"Kaitlyn!"
Some time later, after they had taken the opportunity to calm down from the intense emotions that had overcome them a while ago, it was surprisingly Dario who had pointed out that Kaitlyn was missing, albeit a little uncomfortable, still unable to make proper eyes contact with Clive after all the horrific things he had seen the sniper do. Clive was holding Catherine's hand for her support, scanning the area with his honed senses for her whereabouts. Kaitlyn wouldn't have just run off by herself, would she? No, the girl would have known better than that, especially when they were in such a dark and scary place. Gallows was lifting up small rocks and looking under them, while Jet and Virginia looked behind some of the larger rock formations, the silver-haired android leaning heavily on Virginia's side so he could stand up properly. Clive winced every time he heard Jet make a soft groan of pain, or flinched, knowing that he had injured Jet a little too badly. Once this was over, he really needed to see a proper physician.
Even Dario was helping. Clive felt that he had to restrain himself every time the bandit came a little too close for comfort, his hand unconsciously moving to rest on the thin blade hanging harmlessly on the coat by his side. The swordsman knew he couldn't kill in cold blood anymore, not when Dario was not being a danger to anyone, but that still didn't make his hands itch a little for justice to be done. He had been one of Ravendor's lackeys, but then again, Clive knew that Dario could never be a serious threat to him. He would spare Dario's life, for now, at least.
Clive cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled. "Kaitlyn!" He called again. "Where are you?! Are you hiding?! Did I scare you?! Please Kaitlyn, I am sorry, just come back! Can you hear me?!" Nothing, where on earth could she have run off to? Why would she run away? Clive bit his lip nervously and felt a twinge of guilt run through his body. He had been fighting Virginia and the others, had that been enough to scare the little girl away? Catherine set her hand upon his arm, and gently forced him to lower it, seeming to read his mind and shake her head.
"This wasn't your fault, Clive. I'm sure of that. I think it was-" She began.
"…My fault, perhaps?" Somebody else finished up for her.
Near one of the walls of the cavern, not too far away from the Maxwell Gang, a small ledge made from the collapse of Diablo into the wall jutted out and was a safe distance away from the ground and those who inhabited it, though it was also close enough for conversation to be made without any trouble. Virginia and Jet were the closest to it and backed away towards the others, finding it better to stay within a group. Gallows thought the same and so did Dario, but Clive and Catherine stood at the front, gazing up at the person standing upon the ledge, with a gratified smirk on his face. "Ravendor." Clive spat with utmost venom, narrowing his eyes.
The bandit leader, or at least, what appeared to vaguely look like the bandit leader bowed, keeping with him at all times his air of unnatural grace. "In the flesh." He replied melodiously, looking over everybody present to see if they were all there. Catherine felt her blood run as cold as ice when she noticed the intense changes to Ravendor's body, for now he looked like some kind of horrible experiment gone wrong, with the brands upon his body as testament to that hideous act. His wings glistened in the weak light in the cavern, one held out in front of his body as if trying to conceal something close to him. When he smiled, she could feel her heart seize up in her chest. How many more people close to her heart were going to turn into horrible, fearful monsters like this?
Even Clive appeared to be slightly shaken. "My gods, Ravendor. What in the world happened to you?" His senses had been correct earlier, he had sensed another demon in the area. But why on earth would somebody like Ravendor become a demon? It didn't make any sense. He asked another question, reminding himself to keep every single thing in perspective. Something more important came first. "Where is Kaitlyn?! What have you done with her?!"
The dark-haired man played his mock-innocence card once more, tilting his head slightly to one side. "You have lost track of your daughter? Dear Clive, perhaps you should take better notice of her, or keep her on a leash or something." His smile was infuriatingly smug. "Not to worry. I have her right here, see?" Ravendor removed his wing from in front of his body and revealed Clive's daughter standing next to him, her eyes squeezed closed and shaking. Ravendor's taloned hand was biting down into her shoulder, and though it drew no blood, the hold looked to be very tight and uncomfortable. Kaitlyn's hands were over her eyes, and tears were dripping down from beneath them.
Clive had to hold Catherine back with a firm grip of his own, trying to keep a cool head in a crisis situation. It was insanely difficult, though. Just seeing that man with her daughter made his blood boil like molten lava. Calm down, calm down… He told himself. Looking for a shortcut can lead you astray. Do not let him get the better of you, do not do anything brash… Clive took a very deep breath and decided that negotiation was the best course to take at the time, despite feeling and intense desire to climb up that ledge and beat the shit out of his enemy all by himself. "That is my daughter you have there. Give her back now." Saying this, he took a step forward.
"Stay back!" The bandit leader said sharply and a little more vehemently than he probably wished to. "Stay where you are or I will kill her. Do you wish to see her blood spilled?" Clive stopped in his tracks and growled a little, hating being controlled like this. His hand wound around the grip of his sword, listening to Kuronegaiken silently beg and plead to be used in the heat of melee battle. He did not act, too afraid of what Ravendor could do to Kaitlyn in the small span of time between drawing and reaching his destination. His other hand was nearly being squeezed to death by Catherine, her head down while her body shook with emotion.
