by Peter Oxley
I peered at the doctor through cloudy and unfocused eyes. What I could see of the man through my distorted view was distinctly underwhelming: my vision was filled with a beak-like nose protruding from a shiny, patrician-like face. He was a new addition to Maxwell’s carers, having replaced the previous doctor at some point during our trip to Sheffield, and he was apparently among the finest physicians in the country.
After N’yotsu had dragged me, insensate and near death, from Maxwell’s device we had both been brought to a room further down the corridor that now served as a makeshift hospital ward. It seemed that I was not the only one who had had a negative reaction to Maxwell’s concoction. N’yotsu was similarly afflicted and Maxwell himself had complained of blistering to his skin. As for the soldiers who came to our rescue, they had burst into fits of coughing as soon as they entered the room. Thankfully, however, their exposure was considerably diluted compared to my extreme dosage.
After the doctor was satisfied that they had suffered no lasting ill effects, the soldiers had left with little more than quizzical glances back at us: they were clearly used to Maxwell’s experiments. Thankfully, Kate seemed to have actually taken Maxwell’s dismissal earlier as an order to be followed. I could not bear to face her at that time; with my swollen and blistered skin I looked like a burnt cadaver pulled from a house fire.
I shifted in my bed and a sharp burst of pain ran through my body. “Max, please,” I croaked.
“Very well,” Maxwell sighed. He passed the doctor a sheet of paper. “These are the compounds with which I dosed him.”
Dr Smith frowned at the list. “What an odd combination. I cannot imagine these being anything other than benign. What were you trying to accomplish?”
“We were attempting to separate Aetheric matter from his human tissue. Unfortunately something did not quite work according to plan, or maybe it worked a little too well. I have not had time to consider this, as my brother’s welfare is my primary concern. Can you treat?”
“Of course I can treat him,” the doctor snapped back and for once I saw Maxwell affronted by someone else’s lack of courtesy. “I will need to run some tests, but it appears that your compound has uniformly attacked every part of your brother’s body.”
“Which would suggest that the Aetheric elements are too closely bound to the human ones,” Maxwell muttered.
“The same goes for Mr N’yotsu here, although his symptoms are not quite as acute.”
“That is correct,” said N’yotsu from the bed next to mine. “I was only in there for a few seconds to rescue Gus. And I held my breath throughout.”
“It is for the best that you did,” said the doctor. “For it appears that your sensitivity to the compound is significantly greater than that of Mr Potts.”
“That would make sense,” said N’yotsu. “I have spent a lot longer in the Aether than Gus.”
“Not to mention the fact that you are not of this world,” said the doctor. “Are you?”
N’yotsu glared at him. “I thought that we were discussing treating Gus’s ailments, not my family tree.”
The doctor raised his eyebrows as he turned back to Maxwell. “You also appear to have been affected by the compound, as were the soldiers who entered the room before your concoction fully dissipated.”
“Yes,” he said. “That was an eventuality I had not planned for.”
“Indeed. I am confused: you said that Aetheric elements had been bound to your brother’s body?”
Maxwell looked to me, not willing to share my secret without my consent.
I nodded slowly. Thus far, I had been incredibly careful to only share the truth of my condition with Maxwell and N’yotsu. This was for very good reasons, as I feared what would happen if anyone knew what I was turning into. The best scenario that came to mind in my less fevered moments was being a prime exhibit in a travelling freak show.
I looked at Dr Smith. He was a professional, but still very much an unknown quantity. As a doctor, he would surely view my transformation as an ideal subject for examination and experimentation, thereby playing to my worst fears. But then again, maybe a medical professional would have insights into my condition that Maxwell and N’yotsu lacked. And surely he had a duty of care to me, as his patient?
“Doctor, you have sworn an oath, am I correct? The Hippocratic Oath, in part meaning that you cannot discuss what I, as your patient, tell you in confidence?”
“That is correct.”
I took a deep breath. “I have a sword that is imbued with certain… occult properties.”
“Your runic sword; yes, I am aware of it. It is sharper and stronger than anything else known to man, is it not?”
“Indeed. But there is another property of the sword that we do not advertise, and which I am keen to keep between those of us in this room.”
“Do tell.”
I looked at him closely, trying to satisfy myself once and for all that I could trust him with this, my deadliest secret. With a deep breath, I dove in. “The spells that give the sword its powers, the runic symbols etched onto it, also infect the person who wields the sword. At first it was in the form of heat given off through overuse, which we assumed was just an unfortunate side effect. However, it soon became apparent… that it also makes me stronger, faster and gives me more heightened senses and awareness than any man, and indeed many demons.”
“Fascinating. So the spells that power it actually make you a part of the weapon as well?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. However, a further side effect is that the results have been more and more potent over time and also more and more, ah…”
“Are you saying that you are turning into a demon?”
I studied his face, unable to decide whether his excitement was a result of scientific curiosity or something more sinister. “Effectively, yes. And that is what Max was attempting to cure me of. But it appears that he was unsuccessful.”
