Chapter Text
1.
Frankenstein tossed and turned on the cot in his lab, unable to get comfortable despite the perfectly cooling linen bedding. He knew he wasn’t going to sleep well, but it would be great if he could at least lie down comfortably for a few hours. Still, it seemed his body was going to prevent him. His back was sore after standing in the same position in the lab for too many hours, which didn’t help matters. He tossed one of the blankets aside, felt cold, and put it back. Then he took it off again and sighed in frustration.
It had been one hundred years without his Master and his beloved, and Frankenstein just felt… lost. He was numb to everything right now. At least trying to work on Master’s cure helped him feel like he was doing something, even if it had yet to produce any results. Even if he knew it was hopeless, he would be quite worthless as a scientist if he didn't at least try.
The Dark Spear wasn’t bothering him yet, and he was thankful that his Master had kept the seal intact. He hadn’t needed it to fight so far, and it prevented the nightmares induced by his power. But it didn’t do anything for the nightmares produced by his own human mind. The trepidation kept him awake for far too long before his consciousness finally gave way to sleep.
Frankenstein knew as soon as he opened his eyes in his dreamscape that this one would be terrible. Frankenstein always knew when he was dreaming, but he had yet to figure out how to escape them. He was trapped in his own mind, unable to wake as he witnessed the grievous sight before him. In his mind, he was shaking terribly, but his body in his dream was completely composed.
There was his missing Master. Frankenstein’s flawless memory didn’t spare any detail. The lights and shadows in his scarlet eyes, soft and full charcoal lashes, smooth and ashen skin. He was stripped bare and strapped down to Frankenstein’s operating table. Frankenstein saw his own gloved hand and he couldn’t move no matter how much he thrashed, couldn’t make a sound no matter how much he screamed. He saw the scalpel beginning to sink into Raizel’s chest, the first bright red bead dripping from the incision…
Despite the torture, Raizel didn’t resist or even make a sound…
“Aargh!”
Frankenstein finally awoke, but not before having witnessed the dream to its conclusion. The things he had seen were too terrible to give words to. He stumbled out of bed and barely made it to the trash can before he was violently ill, his stomach heaving, his knees pressed to the cold tile floor. Just as the first wave abated he recalled involuntarily the very last thing he had seen and he began to retch again.
Finally there was nothing left for his body to expel and he gasped for breath, steadying his trembling hands on the floor, closing his eyes. The blissful darkness assured him that he was awake, since in the dream, he could never close his eyes and look away. It’s not real, he tried to convince himself. I might not know how Master went missing, but I can be sure that it’s not that. That never happened… I’m sure that it never happened…
Frankenstein had never done such a truly abhorrent thing as that to anyone, not even himself, so he wasn’t sure why he kept dreaming about it. But maybe he did. He was a doctor, a surgeon, and he was overcome by dark thoughts. Frankenstein knew everything about the physical body. He knew how to treat any affliction, how to excise any malignancy. But in that knowledge… in that knowledge was the ability to inflict the worst tortures imaginable. Frankenstein knew exactly which places to avoid so as to keep a patient alive and to not cause harm… meaning he knew exactly where to cut to cause the most agonizing death.
And his shaken mind didn’t have much proof that it wasn’t real. His Master would always come to comfort him after he had nightmares back in Lukedonia, but his Master wasn’t with him now. If he had a dream like this back then, he would take Raizel down to the lab and check Raizel’s pulse again and again and again until the steady beat made its way into his mind. He’d press the stethoscope to Raizel’s chest, then he would press his hand there, then his fingers against Raizel’s neck, his wrist, his thigh, until Frankenstein could be sure of that life-giving rhythm.
Now all he had was a faint thread in his mind of the Contract. Master was somewhere so far away from him that at this distance, all it could tell was whether Raizel was alive or dead. But that was enough for Frankenstein. That thread kept glowing in his mind, telling him Raizel was alive, Raizel was alive. He held tight to it, grasping it. Alive. Alive. Alive. It gave his body enough strength to stumble to the bathroom and clean himself up. When he finished, he gave up trying to make it back to bed and just lay down on the lab floor, where fate took pity on him and granted him a dreamless unconsciousness for one precious hour until dawn.
