Chapter 108: High-Speed Bone Needles vs Rewritten Date

The transparent flesh of his arm began to knit backward, the white of his bone vanishing under a rush of cold, solid grease-grey skin as the fire room shattered into dust.

Smack. Smack.

The sting was real.

It wasn’t fire-hot; it was cold and wet, the frantic, fleshy slap-slap of palms hitting Cassius’s cheeks.

"Birdy... hey, birdy, Mr. Cassius Victus?"

Fukuro’s voice was right in his ear, high-pitched and cracking with a desperate kind of terror.

The clerk had his thin, grime-caked fingers dug into the heavy cloth of Cassius’s shoulders, his weak arms extended straight up as he literally tried to hoist the giant’s dead weight, shaking him until the wire-rimmed glasses slipped entirely off his nose and hung by one ear.

"Hey! Furnace! You dead again or what?"

Cassius’s eyelids snapped open.

The blue flambeau light hit his pupils like a needle.

The low stone vault was back.

The smell of black transformer fluid and ancient waterlogged paper rushed into his nostrils, replacing the phantom scent of liquid ash.

His massive chest heaved once, a hard, ragged intake of damp air that rattled deep within his iron frame.

Fukuro let go instantly, stumbling back three steps until his heel hit a rusted pipe with a sharp clank.

He was hyperventilating, his chest pumping under his greasy shirt, his hands held up as if defensively blocking a blow from a reawakened monster.

"You went grey," Fukuro wheezed, his voice dropping to a frantic whisper as he adjusted his crooked lenses with a shaking thumb.

"Your eyes... they went flat like dead zinc i thought... you... Vampire again, Mr. Victus. I thought the soup got your brain early."

Cassius didn’t move.

He sat perfectly still among the rubble, his thick fingers slowly closing into a fist.

His palm felt entirely empty, but the skin where he had touched the silver lighter in the dream was still tingling, a stubborn, burning itch beneath the transparent illusion of his flesh.

He didn’t answer the clerk.

He just stared down at the dark fluid pooling between his boots, watching a single bubble swell and pop in the muck.

Plop.

He clamped his massive palm over his forehead, squeezing until his knuckles went white.

A heavy, sickening ache throbbed right behind his temples, making the cerulean shadows dance in nauseating circles.

"Where..." Cassius growled, his voice a thick, gravelly scrape that barely made it past his teeth.

"Where was I... just now?"

Fukuro’s eyes narrowed behind his smeared glass.

The terror in his chest suddenly gave way to something sharp and rat-like.

What is he even barking, Fukuro thought, his pulse doing a frantic little dance against his ribs.

The big furnace is leaking fuel. His brain is cracking! If he’s losing his ledger, if he forgot what I just spilled... I’m out of the soup. I can walk right out of this hole and he won’t even know ehehehh.

"Oh! Oh, Mr. Victus!" Fukuro’s tone did a greasy, instant flip, dropping the terrified screech for a slimy, theatrical softness.

He scrambled forward on his knees, his bare socks squelching loudly in the transformer grease.

"You were right here! Right down in the deep vault with me and we were figuring out of here! Don’t you worry, don’t you strain that big iron head of yours!"

He reached out, his thin, bird-like fingers trembling slightly as he grabbed Cassius’s massive, leaden wrist to offer a hand up.

With his other hand, Fukuro aggressively dug his knuckles into the thick, tense muscle of Cassius’s shoulder, giving it a frantic, rhythmic squeeze.

Keep him soft, Fukuro told himself, his mind spinning into overdrive as he kneaded the heavy canvas of the vampire uniform.

Rub the rust out of him. Make him think I’m the only wire keeping his frame attached to the floor.

"You were just shivering a little when you slept here... I can cure it, that’s cold, that’s all," Fukuro cooed, leaning his shoulder close, pretending to support the giant’s weight.

"The scrape down here gets to the best of our body heat! Let me help you steady the metals,"

Fukuro took a bunch of metals from his toe fingers and threw it softly near him.

"Mr. Victus. We’re partners in the dark, aren’t we? No need to-"

Shove.

Cassius’s arm moved like a heavy iron piston.

He didn’t even look up as he struck Fukuro’s hands away, a sharp, backhanded motion that sent the clerk stumbling backward until his spine hit the corroded boiler wall with a hollow thud.

"I remember everything," Cassius said.

The flatness was back in his voice.

The cold, analytical weight returned to his eyes as he slowly uncoiled his massive frame from the junk heap.

He stood up to his full, towering height, his shadow instantly swallowing Fukuro whole under the flickering blue light.

"No need to play on while buttering me."

Fukuro swallowed hard, his throat making a dry gulp sound.

He rubbed his wrists where Cassius had struck them away, his theatrical smile freezing into a stiff, terrified mask.

Fukuro didn’t try to get up.

He stayed right there, hunched on the wet zinc plate. He let out a dry, rattling sigh, and his eyes slid shut.