"The end of my tail secretes a powerful kind of poison." Ravendor informed them softly, raising his tail and holding the tip near Kaitlyn's jugular vein. "It causes paralysis, nausea and severe discomfort to an adult, but to a child's immune system, it can be quite lethal, and kill within a matter of minutes. I do not have any wish to harm Kaitlyn, but come any closer and I will surely kill her." Catherine empathetically held a hand to her throat and shot a sad look towards Ravendor, which somehow did not reach him. He was beyond being reached, too lost in the dark. "Or," He continued with a neutral expression, "I could try a more traditional method and shoot her dead instead. Which do you prefer?"
Kaitlyn was sobbing very quietly and shaking, confused and very scared. Ravendor was holding her shoulder firmly but very gently, but through the dialogue drowned out by her tears, she pieced together what was going to happen to her. She was going to die. Ravendor squeezed her shoulder comfortingly and lowered his tail, instead pressing the barrel of his pistol into the small of her back. The gun felt cold and unfeeling, and it only scared her more. Yet, though Ravendor's harsh words, adding softly in a tone that only he himself and the girl could hear, he said; "Do not cry, Kaitlyn. I will not hurt you, I promise. Stand still and be a good girl, and nothing will happen to you. Trust me, okay?" Forcing herself to become still, Kaitlyn nodded slightly, barely noticeable, and used all her willpower to halt her flow of tears. Even then, she felt that she could still trust her Uncle Ravendor.
Glaring daggers, Clive's hand was clenched around Kuronegaiken's handle so firmly that his knuckles were turning a pale pasty white. Then, he just couldn't hold the built-up hatred inside anymore and it exploded in his chest. "Gods damn you, Ravendor Begucci! Your quarrel is with me, not her! Stop hiding behind all the distractions and hostages and face me, you disgusting despicable beast! I see the monster in your soul had finally spread outwardly and turned you into your true form! How happy this must make you feel, to destroy the lives of others! Does it give you satisfaction to exist like this?! Will you let Kaitlyn die all over again?! If that is so, then you truly are a monster, and deserve to die!"
Ravendor's calm façade slipped upon Clive's words, and he clenched the claw holding his ARM so tightly that it almost dented the metal of the weapon, the demon's deep green eyes flashing in anger and the runes upon his body flaring once in sync with his emotions. "Did you think that I wanted to be this way?! Do you honestly believe that this was what I desired?! How can you believe that?!" Kaitlyn jumped at the venom in his words and started to cry again, while Ravendor was too riled by Clive's words to notice. "It was you, Clive Winslett, who turned me into this monster! You were the one who signed away my soul for all eternity to live forever as an abomination!"
The swordsman was stunned out of his anger for a moment, the emotion replaced by shock. "…I did what…?"
The bandit leader was gritting his teeth so hard that it was becoming painful. "Eleven years ago… when you destroyed that ruin… you destroyed me as well. But because you forced me to come to such a place, I was killed, and nobody came to save me. Nobody wanted to rescue me. I died there, I think you know that already. But because you let me die… they had a chance to… and Malik… he… he…"
xxx
The explosion had been far too sudden for him to attempt an escape. He did not see the floor fall away around him, or the walls begin to crumble. He called out to the rest of his teammates, but received no reply. He certainly didn't see the huge mound of rock bear down upon him, and when the impact was made, he barely even saw this as well. It was in the moments after, being crushed to death by a huge chunk of the ceiling, when the pain began to register, that Ravendor finally knew that he was about to die. The only companion he had left was the loyal black raven screeching frantically by his side, frightened, upset and hysterical at everything that was happening around him. Ravendor was the opposite, quietly listening to the pain that was creeping up his body in violent agonizing jabs. He didn't complain, he had wanted to die for so long…
Kestorael pulled feebly at Ravendor's shirt, fluttering his darkened wings for a little extra pull, attempting to haul his master out from under the giant crushing stone. It was a hopeless venture, not even fifty strong men would have been able to shift it, let alone haul it out of the way. The small bird cried out in frustration and pulled again, his little talons sliding on the pool of blood forming around the stone and the body underneath it. Rocks fell all around Kestorael, nearly deafening him as the walls began to collapse. Still he tried to free his master. Ravendor opened his eyes, glazed over by the incredible loss of blood. He couldn't feel anything below his waist, it had all been destroyed by the rockfall. His dulling senses caught Kestorael's motions and he slowly shifted his arm, the one that had not been damaged by the fall, sticky with his own blood. With the back of his hand, he knocked Kestorael away.
