by Al K. Line
"I'm not the one strapped down and helpless."
"Whatever. You're still a first-class dick."
"Now, let's see what we have here, shall we?" Carmichael used a scalpel to slice through membrane and muscle pulled taut by the rib cracker, then cut right through Ivan's abdomen until it was a gaping void. Ivan regained consciousness right at that moment, screaming until I didn't think he could scream any more. Carmichael studied him like a specimen under a microscope while his aide ignored him completely. I tried not to cry.
Whatever Ivan had done, however betrayed I'd felt, however much I remained undecided about the future of our friendship, I knew I cared for him as I watched him suffer. He sure wasn't one of the good guys, he was a gangster same as me, but he wasn't a bad man either. Even if he was, he didn't deserve this. I wouldn't treat Carmichael like this, not even now, because such acts stain your soul. The psychic scarring from such barbarism never goes away, only grows and festers, turning you into something inhuman.
I understood something as I watched Carmichael slice delicately into Ivan's esophagus before drawing a line with the scalpel down his stomach and then his small intestine.
"You've turned rogue. You've accepted your nature and gone feral. You fucking hypocrite!" I spat. "All this talk about controlling the vampires, putting them in their place, stopping them from taking over and treating us like shit, that's exactly what your aim is. You're the Second, Carmichael, you became a vampire not long after Mikalus, and you've had hundreds of years to stew in your own bitter juices, becoming less enamored with humanity, thinking less of us. Dwelling on your own powers, how different you are. You think you're superior, right? You think you're better than us? You don't want us to have the artifacts because you don't think we're good enough for them. Well, I've got news for you, buddy. We fucking made them. Artifacts are here because humans are here. Not vampires. True humans. You're a disgrace to humanity, to vampires, to anything good in this world."
"Shut up!" Carmichael dropped the scalpel into the tray with a clatter and stormed over to my bedside. "One more word out of you and you'll be next," he warned. His face was red, a vein throbbed at his temple, his eyes were wide.
I knew this look. It was the same when he killed Sasha's sister, when he was lost to a madness that consumed him. Carmichael was, I was certain now, utterly deranged and not a man with a full set of marbles.
I glared at him, and he smirked then turned away and returned to Ivan's side.
"So it begins," he whispered.
As Ivan screamed louder, particles of ash drifted from his body. Pristine tiny gray specks of a man twice killed. They danced lazily to the canister and then dropped in silently to join with the rest of the ash left in the canister when Ivan's dry midnight snack was interrupted.
"Fight it, Ivan. You're a bloody vampire, and a werewolf. Fight it all. Scrubbers don't affect innate magic like yours, it's in every cell of your body, it's what makes you. They turned you into a vampire, now you're their boss, their leader. They need you. If you let this fucktard win it's game over for you all. He doesn't care about his brothers and sisters, he wants to use you, use Mikalus, to get what he wants. He'll lock the ashes away and then one day, when he thinks he can use him, he'll resurrect Mikalus. But he'll lose control, and everything will be ruined. Whatever's left after this dickhead gets there first. Fight it and heal."
"Don't be ridiculous," snapped Carmichael, seemingly happy to let me rant as it gave false hope to Ivan. "He cannot heal from this, he's too far gone. We all have our limits and I've made sure he's past his."
"You're forgetting one thing, Carmichael. He's not like you, he's got inner fortitude. Ivan has got a stronger will than you can imagine."
"Nonsense," said Carmichael, hardly listening, focused on the ash as it drew from Ivan's ruined flesh and entered the canister.
"Ivan?" Ivan turned. His face was slick with greasy sweat, his color all gone, close to dying unless he fought back, called on the nature that had got him into this mess in the first place. "Do not let him win. Think about all the years you suffered, the things your boss did to you. The despair, the helplessness. Will you let another man do that again? Are you going to let him humiliate you, treat you like dirt? You're the boss, you're in charge. Fight it. Feel it inside, that source of power, that strength that got you through all those years of slavery. You saw your parents die, you endured so much sorrow, but good came from it too. We found Vicky, you have a family. Your nieces, and even me. Fight it and show this fucker what men like us are truly made of."