Dr Smith stared at me for a long moment. “Maybe I can be of assistance. It may be useful for an actual medical doctor to help you.” Maxwell bristled at this but stayed remarkably quiet as the doctor removed more instruments from his bag and started to examine me.
“I am sorry, Gus,” said Maxwell. “I genuinely thought that it would work. It would appear that I can rely on precious little these days without suffering from the malign influence of the Fulcrum…” His brow furrowed in impotent frustration.
I shrugged. “Do not blame yourself; I agreed that you should do it. The important thing is that we try to find a cure for my… condition.”
“But not at the risk of it killing you.”
“Agreed,” I managed a half-grin. “I would prefer that as well. So what do you think this means for my cure?”
Maxwell ran his fingers through his hair. “It means that I must go back to first principles. Clearly an invasive and violent treatment like this will not work, not without also killing you.”
“But if, as you said, the Aetheric elements are too closely bonded to my humanity, then doesn’t that mean I’m already well on my way to becoming a fully-fledged demon?”
“Maybe. Although the fact that the rest of us were also affected does suggest that the compound is not targeted enough. If it attacks all living matter then that is obviously little use as a cure.”
“So it’s worthless,” I said.
“Not quite,” Maxwell said slowly. “You see, while I am of course focused on finding a cure for your… ah, condition, I am also charged with finding a way to end the demon threat. The side-effects of the compound I used on you may provide us with an answer.”
“But if it also kills everyone else?” asked N’yotsu.
“That may be a price we have to pay,” said Maxwell. “We would just need to put measures in place to mitigate the damage.”
“Mitigate the damage!” I exclaimed, immediately regretting it as the exertion brought with it a stabbing pain in my chest. I forced myself to continue. “You are talking about people
dying. If you unleash that substance then it could be a disaster: are you willing to have that on your conscience?”
Max glared at me. “I have been charged with ending the demon threat to our world, through any means necessary. In case you have forgotten, we are at war. Sometimes in wars people die.”
“For the greater good, eh?” I asked.
“Spare me the moralising. The Fulcrum is fast approaching and all of my efforts to stop it are proving for naught. I believe it is now inevitable that we will soon find ourselves in a world where science becomes redundant, leaving us at the mercy of the demons and their like. We need some way of defending ourselves, and this could well be it.” I shook my head as he continued. “Think about it: we could create a portal to the Aether and then send the compound through, directing it at the demons.”
“And what if they threw it straight back at us?”
“He’s right,” coughed N’yotsu. “Remember that every portal thus far has been accompanied by vicious winds blowing towards us. Therefore any attempt to send a gas through would just blow it back our way, killing everyone on this side.”
“Can you not modify the compound so that it is more targeted?” asked the doctor. “So that it only attacks demons, for example?”
“I thought I had done exactly that,” said Maxwell. “I wonder whether my energies would be better spent finding a method to deliver the compound more effectively.”
“You’ve made a portal before,” said the doctor. “I have never understood why you don’t have another one already set up.”
Maxwell shook his head. “My previous devices worked in a time when magic and science were in relative calm, with science very much in prominence. But with everything now in flux, there needs to be a precise balancing of magic and science within the device, taking into account our status vis-à-vis the Fulcrum, to enable me to get anything close to a sustainable portal. Which is why I summoned young Joshua to assist me. Speaking of which, I must get back to my work.” He gestured to his orderly, who wheeled him out of the room.
I slumped back in my bed, staring up at a ceiling that seemed to swirl and shimmer like water above me. My heart sank as I considered the implications: I was surely doomed, as the voice had said to me when I was being torn apart by Maxwell’s serum. There really was nothing left for me; the question was whether I could hold on long enough to be of use to humanity’s cause, and then… the images from a nightmarish vision I had experienced last Christmas forced themselves back into my mind: of me being reduced to a slavering, mindless creature, just another enemy for Maxwell to vanquish.
“I am sure that your brother will come up with a cure,” said Dr Smith. “After all, he is quite the genius—I can tell. But surely it cannot be so bad? Many people would kill for powers like you describe, not to mention your ability to recover from physical wounds. Most would not have survived the ordeal you have just been through.”
“Let’s call it a mixed blessing in that case,” I muttered.
“Hmm. Then again, if you are turning into a demon, even superficially, then I could understand your reticence. But surely your friends and colleagues would understand?” He finished examining me and grunted. “I will look at you again tomorrow, but from what I can tell you should be fine. The blistered tissue is already healing, and your internal organs seem to be operating normally. There is a little bubbling on your lungs, which I would like to check again later, but the best thing you can do for that is to inhale plenty of steam to clear any obstructions.”
I noted the irony of this prescription, but was more distracted by his words as he moved off to examine N’yotsu. I thought about Kate and how she had looked at Andras all those years ago back in Greenwich: the hatred and revulsion that would surely also be directed at me if she knew what I was turning into. Not to mention the army, who by now had developed a keen reflex for shooting demons on sight.
I was brought back to the room by an argument at N’yotsu’s bedside.
“I do not need your attention, physician,” N’yotsu was saying. “I shall be fine and can recover perfectly well without your intervention.”