The bird looked at him, cocking his head to one side, and cawed softly, contemplating what to do. Then, he moved again and grabbed a hold of something stronger and more firmly attached than Ravendor's shirt, attracted by it's gleaming colour in the darkness. Kestorael's beak closed onto a chain around Ravendor's neck, bearing a simple silver cross. It was splashed with blood. The raven pulled on it anyway, in a futile attempt to save his master. Ravendor saw this, and smiled. The dark-haired man's limbs went numb from the lack of blood, and he couldn't even feel the pain anymore. It felt… nice. Kind of fuzzy, and dimming. The lights were going out, one by one, around him. "Kestorael…" He rasped quietly, feeling the bird still trying to free him. "You cannot save me… But thank you… thank you anyway…"
The chain broke and the bird was propelled backwards, dragging with him the piece of bloodied silver. Ravendor closed his eyes and went still, taking in his last breath. A rock grazed Kestorael's side and the bird made a break for safety, fluttering his wings and homing in on the faint pinpoint of light ahead. The wind sprite barely escaped with his life intact, and had lost many feathers in the process. Kestorael took the cross and flew into the sky, finding a place to hide, and to think. A low rumble was the cavern collapsing in on itself, and the bird faintly saw the dust rise from the ruin, and knew that his master had been buried, deeply, under the ground. He alighted on a dead tree branch and warbled sadly, lost.
A long time passed. It must have been hours, many hours, for the dust had finally settled and the rocks had neatly nestled into place, and silence, endless silence, passed through the area like a sacred homeland. There were bodies buried in the rubble, some entirely hidden, and others not quite. Ravendor was one of them, the corpse more or less intact from the waist up. There was a look of exhaustion imposed on his pale face, tiredness, but also a weird kind of content. The silence was suddenly disturbed by a few hushed voices, and somebody knelt down next to the corpse, sending up a little cloud of dust. A slender hand was pressed against Ravendor's cheek, checking his body warmth, and then moved down to take his pulse. There was none. A feminine voice was heard. "Dead." She said, stroking the dead man's raven black hair. "But it must have been less sudden than the other corpses."
Two more people approached, both of the masculine persuasion. The older one of the two motioned to the blood red giant looming above them, unhindered by the intense rockfall, and freed from it's earth-wreaked restraints. The golem still slept, undisturbed. "This one is fine. No damages." He said, and then looked down towards the corpse. Around it, some black feathers had been scattered, stuck to the ground by an amount of dried blood. The body of this man did not seem to have struggled against it's fate, if at all. Beside him, the younger man of the trio plucked one of the feathers off the ground and studied it with fascination, a small smile playing upon his lips.
He looked at the others. "The Hyades experiment." He said, his voice softer and less gruff than his older companion, lilting through the air. "We need a new candidate, do we not? Will this body do? It looks fairly intact, compared to the others." He moved over to his female companion and also knelt with her, tilting the corpse's head up for a better look. Yes, he had absolutely no cranial damage at all. He was in a near perfect condition, and, the young man couldn't help but notice with an immoral glimmer in his eyes exactly how handsome the body was, incredibly handsome, at least to his eyes. The man brushed some blonde hair behind his ear, looking at the feather in his hand. An idea popped into his head, and his fingers began to itch almost pleasantly. He always had the very best ideas. Around him, the rest of his group nodded. "Also," He added, "There are a few other things I might like to test, provided that nobody objects." He received silence, and the scientist almost licked his lips in anticipation.
"Good." Malik said. "Then let us begin."
xxx
The first thing he sensed was darkness. A encompassing shade that swallowed his bruised and smashed body with a gluttonous malice, all-consuming, devouring, tearing away at his flesh with teeth of licking flame, laying bare muscle and organ, allowing blood to escape and diffuse into the thick fluids surrounded him, the jaws of decay. In this transition between life and light, there was death, darkness, and nothing else. He hung there in a suspended animation, breathing in the heady liquid that kept his body a fraction away from total annihilation. A dependency that was second only to a mother and her child.
Consciousness came slowly after and at a snail's pace, all of his senses returning in a murky collective, great gaps between his body and mind leaving no room for proper thought. He was just an awoken vessel with no spirit to give direction, an animated corpse. His legs and arms were numb and unfeeling, dark hair floated loosely in the solution, cut free of it's ponytail ages ago. His lungs, not adapted to breathing in fluid instead of air, shuddered each time he inhaled the water, somehow drawing oxygen from the broth. Something behind his shoulder blades quivered continuously and was considered the most painful of all, nothing could stop the constant hurt, it did not feel right.
Then, Ravendor opened his eyes.
His rhythm of breathing broken, he choked out in astonishment a startled cry, a bubble of oxygen rising from his throat and coughed into the concoction he floated in, a deep blue ichor that felt sweet and nearly nourishing in his system, but unnatural and false. The liquid was running through all his veins and arteries, his bloodstream, everywhere. Ravendor cried out again, refusing to accept the reality that had sent him to this place. Panicking, he thrashed out into the shadows before him, growing dizzy from the severity of the motion, and shrinking back towards a center in the small world he inhabited. Jerking his arms out in such a way caused something unfamiliar to flex suddenly, and his previous cry turned into an aqueous shriek, knowing he was crying even without seeing the tears on his face. A horrible convulsion seized up everything at the muscles in his back, like a severe cramp that spread throughout his body and held him in place.
