The Homunculus Knight

Chapter 7: Desperate Measures

“Hey, does this fish taste funny to you?”

“Yeah… it kinda does. Didn’t you catch it today?”

“Pulled it straight out of the river not two hours ago.”

“That’s odd; maybe it is too early in the year for it.” - Conversation between Florian Hass and Fina Hass. Residents of Zandermend. (Village upon the Alidon River.)

Natalie returned to the main clinic after ensuring no more Screamers were loose. Mina was being treated for blood loss and some ugly lacerations but should recover, and Alia was now refusing to leave her girlfriend’s side despite her sickly condition. While details were still sparse, it seemed like someone mistakenly put a group of non-cleansed infected in with some of the earliest patients. Mina was the one who apparently discovered the mistake and went to rectify it, arriving maybe ten minutes too late.

Morale was pitifully low across the Temple, mopping up the shredded remains of civilians, including children, tended to have that effect. So the clinic ward Natalie stood in was practically silent, the coughing and rustling of patients the only sound. Cole wasn’t doing well, and it had Natalie on edge; he’d lost consciousness sometime recently and couldn’t be roused. Sitting next to his cott, Natalie looked over her lover; he was boiling to the touch; his skin was palid and clammy while every breath was a shallow wheezing thing. His only movement was to occasionally cough up pinkish gunk or groan in his sleep. Swollen lumps decorated his neck and armpits, leaking pus into his clothes and dressings. Some of the healers Natalie overheard were horrified by how quickly the plague was taking Cole. They seemed to think his efforts fighting the Wyvern and being doused in its infected blood were the reason for his wretched state.

Natalie knew better; Cole’s body was abnormal, and it was reacting like Isabelle intended. Just as he lacked a scent and didn’t sweat normally, his body handled disease strangely. While Natalie didn’t know the exact details, from what she’d learned from both Homunculus and Flesh-Weaver, Cole’s body would ‘surrender’ to an unknown infection, killing and then resurrecting him with immunity. This new plague was too strong for Cole’s flesh to fight against, so it was rolling over and learning the pestilence's secrets for its next life.

Looking at Cole’s sickly form, Natalie couldn’t tell which of them was vindicated from their earlier argument. Cole was giving the Temple healers an excellent map of the disease's progression; they’d been taking notes on his symptoms and were already testing different treatments on him. Something he’d, of course, given explicit permission to do before passing out. At the same time, Cole wasn’t there to help Mina or anyone else in the city against the Screamers, something he was extremely suited to do. Bitterly, Natalie wondered at what Cole would feel once he awoke; perhaps she wouldn’t be the only one wracked by guilt.

Dismissing that petty thought, Natalie leaned over her partner and whispered. “I think I’m going to do something stupid. I wish I could discuss it with you, but both our choices make that impossible. So, I just want to say I love you and… and… if I don’t seem myself when you wake up, please, please notice.”

Getting up, Natalie sighed and left Cole, ready to shake hands with the Adversary. After one final stop, that is. Heading deep below the Temple, she reached the Fane, the subterranean grotto the Hierophants used for their most important rituals. The great stone door was open but guarded by four Templars in full armor. They surprisingly let Natalie pass without comment, allowing her entrance into the damp cavern.

Hierophants Nyami, Glynn, and Bertram were standing around the central altar, deep in ritual work. The strife engulfing Vindabon threatened to spawn a Caul, and the Hierophants were busy preventing that from happening. Usually, the metaphysical disruption of a Caul built up slowly and could be dispersed before reaching full power.