"So," Fukuro murmured, his voice losing its slimy bounce. "You wanted to know who am I... and how I came here."

Cassius stood over him like a slab of foundation stone, watching.

For a few seconds, the vault went completely still.

Then, Fukuro’s fingers twitched.

Click-tink.

Two long, yellowed bone knitting needles slid from his oversized sleeves right into his palms.

This was his usual magic.

He didn’t open his eyes. He just brought his hands together in his lap.

Tink. Clack.

The needles moved slowly at first, catching a coarse, dark thread that seemed to pull itself straight out of the empty air.

Then, the slow rhythm broke.

Fukuro’s wrists became a sudden, frantic blur.

Clack-clack-clack-clack!

The needles hit each other like a swarm of angry beetles.

A massive, heavy sheet of rough gray cloth erupted from his lap, spilling out over his bare socks and piling up in stiff folds across the damp floor stones.

Fukuro’s head snapped back, his eyes still sealed tight.

The sheer, violent speed of the magic was pulling a charge straight through his frame.

The sparse, greasy strands of hair on his head began to lift, standing straight up on end and vibrating as if he’d just touched a live transformer wire.

Bzzz-tink!

A faint blue static spark jumped near his ear.

The cloth kept growing in a wild, high-speed frenzy.

Cassius didn’t move a muscle. He just kept his flat eyes locked on the clicking bone needles, measuring the clerk’s every twitch carefully.

The damp, rhythmic clicking of Fukuro’s bone needles snapped out of existence like a pinched flame.

The heavy, dead silence of the high palace dining hall took its place.

Lord Vilucious sat at the head of a massive, long walnut table that looked far too large for just two people.

He wasn’t wearing his usual sweeping ceremonial robes anymore.

Instead, his torso was squeezed into a stiff, high-collared doublet... deep charcoal wool cut sharp at the waist, with thick golden piping running down the seams like a row of polished ribs.

It looked more like a modern, elegant political uniform than a monarch’s gown, though a massive, raw lapis stone still pinned the dark blue silk at his throat.

The table layout between them was meticulously arranged, yet eerie.

A spread of silver platters, crystal goblets, and small, perfectly squared cuts of rare meat sat cooling under the bright white glare of the overhead chandeliers.

Madam Florianthum’s head lay flat on the dark wood.

Her cheek was pressed hard against the glossy grain right next to an untouched silver goblet, her hair spilling out around her face like messy silk.

Clink.

The silver fork tip scraped the porcelain.

Vilucious didn’t look at her.

He didn’t even look up from his plate.

His pale fingers held the knife steady as he took his time sawing off a corner of the meat.

The blade made a soft, wet shuck sound through the flesh.

With a dry, sticky friction sound, Florianthum finally peeled her cheek off the table.

She lifted her chin slowly, her eyelids fluttering as she squinted hard against the harsh light, trying to steady her dizzy vision.

Vilucious slid the first bite into his mouth.

He chewed with a slow, mechanical rhythm, his eyes fixed entirely on the empty tablecloth as he spoke into the silence.

"You awake."

Florianthum blinked hard, the crust of sleep scratching the corners of her eyes.

Her boots made a dull, leather thud against the white marble floor as she forced herself to stand up from the chair.

The room didn’t sway, but her stomach did.

She looked straight at Lord Vilucious, then let her eyes drift across the high-ceilinged room.

Something is completely broken here, she thought, her fingers tightening into a hard, defensive knot against her stomach.

Everything looks the same... the arches, the cold pillars- but the air smells wrong.

It doesn’t smell like the previous flowers of the romantic rose date. It smells like crushed lilies and fresh bleach.

Her gaze dropped to his chest.

Why is he in that doublet? Her mind raced, tracking the sharp golden lines on his charcoal coat.

He never wears that. He looks like a modern monarch about to order a meat-sweep, not the monarch who sits behind the screen.

Where are the heavy silk robes?

A strange, heavy friction rubbed against her knees as she moved. Florianthum looked down at her own body and froze.

The midnight-silk of her gown had no trace. Her outfit completely changed.

Instead, her legs were swallowed by layers of thick, heavy velvet, a deep, bruised-red gown that pooled around her ankles like spilled wine.

The fabric felt suffocatingly warm, tailored so tight against her ribs that she could barely draw a full breath.

Who changed me? A cold spike of adrenaline hit her chest. How long was I out?

Then her eyes finally took in the table.

Before the blackness had taken her, before everything fell apart, it had been a small, intimate setup.

A date table.

Two mismatched thrones besides, a low flickering tallow candle, and a bottle of choosen wine which spilled over her dress. It was supposed to be private.

When she was analyzing everything with her observant face, Lord Vilucious’s complete flat and calm voice broke her frantic thoughts, suddenly.

"You slept even before I came... Is this how you show your affection when your love is near by?"