Carmichael chortled. I wanted to tear his head off.
Ivan howled in unimaginable agony as the ash was ripped from his ruined flesh, while Carmichael stared like a kid watching a train go round and round a track. Mesmerized, excited, and bored all at the same time. I hated him more then, for being so blasé, than I had ever hated another person.
"Do it!" I shouted. "Teach this bastard what men of honor are capable of."
Ivan nodded almost imperceptibly, gritted his teeth so tight I could see his jaw muscles spasming, and then he closed his eyes.
Damn, maybe I was asking too much of him. Of course I was. He had his insides on the outside, and that's no place for them.
I fell back, stopped pulling against my restraints, and watched my friend die. Funny how a few hours can turn things around so much. Not long ago I wanted him dead. Now, more than anything, I wanted him to live.
The Rise and Fall
An ungodly roar burst from Ivan's throat. A throat I was amazed still functioned. Like a dog howling, a baby screaming, a pig squealing, and all the cries of anguish every creature of this earth has ever made in times of distress. They erupted from Ivan's trembling lips in one soul-wrenching plea that made my eyes snap open, the aide stumble and knock against the table, and Carmichael bark a warning at her to be careful.
"No, no, no," shouted Carmichael. "He shouldn't be able to do this."
Do what? What was he doing? I fought for clarity, my eyes wet with tears, vision blurred because of the drugs and the helplessness I felt.
Ivan's body was trying to repair itself. His guts were already sealed over, the jelly-like flesh wobbling about and vibrating as he shook under the stress and strain. Vampires could recover from a lot, their ability to heal incredible, but nobody came back from such wounds, superhuman immortal or otherwise. Nobody. He could, though, because he had so much to fight for and had endured so much over the years that he knew how to survive against all the odds.
Carmichael hurriedly re-opened the wound in his belly with panicked, jerky motions as he willed the ash to leave Ivan. Even as he cut, the wounds healed, the vampire within truly awoken.
"Put him under," snapped Carmichael. "Do it now."
The aide moved to the drip and pulled a line to connect to the needle in Ivan's hand. Just as she was about to connect it, the needle popped out and the tiny hole it left disappeared. Ivan growled, an animal warning of a predator backed into a corner and more than willing to fight for survival.
Carmichael sliced deeper; blood spurted over his hands and shirt. Brown liquid pulsed with a sick squelch but he didn't even notice, so panicked was he.
Ivan's flesh grew like it had a life of its own, like bacteria spreading and multiplying. Everything sped up, recovery in fast-forward, vampire par excellence style. The intestines sealed with a membrane, white and sticky, and then his abdomen closed. The seal ran up to his chest, the ribs snapped back into place, and the entire wound closed up with a vicious red line like a flesh zipper.
"That's it, keep going. Do it, do it," I screamed, whooping and joyous.
Ivan grunted, his face a rictus of pain I couldn't begin to imagine.
"Get that bloody line in him," shouted Carmichael. The aide panicked, fingers shaking, as she tried to put a needle into Ivan's arm.
"It won't go through the skin. It's like it's made of steel," she whined.
"Idiot. Give it to me," Carmichael moved around the table as
Ivan's body shuddered and malformed lumps bubbled under the surface of his skin. Carmichael grabbed a fresh needle, ripped open the wrapper, and punched hard into Ivan's forearm. The needle bent then broke off.
"You asked for this," he muttered, then picked up a small but still deadly enough medical hammer and slammed it down hard right at Ivan's temple.
Too fast to witness, I heard leather snap and saw a blur of motion. Ivan held Carmichael's wrist in a tight grip. Bone crunched, Carmichael let out a shriek, but then Ivan's hand was grabbed by Carmichael's left and he squeezed. The men held the standoff for a second before they both broke, bone mending.
It wasn't exactly a fair fight, and the head of Cerberus struck again with the hammer still clutched tight, but Ivan blocked it with a forearm, a dent won for his troubles.
