Chapter Text
“Well, what will you do?” A soft, gentle voice. Skin as rich as the night sky with long hair that shines like the stars.
He clutched his arm while he knelt on the cold lab floor. He felt like he was burning up, the onset of a fever.
She spoke once more, Mikhail in her arms. “Will you… Come with me too?”
Go… with her?
Mikhail sniffled, his eyes wide “Big brother..”
This was a stranger, a powerful stranger who annihilated the entire lab in the blink of an eye.
He can't trust her.
He took another deep breath. Mikhail called out for him one more time. Memories flashed before his eyes, Moreau, his father's blood on his small hands, his pendant.
He can't leave Mikhail. But he…
What should he do? He had no idea. His mind was still reeling over what Moreau had revealed just minutes earlier.
Footsteps.
Not just one or two, but a fleet rushing through the catacombs below them. They must have heard the explosion. The chasseurs were here. He watched as the hooded figure looked over at him and the boy in her arms once more.
“I must leave, now.”
With that, she rushed with almost inhuman speed into the night, taking Mikhail with her.
He felt the urge to chase after her, after them both. A stranger was taking Mikhail to who knows where. He reached a hand out and got to his feet too fast, so fast the blood rushed to his head. Every bone in his body ached, all he could manage was a few wobbly steps until the room seemed to tilt on its axis.
Everything went dark as he collapsed to the floor with a thud.
~~~
The sheets were too soft, and the mattress wasn't as hard as a rock either. It was too comfortable.
‘Big brother’ Mikhail's small, teary-eyed face, held in a stranger's arms, came back to him. Was it a nightmare? The lab was destroyed. Moreau- all of it. He could still feel the pain of that brutal machine attempting to rewrite the very essence of his being.
The boy's eyes opened suddenly, and he sat up.
This wasn't his cell.
He was breathing heavily, his mind racing. The medical bed he was in was maintained and modest, familiar. This was the chasseur infirmary. He'd ended up here on a number of occasions.
Maybe he was still dreaming.
“Oh, you woke up.” A vaguely familiar voice called out to him as she approached the bedside. Her hair was an unruly mop that swallowed her entire face, what wasn't hidden was eaten up by her ginormous glasses.
She'd mended his broken arm a while back. He knew her, in passing at least.
He scooted back on the bed. He ached, the pain was too vivid. Could this really be happening? The lab really was destroyed? Was he actually free?
The woman eyes him carefully. “Relax, boy, I'm just trying to check your temperature."
His breaths started to regulate, and he looked to the side and saw a window. “Right.” He muttered as his gaze became transfixed on the window beside him. It was sunny.
Moreau had kept him in the underground cells for the majority of the day. Night was the only time he had ever been brought to the ground-level portions of the lab.
How long had it been since he'd felt the warmth of sunlight on his skin?
It didn't matter anyway.
The woman brought a hand to his forehead. “Hm, you feel warmer than you should, but you look better.” She pulled away and walked back over to the desk she had been sitting at with her books. “Anyways, you're the talk of the town kid. How'd you end up down there in that lab? Everyone thought you were dead.”
He tensed up, he knew all too well how that had happened.
Someone else died because of him. Moreau killed an innocent person just so he could fake his death. He couldn't stop the tremor that ran through him.
The woman, her name was Mira, right? She noticed and scratched her head awkwardly. “Nevermind.” She opened her book. “But the higher-ups are going to wanna ask you a lot of questions later, just so you know.”
~~~
He ate breakfast for the first time in nearly 6 months. Now that he finally had access to a calendar, he could tell just how much time he'd spent in that hellish lab.
Mira left him alone after that. She'd run off to get another drink.
It was during that time that a man he'd never seen before burst into the infirmary.
“Lavette! You're awake. Oh, praise the Lord, how are you feeling?” A boisterous voice shattered the quiet. He couldn't help but flinch. The man's eyes were sparkling in a way that irritated the boy to his very core.
Lavette wasn't even his name.
He didn't know this man, but everything about him was irritating.
“I'm fine.” He muttered. It was the truth, the cuts and bruises from yesterday's experiments were healing fast.
“God is so good and faithful, I prayed through the night for your healing! He's answered my prayer.” There were tears, genuine tears welling up in this man's ridiculously shiny eyes.
Moreau's voice haunted his mind, a whisper. ‘Didn't you notice your wounds were healing faster than before~’ He immediately brought a hand to his faded bruise and covered it.
He calmed himself and turned away from the man. “If you want to ask about the lab, just get to it.”
There was a pause. The man made a small sound of confusion. “No, I didn't come for that. I just wanted to see if you were alright. You were in such a terrible condition, I was worried.”
Worried?
He wanted to scoff. Maybe he might have believed it before spending half a year as a disposable test subject, but he didn't want his pity.
“I already told you, I'm fine.” He wrapped himself in the blanket and got to his feet. He stumbled and nearly collapsed.
“Oops!” The man exclaimed as he caught him with a strong arm. “There, there.” The man picked him up as if he were a weightless kitten and plopped him right back down on the bed patronizingly. “There's no need to rush your recovery, young Lavette! Your body and mind both are in need of divine healing!”
If he called him that God-forsaken insult one more time, he was going to snap. The only thing he needed was for this creep to leave him alone. He glared coldly at the man. “Just leave me alone.”
Roland nodded, “Alright, but before that.” he gave another dazzling smile and placed a hand on the boy's forehead. He watched as those vibrant green eyes shut serenely as he gently spoke a prayer. “I pray the Lord blesses your sleep and brings you physical healing.” His eyes opened again, and he removed his hand. “You are so very loved, young Lavette. You are truly a treasure in the father's eyes.”