2.
Frankenstein was going to have a nightmare tonight, and he deserved it. After two hundred years, he had given in to a human emotion by the name of boredom and broken the seal on his power to train with it. He had been worried that he would grow weak spending so much time without it… but the real reason was that he was losing his mind without the opportunity to fight his hardest. Since he figured he would be equally insane without or without the mad thing, he ended up disobeying Master’s order and drawing his weapon.
Immediately, he had been flooded with the cries of the thousands of souls of the dead. They screeched and wailed at him, voicing their displeasure at having been bound under Raizel’s absolute authority for so long. Frankenstein just shook them off with a mad grin. “You’re free now, so stop complaining!"
It was exhilarating. He had needed that release so much, and the joy of finally being able to fight and let go of the emotions trapped in his body made him feel alive again, when he felt like he had been a living ghost before. But all things came with a price, and now the bill was due. Frankenstein sighed as he made the usual preparations. The bed was stripped completely bare to avoid suffocation, and he set the thermostat warm so that he didn’t feel excessively cold. He couldn’t even wear anything, since any clothing would be in bloody shreds by dawn.
Back in the manor… When it was particularly bad, Raizel restrained him with his power so that he didn’t hurt himself in his sleep. It didn’t hurt when Raizel did it. He bound Frankenstein using red ribbons of aura that were surprisingly comfortable and supportive, both gentle on the skin and unbreaking in the face of Dark Spear. In Master’s absence, Frankenstein resorted to human methods — enhanced steel handcuffs binding him to the bedframe. They hurt, but they got the job done.
Fastening the cuffs into place, Frankenstein now lay with his hands bound together above his head and his ankles chained to the footboard. It was hardly comfortable, and he felt quite exposed and vulnerable, but he was exhausted enough that even the nervous anticipation didn’t prevent him from sinking deeply into the jaws of sleep.
This time, Frankenstein was on the battlefield, open and barren before him. His consciousness was hazy, and he raised his hands, only to find through blurred vision that they were a deep purple, his nails having become sharp claws. He shut his eyes desperately but the blurry image didn’t go away, and he felt a spark of fear. He was dreaming, it wasn’t completely real. But the Dark Spear was still a danger to him here. He had to stay conscious, or he could end up becoming devoured in reality.
He glanced up in alarm as a flash of red caught his eye, causing his blood to run cold with horror. No…! God, why this? Why this?!
In his dream, Raizel was standing impassively before him. He was crying, the scarlet blood tears overflowing from his eyes. It was so terribly realistic and Frankenstein was forced to watch every painful second, unable to look away for a single moment. When Raizel held out his hand, Frankenstein tried to kneel. But his body wasn’t his own, it was Dark Spear’s right now.
Stop! He cried desperately, tears falling from his own eyes. Don’t hurt him…! Don’t…!
He couldn’t stop himself from lunging forward, his claws aiming with deadly precision for Raizel’s throat…
Frankenstein awoke in tears, his voice hoarse from screaming, deep red cuts sliced into his wrists and ankles from where the cuffs dug into his skin, since he’d been tearing at them with all his might. Thankfully, they’d held, and that was the worst of the damage. If he hadn’t bound himself, he’d be in a much worse state. His body still trembling violently, his painfully tense muscles relaxed just a little as he ensured that he was awake. Tears fell silently from his eyes as he shook. Oh, Master, Master… please, return to me soon… so that I can know that you’re safe.
3.
After three hundred years, Frankenstein received word from Lukedonia about the changes in the country of the Nobles. He could hardly believe Gechutel’s letter. Apparently the Lord had gone into Eternal Sleep, taking the Family Leaders with him. Except only half had gone with him. The other six had betrayed Lukedonia, refusing to enter Eternal Sleep and joining the Union instead. Lascrea had become the Lord, and Gechutel was asked to stay alive and look after her.