Each Hierophant was glowing with a nimbus of power and chanting in Saint-Speech. Glynn alone seemed to notice Natalie and reached out telepathically. + Do you have a message for me? +

Wishing she could shiver, Natalie shook her head in the negative. She’d formed a psychic link with the Seer to help communicate during her courier duties and found it unsettling. Glynn’s mind was shaped strangely, and touching it was distinctly uncomfortable. Pulsing back through the link, she said. + I’ve made contact with Isabelle, and she might be able to help +

Glynn shut his angular eyes, and tears of silver light dribbled out from beneath his lids. + What is the price? +

Grimacing, Natalie said + She needs to use my body to examine and treat people. I’m going to give her three days to try and help. +

Glynn was momentarily psychically silent, never stopping his low chanting as he thought on this. + Isabelle Gens Silva is recorded as having both created and cured magical pestilences in the past. This plague stinks of the Duchies, so Isabelle is probably our best option to understand and treat it. But I am loathe to put the burden of possession upon you. I’ve known great Priests who balked at having a Seraph inhabit them; I cannot imagine ceding control to a dangerous creature like her. +

Shrugging and looking at the far wall of the chamber where hundreds of skulls sat behind a sheet of water, Natalie said. + I’m going to do this; I just wanted to ensure the Temple was aware. I’m giving her three days and three nights if I’m acting strangely after that… Well, stake me and reset Cole; he can probably help.+

The slightest hint of a frown showed on Glynn’s inhuman face. + I am deeply uncomfortable with letting you do this, but I see our options are limited. We found the wyvern. +

Before Natalie could ask, flashes of information were parsed along the mental link.

*Screamers in Norica, river villages beset by the plague*

*Ghost barges floating down the river, the crew infected, their otters fled*

*A divine premonition, a Priest, and a potion to grow gills*

*At the bottom of the river Alidon, a hulking carcass*

Eyes wide, Natalie swore aloud. “Jag me!”

The templars gave her ugly looks, and she winced; coarse language in a Temples fane wasn’t exactly appropriate even in times of crisis. + It fell into the river? That’s why nobody could find it? The wyvern crashed into the Alidon, and it contaminated the water. Oh… oh, Gods, the plague isn’t even contained in Vindabon. +

Glynn gave the barest nod of agreement; the situation was at the point where things were getting desperate. Chewing her cheek, ignoring the sting of her fangs, Natalie asked. +The Pantheon, they have to be doing something, right?+

Another slight nod and Glynn answered. + The Guardian Seraphs of Vindabon have been given additional… leeway. For now, no corpse will rise Undead in the region without a Necromancer’s dark work. While the miracles of the Temple will come easier, particularly the cleansing of the infected.+

Frowning, Natalie dared to be impertinent + That… that doesn’t seem that much. Aren’t the Gates imbalanced by the Solstice attack? Can’t they do more? +

Glynn’s chanting stumbled just a smidge; he recovered quickly, but the lapse in his usual perfection was disturbing. + Yes, and that’s what scares me. +

Sucking in a pointless breath, Natalie nodded jerkily and turned to leave. + Well… I guess I better see what can be done about the current crisis. +

Exiting the Fane, Natalie winced as she accidentally punctured the sensitive skin of her cheek. She’d managed to bite herself while stressing over this disturbing news. The Pantheon should, in theory, have plenty of power to intervene more readily after a Fell God attacked three months ago. If they were choosing to be miserly in their interference, even in the face of pestilence, they must be preparing for something truly horrible. If a jagging outbreak of plague cannibals didn’t count, then… well, Natalie was even more worried than she had been.

Reaching the apartment she shared with Cole, Natalie found her other pressing issue waiting for her. Yara sat outside the door, looking like some abandoned puppy awaiting its fate. Vampire and Thrall stared at each other for a moment; rubbing her forehead in exasperation, Natalie headed for the door.

Opening up the apartment, Natalie gestured inside. “You best come in.”

Cautiously, Yara followed her mistress into the apartment. Natalie gestured to the couch, and Yara tentatively took a seat. Going over to the box Isabelle’s skull resided in, Natalie opened it and lifted the polished bone. Walking over to the small sitting area, she set the skull on the table and sat down in a chair facing it. Yara’s eyes were like saucers as she followed Natalie’s movements. Gesturing at the skull, Natalie said. “Meet Isabelle; she’s a mostly dead Vampire who's been teaching me things. I’m going to do something stupid and need someone to go get help if it goes wrong.”

