VICE

Chapter Twenty-One: Prosthetics

“I wish you’d waited for Ceor to arrive before fighting Matt,” Lorne said irritably to Absalom. “We could’ve avoided this.”

Absalom sat up in his hospital bed, being very careful to not jostle his stump of a wrist, which was heavily bandaged. “It was a spur of the moment thing,” he said, as if to justify it. “Is it possible to fix it?”

“Of course,” Lourn said. “We can get you a new hand in a matter of hours. But tell me again about the fight.”

“At first, it was almost exactly like practise,” Absalom said, “only I had the upper hand because he was tired after fighting at Omerre. Then he seemed to get very angry for no reason, and he became a whole lot stronger. Then he began to attack with Angelic magic, only… He was good at it. Hardly anyone in the world knows anything about Angelic magic, but he was using it like he’d Wielded it all his life. He said he had had a very good teacher. Then he grew wings of mana and they shot at me. Luckily, I had amirite on hand, or else I’d be dead.” He gulped. “Can I have some water?”

“Sure.” Lourn gave Absalom a cup of water from the cooler in the corner. He drank it slowly, savouring the cool wetness of it. “Please continue.”

“Right. Then he started talking to himself and saying he wouldn’t kill me in cold blood. Then I attacked to knock him out so I could bring him to you, and he grabbed my sword. He tried to kill me, but I rolled away and he took my hand instead, It was like… He had two personalities or something.”

“Interesting…” was all Lourn said. “It’s possible that because of all the stress he’s been under that he’s developed Multiple Personality Disorder. I’ll look into it.”

An hour later, Absalom was in a drug-induced sleep, about to receive a new hand. The only people in the operating room were Absalom, Lourn, and a doctor who was sworn to secrecy. The doctor unwrapped the bandages around Absalom’s wrist and threw them away. Then, with practised precision, he began to remove parts of the wrist with a scalpel. A fresh wave of blood began flowing, but it was quickly staunched with a spray of wound-sealing liquid. After that he began re-working the paths of the veins and arteries so that they were separate from the wrist. He began drilling into Absalom’s bone, making a hole about an inch deep and half an inch wide. He inserted a metal socket into the hole and then sewed the whole thing up, leaving only the socket visible. Then a robotic-looking hand made of gold-coloured metal was selected, and then screwed into the socket. Admiring his handiwork, the doctor stepped back and pronounced the operation complete. The entire procedure took all of thirty minutes.

* * *

Sitting up in his bed, Absalom admired his new hand. It was quite skeletal-looking, but he liked it. He could twist it all the way around, move his fingers any way he wanted, and it was hard and strong enough to crush small stones without any effort at all.

“How is it?” Lourn asked.

“Perfect,” Absalom said, smiling. “Bring the doctor in, I want to thank him personally.”

The doctor entered the room and began asking all the routine post-operation questions.

“It’s perfect, Doctor…” Absalom trailed off, trying to remember his name.

“Dr. Sharp,” supplied the doctor. “Yes, not bad for my first prosthetic implant, eh?” he laughed.

Absalom shot him a withering glare while Lourn laughed.

“He's joking,” Lourn said, still grinning. “I made sure to find the best doctor in Alteria.”

“Good,” Absalom said gruffly, scowling.

With another chortle, the doctor left.

“So,” Absalom said. “How goes it with our projects?”

“Well, while you were away trying to capture Matt, there was a…disturbance…of some kind on our radar.”

“Which radar?”

“The one that looks for anomalies in the mana of the world. This was on a tiny island in the middle of the Central Ocean.”

“You think it might be an angel.”

‘Yes,” Lourn said, folding his arms across his chest. “I’ve asked Arcturus about it, but he hasn’t replied yet. I think he may have gone to investigate it himself.”

“Which island was it?” Absalom asked.

“That one with those stone blocks. Henges, I believe they’re called.”

“That place is a mana pool, isn’t it?” Absalom said. “Maybe it was just an influx of mana. You know, like a magical geyser.”

“No, there hasn’t been anything like that. There would have been mama residue, and the radar didn’t show any. It was just a quick burst.”

“Will Arcturus tell us what happened?” Absalom asked.

“Probably,” said Lourn. “Though, I admit I don’t know his motives. He’s loyal, but I can’t think of any reason for him to be.”

“Maybe he’s just grateful that we freed him from the stasis chamber,” Absalom suggested.

“Maybe…”

They sat in silence for a while, Absalom closing his eyes and laying back on his pillow. The new hand felt tight, uncomfortably so, but Dr. Sharp had assured him that the feeling would subside in a few days.

“Do you know what Matt’s plans are?” Absalom asked sleepily.

“He’s on the way to Lightford at the moment. He’s bringing the Paparch’s daughter back there.”

“Isn’t she the one who helped to hold back mana production for a whole year in the jungle plant?” Absalom asked.

“I think so,” Lourn said thoughtfully.

“I wonder what she would do if we told her what ZEST is all about,” Absalom mused. “Do you think she’d help us?”

“Maybe,” Lourn said. “I’m certain Matt wouldn’t, even if we told him the whole plan. We may have gone the wrong way with him.”

“That’s an understatement for the centuries,” Absalom snorted.

Lourn had to agree with him.

* * *

Finally, the angel woke up. Her head pounded fiercely, like a million sledgehammers all bashing away at her skull. She opened her eyes slowly. The light hurt. Hurt. That was such a grossly inadequate word. Such a useless understatement. Useless. That was how the angel felt. Useless.