It was almost too much to understand. Rayga, of course, had been among the loyal families. So that was it. He would never meet Rayga again. Was this why, in that final exchange he had with him before he left Lukedonia, Rayga had lowered his mask? When they had said that they hoped to see each other again, it was just wishful thinking. What was the point? Did all this suffering have any damn purpose?
The glass shattered in his hand, shards of it embedding itself in his skin. He shook his hand to remove them, sending bits of glass onto the table and floor, and he couldn’t even be bothered to find a cloth to clean up the spilled liquor. He didn’t usually drink, but this was a “special occasion.” When else to bring out his 1440 vintage port but the coronation of a new Lord, or more accurately, a sign that the world had gone to shit? One of his only two friends in the world had died, his beloved Master was nowhere to be found, and that bitch Lascrea had declared him and his Master traitors to Lukedonia for no apparent reason, so now he couldn’t even go back home even if he wanted to.
Dimly he realized that he had almost finished the entire bottle and he should probably stop, but he couldn’t really find a reason to. Pouring the last of the wine into a new glass, Frankenstein couldn’t help but feel bitter. He had lived far too long for this. God, all he wanted was for his Master to be by his side again… he’d sell his soul a thousand times over just to catch a glimpse of him one more time, to call out to him and say goodbye, to hear his gentle voice call his name just once more.
He didn’t even notice he’d fallen asleep, the half-finished glass still in his hand, his head slumped against the table…
Raizel wasn’t in his dream this time. That was the relief, and the most painful part. For his torture tonight, his mind created for him the illusion of time. In one night, Frankenstein spent one hundred years, which became one thousand years, which became ten thousand… the Earth turned and turned, and Frankenstein and Raizel both steadfastly refused to die. Frankenstein had crossed the world one million times over, he had met one million human lives, and not a single one— no, not a single one ever made him feel the way his Master made him feel. Not a single one loved him the way his Master loved him. Not a single one spoke his true name. The word ‘loneliness’ was meaningless to him. It was only— nothing. Without Raizel, there was nothing. He was nothing.
After ten thousand years, in this dream, Frankenstein found himself at the cliffs of Lukedonia. This was the place where it had all started, where he had first arrived on the island, where he had first met his love. Raizel was still alive, still lost, but Frankenstein could not carry on one day longer. The waves crashed at the rocks below, inviting him into their icy depths.
I’m sorry, Master…
He closed his eyes as fell.
Frankenstein woke up with his tears soaking through his sleeve, leaving half his face uncomfortably damp. As he slowly blinked awake, still alone in his dark living room, he started to remember what was real. His head was pounding, and he caught sight of the remnants of the wine on the table. He’d definitely had too much. Logically, alcohol was only known to worsen things like this, and he would probably regret this over the next day. But he just… didn’t have enough energy to care.
Once, he would check Raizel’s pulse over and over until he could be sure he was alive. Now he pressed his hand to his own chest, neck, wrist. He was fine… maybe unfortunately so. But five hundred years was nothing compared to ten thousand. Frankenstein could go on a little while longer…
4.
“You need to rest.”
Frankenstein glanced up wearily at the lady with the lamp who had entered as he bandaged a young soldier’s wound. “I am all right, Miss Nightingale. Thank you for your concern.”
She shook her head. “Sir, you have not once rested since you arrived. A diligent physician takes care of himself so that he may care for others.”
Finished with his task, Frankenstein got to his feet. While traveling he had found himself in Constantinople, the city that had once been his human homeland, only to find that the war had begun. He could have left for safer places, knowing that humans hardly ever tended to take his advice… but seeing Nightingale’s passion, he reluctantly took up a position as a war medic in her hospital. He was just so grateful that someone at least supported handwashing, forget sterile equipment, just handwashing. Just regular lye soap could prevent so much death, and it was so damned hard to convince anyone of it. But he was beyond relieved that Nightingale suggested it herself.