Yara actually glanced around, expecting Natalie to be speaking to someone else. When she realized there was no one else, the Thrall audibly gulped. Meeting Yara’s eyes, Natalie explained. “I’m going to commune with Isabelle, and if I don’t wake up within an hour, go get Glynn and tell him what you saw. If I do wake up and I’m acting well… not like myself, that's to be expected; I’m letting Isabelle possess me for a little while.”

Looking down at the skull, Natalie let out a long, long sigh. Yara wasn’t her first, second, third, or fourth pick for this role, but options were limited. Cole was sick, and so were Mina and Alia; she hadn’t seen Morri but guessed he was either sick or busy like the rest of the Hierophants. Leaving Natalie with few options, with Yara being the most practical.

Before she could second-guess herself, Natalie reached out and pricked her thumb on one of the skull’s fangs. Shutting her eyes, Natalie pulled on the link, using her blood to enhance the call.

:: Twenty Eight Years Ago ::

It was a hot summer night in southern Atredia. The light breeze rustling through the olive grove did little but move the sweltering air. Standing between rows of olive trees, Isabelle Gens Silva held up an unripe example of the growing crop. Freshly picked from the nearest tree, the stone fruit was about the size of Isabelle’s thumb tip and was the reason she was away from her castle. Instead of being the usual green or black coloration of unripe or ripe olives, the one in Isabelle’s hand was a swirling mix of bright colors. As if that wasn’t peculiar enough, the olive glowed slightly as well, a barely detectable bioluminescence pulsing to an unknown rhythm.

Squeezing the stone fruit between her fingers, Isabelle popped it, sending a trickle of soap-water-colored juice splattering onto the soil below. Glancing around the olive grove and the close to a hundred trees displaying the ‘blight,’ Isabelle asked her guide. “And this has been going on for how long?”

The nervous village boy standing between two of her Eternal Soldiers said. “A-about two weeks, my lady. The colors weren’t so bright at first; they just looked striped and smelled strange.”

Sniffing her fingers, still coated in the slimy olive guts, Isabelle noted they didn’t smell at all like an olive. Closer to some sort of slightly spoiled juice with hints of spice and soap in the mix. Reaching out to the nearest tree, Isabelle grew a claw and cut into the tree’s bark. More of the strange watery fluid dripped out of the wound; beneath the film of gunk, the green wood was also mutated. Its grain was strange, bending and twisting in clear contradiction to the plant’s growth, while lines of pulsing bioluminescence threaded through the wood, shifting colors every few seconds.

Wrinkling her sharp nose, Isabelle said. “Take me to where the first infected trees were found.”

Natalie Striga answered. “Interesting memory; I’ve never heard of plants like this.”

Isabelle whirled about, and the olive grove dissolved into a flower field. Natalie stood a few paces away, arms crossed, a neutral expression on her face. Recovering herself before any surprise could show, Isabelle nodded. “They were mutated; I’ve been examining possibly useful memories in preparation for combating the plague.”

Natalie sucked in a breath, a painfully human expression of trepidation. “This is my offer; every year, you get twelve twenty-four-hour periods where you get control of my body. You must request at least three days in advance, and I get a veto about you taking up a day. I reserve the right to take back my body if you do something wrong, but I will warn you about the objectionable behavior before reclaiming what’s mine. I’ll give you three extra days right now to work on the plague, and to make up for not discussing this with you earlier.”

Isabelle thought about this. “I’m assuming extra days don’t roll over into the new year? Also, will you still take back control if I heed your objections?”

Considering this, Natalie said. “No, they will not, and that will depend on the situation. But before we proceed with this agreement, I need you to answer a question for me honestly.”

Becoming very still, Isabelle tried to think what the question could be. There were things Isabelle couldn’t tell Natalie or anyone else for that matter. “Ask away then.”

Glancing down at the flowers around them, Natalie asked. “Why is Cole so self-sacrificing? He never hesitates to leap into danger and sometimes seems like an almost perfect example of heroism, to the point where he’s down in the clinic dying from the plague because he won’t ‘cheapen’ death to help himself. How in the world’s name did you create a person like that?”

