become even more reticent, completely isolating himself in his lab. His nearly frenzied motions were barely visible, his visage reduced to a blur through a stained glass window. Helen could not help but wonder whom he was trying to protect. Had his self-induced isolation been for their safety, or for his own?
Helen had never forgiven herself for his transformation. She knew, logically, that the gene had already been a part of his DNA, the blood of the species sanguine vampiris coursing, latent, through his veins. Not one of them could have predicted his violent reaction, for the species had died out hundreds of years previously. Helen knew this and yet the loss of the young man she had known weighed heavily on her conscience. Had it not been for his love of her and his concern for her safety, she would still have Nikola- her Nikola- just as he had been.
Helen maintained she had faked his death in order for his scientific work to continue unhindered, but Nikola knew there was more to it than that. She felt guilty. And afraid. Afraid to face him and the monster he had become. His funeral, while a relatively pleasant affair, had been Helen's only chance to mourn over the man she had loved and lost so many years ago.
Nikola's transformations became manageable through medication, more so than he could have hoped. No longer was he permanently a monster, but the danger was always there, lurking just beneath the surface. How could he expect Helen to trust him then, when he was liable to transform whenever angered, putting her in jeopardy? The medication, coupled with Nikola's firm resolve, allowed him to pretend to be normal, but he knew it simply was not the same.
When plagued by doubts about the life he could have led with Helen, he turned to Bhalasaam. The ancient city, though in disrepair, reminded him of a legacy he could fulfill. It fell to him to rebuild the civilization, and rebuild it he would, stronger, more powerful, and altogether greater than anything his ancestors could have possibly imagined.
Opening his eyes and turning on his heel, Nikola Tesla strode purposefully toward the ruins. There was no way he could not succeed. He was an immortal genius, after all.