Frankenstein was used to the horrors of war. It was nothing that Frankenstein hadn’t seen before in his long life. It had been more than six and a half centuries without his Master now, and Frankenstein was barely holding on to his sanity. Gunshots, the wounds of war, the iatrogenic illness that was inevitable in the deplorable hospitals, none of it fazed him anymore. His sang-froid, and not to mention his enhanced body, helped him to care for more patients than should be humanly possible.
But still, no matter how much time passed, his heart always skipped a beat every time he saw a young man with black hair collapsed on the field. It was a completely irrational fear. There was no reason for his Master to be in the human world, much less fighting a human war, and even less so afflicted by such human things as gunshots or illness. But it was a deep instinct inside of him that felt fear every time he turned over another casualty, fearing his beloved to be there instead.
Truthfully, that was why he didn’t want to sleep. It was easier to stay and lose himself in the work of caring for patients than to stop and let his own troubles catch up to him. But Nightingale was right, and he hadn’t slept in several days now. It was going to take a toll on him sooner or later, and it would be disastrous if he let patient care suffer because of his own carelessness. Things were difficult enough as it was between the lack of supplies, patient education, and cleanliness. Frankenstein couldn’t afford to be debilitated by a lack of sleep now.
“I suppose… I can have a short rest…”
He didn’t want to disturb the others in the event that he had a nightmare, which was more likely than not. But the hospital was full of boys and young men who were traumatized by the terrors of war, and all the nurses and doctors had long grown accustomed to the shouts in the night of troubled patients. Frankenstein didn’t want to expose his painful past… but on the other hand, it was not so unusual for a man of his age to have served, even if that wasn’t the cause of his pain. No one at the hospital would judge him for it.
Nightingale nodded approvingly, and led him to a separate quarter for staff. Thankfully, the rooms had partitions that gave at least the illusion of privacy, and most of the other staff were on duty still. Reluctantly, Frankenstein lay down on the straw cot and tried to relax. Fatigue weighed down his body, pulling him into its cold and familiar depths as he fell asleep.
He should have expected this nightmare. It was on his mind, after all. In this dream, Frankenstein was on the front lines again, his heart hammering in his chest as he knelt in front of a wounded young man. His dark hair fell to his shoulders in a clear violation of military grooming standards. His glassy half-closed eyes were a beautiful, brilliant scarlet that would never leave Frankenstein’s memory for as long as he lived. His skin was dreadfully ashen, and his hand was clutching his chest, where his uniform was soaked through with blood.
Frankenstein hastily tended to his wound, ducking his head so as not to get caught in the crossfire, but his hands were shaking too badly and he cursed himself a thousand times over. In his dream, Raizel gave him that sad, sweet smile. “Frankenstein, it’s okay. I’m sorry…”
No! He shouted desperately, giving up on the bandage, just holding him in his arms. No, Master, you’re going to be fine, I’ll take care of you…
“It’s okay… It’s all right now…”
A broken sob escaped him. Of course his Master would waste his final breaths consoling him. The light in his beloved’s eyes slowly faded away…
“Sir?”
Frankenstein awoke with a gasp to see Nightingale leaning over him with a look of concern. Dazed, he struggled to catch his breath, trying to remember where he was, what year it was. He still felt sick to his stomach and could barely form words. He almost started in Latin or Lukedonian before he remembered in this place it was English. “M-Miss Nightingale… I apologize, did I…?”
“You seemed terribly upset…” she murmured.
He sighed, shaking his head, trying to offer a shaky smile. “It’s nothing.”
5.
It had been eight hundred years, and Dark Spear had started to grow unsettled again. He had a troubled history with his so-called ‘crazy lover.’ He’d lifted and replaced the seal on his powers several times throughout the years, letting it roam free when he couldn’t contain himself, forcing it away when he wanted to live amongst humans for a while. The modern world was changing so fast, and Frankenstein had hardly stayed still in the last decade, always leaving each place before he could settle.