“Ah,” Isabelle muttered; Natalie was dancing on the knife-edge of what could be shared. “What I tell you must stay between us. Cole cannot know what I’m about to tell you.”

Shaking her head, Natalie said. “I’m not going to keep secrets from him, especially ones related to you; I’ve made that mistake before.”

Tapping her fingers on her hip, Isabelle made her offer. “Then I will tell you what I’m willing to tell Cole.”

Frowning, Natalie scoffed. “Don’t you think it's wrong to hide details about a person’s origin from them? Cole has a right to know how you created him, especially if the details are as bad as you make them seem.”

Glaring at her student, Isabelle spoke in a low-clipped tone. “Would you tell a child they were a product of rape?”

Natalie blinked in surprise, and Isabelle continued. “It’s a common story; a girl is raped by an enemy soldier, but she tells her child their father was a hero who died in the war. Turning a monster and a horrible memory into a kind lie that protects everyone involved.”

Disturbed, Natalie asked. “Are… are you saying?”

Isabelle cut Natalie off. “No rape was involved in Cole’s creation, but you need to understand the level of darkness I sunk into with my obsession. I surpassed the Gods, Natalie! Nothing of that scope comes without a terrible price.”

Isabelle could practically see the reluctance and worry growing within Natalie. “You wished me to be honest, so I am. I’ll answer what I can, but no more, take my offer or leave it.”

Hesitation consumed Natalie until some thought or memory broke through her trepidation. “Fine, tell me what you will.”

Nodding, Isabelle explained. “It comes back to loyalty; when I first started the project to create truly new life, I understood how dangerous the venture could be. I needed to make sure my creation wouldn’t betray me or become a threat. So I studied the mechanics of faith, loyalty, and similar to reproduce them. At first, the idea was to induce fanatical devotion in my Homunculi, so they’d serve me without question. But, like much of the project, I grew overly ambitious and wouldn’t settle for replicating what existed. Instead, I worked to improve upon what was known, and achieve something marginally similar to perfection.”

Natalie looked a little sick as she asked. “So… his devotion to you and… me is artificial?”

Shaking her head, Isabelle corrected the inaccurate notion. “No, no, no, I created a mind primed to ‘imprint’ on ideas, people, and causes with fanatical loyalty. His ability to love is real, just… altered. As with the rest of him, it's human, but more so.”

Seeing the near panic rising in Natalie, Isabelle felt the tiniest twinge of sympathy. Having your entire worldview and relationships shifted by a revelation wasn’t pleasant. To soothe her student and end the flicker of discomfort she felt, Isabelle elaborated. “Of course, other elements became key factors. Cole was created to be highly intelligent, very loyal, and dutiful to the point of obsession. In building those mental elements, I made a mistake, one that has perhaps saved the world.”

Isabelle waved a hand in the air, summoning two spectral images, one of a wolf and the other of a dog. “One of my near-peers experimented with breeding wolves, hoping to create an improved breed of servants. He spent about a century breeding the most trainable lupines together, generation after generation. Eventually, a pattern became clear; these wolves bred for loyalty, and obedience became friendlier and more excitable. After fifty years of the experiment, his new wolf breed started getting floppy ears and wagging tails. All he’d managed to do was recreate dogs.”

Confusion and worry were clear in Natalie, so Isabelle made her point. “If you try to create life with certain traits, then other attributes you didn’t want, but are connected to the original traits, will naturally become part of the organism. Cole was made to be loyal, intelligent, and dutiful; those traits came with a great capacity for empathy and kindness. Features I didn’t plan for, but now defines him.”

Uneducated but still reasonably intelligent, Natalie finally managed to piece together what Isabelle was saying. “You wanted to create the perfect servant; instead, you created a hero.”

Looking at her fingernails, half-expecting there still to be mutant olive juice on them, Isabelle nodded. “I wanted my creation to serve the strong perfectly; instead, he protects the weak incredibly. An artificial savior, crafted by my hand, who pulled me back from the brink of damnation. He is the product of evil and undeath, yet he serves the Tenth God and helps the world in so many ways. Such a wonderful contradiction; he amazes me in so many ways.”