With all his hysteria spent by the outburst, Ravendor could not help but become silent, his limbs becoming heavy and he just let them float there in the fluid, drifting a few feet above a translucent blue floor. He drew in another shuddering breath, unused to the feel of fluid in his lungs, but it actually felt more sustaining than oxygen ever could have been. His green eyes focussed and looked around the chamber, more like a cocoon of glass and liquid than anything else. He watched his fingers trail in the water with mild disinterest, a comforting feeling of contentment shadowing his mind. This did feel good, if a little wrong, the pain that hurt him so severely was beginning to fade away, leaving the sensation of the thick fluids moving against his bare skin.
What has happened…? The explosion, I was crushed… under a gigantic stone… lying in blood… Why am I here?
It should have killed me… is this it?
Am I… dead?
Ravendor found he had just enough strength to brush loose tresses of dark hair out of his face, it still floated around annoyingly without his consent, but the man found it difficult to be upset at anything in his current state, like somebody had strung him up to a high dosage of calming drugs. He paused with vague interest at something new printed on his arm, writing he had never seen before, he couldn't make it out because his eyes were too blurry, but it still intrigued him. If he was dead, who had written on his arm? Also, if his theory was true, why did he continue to feel pain?
Twitch. Twitch. He trembled again from the pain lanced down his back, feeling with precision like a pair of red hot pokers had been shoved into his back and dragged downward to make a long open wound, one that stung as the liquid flowed through it. Something moved and he gritted his teeth roughly, holding back a curse. It felt like a scar torn wide open, bursting from his skin and laying bare the tender tissues beneath. Nothing had hurt so badly before, never, not once.
He reached outward into the fluid, trying to touch the dark blue casing keeping the liquid inside his weird cocoon. His fingers grazed a cold and hard, yet smooth substance, translucent and slightly glowing. It was unlike any type of glass he had ever seen before, with gooey growths coating the inside of the tank, the solidification of the blue lifeblood like algae, wispy and plantlike. Ravendor dug his nails into the organism, scratching it away to see what lay beyond the glass. It was muffled, but he heard voices, complemented by blurry motions on the other side of the cocoon. There were people, living people outside. He could hear them, they were talking. Ravendor floated closer to the glass, trying to make out the muted words.
"The experiment… is playing god one of your… we are sinners for this deed… I know it."
Ravendor could not make out the entire sentence, and even if he could, he would never have understood it. His mind wasn't working properly, and it had just reason for it. Still, he continued to listen, it was his only connection to the outside world. He scraped away more delicate algae, anxious to get out of this place that was far too uncomfortably cozy for his liking. It felt artificial.
"We found the corpse crushed at Diablo's repository… I assure you, you are mistaken! You… much to uptight. The chances of it animating are great, but… the return of consciousness is at less than three percent. Gods we are not."
"If the wisdom of Hyades is at out disposal… all we work for… then why hesitate to use it? For Adam Kadmon… this project must be fruitful. Are you not excited over the prospect of creating such a being? To see it walk and talk and live again, and even more, to have it do our bidding?"
"You are… twisted, Malik. Bio-material… synthesis and replication are one thing, but … esoteric genetic mutation is abhorrent! Should a soul… still be present, what then?"
"… Unlikely. The … panakeia fluid should sustain the body, but the mind can… survive only from force of will. Melody has a point. For a chance to speak to the gods, to acquire the word of the gods… this may be the only way. Besides, even if it does regain it's memories, which as I repeat is unlikely, we should have complete control over it's free will."
"But that is slavery! … I hate this… A life is a life… we should not be so trivial as to manipulate it to our whim… Even with Gias and the inverted Gemini circuits implanted into the body… it may be too much for it to handle."
Hyades? Adam Kadmon? Panakeia? Gias? All these words made no sense to Ravendor, he did not understand a thing and it scared him. Were the voices talking about him? Who were they? Why did they do this? He wanted answers, and he wanted them now! Through all this, Ravendor still wanted to die. He had gotten so close, he could feel the life drawing out of his body, when it had all gone fuzzy and warm, the rock crushing his body and squeezing away his soul. Why did he still exist? He did not want to exist! Those condescending voices, they had done this to him, just as Clive had denied him his own death years ago, and they had thrown it all back in his face.
Ravendor clenched his fists, feeling a burning heat flare up in his chest that spread down his arms and legs, warming his blood at a temperature even higher than the lukewarm solution around his body. He felt as if he were on fire, a pressure forcing anger out of his mind, giving it power, making it physical…
…Get me out of this tank…I hate this… Let me out… no… I do not like it here… It's… it's horrible… Want out… now… Can't breathe… well… Let me out! Let me out now! I want out! LET ME OUT OF HERE!
A crack appeared in the solid and pulsing glass, increasing in size like a woven spider web in front of the tortured soul within his constricting cocoon. He did not ask for this, to be rescued or spared from the embrace of death, all he wanted to do was die. Nothing more. He could not die if he stayed in here, for the sake of all he wanted to sacrifice, he had to escape. Ravendor slammed his fist against the weakened glass, sensing the thick liquid, panakeia, spilling out onto the other side of the chamber. The water lever inched lower and his fist repeatedly bashed against the obstruction, sliding on the slimy blue algae but not eroding his suicidal resolve. This was the only way out. To die again, Ravendor had to be reborn into the world that he hated so much. For that, he would fight!