“I really must insist,” said the doctor. “It is plain to see that you are not well, and I do not just mean the injuries you sustained in that machine.”
“I am fine,” said N’yotsu through gritted teeth.
Dr Smith stared at him for a long moment before packing up his equipment, leaving the room without another word.
We lay there in silence, listening as the doctor’s footsteps receded until they were cut off by the slamming of Maxwell’s door. “I think you hurt his feelings,” I said. I tried to lever myself upright but subsided when I was pinned back down by an implacable wall of agony.
N’yotsu chuckled, then lapsed into a coughing fit. “You should rest; even the great Augustus Potts has his limits it would seem.”
“Just like you, eh? Thank you, again, for rescuing me.”
“It was nothing, really.”
“You could have died. In fact, by the sound of your breathing you nearly did.”
He coughed again. “I suspect that my death is in any case not far off, as my condition worsens by the day. It cannot be long before my body finally betrays me. So I am afraid that my death is inevitable and to suffer it by saving a friend would be a fine way to go.”
I turned my head to look at him. In spite of his brave words, I could see the fear in his eyes. “Surely Maxwell will find a cure for your condition?”
“I have seen what his cures do to people,” he said. “I think I’ll take my chances, thank you very much.” Our laughs tailed off into coughs and groans.
“Seriously, though,” I said once recovered. “There must be some way round all of this.”
“Maxwell and I have considered it at great length. My body cannot survive indefinitely while being separated from the demonic aspects that are trapped within the obsidian stone. Short of our new friends sparking some fresh lines of inquiry, I am stuck with a choice between a slow, drawn-out death, or the highly unpalatable alternative of turning back into Andras.”
“But let us hypothesise: if you were to get back the obsidian stone, surely you would be a different person when recombined with all of the elements trapped there? Surely all of your feelings and emotions must overpower what evil remains within Andras?”
He shook his head. “Maybe in the short term. But, over time, the core of Andras’ nature—my nature—would win out. The issue is the very nature of demons: they—we—are beyond anything that you might consider morality, in much the same way as a tree does not share the morality of the birds that nest in its branches. Demons have a whole view of the universe that is at odds with your ideas of good or evil, although the outcomes are in many cases very much in line with what you may consider to be evil. No matter how much I have absorbed in terms of emotions and empathy while living in this state among you all, I would be helpless in the face of such amorality.”
“But I do not understand why you cannot continue as you are. You have survived this long…”
He smiled. “We have gone over this before, old friend. My kind are not meant to separate their personalities for as long as I have; sooner or later I have to fade away. Think of me like a chicken whose head has been chopped off, running round the farmyard. This body does not yet realise it is lacking a head, but the day is fast approaching when it finally will. Then I will die, and with me Andras, and the world will be a better place for it.”
“I refuse to believe that,” I said. “You have done so much. Surely you cannot be so resigned to this fate?”
“I am not,” he said quietly. “Every waking moment I dread death, while my sleep is disturbed by visions of those I have killed and tortured over the millennia, seeing them beckoning me to them, welcoming my eventual torment.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I really, really do not want to die, and would give almost anything to prevent it. If there was a way… I am sorry, I have said too much. You do not want to
hear me wallowing in self-pity.”
“I do not mind,” I said. “After all, you have listened to plenty of mine.”
He managed a half-smile at this before closing his eyes and I watched him for a few minutes, trying to imagine the terrible torment that he was suffering. Next to that, my own trials and tribulations were insignificant.
I limped through endless corridors, my ears filled with the drip-drip-squelch of falling slime. I stumbled forwards, propelled by a sense of something breathing down my neck. A part of me wanted to turn and see my pursuer, but that was overridden by my body’s primal urge to escape it as quickly as possible.
The blank, featureless walls around me were shrouded in semi-darkness, the edges of the black void reaching out to me so that I was forced to keep to the centre for fear of being pulled in by its dark touch.
Doors loomed out of the darkness to either side and I knew without testing them that they would all be locked. I shambled onward, the breath of my pursuer tickling the back of my neck and forcing me into as much of a run as my damaged legs would allow.
My breath came in short, sharp snatches, each more painful than the last. I looked down and saw something moving beneath the skin on my hands and wrists: the runic symbols were awake and fighting for prominence. I tried to calm them but found myself getting more and more panicked. I had to escape that place.
I started pulling at the doors in desperation, in the hope of finding some form of solace or escape from this Hell. My panic rose as each one did indeed prove to be locked fast and I darted along the corridor, fearing at any moment that I would be seized by a cold, dead claw from behind.
The fifth door I tried gave way as I tugged on it, grinding open with a slow deliberation, stones and dust and rust protesting against the disturbance. I yelled out with the effort and found myself face-to-face with another person who stared back at me in a mixture of shock and revulsion.
“Rachel?” I asked.
The apparition stared at me for a long moment before letting out a long, shrill shriek, her clothes dripping with deep red blood that pulsed from the wounds on her neck and body. She collapsed inwardly to be replaced by Kate, who glared at me and then spat. “Demon,” she hissed. “Just like all the rest. Scum.”