Natalie whispered under her breath. “Fire-and-iron… This is mad, every part of it. Does… does he even have true free will?”

Isabelle rolled her eyes. “As much as anyone else in this meddled world. People are shaped by their origin and environment; Cole is just a little more so than most. Now, back to your offer, I accept the terms you propose.”

Internally, Isabelle winced; she’d hoped to negotiate things in her favor, but Natalie’s questions made that difficult. The foolish girl was at risk of becoming hysterical, asking questions and demanding answers she wouldn’t want to hear. If Isabelle was going to escape her bone prison, she needed to keep Natalie’s trust, and if that meant taking a paltry deal, then so be it.

A flicker of surprise went across Natalie’s face before her expression settled into cool caution. “Why? I expected you to negotiate with me.”

Pride goeth before the fall, and Isabelle was familiar with both; she’d miscalculated, but not terribly. Truth, or at least something close to it, would hopefully ease her student’s suspicions. “Normally, I would push for more favorable terms, but I fear damaging our relationship if I did so. What I just shared with you was clearly upsetting, and I sense pushing on you would be… inconsiderate.”

Natalie grimaced. “I doubt that's the whole story, but I’ll accept it for now. So what must we do for you to use my body?”

Isabelle was surprised; perhaps the situation in Vindabon really had gotten bad in the last two days. “That depends; I assume you wish to be awake for this?”

Without hesitation, Natalie nodded. “Of course.”

Reaching out, Isabelle said. “Then take my hand and relax. It will be uncomfortable, but you risk damaging me and potentially yourself if you fight it.”

Tentatively, Natalie gripped Isabelle’s cool hand and was pulled into something resembling an embrace. Isabelle looked down at the shorter woman and pressed her forehead to Natalie’s. The mindscape lurched, and the flower field fell away, leaving the two women plummeting through a dissolving metaphor.

They landed after a small eternity in the lake of blood, representing Isabelle’s mindscape. Instead of standing on its placid surface, they shot beneath the red mirror and were immersed. Dragged down in the scarlet darkness, Isabelle took control of Natalie’s body.

Isabelle Gens Silva opened a new set of eyes and let out a content sigh. Looking down at her fingers and body, she smiled with joy. Sucking down a breath of pointless air, she savored the myriad smells and tastes. Standing up, she spun in place, enjoying how graceful this body was. Running a hand along her borrowed flesh, she inspected the supple curves and toned muscle awaiting her. Natalie really was a lovely creature; the Strixscions bred their members wonderfully.

+ Could you stop groping me like that?+

Sighing, Isabelle let go of her pert breast and replied. + I’m considering adjusting my eventual new body; perhaps an hourglass figure like yours would be fun. +

+ I’m not going to even try and comment on how disturbing that idea is, so can we get to work? +

Glancing around the room, Isabelle noticed she wasn’t alone. Yara, the red-headed thrall, was staring at her with undisguised worry. Snapping her fingers and gesturing at the thrall, Isabelle said. “Come here; I need your assistance.”

Yara practically jumped out of the couch and came to Isabelle. Gesturing to her borrowed hair, Isabelle said, “Remove the hairpin.”

+ No! That’s!+

+ If I don’t wear it while in your flesh, it will make it easier for people to tell who is in control. Now shush; I have a few things to do before I can start. +

Responding to the cold authority she was trained to recognize, Yara freed Isabelle’s hair and, at the vampire’s instruction, set the silver hairpin down next to the skull. Letting the long dark locks flow out, Isabelle took a moment to enjoy the feeling, shaking her head and playing with a stray curl. Then without warning, she pounced on Yara, gripping the thrall and sinking fangs into her neck. Yara gasped and nearly collapsed as Isabelle drained her to the edge of unconsciousness, injecting a little sting as she did.

Gently, Isabelle eased the thrall onto the couch, enjoying the flavor of her blood. Eyes fluttering, body shaking, Yara tried to speak but was in no shape to form words. Smiling at the thrall, Isabelle explained. “I am Countess Isabelle; I understand what you are and what you want. Rest now and know your blood was delicious and potent. When you’ve recovered, attend me, I’ll have need of you.”