She could barely even speak, even inside her own head. Her mind kept switching between all the languages she knew. Modern Tongue, of the humans, was the main one, but others kept slipping in. Vas is stas? C’est la vie. Nee, het is geen life, het is kut. Those ones, she had no name for. Others, she did. Latin. Enochian. Parisian, though she knew that Modern Tongue had long since replaced that, even in the desert nations. Demonic. She had only ever learned a little Demonic, and most of that was very inventive and graphic swear words. She used those to little satisfaction and even less effect.

She opened her eyes a crack. She hadn’t realized that they had closed again. Light seared her brain. She wondered what Atticus would say if he could see her now. That jolted her memory a little. Atticus.

Her eyes fluttered open immediately, memory rushing to her mind. Suddenly, the pain was no longer there.

She was lying on her back on a cold stone floor. She got to her knees. How… archaic. It was an ancient-looking prison cell, complete with damp stone walls, a hard board for a bed, and an iron-barred door. Just beyond the door was every semblance of modernity, though it was, annoying, accented with chrome, like everything else in this VICE base. She knew it was the same base because she could still feel Atticus, though the feeling was muffled somehow. Either wards had been placed around one of them, or she had been drugged. Probably both.

No, they hadn’t drugged her. She could still feel her mana inside her. She scratched absently at her leg and felt a metal ring around her ankle. It would probably shock her or something if she used any mana at all.

She fluffed her wings out, allowing them to extend to their full length. They barely fit in the cell, but at least she wasn’t too cramped.

There was a plate of food on the “bed”. Meat, potatoes, beans, and a pitcher of water. They were cold, but she ate them gratefully, washing the food down with great gulps of water. Still hungry, she decided to do a bit of meditation to take her mind off her stomach.

She allowed her body and mind to relax, her mind extending as she counted her slow, even breaths; odd for inhales, even for exhales. That was her favourite mantra, and before long, she was counting unconsciously, her deep mind taking over. Surprisingly, she found another soul nearby. It was dark and red and silver, angry-feeling. She concluded that it was a demon. She probed deeper and found that it was a woman demon. What was a demon doing outside the Grey Realm, and here of all places?

Suddenly there was another presence. It was old and silver, full of hate but also full of love. She knew this soul.

“Hello, Chasse,” Arcturus said.

Chasse opened her eyes, ceasing her meditation. Outside her cell was the one who had captured her, His grey wings were casually unfolded, one of them brushing his face. He had long, waist-length silver hair, a pointed nose, clear grey eyes, and carried a long, curved sword.

“Arcturus,” Chasse said curtly. “Why am I here?”

“Well, you were interfering with the extraction process with Atticus,” Arcturus said matter-of-factly. “I’m sorry I had to hit you to make you stop.”

Chasse sighed. “What extraction process?”

“He has power we can use for ZEST.”

“You’re still going along with that?” Chasse demanded. “It didn’t work last time, what makes you think it’ll work now?”

“Last time, we were concerned with a war,” Arcturus said. “It distracted us.”

“Why are you doing this?” Chasse asked. “Seriously. You don’t care about humans. Why would you help them with ZEST?”

“The same reasons as before,” Arcturus said. “Only, I feel something rising out of the depths of time. Think about it. All of us are waking up. The last time that happened, it was to protect the world from a calamity. We might need the Zestinians’ power, or else whatever crushed them will annihilate us all.”

“Oh please, like that matters to you,” Chasse scoffed. “I protect humans because I love them, but you’ll only do it to save your own skin.”

“Maybe,” Arcturus admitted.

“How long have I been here anyway?” Chasse asked.

“Almost a month,” Arcturus said. “You must be hungry. Do you want more food?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Chasse sighed. “And, make sure you treat that demon in the other cell alright. Who is she anyway?”

“She was at a Henge.”

“So you felt the need to capture her? Demons come and go. It’s nothing special. We do the same, yet less often.”

“She was snooping around Exodus’ stasis chamber,” Arcturus said. “I don’t know if she knows what it is, but I figured better safe than sorry. We don’t need to drag him into this before it’s necessary.”

“Whatever,” Chasse said again. “Hey, could you get me a mattress? I mean, I know I’m a prisoner, but it’s just like last time. It’s all just a game. There’s no reason why we can’t cheat a little.”

“I wasn’t the one who designed the cells,” Arcturus laughed. “I’ll go get you one.”

He left her alone, allowing Chasse to plan her escape.

* * *

The demon was slow at waking up, but wake up she did. As she slowly regained consciousness, she remembered exactly what had happened. She had just arrived in the human world from the Grey Realm, and then she was ambushed by an angel. That wasn’t right; angels had always been friendly with demons. Someone trying to stop her completing her mission? Maybe, though no one knew she was looking for Krégan’s daughter.

The demon girl got to her feet. She was in an unremarkable cell, with stone walls, an iron door, and a wooden board of a bed with a large feather mattress. In the corner was a chipped basin with a mirror above it. She made a few fairy-lights with a wave of her hand so she could see her reflection.

Her dark purple eyes looked tired, with deep shadows beneath them. Her silver hair hung down her back, her white horns poking out from the top of it. Her tail whipped back and forth impatiently.

“This fuckin’ sucks,” she mumbled. She knew what her father would say about her language, but she didn’t care. She could curse if she wanted to.

She gathered her mana and fired it in a flurry of tiles, aimed at the door. This much power had blown up a large rock back home, and she had no doubt that it would allow her to escape now. The tiles hit the door and were simply absorbed by it. Then they shot out of the bars of the door and hit her square in the stomach. She landed on her back, her head hitting the floor.

“Ow o wow, my fuckin’ head,” she hissed. ‘Well, Meléna, you’ve gotten yourself into a right state, haven’t you,” she said to herself. “Ah, fuck it. I’ll escape later.”

The fairy-lights she had conjured winked out as she began to snore lightly.