A/N: Most of the dialogue between Myrddin and Jonathan from the game takes place in this chapter. It just seemed right for me and the direction I'm taking. I'm not a doctor, scientist, or historian, so please forgive me if I make mistakes with anything regarding medical terms. I did some research, but won't swear to complete accuracy.
Jonathan looked down at Seymour Fishburn, considering his options. His emotions were mixed. Part of him felt satisfaction in removing an unrepentant killer from the streets, for making this part of the city slightly safer. The part of him that was a doctor, however, who had taken an oath to treat everyone equally as healer, felt guilt and remorse. The man had been a murderer many times over, and if he'd been discovered by the authorities he would have been executed, but he was still someone's beloved son. He'd seen enough from the memories he'd received while drinking the man's blood—and how was that even possible?!—that the man had honestly loved his mother and she had loved him.
"Remorse and pain are precious when binding you to the earth."
The voice was external rather than internal this time and Jonathan looked around for the source. To his shock he saw a being only vaguely human in form. It didn't appear to have an actual body, but seemed to be composed entirely of blood. It was bipedal and had a humanoid face, but it had four long, curving horns rising from the top of its head. Jonathan took a cautious step back, wary of what this creature could be capable of.
"Fear be gone! I would harm no childe of my making."
Jonathan forced himself to relax and stand his ground. This creature had already killed him once if the stories were anything to go by. He pressed a hand to his chest and felt his heart beating steadily, albeit somewhat slower than would be considered an average resting heartrate. So maybe he hadn't actually been killed, but this entity had somehow done something to change Jonathan into a…a vampire, for lack of a better word.
He didn't understand any of this. Maybe there was a scientific explanation for what happened to him, but it all just seemed so impossible. He saw it, and felt it, but… he just couldn't wrap his scientific mind around it yet. Even if vampires—oh, how his scientist's mind hated that word, but he didn't have a better one yet—could be eventually understood, what possible explanation could there be for a creature composed of blood?
Well, panicking wouldn't help his understanding. First, he would try to get what answers he could from this entity. Then, later, he'd try to gain access to a laboratory somewhere so he could study his blood and hopefully find some answers. Would he even be able to stand being in a hospital, surrounded by blood anymore, without losing control and going on a killing spree? Time would tell, but it worried him. His reaction upon seeing and smelling Seymour, even when the man wasn't wounded, was discouraging.
"You…you're the one who did this to me? What are you?" he finally asked the mysterious entity who had upended his life.
"I am the land. I am the whitened bones and the blackened soil. The land made blood coursing through thy veins."
Jonathan sighed. More poetry and riddles. Mary was much better at deciphering this kind of language than he was. He took mental notes to refer back to. Maybe with time and experience he would understand better.
"Who are you? What's your name?"
"I am your Maker. I am the servant of the Red Goddess and protector of this land. I have many names."
"Just give me one then."
"There are those who call me Myrddin Wyltt, the wild horned man. But I never was a man. I was born out of blood."
Myrddin? As in the original Merlin of Arthurian legend? Of course this creature could just be using the name to make himself seem more important, but… something deep within Jonathan, some instinct, told him the being before him was ancient. Ancient and powerful. If he really was Myrddin of legend, how much of the story about Arthur and Merlin was real and how much fiction? Well, one thing he knew to be false if this being really was "Merlin". He definitely wasn't a kindly old wizard.
"Is this your true appearance? Are you actually made of blood?"
"This is who I am. I'm not made of blood. I am blood. Blood is what I am, since my birth and for eternity."
Jonathan still didn't understand but believed any further conversation on this subject would go around in circles or contain incomprehensible riddles. He recalled that in some of the most ancient stories about Myrddin, he was referred to as a mad bard. With this brief example, he could agree to that description more than the wizard story.
"Why did you do this to me?" he demanded, maintaining his calm with difficulty. He was furious to have had his life altered so radically, especially without his consent. He wanted to keep this creature talking, though, and suspected any displays of temper would be detrimental to that.
"You are our champion."
"Champion?" Jonathan asked. It sounds like he wasn't randomly attacked then. "You mean you deliberately chose me for something? What am I supposed to be your champion for?"
"This age is sickly. An ancient poison, an older rage. Brewed in a cauldron newly forged."
A sickness… "This has something to do with the epidemic?" No, it must be more than just the epidemic. The epidemic was natural, but Myrddin's words seemed to indicate something manufactured, probably in a laboratory as some kind of experiment, was the cause of the problem he was supposed to be a "champion" for.
"Seek truth, my champion. Defeat the serpent of knowing with iron spur."
Jonathan shook his head. He definitely intended to find out the truth of whatever was happening. Whether Myrddin spoke truth or not, he would discover.
"Why did you choose me?"
"Only you can provide a modern, scientific answer to this ancient, mystical threat."