It was a terrible shock into reality. The fragile glass cocoon he spent his moment of awakening in shuddered by the pressure of his mind and fists, cracks appearing in every inch of the substance, making his muddled head spin and his consciousness pull back in hysteria. This was just too much for him. A pressure was sucking him forward and backwards at the same time, and he screamed in pure agony yet again as the something at his back thrashed itself against the broken glass and cut him terribly, feeling a burn that could only be the shedding of blood. Ravendor went into a fit of choking when what he inhaled was not the heavy substance he had finally grown used to breathing, but an older element, weaker and thinner, barely sustaining him.
Oxygen.
He was tossed into the air. Glass tinkled all around him with turbid fluid splattering up and everywhere, coating himself, the floor and casting dark blue droplets into the atmosphere. He was still struggling with that strange, thin, fiercely hot substance he had tried to swallow, and spat out a mouthful of panakeia, now noxious and foul tasting, trying vainly to breathe the soft layers of absurdly weak air. White hot pain kept stabbing at him cruelly, laughing at his predicament, and he kept trying to scream, blinded by the brightness of the lights.
Ravendor hit the suspiciously cold floor on his knees, flopping like a soulless corpse and falling prone to his face, coated by the sticky panakeia fluids that ran in rivulets down his skin. His eyes, wounded by the blazing and brilliant source of light around him were forced shut, and he trembled like one who had just been born.
Seven people witnessed this spectacle, clad in their white lab coats and holding their scribbled clipboards handy. It had happened far too soon, their equipment had not even given them a warning that the experiment was so close to completion. Leehalt glanced sharply at the computer screen, dashing for the keyboard to find the source of his error. Werner was at his shoulder immediately, offering any assistance he could possibly give. The rest stood dumbstruck at the panting man, blue gunk matting dark hair to his face, shivering in the middle of their laboratory, a mighty great tower that reached to the clouds.
"This is impossible!" Leehalt called to the others, fingers flying expertly over the keyboard, "There must be some error, the birth has occurred far too prematurely, no hope for success can be given now. Our experiment is a failure." He looked over his shoulder at the others, seeing the experimentation clearly breathing and alive.
"He lives…" Malik breathed in awe, slowly moving a hand to cover up his mouth in shock, "We have done it. We have rejuvenated life…" His eyes went over the still living body, a gradual smirk spreading across his handsome face. "And," He added, barely containing his joy, eyes filled with elation, "The genetic mutation has proven successful!"
But Melody proved to be much more pessimistic. "Yet based on statistical facts, there is a next to nothing chance that the corpse still contains his living soul. We may revive a body, but supplementing memory is impossible." Her white lab coat rustling with her shapely body, she gingerly knelt near the shaking man and pulled aside some of his matted hair, checking for a discerning reaction. She adjusted her glasses and narrowed her eyes, looking closely.
"I want… to… die." Ravendor rasped between ragged breaths, barely audible. "Ple…ase. Let me… die."
Her head jerked up and Melody shot a glare at Malik that pierced through him like a laser. "Fortune is with us today. His soul still lives. Quick! Prepare an IV, Malik!" Her spearing gaze thoroughly swept over the other members of the Council of Seven, augmented by her small reading glasses. "Don't just stand there and gawk! Pete! Duran! Get a room ready, and Elliot! Find a blanket or something, anything warm!" The man moaned next to her, spitting out another string of horrid panakeia. She put her hand to his bare back, massaging the ruined shoulder blade.
The others scurried off to do her bidding, knowing better to argue with Melody when she was in her bossy frame of mind, which was often. Werner whirled around, the ends of his long lab coat moving fluidly with him. "Guardians forgive us, for we have sinned." He said with simplicity, shaking his head. He looked up and to the right, where another cocoon slept without interruption, containing a pure and almost holy shining light. The sample of Filgaia, Adam Kadmon. Were all these acts of imitating God worth such pain?
Leehalt paused on his frantic typing, closing his eyes momentarily. "This is only the beginning," He said under his breath, only to himself, "If we can synthesize a superior body from the wisdom of Hyades, as we have just done, then someday perhaps even ourselves will share a similar fate." He said the last part bluntly, as if it were a fact of life; "Superiority is absolute."
Purring softly like a contented kitten, Melody leaned down to Ravendor's ear, whispering to him with a voice even sweeter than honey. "I know it hurts now, I'm sorry it has to hurt, but soon, the hurt will be over and the pupa will change to his true form, one that is beyond perfection." Her hand reached up and squeezed the new appendage sticking out of his back, slicked down with lifeblood and twitching. Ravendor howled out in mindless agony, the muscles under Melody's fingers contorting in pain.
A little bit of red mixed with the vibrant blue of the panakeia fluid, ground bits of glass encrusted a cut open wound, leaking red ichor onto the floor and mixing into a growing puddle. Elliot returned in a puffing hurry, handing the woman the blanket off his own bed, the only thing he could think of to cover up the experiment. Consolingly, she whispered more husky words to him, trying to ease the suffering within his mind. "Do not worry, darling. Reincarnation is the apex of beauty, do not shrink from fear." The warm blanket touched his back and the man screamed one last time, his throat raw from the thin air.