"Tear him a new one," I shouted, thinking a little moral support was in order. Ivan responded with renewed force. His body spasmed, flesh and bone warped, strange lumps and bumps bubbled up then receded, the skin like jellyfish, and he changed shape. His arms and legs fattened, breaking the straps, his neck became wide and short, the restraints unable to cope, his ribcage expanded, long and barrel chested, waist shrinking, and his head became unrecognizable.
The wolf within awoke. The duress so great, the need so immediate, that he was changing even without a full moon.
And with that change came beautiful savagery.
I was glad we were friends again because this wouldn't be pretty.
Taking a Backseat
The creature, Ivan, I suppose, or monster maybe, certainly a wolf-man hybrid, popped and crackled as it burst from the table, snapping with a misshapen, protruding jaw. Ivan fell from the table, slid sideways, and landed on all fours. Huge claws clicked like a light tap at a window as he landed.
Hair protruded from his body in patchy tufts as the metamorphosis continued. As he lifted his head to howl, his ears stabbed out into blunt points and his nose disappeared while his eyes became slits, glinting red. A wet, pink tongue poked out the side of his mouth, tasting air, tasting prey. An enemy to be killed.
Carmichael roared as he kicked out hard with all the power of the vampire, right into Ivan's jagged ribs covered only by thin skin. Ivan hit the gurney, sending it flying across the room. Again, Carmichael kicked, and with nothing in his way, Ivan flew clear off the tiles, sailed into the air, careened into the wall, and slid down in a heap. Carmichael was on him in a second, all feigned calm gone.
With vampire-fueled speed and strength the two men were locked together, grappling and banging around the room, never letting go. They thudded into walls, they hit the bloody ceiling. Tiles rained down on us, and then they were on the floor, punching and gouging, with Ivan snapping out with huge jaws, intent on ripping Carmichael's throat out.
They broke, retreated from each other, Carmichael hunched over, panting and disheveled, Ivan on all fours, his huge, sad body heaving with stress.
The wolf turned his head, and I swear he smiled before he leapt for the table with the surgical instruments and the ash canister. Too late, Carmichael shouted, "No," as Ivan landed. He knocked the table over and everything went flying.
Steel and blades clattered to the floor, several items landed on my bed, and as I watched, the canister, still without its lid, sailed in an arc then hit the wall.
Ash blew everywhere.
The room was clouded in the fog of a dead man, and Carmichael lost the plot entirely. Even as Ivan reared up on hind legs, Carmichael lashed out wildly with a punch that caught Ivan square on the jaw. The uppercut took him off his feet and he came down hard right on top of me.
"Push it my way," I whispered, unsure if he'd hear me, or understand. I nodded to the scalpel just out of reach of my fingertips, and the wolf nudged it with a meaty paw before scrambling off the bed and dropping down.
Carmichael kicked him right in the face. Ivan howled as he was flipped onto his back. But Carmichael was obsessed with the ash, and he ran to the wall, grabbed the canister, then stuffed mounds of ash back in nervously.
The aide was at the door, taking her chance to escape. Ivan pounced, dug claws deep into her back and yanked her away, the flesh ripping. He snapped down hard on the side of her neck and tore out a chunk of muscle. Blood spurted in a beautiful red arc.
At the sight, Ivan changed, became something else, something I'd never witnessed. He spasmed, as if in delight, then sank his teeth once more into the wound and sucked, drank deep of the liquor that powered the vampire to heights I would never experience. He moaned and groaned as the woman went limp, then he dropped her as if she were less than worthless and turned, eyes bloodshot, mouth and chin stained crimson. On weirdly hinged legs, he walked to Carmichael who was still distracted by the ash.
I wasted no time and cut through my bonds with a few deft strokes.
Still without magic, and unsure how I could help, as I'd just be in the way, I took a practical approach rather than one fueled by anger.
Carmichael turned and rose as Ivan approached. He lifted the canister high as the remaining ash in the room drifted in, then screwed the lid on tight. Quickly, he pocketed it before lunging for Ivan with a snarl. He grabbed him tight, but Ivan's arms weren't normal arms, and he was full of the dead woman's blood, giving him the edge and then some. He shrugged Carmichael off but got a smack in the eye for his trouble and was disorientated. Carmichael punched him on his strange snout and he went down. Carmichael leapt on him, pummeled his face, so I walked up behind the head of Cerberus and sliced through his carotid artery. Blood pumped furiously, and with it his life force.