Caught between shock, pleasure, and confusion, Yara managed to nod before falling asleep. Isabelle then headed for the door; as she reached for the handle, a wave of vertigo hammered the Countess.

+ WHAT THE JAG WAS THAT? +

Natalie’s consciousness pushed against Isabelle, threatening to cast the older vampire back to her prison. + I needed the blood! Besides, you’ve been neglecting your thrall; I can feel your guilt every time I look at her. +

There was a shocking amount of psychic bleed between the two vampires; Isabelle caught flickers of surface-level emotion from Natalie. Thankfully, Isabelle’s own mental control ensured her more… undiplomatic thoughts and feelings would stay hidden. An important skill Isabelle intentionally neglected to teach Natalie.

Isabelle left the apartment, ignoring the weight of Natalie’s annoyance as she headed towards the Temple’s entrance.

+ The Clinic is back that way +

+ I am aware I want to taste sunlight for the first time in over five hundred years, and then I can get to work +

Isabelle strode down the hallway with her usual unflappable confidence, her body language oozing dominance even in this borrowed flesh. Temple workers she passed instinctively moved out of the way, shying away from the predator stalking their halls. Reaching a secondary entrance to the Temple, Isabelle opened the doors and looked out upon a sunny day. A little of the old fear tickled the back of her mind, but the joy of new power overcame any trepidation.

Squaring her shoulders, Isabelle stepped out of the Temple and into the warm spring sunlight. Blinding and beautiful, the light wrapped around Isabelle, calling up ancient memories of her previous life. A long, contented sigh escaped Isabelle as she basked in the sun. It was such an alien experience the prickling discomfort it brought to her skin was even welcome. A little lick of pain to go with her draft of pleasure.

Arms spread, drinking in what should be a fiery death; Isabelle looked out at the city. Withered remains of the Green Path clung to buildings, desiccated reminders of the recent festival and its tragic end. The Temple Plaza was otherwise barren, empty of pedestrians, holding only its statues and a few triage tents yet to be taken down. Sucking in a breath and empowering her nose, Isabelle sifted through the various scents of Vindabon. The air stunk of fear and sickness, something Isabelle would change.

Spinning on her heel, Isabelle returned to the Temple and set out to save the city.

+ It’s not just the city anymore. +

More of Natalie’s memories surged into Isabelle, and she almost tripped in surprise. Flitting through the new memories, Isabelle better understood the situation. + Well then, I better get working. +

Reaching the clinic, Isabelle slipped past nervous plague wardens and headed for where Natalie’s memories said Cole would be. As she walked, Isabelle sniffed the air, sorting through the stink of disease and medicine, trying to better understand the plague. The symptoms clearly spoke to a bubonic origin, but that said little. Countless plagues and pestilences descended from the buboes infection; she’d need a closer examination to understand what she was dealing with.

Stepping over to a sickly-looking patient, Isabelle touched her and sent a pulse of wriggling magic through the infected woman. Gasping in discomfort, the woman had her jaw and wrist gripped by Isabelle, who peered into her throat, eyes, and armpit. Nodding at what she saw, Isabelle left the stunned patient, heading towards Cole.

+ Would you care to explain what that was about? +

+ I need a clearer understanding of what is at work with this pestilence. It’s obviously a bubonic descendant, but I need to know how it's been modified to start finding its banes. +

After a few seconds of mental silence, Natalie asked. + Could you put that in plain language? +

Rolling her eyes, Isabelle dumbed down her explanation for the uneducated peasant she was currently dealing with. + By magically modifying an existing disease, whoever created this pestilence has given it weaknesses. Magical defects that a canny mind like myself can find and exploit. +

+ So, kind of like how Vampires have weaknesses to stuff, so will the plague? +

+ A reasonable comparison. Where the gods themselves burdened us with our anathemas, a pestilence’s banes come from its origin. Usually reflecting the magic used to create them in some odd way. +