"Kaitlyn... Catherine… Clive… somebody... anybody... please help me..."
Ravendor blacked out, and wished death could be his.
xxx
He awoke to a gentle stroking, a soft pillow practically smothering his face. The fabric felt coarse and a little rough, but soothing and most importantly, warm. Ravendor snorted out a quick breath, pushing forward with the side of his face into the pillow and moaning slightly, feeling a long and dull ache claim just about every muscle in his body. A thick blanket was pulled up over the lower half of his body, and he lay flat on his stomach upon a very comfortable bed, vaguely noticing how cold the temperature of the room felt. He was groggy and dazed from a very long sleep, it seemed like a week had passed in his unconsciousness, when only the greater half of the day had run it's steady course.
Shaking his head a little and hearing a hushed scratching sound of his dark hair upon the pillow, he finally laid his cheek against the cushion and opened his eyes. At first, everything was illegibly blurry for about ten seconds before clearing up and showing him the world that was, the world he found himself existing in. The wall was green, yellowish and black, spun into a confusing pattern of swirls and spirals that muddled up Ravendor's newly awoken mind. The room was sharp and incredibly inorganic, almost as if it had been chiseled straight out of a block of stone, enclosing him like a huge box.
Hair fell across his face, not pulled back and out of the way like he usually wore it, ebony strands marring his vision. He was about to move a hand back to sweep away the obstruction, but as his fingers twitched from the impulse, pain shot down and clamped upon his wrist, forcing it immobile. If he moved at all, the pain would just be too much. Ravendor sunk back into the pillow, sighing away his disappointment. He would be stuck there for a long while.
Then he noticed the brushing.
It was unlike anything he could properly describe, a gentle pulling across his back that did not bring with it all the catalysts of pain, but the immediate opposite. It nullified all the ache he felt and brought a pleasing numbing sensation to settle over his entire body, making Ravendor feel sleepy once more. It did not feel right, that was the truth, but Ravendor smiled from the delicate tingles it sent all the way down his back and along muscles he did not remember that he owned.
Hearing the sound of wood scraping roughly on the floor, he registered that his hearing had not been damaged in the least and guessed the cause of the noise, finding himself correct. Ravendor felt the brushing stop momentarily as a timber chair was pulled back, the person at his bedside folding a pair of hands in their lap. He was not alone in the room. "Ah, so you finally woke up. Good evening." The voice was ladylike and sweet, he vaguely remembered hearing it only a very short time ago, amidst the chaos that had seized his mind and denied him death. He thought it was only a dream, was it… real?
The first words he spoke were mortifyingly cliché. "W-where am I?" He whispered into his pillow, barely having the strength to lift his own head. Fingers curling into a corner of his blanket, he spoke to the voice again. "Why do I hurt all over?" He had never ached so much before, not even when his father used to beat him as a child. What had happened? He remembered being crushed… and…
The brushing began again and this time Ravendor distinctly felt a warm hand being placed on his shoulder for condolence, the digits small and tapered. "It is not surprising that you hurt," The voice said, tenderly rubbing away the pain in his back, "But the hurt will not last forever. I estimate you should feel as right as rain by tomorrow morning, just relax until then." Letting her free hand splay outward, she pressed her thumb along the muscles at the edge of Ravendor's shoulder blades, ignoring the mutilating disfigurement that Malik had bestowed upon him, then slid her fingers lower to the muscles just beneath them, pressing firmly. "As for where you are, you are in Yggdrasil, the tree of life, and my name is Melody."
"Melody…" He breathed, tasting the word in his mouth. It was euphonious and delicate, a lovely name for a woman. He wished he could see what she looked like. Ravendor made a slight movement as though he would get up, then grunted when she pressed him back down carefully with her massaging hand, guiding him back onto the bed. "Tell me what happened, please."
"Do not move, shhh…" She crooned, stopping her massage to dunk the coarse hair brush she was using into a bucket set by her feet, the clear water swirling within it bearing a thin film of crystallized panakeia and coagulated blood. Sliding the bristles along the side of the bucket, she dislodged the gunk from the brush into the water, dampening it and starting all over again. She had been doing this for a very long time. "You have just been through a very traumatic operation, do not strain yourself too hard. You are very lucky to be alive."
Ravendor's hand twitched, and looking directly to the side, he could see it was hooked up by the wrist to a strange contraption that held a bag of nearly glowing blue fluid, dripping down a clear plastic tube going straight into the veins in his arm. He should have been mortified by all this, but all his did was blink wearily, wondering what the blue stuff was. "Operation?" He asked, tugging weakly with his wrist and feeling the tube inside his arm stretch, a bizarre sensation.
"You tried to steal Diablo, didn't you?" Melody questioned him, not waiting for his answer. "But that golem is part of our resources in the formation of another experiment, and when I heard that the repository storing the artifact had collapsed, myself and my colleagues went to evaluate the damage." Moving her hand up, she caressed the nape of his neck kindly, eliciting a soft groan from the injured drifter. "We found you instead."
