Dr. Brooks would be the first to die the moment he stepped away from that table!
Helios clenched his teeth to stifle another scream, but the pain was too great. A bone-chilling sound tore from his throat—hoarse and broken. Tears mixed with sweat and blood, his breathing came in ragged gasps, panting, almost animalistic.
He couldn't go on.
How long had he been strapped to this damned table, half-sedated? How many hours had he spent with his father staring at his mother's corpse? How long had the doctor been poking around inside him now? How long had he been forced to stay awake?
He didn't know. He had no sense of time anymore. He just wanted to get out.
If only he could die…
Even the torture Belladonna had put him through had been easier to endure—because that man simply hadn't been blessed with patience.
"Fascinating!" murmured Dr. Brooks.
Helios no longer had the strength to ask what was supposed to be so fascinating. Exhausted, he closed his eyes, hoping for just a little sleep.
"What's fascinating?" his father suddenly asked.
His voice sent a cold shiver down Helios's spine.
"I removed his liver, gallbladder, and stomach. All organs fully regenerated within minutes. They even seem to function as they should. It's truly a miracle!" Dr. Brooks said enthusiastically.
"How is that even possible?" his father asked in astonishment. His voice sounded closer now.
"I don't know," said Dr. Brooks thoughtfully. "I wanted to study his organs—perhaps the tissue can give us some insight into his immortality. Though I'm not surprised that the organs regenerated. Since he healed a gunshot wound to the head in seconds, it was logical to assume his internal organs could heal as well. But that they would completely reproduce themselves…"
His father sighed wearily. "So we still don't know anything?"
"Perhaps not on a cellular level," Dr. Brooks replied, brimming with excitement, "but the more I can observe him, the more ideas I get about how to create the serum."
A hand brushed through Helios's sweat-soaked hair.
"Do you hear that, my boy? Soon we'll know exactly how the serum works," his father said gently. "You must be tired—why don't you join the research instead?"
Helios slowly opened his eyes and glared at his father with pure hatred.
"Is this another one of your last chances?" he asked hoarsely, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Again that gentle stroking. His father's fingertips slid through his matted hair—almost tender, almost loving. His face was so close that Helios could see every wrinkle, every twitch of his lips, even without his glasses. The look his father gave him might have resembled paternal affection—if Helios had ever, even once in all those years, felt a shred of genuine love from that man.
Again, that gentle stroking. His father's face was so close that he could see his expression even without his glasses. He looked at him in a way that might have reminded Helios of fatherly love—if he had received even a single shred of genuine affection from that man in all these years.
"You really should stop being so stubborn," his father said softly. He brushed the tears from Helios's cheeks. "I'm sure you're in quite a bit of pain, despite your immortality."
Helios gave a weary snort. "You could torture me for another twenty years—the answer will still be no."
Even though he doubted he could endure this kind of torment much longer. Speaking those words had already taken more strength than he truly had left. If only he could get just a few hours of sleep, maybe he could bear it all again.
But his father didn't grow angry at his defiance. He had received so much rejection from Helios during the time he'd kept him down here that he seemed almost used to it. He smiled at him indulgently.
"I always knew you weren't someone to break easily. I'm very proud of you, Helios," he said in that same gentle tone. "I think a bit of rest will do you good. Doctor, close him up—I don't want his organs falling out when I take him to Ophelia."
Helios closed his eyes as another tear rolled down his cheek. He didn't want to see her again, even if it meant a brief reprieve from the endless pain.
In the end he just exchanged physical with psychological pain...
He felt Dr. Brooks remove the spreaders from the abdominal incision, felt the edges of the cut being pressed together—and then that now-familiar tingling as the wound began to close. Was it just his imagination, or was he healing more slowly than before?
Helios trembled. He was so unbearably cold that he almost looked forward to being wrapped in the thin sheet they always used when forcing him to "visit" his mother again. He felt Dr. Brooks wash away the blood and finally clean his face. Then his glasses were set back in place, he was wrapped in the sheet, and only after Dr. Brooks checked the IV with the sedative was Seth allowed to carry him after his father, as usual.
Helios let himself be carried without a word.
He had tried to talk to Seth and Josh, to appeal to their reason, to convince them to help him escape. But apparently his father paid them far too well—they simply ignored him and kept playing along with this insane charade.