Loved?
He watched as the older chasseur left the room, the door clicking behind him.
Everything about the conversation made him feel sick in a way he hadn't before in his time as a chasseur. To begin with, he'd never bought into much of this. But now?
The hypocrisy was astounding. Who does he think he is, telling him that? He just spent half a year as the church's lab rat.
Where was their God then?
His mind flashed back to all the countless vampires he saw torn limb from limb, the screaming he couldn't erase from his mind.
He thought of Mikhail's cries echoing in his ear. He clenched the blanket beneath his fingers and found no peace or rest.
~~~
It only took 3 days for him to recover.
Roland had visited him again yesterday, and unfortunately, the day before that, too. Now, as he stood in the halls, with the freedom to go anywhere, he thought about his words.
“So, what do you want to do now?” Roland had casually asked him with a wide grin. “I'm sure given your circumstances, the church would release you of your duties so you can recover.” he kept filling the silence with more words. “I heard you liked books? Maybe you can study the scripture? Or become an apprentice!”
He didn't have dreams, he had goals.
Before all this, all he wanted was to annihilate the vampires who'd stolen everything from him.
Now, he wasn't sure what he wanted to do. He still hated them with every fiber of his being. But ironically, the cruelty of humans scared him more than the fangs of a vampire now.
He was angry, angry at the vampires, angry at the church. There's no way those experiments were going on without someone's approval.
Someone here is to blame.
He clenched his fist.
Humans, Vampires, they're both equally terrible, equally selfish, and he despised them both with every fiber of his being.
But what other choice did he have? If he left here so close to winter, he'd probably have to sell his dignity or freeze to death.
He was kicked out of the infirmary as soon as he was well enough to walk.
Mira was scratching her messy head. “I still don't get how those injuries healed so fast, but you're good to go kid.” She picked up her book and leaned back in her chair, propping her feet on the desk unbecomingly. “Now hurry so I can finish reading this chapter.”
He didn't say anything to her and exited the infirmary. The afternoon light filtered in through the church's stained glass windows, and light danced on the ground before him. Their shadows told the book of Daniel through storytelling on the painted glass alone.
The extravagant sight was one he never thought he'd seen again.
The colorful sunlight wavered on his scarred hands.
Could he even still fulfill that duty?
~~~
The dining hall was exactly as he remembered, too loud. Everyone ate their portions, talked over each other, he hated it.
And unfortunately for him, he couldn't even eat his first meal in peace. His old trainer clanged his spoon against a glass.
“Let's give a toast to Sapphire! It's good to have you back, kid!” He raised his glass, and across the table, others followed suit.
He stopped eating for a moment and gave a small nod, at least acknowledging the gesture.
Sapphire was another of the many nicknames these guys had given him. Because he showed promise, he was on track to become the youngest paladin and take the Sapphire stone.
Until Moreau intervened, of course.
One of the trainees, his own age, rolled his eyes and scoffed at the toast. Another smiled genuinely and raised his glass.
After dinner, he slipped out of the dining hall, and a familiar face came chasing after him.
“Hey! Wait up.” He caught up and placed a hand on his shoulder, making him flinch involuntarily.
His old roommate.
“It's good to see you again. Really.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a chasseur's pendant.
“A lot of your stuff was donated to charity after the funeral, sorry. But I kept this. It's yours.” The silver felt ice cold against his skin, a reminder.
Of course they threw out his stuff, he was dead.
“Thanks…” He muttered quietly as he stuffed the pendant in his pocket. He tried to turn away again.
“Hold on.” His old roommate gave a tug to his shoulder, forcing him to turn. “What's that?”
What's what?
He raised an eyebrow, ready to shove him away. But the other boy pointed at his mouth.
“Your tooth… Was it always that long?”
His breath hitched. What was he talking about? He turned away and grimaced. “I don't know what you mean. Bye.”
With that, he ran down the hallway, leaving the boy standing alone in the moonlight.
It can't be.
He yanked open the bathroom door and approached the mirror. He took a deep breath.
His breath hitched as he brought a finger to the culprit.
His left canine.
It was a fang, a small, elongated, unnatural fang. He backed up in disbelief, his back hitting the wall behind him. He flinched at the contact as he covered his mouth with his hand.
He thought of the trophy room, rows of skulls bearing their fangs, their slayer's name engraved on plaques.
His dinner nearly came back up.
Did anyone else see?
Why hadn't Roland or Mira commented on it? Why was he just finding this out now?
Anyone who knew him before would be able to tell that's new. They'd know what was done to him.
He exited the bathroom quietly, his mouth clenched shut as he walked the familiar path to the dormitory. He was lost in his thoughts and bumped into a trainee slightly older than himself, they'd sparred together on occasion.
“Hey, you're the one who died, right?”
Don't open your mouth.
He nodded.
The trainee smiled at him, they'd never been on a name basis, honestly, he couldn't remember his name either. “Well, I'm glad you didn't. Anyways, I think there's an empty bed in room 69.”
69?
Was this a sick joke? Did someone plan this?
Did someone know?
No, think rationally. The trainee dorms are numbered 60 through 70, it's a plausible coincidence, a 1/10 chance.
“If you need anything, just ask. I have some extra blankets in mine.” He shook his hand. “I'm in 66 by the way, maybe when you're feeling better, we can spar again?”
He muttered a soft thanks and rushed towards the room. He shut the door behind him and slid down the back.
69… He never wanted to hear that God-forsaken number again.
He brought a hand to his face. He couldn't rationalize this paranoia away, there were no mad scientists or vampires here. So why couldn't he stop trembling?