"… I did not mean to break it…" Ravendor wheezed, noticing how dry his throat felt, "… Accident." He coughed, the brief spasm making something behind him flare out and snap at the air, feeling a slight wind rush across his back. It didn't hurt anymore except for at the base, the muscles tight and throbbing. Melody did not touch them, for they were visibly inflamed and reddened, focussing on other areas that were taut with stress.
She ignored his words, concentrating on the brushing and massage, continuing her story. "You were nothing more than a corpse, soul barely residing in the ruined body. Using that structure for the basic blueprint of your design along with the knowledge that sleeps in the information library, Hyades, we replicated your cells and rebuilt your body, piece by piece. The blue stuff you have been coughing up is panakeia, the supplement for all the blood you have lost." Melody said this as if she were reading from off a handful of cue cards, using the informative and impersonal speech of a scientist. "You are," She continued without sensing the skepticism surrounding her patient, "A new design for humanity, an evolved level higher than we have ever ascended before. Merely a prototype, perhaps, but a great step forward in unlocking the arcane wisdom of Hyades."
The dark-haired man registered the information, but simply could not accept it, his tired eyes sliding closed at his command. How could be believe all the stuff Melody was telling him? It was ludicrous! If it were so, then he had gotten so close to death, so very close that he nearly didn't make it. That meant that this body was not his original one, but a composition between his old corpse and a synthesized copy, made by a bunch of scientists. No, he simply could not believe that. "Why did you do it? I want to die… Why did you not just let me die?" He rasped, pulling again on his IV, making the stand containing the panakeia fluid wobble.
"You have been reborn, from the shell of your old self, to a greater glory. What is your name?" Melody asked, smiling as she thought of all the possibilities the success of this experiment could bring them, power, the ability to revitalize the environment, she adjusted the glasses upon the bridge of her nose, maybe even the chance to make herself even more beautiful.
It took longer than usual for him to answer, trying to recall lost information. His name, and the things of his past seemed too far away to be remembered. In fact, he could not remember. "I... I do not know..." He replied finally, hauling himself up on the bed and meeting no painful resistance this time, Melody's hand sliding off his unclothed back. The knowledge, and a great deal of his memories had disappeared, gone. His name was one of those memories. Sitting on his knees with both hands pressed into the soft yet firm mattress, the warm blanket slid off and he felt something was terribly amiss. "My back feels funny… What is wrong?" The drifter turned to Melody, catching his first glimpse of the rather bookish young woman seated by the side of the bed, holding a brush that was slicked with panakeia and blood. Her white lab coat covered her comely figure, with a pair of tiny glasses that made her look every inch the capable scientist. Her face was neutral.
Slowly, she pointed to the right of Ravendor's side with a finely manicured finger, a bemused smile playing on her lips. "There is a mirror over there," She said calmly, "Take a look." Without preparing himself for the shock that Melody was certain he would receive, Ravendor looked almost disinterestedly into the full length mirror near the wall, and then choked out a frightened gasp, all the colour draining from his face. He could have expected a million things to affect the body the female scientist reputed to have given him, but now Ravendor actually believed that what Melody had told him was the truth. Nothing else could explain the… change that had warped his previously human body. This was impossible, simply impossible! He must be hallucinating, or dreaming, or something!
His voice went sharp, edged with fear and a little hysteria, his disrobed arms shaking, deep green eyes a tumult of emotion. "No… No, No! What is this?! What the hell have you done to me?!" He demanded, momentarily losing the ever-present shade of refinement in his voice, reverting to the pitch of a tortured soul. Transfixed, all he did was stare into the mirror, eyes wide, unable to tear his gaze away.
Melody chuckled, entertained at his response. She had expected a reaction like that, as any sane man would have done. Pushing her wicker chair away for the second time, she laid a gentle hand between Ravendor's shoulder blades, an attempt to calm him down. He did not relax in the least, and she spoke; "The blame can be placed on my colleague, Malik. He is the one who designed and engineered your… modification. I think he might have an unhealthy fetish about it, and I am sorry if you dislike it." It was a huge understatement. Still, it pushed forward the drive of their project nearly ten fold, something they could not have even hoped for. It was a blessing, but on Ravendor, a hideous curse.
Long shadowy pinions, iridescent and breathtaking, trailed down the nearly arched twin appendages sprouting from either side of his back, ebony feathers, the same darkish color as his raven black hair, but glistening with a magical shine every time light chose to reflect itself upon the marvelous plumage. Above that, the perfectly proportioned quills shrunk in size and elegance, each feather combined with the one set next to it creating a wall of unearthly beauty, the dazzling unlight heralding the birth of an angel. A dark angel.
The feathers ruffled as Ravendor looked upon them, feeling every inch of his skin catching a fierce case of the goosebumps. His lips parted in a silent gape, trying to form the words that would never come. He had wings, the extra limbs attached to the shoulder blades at his back, flared out and almost toying with the stagnant air in the room. They looked like the regal plumage of Kestorael, but on a much larger scale. And also, poking out from the bedcovers, a long scaly tail hung off the side of the bed, half-heartedly coiled around one of the bed's leg posts. It was tipped with a deadly-looking spike. Ravendor's hand jerked over to cradle his arm lashed to the IV stand, a motion to hide the intense shivering he was doing. What Melody said was true, it was all true.