With a hand to the wound, Carmichael was defenseless. It might heal in time, but it might not, so I slashed out viciously on the other side then sliced clean through his neck, his head half-severed as he turned in shock to face me.
Blood went everywhere, soaking his clothes, spraying over Ivan, over me, over the tiles until they were slick, but still Carmichael held on.
Ivan grabbed him, ripped flesh from his shoulders as he pulled him down and then, without warning, Ivan tore away Carmichael's jugular. He spat out the flesh, Carmichael was shunted aside, and Ivan lay there, gasping.
I pushed the corpse over with my boot, then bent and took the canister from his pocket. Just to make sure, I kicked him in the head. Yep, dead all right. There are some wounds even ancient vampires can't recover back from, and he'd had several.
Thinking it best not to interfere, and not wanting to spook the wolf, I stayed still as Ivan rolled over onto all fours. He looked up at me; I nodded.
We were done.
Ivan's body relaxed, like he was collapsing in on himself, and he began to change back. Powered by blood, and indomitable will, he forced himself to master the werewolf curse and become human again. A man. Of a sort.
Bones broke and realigned, limbs shortened, his neck stretched, his nose grew back, ears receded, the thick jaw became slack, teeth went who knew where, and then it was Ivan. Naked, covered from head to toe in bruises all colors of the rainbow, and with one seriously garish scar down his front.
"I think we did pretty well, considering," I noted.
Ivan looked up and smiled. "Yeah, me too."
The door burst open.
"Tasius! Fuck."
Some days you just can't catch a break.
No Fair
"Seriously? I mean, c'mon. Normally I get a few minutes to reflect on what's happened, moan about being tired, question my life choices. Something, at least. This isn't how it works. You have to let me catch my breath, go get a coffee. At least a snack. Do you have any? Snacks, I mean?"
Tasius glared, then grinned at me. "Always the joker. You are known for your bad humor." He signaled for his men to fan out into the room, not that there was much space what with the chaos we'd wrought.
Tasius shifted to the left to let more goons enter. He was calm and collected, his smart Italian wingtips out of place amongst the blood. Sharp creases in his designer suit and his accent gold watch jus
t peeking beneath the cuff of a crisp white shirt made him look like he'd stepped away from a photoshoot for a quick bit of vampire murdering before continuing with his catalog poses.
Ivan reared up from the floor, unfolded like a preying mantis, his body utterly ruined. He grunted with the pain despite not wanting to show weakness, and who could blame him. He was black and blue, and red all over, which reminds me of a joke about a frog that would be in bad taste. The seal where his flesh had closed up was livid and jagged, fresh pink scar tissue angry against his pure white skin. Blood was brown where it had dried under the intense heat, his hair was oily and in his eyes, and that's what he seemed most concerned about. He repeatedly ran his raw fingers through the greasy mess, smoothed it down until it looked pretty good, unconcerned by his nakedness or the odd bump that came and went as his body settled back into human form.
"You can't have him," Ivan whispered. "We've been through too much, risked everything, to give him to you."
"He is mine. Ours. Father will be returned home and resurrected then take his true place as the ruler of our kind." Tasius held out a hand to me. "If you please?"
"Sorry, dude, but no can do. Carmichael, the dead fool, and no need to thank me for avenging our torture, told us some interesting stuff. He set this all up once he knew you guys were coming. He set up the warehouse, took us there on purpose so we'd be rescued, did it so we'd tell everyone where the artifacts were. But they aren't really there. It's a trick so the whole place will blow and all the magic users along with it. So if you have your guys there, you better get them out. We need to warn everyone. Try to stop it blowing up. It's set to go off in less than two hours, so we don't have much time."
"Is that so?"
"Yes. Look, I'm not screwing around. Carmichael saw this as a way to destroy us. He'd have the artifacts hidden away someplace, he'd get the ashes, and everyone would be killed. So we need to go there and try to stop this. It's happening, right now."
"Then it's a good job we haven't got far to travel. In fact, we're right there."