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(So sorry for the long wait. Pre and post cervical spine surgery were awful. Life is weird and changing a lot, i.e., too weak to open a can, but strong enough to drive. The most recent symptoms of paralysis are reversing. The long term stuff, not so much. Trying to find out why my short-term memory seems to be nearly non-existent. If you're curious, PM me.)

'Damn,' Frankenstein swore. 'Ragar can be vicious. Was he trying to teach me a lesson? Or is it payback for messing with Gejutel?'

Though Gejutel had finally landed a blow, Frankenstein had won the game. The old goat had been so perturbed at losing his cool. The resulting injuries were well worth all the effort to trick the nobles into fighting their best. The aftermath wasn't pretty. The unexpected flight across the field wasn't so bad, but trees didn't only stop motion. Bark tended to cut, deeply sometimes. That's probably why Ragar had called a timeout and refused to allow the two any more rounds.

Remembering the red face of a flustered Gejutel, Frankenstein grinned. 'Heh, so much for the old fart's dignity!'

Frankenstein grunted as the path led uphill. He body was sore, sweaty and bloody. His clothing fared no better. Sir Raizel certainly wouldn't be happy. Maybe he should have waited a few days for his round with Ragar. The clan leader's blows had been quite punishing.

Ragar's soul weapon, Kartas, was capable of filleting the skin right off of a man's bones. The curved blades of the matching short swords were capable of not only physical injury, but also of damaging the aura of power surrounding an individual, further weakening the adversary. Fortunately for Frankenstein, Ragar hadn't done any permanent damage. He'd been careful, much the same as Gejutel.

Despite the nobles' consideration for his humanity, Frankenstein felt shredded, inside and out. He lifted his right hand and peered at it. The entire thing was nothing more than an open wound, barely any flesh left to cover the muscle. His forearm took less damage, but Dark Spear had chewed all the way up to his elbow. 'Hungry beast.' It had taken advantage of every drop of spilled blood.

Frankenstein's head also screamed in pain. The struggle to control Dark Spear's desire for death, destruction and general mayhem was bad enough, but the background cacophony of wailing souls knifed through his mind, an indescribable agony. That pained him more than any physical injury. He would gladly siphon out his own blood to quiet the raking souls for just one moment.

'Power...I need more if I'm going to control this thing. I need to get back to my lab and continue my experiments. I need to find a way to cut off Dark Spear's path to my mind!'

Just how to get back to his lab without raising red flags with the nobles, Frankenstein wasn't certain. He doubted Sir Raizel would deny him a trip for supplies, but how to account for extra time with his experiments would be difficult. Lying never led anywhere good. Then again, as long as he returned uninjured, the master probably wouldn't even ask for an accounting.

'One thing at a time,' Frankenstein reminded himself.

Once the manor came into view Frankenstein realized that he didn't want Sir Raizel seeing his current condition. Showing up like this hurt Frankenstein's pride. Of course, it was his own fault. He had taunted the clan leaders in hopes that they wouldn't hold back.

There was also the problem of Sir Raizel's desire to 'fix' him. Frankenstein's reluctance to allow such exchanges never made a difference to the noble, so he decided to skirt around to the back of the mansion and avoid his master altogether. At least until after he'd cleaned up.

Preparation work for dinner had already been completed, so Frankenstein was certain he had time to bathe before any unwanted encounters with Sir Raizel. Unless, of course, his master decided to approach him. That occurrence was so rare that Frankenstein didn't even consider it a possibility.

Frankenstein's relief at managing to bathe without interruption was short-lived. After checking his appearance in the mirror and regretting that he had no gloves close by, he decided he had hidden as much of the bandaging as possible. The sleeves of his shirt and suit coat covered the snug wrappings on his arms, shoulders, chest and back. What few injuries he had on his legs had been light and were already healing.

Finally satisfied, Frankenstein opened the door of his bathing chamber and nearly collided with Sir Raizel. The noble didn't seem at all ruffled by the close proximity of their bodies, nor did he appear to want to move.

Moments like these were terribly confusing. Was he supposed to step back or stay in place? What should he do?

An eternity passed as Sir Raizel's ruby red eyes stared holes through Frankenstein. 'Why does he do that!?'

Frankenstein blinked. There was that odd flush to Sir Raizel's cheeks again, but he wasn't given time to speculate on its cause. Sir Raizel's eyes dropped and the motion drew Frankenstein's attention. White gloves rested on Raizel's long, elegant fingers. Satin, or something similar. Frankenstein took them, careful to avoid touching his master with his bandaged fingers. And just like that, Sir Raizel turned and strolled away.

Receiving the gloves was an improvement. Usually, Sir Raizel wasted no time raising his powers and healing any injuries. Frankenstein appreciated this small shift in his master's behavior, but there was something else that still baffled him.

'How does he do that?'

There wasn't a word to describe how Sir Raizel walked. It was as though the world could wait for him. He owned it, ruled it. Yet, there was no haughty demeanor, just the knowledge that he had power over the ground beneath his feet. He belonged there, as solid as a mountain. Or, was it the other way around?

None of these things were a thin facade. Everything about him was genuine. 'Who, or what, is Cadis Etrama Di Raizel?'

Frankenstein had never thought to find his place in the world, not after he had turned his purpose to taking out the murderous mutants. Before that, he would rush ahead into anything he was curious about. Now, his focus was divided, research and revenge, though they mostly converged.

Frankenstein shook his head. As for confidence in the knowledge of who and what he was, the only time he felt free to be himself was in a fight. That's why it was so hard to hold back and plan his moves. He wanted to rush in and rip the enemy into little chunks of bloody flesh and bone. No hesitation. That's who he was now. Find the obstacle and remove it.

Perhaps, Frankenstein thought ruefully, he should take some time for reflection, determine what he was missing, what kept him from walking in the world as confidently as Sir Raizel.

And maybe, just maybe, he could learn something from his master.

Disclaimer: I do not own Noblesse, nor do I make any money from this story.