Because I'm a doctor or because I'm a haematologist? Jonathan wondered.
"What kind of modern answer?" he asked aloud.
"Disease, contagion, and contamination. How they course through veins is your dominion, my childe. Your choices will make you. Only you can save this land."
A bit of both then. His knowledge of blood would be invaluable, but he would be needed as a doctor as well by the sound of it. He would have to overcome this damned thirst, sooner rather than later.
"Speak to me of this ancient threat."
"The blood of hate. Vessel of the wrath of the goddess. When she awakens, a Disaster will be born into this world, for she is hunger and anger."
"What is the blood of hate?"
"It's the curse of the Goddess. It's the hunger in you. The need for blood. The will to strike and to punish; to spit in the eye of God."
Hmm… Myrddin called it a curse, but earlier he spoke about diseases and contamination. So, this "blood of hate" was a disease, a contaminant or virus, that affected vampires? That was both interesting and disturbing. From his brief example, the "normal" need for blood was bad enough. He could feel something in him even now that would revel in violence if he allowed it free rein. He didn't want to imagine something worse than that. Going by the name, he assumed whatever it was specifically affected the hypothalamus. He'd need to brush up on virology and neuroscience to fight effectively against this threat. He knew the basics, but it wasn't his field of study.
"And what is this Disaster you speak of?"
"A Disaster is pure anger born through blood. Its name means bad star, for they only appear when our Queen unleashes her unquenchable wrath upon the world. It is the pure will of our Queen. Whenever she dreams of walking this Earth she awakes in this vessel."
"And who is this Queen?"
"She is the Red Goddess, the Queen of Blood. In my youth, a hundred lifetimes ago, she was worshipped as the Morrigan. She is my mother. She is yours too."
"The Morrigan? The Celtic goddess of war?" Jonathan exclaimed, shocked. How many myths that had been dismissed in this modern age had roots in something real, if unbelievable to the rational mind?
"She has been worshipped in many forms throughout the ages. The true nature of the Red Queen is beyond your comprehension, eluding even mine. But know this, she is a vengeful mother."
Jonathan shook his head, deciding to reflect on this information later. He was still angry with Myrddin for what he had done to him, but the fact—if he were to be believed—that he had done it to help the people of London, and possibly even beyond, kept him from lashing out. A petty part of him wanted to refuse to be this creature's champion, but in his heart he knew he wouldn't. He wouldn't do so for Myrddin, but if he had a chance of stopping this disease, this blood of hate, and therefore help people, then he would.
"Thank you for speaking with me," Jonathan finally said. "If this 'blood of hate' you speak of is a disease, then there's a remedy. I will find it."
Myrddin nodded and faded away, as if he'd never been there at all. Jonathan wondered if he had, or if he'd been some sort of mental projection, a hallucination even. He shook his head again; too many questions and too few answers.
Collecting himself, he took a look around the hideout. There were two small alcoves, one filled with the piled bodies and the other with a chest, a short hall between them leading away towards an exit.
It seemed wrong to just leave the bodies here, lost and unlamented. Any family or friends they might have probably assumed they were dead, but without a body, they wouldn't know for sure and couldn't properly grieve.
What should he do? The simplest solution would be to report that he'd found the place to the authorities and then let them deal with it from there. He'd have to ensure that they wouldn't suspect him though.
He looked more closely at Seymour and found the puncture marks from his fangs in his neck, above the jugular vein. He should probably disguise those. He patted the pockets of his coat and found he still had his wallet—including the quarantine passes, thankfully—as well as his pistol and Liston knife he'd armed himself with. Little good they'd done against Myrddin, but they could still be useful against any other enemies he might face. Something told him that he'd need to defend himself and would have need of these weapons soon. He wondered how long it had been since he took that walk. Was it just last night, or had it been longer?
He thought about using the Liston knife to disguise the wounds on Seymour, but soon discarded the idea. He didn't believe Seymour's death would be thoroughly investigated, if it all, but it would be best to leave off any evidence linking back to a doctor, which a Liston knife would give.
He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. He dimly remembered having claws somehow when he'd attacked Seymour, but his hands looked normal now, if still a bit bloody.
Allowing himself to feel just a bit of the predatory instinct he'd felt earlier had the claws emerging, almost like a cat's, but not quite, since these claws extended over his normal fingernails rather than his nails lengthening. Fully extended, the claws were perhaps an inch long, with a slight curve, and looked very sharp. They would do. Grimacing, he reached down and raked the claws of one hand across the puncture wounds on Seymour's body. Any doctor who knew his craft would be able to tell the wounds were post-mortem, but they couldn't be matched to any man-made weapon, which was what Jonathan wanted.