By now, Helios used the short walks only to let his eyes rest for a moment.
He was utterly exhausted.
Sleep… sleep would be perfect right now.
A long, long sleep, a cup of coffee from Thomas when he woke, and a hearty breakfast. How long had it been since he'd eaten or drunk anything? The doctor had stopped feeding him ever since he began his ridiculous experiments. Said he couldn't risk Helios vomiting during the procedures.
And that, even though Helios had already vomited several times because of the anesthetic.
When he opened his eyes, he was already sitting in that damned chair—the one positioned directly facing his mother. His father had once again taken the seat beside him and was pouring himself a glass of wine. He began to chatter cheerfully, retelling the same few childhood stories Helios had heard at least a thousand times before.
He kept Helios's head fixed toward his mother, who floated like a ghost in her water tank. Her painted face looked down on them with silent judgment. Helios felt as dead inside as his mother was. No matter what his father tried, her physical state spoke volumes.
Nothing would ever bring her back.
She was doomed to drift in that tank until the day she was finally laid to rest.
Not much longer, Mother. As soon as Dante gets here, I'll get you out of there…
He tuned out his father's voice and forced his weary eyes to remain fixed on his mother. How long would he have to sit here again? He was trembling—the cold from the metal table had seeped deep into his bones. A hot bath would have been heaven right now…
His head drooped forward as another wave of exhaustion washed over him. But just as he began to sink into it, the sharp, acrid smell hit him again.
The smelling salts. Once more, they yanked him back into the present.
His father lifted his head, clicking his tongue disapprovingly.
"Helios, that won't do. Show your mother the respect she deserves," he said gently, turning his gaze back toward the corpse.
"Of course…" Helios whispered hoarsely.
How he wished he could just sleep.
How much longer would this torment go on?
How long until his mind finally broke for good?
Where was Dante?
The thought of Dante weighed heavily on him. His tired eyes burned as he thought of his immortal companion. He wanted to see him. Why was he taking so long? Helios would have to give him a serious scolding once he finally arrived.
His thoughts drifted again—to the last time they had been close—and he lost himself completely in the memory. His head sagged once more, exhausted. The dim light from the water tank in the otherwise dark room made it impossible to fight off sleep.
Again, the smelling salts.
Helios exhaled slowly as he was torn from the warmth of Dante's arms in his thoughts, and that damned cold crept back into his bones.
His father leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead—a gesture that might have seemed tender, but felt cold and possessive.
"Not much longer, my boy," he whispered, his voice laced with barely contained triumph, "and you'll finally do what I ask of you."
"Never…" Helios murmured weakly.
But his father paid no attention.
"Ah, Ophelia…" His tone grew dreamy, almost wistful, as his gaze drifted toward the tank. "It won't be long now before you're with us again. Tell me, Helios— isn't she beautiful? I had a new dress put on her. It suits her wonderfully, don't you think?"
Helios's tired eyes wandered to the motionless figure in the tank.
"Looks like a burial shroud," he muttered hoarsely.
His father's grip tightened around his chin.
"Perhaps I should have a colored dress made for her next time. She always loved green. You're right, my boy—I'll have one made in the color of your eyes."
"Fucking psycho…" Helios breathed, his voice barely audible.
But even that comment was ignored.
The longer Helios stared at his mother, the emptier he felt inside. How long would it take before he, immortal as he was, reached a similar state? Was that even possible?
They sat there for a long time. He could barely keep himself awake, and eventually, his father grew tired of it all. He had him taken back, and soon Helios was lying once again on that cold table.
"Have you discovered anything, Doctor?" his father asked impatiently.
"I'll need more samples," the doctor replied. "But his organs are in impeccable condition. He could donate them endlessly without issue." He smiled faintly, his expression drifting as he imagined the seemingly infinite number of transplants Helios's immortal body could provide without ever dying. "He could save so many lives…"
"Hmm? Is that so?" his father asked with interest. "You're right. With his rare blood type, he could help quite a few people. Oh! Do you think I could become immortal if you transplanted his heart into me? After all, we share the same blood type."
Helios swallowed hard at his father's words. The thought made him sick—his heart beating inside that man's chest. He wasn't afraid of dying from it; rather, the mere idea of his heart being in him made his stomach turn.
Would it even work? Would his father really become immortal the way he hoped?
