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Part III

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It was Karl's turn tonight, and Solomon watched, stomach-sick and worried as Diva roughly yanked back the collar of Karl's shirt, blood-hunger like lust coursing through her. His brother trembled; impatiently, Diva tore at his clothes, shoving him hard against the bed, not caring that the others were watching, James and Amshel and Nathan politely averting their eyes as their Queen began to feed.

"Diva." Karl gasped and Solomon couldn't look at him, couldn't watch the way he gasped her name like a prayer. "Diva."

In the murky half-dark, Diva looked young, almost child-like, gently suckling on his jugular as she rocked, pushing Karl down and lapping at the skin of his neck, the beads of blood slowly drying as the two puncture wounds began to heal. Solomon could feel Karl's devotion for her pulsing out from him like blood, but Diva stood, pushing herself upright and throwing her cloak over her shoulders.

"I don't like your blood," Diva said. Karl gripped the bedsheets, shaking. "You taste boring."

And Diva laughed. It was low and mirthless, the sound stretching over the whole of the room.

xXx

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When they created him, it had always been this way.

Solomon knew. Even as the others feigned ignorance and Amshel protested otherwise, Solomon knew Karl was never one of them; not really. From the corner of his eye, he could see how Karl watched them from a distance, sitting two tables over as the other chevaliers dined and laughed quietly amongst themselves, feeding Diva grapes and baring their necks to let her feed.

Solomon frowned. It was decadent, orgy-like, these men fawning over their goddess, but Diva was bored and rose, one slender hand tugging the lapel of James' shirt.

"Come," Diva said, and the room fell quiet. "Entertain me." The other men averted their eyes and Amshel delicately cleared his throat. James stood, tight-lipped and proper, as Diva smiled and swayed and lead him to her bedroom.

The door closed with a soft click. Moments later, Solomon could hear Diva moaning, could picture her mouth falling open in a succulent 'o'.

"Insatiable," Amshel said, and Nathan laughed, stretching luxuriously and shaking his head. "Diva just fed an hour ago."

"I take it she wasn't satisfied," Nathan said. He looked directly at Karl. "Perhaps our other brother will be what she's craving."

He could see the muscles of Karl's shoulders stiffen, and as the others smirked amongst themselves, obviously Karl couldn't satisfy her, the youngest one, who just moments earlier had been slammed up against the mattress and taken without so much as a preamble: Solomon could almost see how humiliation rose and burned at the back of Karl's throat, the sound of Diva's moans rising like waves.

"Do not take offense," Solomon said, quietly. He touched Karl's shoulder. "Diva has her moods. Just as one cannot feast on the same type of food, Diva cannot drink just one type of blood. Rest well, my friend," Solomon said. "Be proud that she chose you at all."

But Karl did not look at him. He yanked his shoulder back, as if Solomon's touch was a heated stone.

xXx

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He was always a gentle boy. That's what Solomon would tell the others. Even after Karl's sanity slipped and the madness crept over his eyes, Solomon would remind them that Karl had been different from them, soft and unsure of his place in the world.

The experiments were nearing an end. Karl sat at the foot of the gurney, docile and quiet, as Amshel prepared a syringe. He tied a tourniquet around Karl's arm, pausing before reaching and drawing blood.

"You can keep going," Karl said, after Amshel had finished. He did not meet Amshel's eyes.

There were few ways to kill a chevalier, other than their rival Queen's blood: decapitation; incineration. The irreparable loss of blood.

If Solomon were there, he would have stopped it. Would have stopped Amshel-nii-san from taking Karl's offer, would have taken his little brother and pulled him in his arms.

"Do you not wish to see," Karl asked softly, and he lifted his eyes, "what exactly it would take to kill me?"

Solomon was not there.

xXx

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"She gave him more of her blood," Amshel said. Solomon opened his eyes as Amshel and James stood over him, shadows falling on the pile of papers still strewn on his desk. "He would have died, Solomon. A chevalier," and there was a touch of awe in Amshel's voice, as if quietly admiring the fruits of his labors, the deadly experiment that would have killed Karl if Diva had not intervened. "He would not have survived if Diva did not let him feed. He was reborn," Amshel said, and Nathan laughed, shaking his head at the injustice of it all.

Solomon found him crouching against the wall of the cell, arms shackled and covered with filth. His hair hung in stringy pieces over his face, and as Solomon stepped closer, he could see the change in Karl's eyes.

xXx

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Madness was like this: the darting of the eyes, the twitchy, maniacal way of moving, like a man whose bones were made of brittle crystal.

"Now I understand," Karl said, and Solomon didn't like the way he started to speak, with long-drawn syllables and a throaty acceptance of who he finally was. "Love and hate are the same, aren't they, brother? Just as my sweet Diva hated me..."

That night, Solomon found him sitting at the bank of the river, cradling a young girl against his chest. Her hair was dark like Saya's was; her small face fit perfectly in the palm of his hand. It was only when Solomon stepped closer that he saw the two deep puncture wounds at the side of the girl's neck, the blue rose tucked carefully at the pocket of the girl's breast.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" Karl stroked the dead girl's cheeks, smoothing her shirt front and stroking her hair. "She's beautiful as my Saya is beautiful. More beautiful than death," he said, and Solomon yanked him upright.

"Idiot. What if someone caught you?" Solomon said, but Karl laughed, slow and deep and rolling out of him like fog.

"He's broken," James said, and they watched in awe as Karl moved obscenely with the bodies of his freshest kills. "Diva's blood has made him mad. I barely recognize him anymore."

"Neither do I," Solomon said. His eyes narrowed as Karl fed luxuriously on the girl, draining her completely and leaving her corpse to fall like a rotted husk.

And then something inside him would twist: Solomon could see it, the edges of pain crowding at the corners of his eyes.

"Is it not what we do, brother?" Karl asked, and he laughed again, a stilted, terrible, broken sound.

A/N: most of this chapter was taken from the In Arms. It's nice being able to slap together everything in my head canon lol :)