"Why… did you do this to me? There must have been… others you could prey on." Voice barely above a whisper, Ravendor gritted his teeth and looked sharply away, feeling the ache even more so, now that he knew the reason for it's presence. The shocks of pain were from his wings, still tender at their violent birth. The right wing was damaged from the sharp glass that made up his old cocoon, a long gash running between the inner tertiary feathers that had crusted up and was only beginning to heal. Bile rose up in the back of Ravendor's throat and he forced it down again, trying to regain his composure and calm.
Shaking her head, Melody waved the hand that bore the brush slightly, her fingers moving from the small of his back to the edge of his right wing, the ebony feathers feeling cool and beyond silky, but still a little damp. Malik sure knew how to create beauty when he tried hard enough, yes, this was beyond beautiful. "Circumstance brought you here. If you had not destroyed that ruin, then you would still be human today. The only one you can blame is the one responsible for that disaster. As for myself and my colleagues, we saved your life."
He lowered his hands, wings similarly drooping onto the bed. What had happened, he no longer had any control over the past, it was out of his power. For the first time in a long while, Ravendor didn't know what to do. Melody was right, the only person he could blame was the destroyer of Diablo's ruin. His eyes narrowed, a corrupt glint forming within the emerald depths. "Clive…" He mouthed to himself, hands balling into fists. He remembered that part of his life perfectly. If it were not enough to deny him his sought after death, or mock and crush his feelings by stealing one of the only few women he had ever loved away, now he had to live like this because of that naive fool's stupidity? Ravendor bowed his head, refusing to look again into the mirror, abhorrent of what he knew he'd see.
Melody watched as all the strength seemed to flow right out of him, as if he had lost the sense to even care about himself. His hand tugged one last time at the IV sustaining his system with panakeia, his shoulders twitching with the first and only audible sob she would ever hear him make. Delicately, she reached over the base of the wings and pushed him gently back down onto the bed by the shoulders, meeting no resistance. It seemed that the poor man was in a numbing state of shock. "Do not think too deeply about it," She advised in her extravagantly sweet voice, "You are still exhausted from the operation. What you need to do is sleep, lie down and rest. Things always look better in the morning."
Would there even be a morning for him? He didn't know, he felt a nauseous feeling pulling him to the earth, like an eternal force governing all was rejecting him out of existence. Ravendor wouldn't have minded this, if it let him die, but he still remained in this alien-like room with a girl he had never met before. Well, shit. He just didn't care anymore. Obeying the scientist, Ravendor relaxed onto the soft bed, lying in a prone position similar to the way he had woken up, refraining from resting on his back or side just in case it hurt his sore wings. "What shall become of me?" He asked himself, the woman nearby mistaking the question as one directed at her.
"It depends on what the Council of Seven decides." She answered him, setting the brush down by a small table and picking up a loose tooth comb. "But do not worry about that now. It is not important." Obviously, they would have to run some tests on the man, as what would be expected, but after that, not even Melody herself knew what would happen. Had anyone even thought about that yet? Werner had been against the Dark Angel Project from day one, tolerating it only because the liberated material from the tests would further animate the Adam Kadmon experiment he and Elliot were so adamant about. So what would Werner say about this? Another string of moral ethics, perhaps?
Shifting his gaze to his left arm left dangling off the side of the bed, Ravendor still saw that odd chain of wording written neatly across his arm, it had not smudged or faded, guessing that the darkly inked words there would be permanent. When he felt stronger, he would try and read them. The brushing began anew, and this time Ravendor knew where the sensation was coming from. "What… are you doing?" He asked, feeling the comb slide through the feathers on his back.
"Panakeia crystallizes very easily in the open air, and so too does blood coagulate. I have to brush the foreign substances out of your wings so an infection does not spread, and also," She added with a muted smirk, "It must be making you feel very itchy right about now." Concentrating on the sensations his new limbs were picking up, he could not help but notice that she was correct, some of the quills had dried-up gunk attached to their sides and it was making him feel a little bit itchy. The muscles in his wings twitched every so often as Melody drew the comb against the sensitive and newborn skin underneath the shadow wreathed plumage, but not from pain, a soft moan escaped from Ravendor's throat, it felt heavenly. Finally, after such trial and tribulation, Ravendor closed his eyes and did not open them again until the next morning, sent away into temporary oblivion by a deep slumber.
A short time later she paused, becoming still to feel the steady rise and fall of Ravendor's breathing beneath her hand, smiling. "And so, this will only be the beginning." She said, quoting Leehalt's words. Yggdrasil was almost completed, would it be an ark to save all of mankind, or a failure that would rot in the desert until the world ended? And what of this poor creature sleeping in front of her? Would Filgaia have a place for him in their noble reality, for all of them once their evolution was complete?
If wisdom was indeed the true word of the gods, then evolution awaited them all.