It had been so long that he had periods of listlessness and periods of activity, cycling through each depending on the era and his mood and however the stars turned or whatever, Frankenstein didn’t really know or care. Some years he could barely find it in him to feed himself, and others he spent living vigorously alongside humans, usually as a doctor or scientist of some kind. Nightingale wasn’t the only visionary he’d worked alongside. He went wherever there was innovation, whether it was Curie, Pasteur, Fleming, or others. Whenever he fell in step with humans, it was always bittersweet; pretending to be one of his kind, acting like he could ever live a normal life.
He’d grown tired of it lately. It was as difficult as it was rewarding to put on a polite smile and pretend to be normal. Having had enough, he retreated to one of his secluded islands. By himself, he could speak and write in whatever mix of Latin, Greek and Lukedonian that suited him, he didn’t have to worry about hiding his powers or his insanity or his true nature. It wouldn’t last forever. After this, he’d probably have a sane period and come up with something useful to do with his life again. But this moment was for himself. He engaged in idle pursuits; new medicines, Master’s cure, genetic modifications, charting the stars, whatever made him strong enough so that he could keep going in this godforsaken, lonely world.
He knew tonight was going to be hard. He could hear Dark Spear whispering, even though he hadn’t used them lately. He would probably be fine without the usual precautions, but sometimes he wished that he could ever just sleep without having to think about all of this. He’d tried to worm his way out of it by staying up a few days in a row, but it would catch up to him in the end. After tidying away all his equipment, Frankenstein lay down under the sheets, waiting until the depths of unconsciousness pulled him under.
Tonight was a vision. Being made of the pure energy of souls, Dark Spear would occasionally give him glimpses of the future. It wasn’t set in stone. Some of them came to pass, some didn’t. Strangely enough, Dark Spear couldn’t seem to control it either.
Everything was a hazy purple, tinted with the Dark Aura. Frankenstein squinted to make out the scene. He was in the lab, and there was his Master. His heart leapt in his throat. His Master, in his future? Conflicting emotions swelled in him like the tide. He wanted more than anything to meet Raizel again, but Dark Spear never showed him this unless there was a terrible fate in store…
Raizel was seated in an armchair, wearing his usual white shirt and black trousers, and Lascrea was standing in front of him. She had a terrible coldness in her eyes, and she was holding the Ragnarok at her side. In this nightmare-vision, the Ragnarok pulsed with power and energy. After all, Lascrea wasn’t the Princess anymore, she was the Lord. But Frankenstein didn’t understand what Lascrea was doing until she raised her sword.
No! Lascrea, what the hell do you think you’re doing?! Frankenstein cried out, the Dark Power leaping at his skin. The fog of rage that enveloped his mind was making Dark Spear stronger and stronger, taking over his hands and chest immediately, rising to his neck. Get away from him!
Gechutel, for some reason, was next to him. There were two young Nobles there too, a boy who could have been Gechutel’s grandson who had collapsed from shock, and a blond boy who could have been another son of Rayga’s who cried out as the Dark Aura began to flare.
“Frankenstein, stop!” cried Gechutel.
He couldn’t think straight. All he could see was the sword fully embedded in Raizel’s chest, Raizel’s shaking body, the blood soaking his chest and dripping onto the tiled floor and Frankenstein went mad with rage. He would kill Lascrea if it was the last thing he ever did. Dark Spear was screaming and he was probably screaming too.
Get the hell away! Frankenstein managed to warn Gechutel and the two boys as he focused his power. He wasn’t trying to hurt them but they were standing doggedly in the way, why wouldn’t they just let him do this?!
“You’re going to hurt him!” shouted Gechutel and that struck fear into him. Hurt Raizel? His heartbeat was pounding in his ears, the thorns of fury in his veins, rage, heartbreak, vengeance, he lost control. There was a violet flash as his toxic aura filled the room indiscriminately…
Frankenstein was glad that no one was there to hear him scream as he awoke. He must have cried out for a long time, because in the morning his voice was so raw that he couldn’t speak for the next three days, and the tremor in his hands didn’t abate until one week later. Lascrea should count her blessings that the visions weren’t reliable, because if they were, Frankenstein would have half a mind to find her and kill her before any of this ever came to pass.