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What is a miracle? To humanity, it is a wondrous phenomenon that could reshape the world—to the world, to nature, it is something that must be pruned. Whether man-made or spontaneous, in going against the Law, miracles commit a grievous sin. Yet, is it a crime to aim towards the stars? Is it a crime to dream of Utopia?
In Siberia, near a river, an explosion of incomprehensible magnitude occurred— one that shook the entire continent and recoiled across the entire world. The skies were aglow, particulate being a guiding light within the otherwise darkened skies. Those caught in the periphery trembled, burned, fell, evaporated in the all consuming flash that eclipsed any weapon made by man. More curiously, a man reshaped and birthed from a womb made of mirrors happened to arrive just a few days prior.
For a man who doesn’t care much for fate, one who would reject it no matter if it was real or fake, it seemed like predestination for him to be there—a sign of nature's rage at a wandering miracle. However, shattering a mirror does not stop a reflection. The only way for a mirror to no longer reflect was to completely destroy it. Perhaps it is because he had become misaligned by time; perhaps it’s because he was originally flesh and blood. Perhaps it was something that was only knowable to Simon Cain that caused him to seek out the head of Thanatica as a successor in the first place—that which destroyed the polyhedron could not even phase him, no matter from human hands or from the cosmos.
Afterwards he simply laid down and closed his eyes. He took a small respite. Though humanity could not slow down for death ever approached, Bachelor Dankovsky only had his own conscience to worry about.
This he spoke of in full to Inquisitor Karminsky. There was no point in holding back—he was his. It felt strangely comforting, being known. There was also something else; a hidden part of him that he refused to acknowledge, especially in front of an inquisitor. The warm feeling of being protected. He was to be untouched by anyone other than Karminsky. The Powers that Be could no longer hunt him like a dog.
When finished, Karminsky asked, “What are your plans now?”
“Mortem Devincere,” a pause, “Unless you have some other use for me.”
“Your wings will not be clipped. As a scientist, you should know the best way to learn about something is in a controlled environment. As long as you are in my reach, you are free to do as you please.”
Daniil was no different than the butterflies Thanatica kept as research; alive and safe, though forever under careful eyes and inspection. One of the intelligentsia he may be, he was certainly no bohemian. It was a livable existence. Though stifling, it doesn’t make him want to draw debutant anymore than the academia had. If treated the same as Thanatica treated their live experiments, perhaps it could even be an enjoyable captivity—if he was less conscious.
“If I am free to go, then let us part ways here,” Daniil said bluntly. Karminsky knew why he had refused Aglaya Lilich’s protection back then. His sense of self was too strong. This was the outcome both parties foresaw.
In that sense, Karminsky’s response could also be considered foretold. “Come back to the capital with me first. I would like to do some tests on you first, if you have not already done them yourself Dankovsky. Then you will be free to do as you please.” Framed as mere curiosity towards a miracle, it was easy to get Daniil to agree. After all, he wished to do the same to Simon Cain.
“You will not parade me around the capital, will you?”
“If you had such a desire, I could have. Do you?” Karminsky would have rather not let others take such a familiar view of Dankovsky, must less let them touch. Bachelor Dankovsky was the first impossible object that belonged to him in its entirety, not stuck in one place nor one that was only preserved in form though not in spirit. There was almost an all consuming desire to keep him all to himself, to possess him in every way. If the heartless were capable of love, maybe it would have been love—a form of love closer to a wildfire than those spoken of in prose.
“Of course not. I would rather not be carted around like those distasteful circuses do to those deemed inhuman by society,” Daniil said, glancing towards the ground, “From my own experimentations, my unnatural body seems to be singular and incapable of being replicated in anything else, whether through blood transfusion or other forms of exchange. If your experiments prove anything fruitful for the future of humanity… May I request something?”
“I’m listening.”
“Can I be unnamed? I might be no longer what you can define as fully human but I don’t want to become an ‘impossible structure.’ Corpus meum nihil significat si ad progressionem humanitatis est. But… If I am truly Bachelor Daniil Dankovsky, I want to stay just myself, at least in everyone else’s eyes.” He would rather be dead than become paraphernalia. If it came down to it, Daniil would beg Karminsky to destroy him and separate shadow from body. To become othered was an even worse fate than to be a reflection paid for in blood.
“Of course. I have already accounted for such a thing. If our research can be put to good use, your name will headline it. As the researcher, not the subject of the research. Given I have no use for fame as an inquisitor, it will be your legacy alone, and if you wish, Thanatica’s.”
“Thank you.”
Daniil looked up and parallelled Karminsky. He smiled, small, awkward but unfettered—it was a genuineness that could only be expressed in private. The sound of raindrops echoed in his ear. Maybe in the future, they could become something akin to friends. If both hold true, there could be something deeper outside of a miracle and an inquisitor. Maybe one day even men carved of marble can gain a heart.
The sky started to dim. Out in the vastness of Siberia, feelings could be more unrestrained. In a world where time didn’t move forwards, or maybe in a world where the days could be reset on a whim and an impossible structure still pierced the earth, they could have stood forever in the sea of scorched earth and fallen trees. However, an inquisitor can break those who twist reality but can not subjugate nature. As such, Karminsky turned his head toward the skies and gestured. Together they left the quietness and reentered society.
A train heads toward the capital, driven by a nameless man far away, empty and devoid of life except for two. They sat across from each other, a table separating the two with notes sprawling over top. Here Daniil laid down the experimentation he had already done.
On the tests of harm and death, he could draw blood, whether through needle or blade, but it would heal rather quickly. Pain could still be experienced. Infectious diseases could not affect him. A bullet to the head merely temporarily dazed him. Added to the list was the ineffectualness of meteors. On tests of blood, under the microscope, it appeared as Simon Cain’s did—red, white, and silver blood cells. When cycled through other creatures, unlike the white vaccine that could burn away the sand pest, it kept none of the properties. Human testing was an impossibility under the circumstances. The effects of ageing remain inconclusive and need more time for it to be noted. If his body had become an almost perfect replica of Simon Cain’s, ageing likewise would be effectual to the deterioration of the body.
Noting everything down, Karminsky thought about the possibility of circling Dankovsky’s blood through himself. The animals had experienced no noticeable side effects when injected with silver blood cells. There was a possibility that they could only affect humans. However, there was also the possibility it would kill Dankovsky outright in the quantity that would be needed. The white vaccine killed the immortal Simon Cain. If he brought it up, Dankovsky would agree. His new possession shouldn’t die so soon. Karminsky caressed the only bare part of Dankovsky—his face. It felt as a human’s should’ve, flesh and alive, not at all what glass felt like. He would keep his miracle alive as long as he could.
Daniil froze, unsure if he could lean away—he was both Karminsky’s miracle and himself. Intimacy was supposed to be restricted to those he would have considered friends and there was no amity to be found with an inquisitor. Bogged down by a vague sense of apprehensiveness and fear, he did nothing and let Karminsky do as he pleased. The touch was unnervingly gentle and warm, akin to an embrace from a lover.
“We have the same goals, don't we? We both pursue impossible objects in hopes of studying them and putting them to good use. I could point you in their direction. You could work with me in an official capacity,” Karminsky said.
It would be favourable to agree to working with Karminsky. Given Daniil was already under purview, it would make no difference if he agreed or didn’t. Either way his every move and action would be recorded eventually. If this can help him achieve his goals faster and free humanity from its shackles, he can sell his soul to an angel.
“Faciam quodlibet quod necesse est,” Daniil said in agreement.
Before he was to be dissolved, he would bring happiness.