+ Could you share an example? +

Torn between being annoyed with Natalie’s ignorance and enjoying the opportunity to lecture, Isabelle sighed but responded. + I knew a pestilence that could only be treated with the gastric juices of a hamster. The pestilence was created by an Orcish Shaman who used a diseased hamster as the basis of her creation. +

+ A…. hamster? Seriously? +

+ Yes, you’d be surprised how often rodents come up regarding pestilences. They make wonderful transmission vectors and breed fast enough to be used readily for experimentation. +

Moving between rows of sick people, Isabelle looked for her darling; she wished to see him for both personal and practical reasons. His unique biology and existence would be useful in finding the pestilence's bane. While being able to physically touch him would… oh, it would be wonderful.

In a secluded corner, hidden by a set of hastily erected curtains, lay Cole. Pulling back the curtain and entering the impromptu sick room created for the homunculus, Isabelle felt her dead heart lurch. Cole looked horrible; large buboes decorated his flesh, leaking pus and blood. His breath was labored, and pink gunk dribbled from his lips.

+ Why hasn’t he healed himself? He doesn’t need to suffer like this! +

+ I agree, but he doesn’t. Cole refuses to reset himself, it's stupid, but it’s his choice. +

Fangs pricking her lower lip, Isabelle shook her head and approached Cole. She’d not imagined him to be in such horrible shape. Reaching down, she found one of his hands and took it, squeezing the so familiar hand with her own unfamiliar one. A gasp of pain escaped Cole, and Isabelle realized his digits were dark and bruised; necrosis was already starting. Gently setting his hand down, Isabelle put a finger to Cole’s forehead and let her magic ripple through him.

Cole’s condition was horrific; the contagion was rampaging through his bloodstream, infesting his organs and devouring him alive. At this point, Cole’s immune response was pitiable, his flesh surrendering to the plague, accepting its demise while plotting revenge. If Cole wasn’t suffering so, Isabelle would be proud of how her improved immune system was working. She’d need to get him to a laboratory somewhere to reset him and examine how the pseudo-curse repaired the damage. That should give her better insights than prodding him or other patients.

Cole’s eyes fluttered open then; they were unfocused and watery. Isabelle’s presence and actions were apparently enough to stir him from unconsciousness. Making a shushing notion, Isabelle put a hand on his chin. “It’s okay; this will be over soon.”

A low, bubbling groan escaped Cole, and Isabelle whispered. “I’m here, darling, I’m here. All will be well.”

For a single moment, Cole relaxed, going deathly still. Then he exploded in movement, tackling Isabelle off the cott and onto the cool stone floor. Straddling her, shaking hands pinning her, Cole sucked in rattling breaths, eyes wild with shock and rage. Isabelle looked up at the dying homunculus with genuine suprise; his body was septic, and his organs brutalized; he shouldn’t be able to lift his head, let alone overpower her.

Bile-tainted blood dripped from Cole’s mouth as he wheezed. “Yo-you… What-what have you done?”

Staring into his eyes, understanding bloomed for Isabelle. He could tell, half-dead from the plague and barely awake, he could tell it was her. Natalie apparently neglected to inform Cole of her deal with Isabelle.

+ Well… it's flattering to know he could tell us apart. +

Ignoring her student, a sad smile split Isabelle’s lips as she looked up at her lover. “I’ve missed you, darling. Don’t worry, Natalie is safe; I’m just… borrowing this body to help with the plague.”

Eyes starting to gloss over with exhaustion, Cole blinked slowly, his addled mind trying to understand what she was saying. Then with that last bit of energy spent, Cole collapsed. Gently moving her beloved knight off of her, Isabelle touched his throat and confirmed her worries. He was dead, his heart and brain giving out from the final effort.

Looking at the curtains, Isabelle suddenly realized she was in a very precarious position. She didn’t know who knew what Cole was but needed to keep that circle from expanding. A suddenly difficult proposition now that she was in the middle of a busy plague ward with his corpse.

Seeing no other easy option, Isabelle consulted her student. + I need a laboratory to examine Cole and hide him while he regenerates. +

+ I… might know where to find one. +