Grisly task done, Jonathan swept his gaze around to ensure he hadn't forgotten anything before leaving the illicit gravesite for the beach along the Thames. Upon emerging into the open he was at first startled by how bright the night was to him now, almost as bright as day. Upon reflection he supposed it made sense that, as a presumably nocturnal creature now, his eyes would have altered accordingly to see as well in the dark as diurnal creatures see during the day.
He wondered how his eyes had changed. He doubted they'd increased in size; it would make vampires more noticeable if so. His pupils probably widened more than what would be normal for a human, and perhaps the tapetum lucidum was more developed. He'd have to be careful to keep his eyes down or shielded if he met anyone somewhere that was not well lit, just in case. He'd rather avoid any questions that might crop up.
In addition to the night vision, now that his vision wasn't clouded by thirst, he could see better than ever. The details and colours were astounding, much better than his sight in full daylight before. His other senses were just as enhanced. His sense of smell was inundated. It was especially attuned to blood now, and he detected that sweet scent he recalled from Seymour amid the rank stench of refuse, sewage, fish, rotting bodies... the scents kept adding up as he concentrated and he stopped, rubbing at his nose, unable to take any more. He hoped he could learn to ignore it soon.
His hearing was also much better than he remembered. He could hear the people moving around in their homes, their hearts beating, murmurs of voices, babies crying, and... coughing. The coughs could be for something minor, but he was forcefully reminded about the outbreak of influenza he'd learned about upon his arrival in London.
He headed for the river and dipped his hands in to clean them of the blood. Looking into the water, he dispelled another vampire myth when he caught sight of his reflection. Yes, his eyes looked normal, except for the pupils. There wasn't enough light near him to tell if the tapetum lucidum was reflecting more light than normal, though, so he'd have to be wary until he knew one way or another.
Noting the blood on his face and neck, he cleaned up, pulling a handkerchief from a pocket to aid his task. After he was cleaned as best he could with the limited supplies at hand, he stood and looked around to get his bearings.
He spotted one of the Southwark bridges, but looking at other landmarks determined he was on the opposite side, somewhere in the docks. He was actually much closer to West End. He knew there was a gate somewhere between the East End docks and West End, but he had no idea where. He'd always avoided this part of town before.
Before moving on, Jonathan decided to become more acquainted with any further changes in his body. There were the retractable claws and fangs, enhanced senses, the overpowering thirst for blood, but what else? The stories weren't entirely reliable as a source, and he'd never read much of the literature anyway. Closing his eyes, he tried to recall anything of vampire lore he'd read over the years.
Vampires drank blood. That was definitely true. He still remembered the flavour on his tongue, the soothing of his thirst, and shivered in pleasure rather than revulsion at the memory. As much as his mind castigated him for what he had done, he couldn't deny the desire for more. He would have to overcome this craving, tame it somehow, for he needed to return to work. Being a doctor was who he is, not merely what he does, and refused to let this affliction keep him from his calling for long. Besides that, it sounded like the task Myrddin turned him to accomplish would require access to a hospital and laboratory equipment.
Vampires were the reanimated dead… he was unsure, but had doubts about the veracity of that theory. He remembered when he was attacked by Myrddin and thinking that he was dying, but now his heart still beat within his chest and he still breathed. He was different, there was no denying it, but was he dead, or rather undead, or merely a different lifeform? He'd need time and more data to reach a satisfactory conclusion regarding that, but right now he leaned towards the latter.
Regarding time, the myths would indicate he had plenty of it now since vampires were supposedly immortal. That was something else that could only be proved or disproved over time. However, he could test… Jonathan pulled his Liston knife out and carefully drew the blade across his hand. He wiped away the welling blood and watched in fascination as the skin knit back together and healed without even a slight scar within a matter of moments. Well, with this level of rapid healing he could understand how the aging process could be diminished into virtual nonexistence. Almost as soon as the cells would deteriorate, they would be repaired back into a healthy state again.
He recalled something about vampires being repelled by holy items and so-called sacred ground. It seemed ridiculous, though, and he had no way to test it. He wasn't religious and didn't carry any crosses or similar items with him.
He'd already disproved the story about vampires lacking reflections. The only other myth he could recall was about vampires being repelled by garlic. Well, he didn't have any to test himself with, but considering how enhanced his senses had become, he could understand being repelled by the scent alone. It was strong enough to a human sense of smell, let alone what he now possessed.
Unable to think of anything else to test here and now, Jonathan climbed some steps leading from this part of the beach to the docks and recognized some of the buildings from Seymour's memories. Walking through them he found the door to what he believed to be Seymour's home with his mother, but now he hesitated. He didn't want to harm the woman. Would he be able to control himself? Other vampires must be able to, or they wouldn't just be the object of stories, but well known by all. He was a strong willed man and he would overcome this… affliction.
Taking a deep breath to fortify himself, he knocked on the door.