Helios thought about it—or tried to, as much as his fogged mind allowed. His thoughts moved slowly now, even slower than at the beginning of this torture.
Could it work?
No. He was certain it couldn't.
He hadn't become immortal when he'd been shot all those years ago, even though Dante's blood had practically rained down on him. Immortality wasn't contagious. Of that, he was sure.
"It won't work," Helios said hoarsely, pouring as much sarcasm into his words as he could. "You haven't found anything in any of your samples—what makes you think a heart transplant would change that?"
He had no desire to experience open-heart surgery while fully conscious. But, as usual, he was completely ignored.
"I'd have to run some tests," the doctor mused, "but it certainly wouldn't be impossible—especially since the two of you are highly compatible due to your shared blood type. Are you truly sure you want to attempt it, Mr. Vale? You could die in the process."
His father stared at Helios for a long moment.
"No. Not yet," Vale decided. "Run the tests anyway. I want to keep all my options open. Find out if transplanting his heart would even work. I want a one-hundred-percent guarantee of success."
"Of course! I'll get started right away!"
His father ran a hand through Helios's hair again and pressed another kiss to his forehead.
"We'll see each other in the morning, Helios. I desperately need a few hours of sleep. Be good and listen to the doctor, all right?" he said in a conciliatory tone. "You'll be allowed to rest soon too. And don't worry about the transplant—I won't take a risk unless I'm certain I'll win. Though I would definitely benefit from a younger heart."
His father smiled at him triumphantly. Helios couldn't say a word.
He couldn't be serious! He actually wanted to rip out his heart and transplant it into himself? How utterly deranged could a person be?!
His father turned to the doctor.
"I expect results by tomorrow morning," he ordered before turning and leaving.
When the door closed behind him, the doctor let out a long sigh. With a soft click, he switched on his coffee machine—the one he'd brought into this chamber of torture because Helios wasn't allowed to be left alone.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. It was its own form of torture. But no matter how thirsty he was, no matter how dry his throat felt, no matter how much his stomach longed for anything it could process…he would never beg.
The doctor remained silent as he prepared his table and finally poured himself a cup of coffee.
He sat down on a stool, lit a cigarette, and took a slow sip.
Helios stared up at the ceiling. His eyes were heavy, threatening to close again. He had no desire to talk to the doctor. He'd much rather use the three minutes it took him to smoke that cigarette to get some sleep.
Just a little.
He closed his eyes. Darkness enveloped him, even though that annoyingly bright surgical lamp still shone directly on him. Whatever the doctor planned to do to him tonight, he would endure it—just as he had endured everything before.
He would not break.
He would—
He jolted awake with a start. His breathing was rapid, his heart hammering in his chest. Before he could even react, a cloth was shoved into his mouth.
"I'm giving you something for the pain this time. It's the only thing I can do for you," the doctor said quietly.
He injected Helios with something that made him dizzy. Everything turned muffled, hazy. The cloth in his mouth was barely noticeable.
"Your screams… they haunt me in my dreams," the doctor whispered. "I… I can't keep doing this."
Like you are the one suffering here...
He pulled on his sterile gloves again, slipped into his gown, and covered his hair with a cap. Pulling his tray closer, he let out a weary sigh.
"We have a lot to get done before morning."
He set the scalpel to Helios's chest and made the incision.
Helios didn't feel pain—but that didn't mean he couldn't feel everything else. Every finger pressing into his skin. Every cut. The warmth of his own blood running down his body.
Then came the metallic screech of the bone saw. Helios's breathing quickened. Panic surged through him.
It hit him like a wave.
The sound of the saw, the vibration deep in his chest—it was worse than anything they had ever done to him.
He screamed, but the cloth swallowed every sound.
"Damn it, calm down. You need to breathe slower or I'll end up cutting something I shouldn't—ah, well, it doesn't really matter. You'll heal anyway," the doctor muttered, more to himself than to Helios.
He set the saw aside and reached for the rib spreader. The metallic crack as his ribs were pried apart echoed like a scream inside Helios's head.
He tried to breathe, but no air came. The pain returned—dull, throbbing, all-consuming.
Without ribs, he couldn't breathe. His consciousness began to fade. It was useless to fight it.
The doctor paused, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and sighed softly.
"This is going to be a damn long night," he murmured.
Everything went black as Helios's lungs stopped working.
At least now, he finally had a moment of peace.