jackal-among-snakes-16091326
chapter-147

Argrave recalled that he had once complained in an online forum about ‘fade to black’ cutscenes in video games. The screen would go dark, and then someone would narrate what had happened. ‘It’s lazy,’ he recalled writing. ‘Devs didn’t want to animate a surgery.’ Argrave was sure he’d been about fifteen years old when he wrote those nonsensical complaints.

Now, Argrave wished for nothing more than his vision to fade to black and a month to pass.

Instead, a twenty-foot-tall giant wearing robes made of its own hair rearranged furniture to prepare for Argrave’s heart surgery. He secretly hoped he’d have a panic attack and faint.

The Alchemist moved a table closer and placed a bowl of obsidian there. More and more things piled up beside Argrave, and his breathing started to quicken as he questioned what, exactly, each implement would be for.

Eventually, Argrave decided it would be best to stare at the ceiling. He saw the Alchemist eat something—a collection of herbs, it looked like. Then, the man’s finger retracted into itself, reemerging as a dripping rod of bone. The Alchemist held up a cup, filling it with a thin liquid the same color as the herbs he’d just consumed.

When the cup was filled, the Alchemist held it to Argrave. “Imbibe,” he commanded.

Argrave sat up. It was very difficult to refrain from asking what he was to be imbibing. When he drank, it tasted like a subtle, leafy tea mixed with cough syrup. He laid back down, distinctly aware of it travelling through his body.

The Alchemist stood over him, staring down. “Breathing will slow. Emotions will vanish. Blood will thicken,” he commentated, watching.

Should I be awake for this? He questioned internally. As if reading his mind, the Alchemist continued, “I would prefer you asleep or comatose, but I obtain more information if you are alive and conscious. Observe my actions. You will write a report when I am finished.”

Argrave nodded, then waited. The Alchemist merely stood over him, staring down. It wrote on blank books off to the side. Argrave realized it was drawing a diagram of him. Minutes passed, and Argrave merely stared around at the obsidian ceiling and the ivory-fleshed monstrosity looming above him.

“You have the faintest blood of a feathered serpent,” he said. “Vestigial remnants will change your period of adaptation.”

What does that mean? Argrave questioned. Strangely, it did not panic him at all. It felt like it didn’t matter, actually. He realized that his limbs felt very heavy. That didn’t matter, either—he had no desire to do anything but lay here anymore. Even blinking was starting to feel cumbersome.

The Alchemist raised his hand up. One of his fingers grew an eye on its tip. He positioned it directly above Argrave’s chest. It was eerily still, like it wasn’t living at all. Off to the side, the Alchemist’s other fingers prepared implements. Foremost among them was the Unsullied Knife. As Argrave watched, he put things together calmly.

Ah. He’s using an eye like an endoscopic surgical camera, Argrave realized. And he mixed a potion inside his body that would suppress my functions, to make things easier for the surgery while allowing me to retain my consciousness.

The Unsullied Knife drew near his flesh. The white scalpel’s red inscriptions shone all the brighter in the Alchemist’s hands. Argrave felt nothing as it approached—fear, panic, all were gone. It touched his flesh, making the first incision.

Though, perhaps ‘incision’ was not the right word. His flesh moved aside, bunching like clay, revealing bone beyond.

“The tool puts living things in a state of minor stasis,” commented the Alchemist. “Souls, flesh, blood: all suspended. It interacts with all realms of the world. This instrument could even excise the Blessing of Supersession that blooms within you.” The man spun the scalpel about in the small hands at the tips of his fingers. “Provoking an ancient god in this manner could be very interesting.”

Something cut past the dull haze that had obscured Argrave’s emotions, and his breathing grew a bit faster.

“Stop breathing,” the Alchemist chided. “My next action will not be further warning.”

Argrave laid his head back against the table. The only thing he saw was the sleek obsidian ceiling.

If I keep staring upwards, it’s like a really long fade to black, Argrave realized. He found some serenity in the constancy of the ceiling.

The serenity was broken when one of the Alchemist’s fingers moved into view, a tong-like implement holding something white. It was placed in a bowl. Argrave turned his head, looking at it.

I think that’s bone, he recognized.

“Refrain from observing distractions,” the Alchemist commanded. “Direct all attention towards the operation. Firsthand experience and testimony add paramount details to all collected data.”

Argrave lifted his head up, staring at the sight below. To say the least of the situation, he saw much more of the color red than before.

I think I’m going to have a nightmare about this later, Argrave reasoned. I’m sure this would be pretty disturbing if I had all my faculties.

“Your lungs have scarring. You should have been more careful.”

Huh. Guess he does have some compassion, Argrave thought.

“You are a terrible subject of comparison,” the Alchemist finished. “You deviate far from all human norms, making you a poor control. Tall, frail of bone. Weak, sickly organs. Yet… your body’s adaptations to the magic integrating with your blood and flesh will be far more pronounced.”

That sounds more in character, Argrave concluded.

Argrave watched his chest be ripped apart quietly, feeling neither intrigue nor disgust. As he sat there in his strange, emotion-free state, a thought came to mind.

What if Durran and Garm did something to the artifacts? The thought bounced around in his head for a while. Well, I wouldn’t become Black Blooded. But I don’t see how they could have done anything. What could he have done? Inject spirit-goo into them? Ridiculous. Yet… certainly, Garm was alone with them a few times… he’s usually by the backpacks, after all. All of them, save the Amaranthine Heart, were kept inside the lockbox.

Argrave looked back to the growing pile of bones in a bowl beside him.

I wonder if the Alchemist would even put me back together if they didn’t work, Argrave questioned. Well, they looked fine. But hell, I barely comprehend them as is. How would I know if something was wrong with any of them?

Realizing nothing could be done, Argrave turned his head back. Oh. There’s my heart. Bigger than I thought. The Alchemist’s finger-eye lowered into Argrave’s body, while another hand conjured spell light. All the while, the Unsullied Knife grew ever closer.

I suppose I’m about to find out.