Chapter 205 - Blood Ministration
The door closed with a click behind them as a strong smell of iron assailed his nostrils. In the center of the busy room filled with glass vials was a surgery chair loaded with mechanical levers and straps that shone with the gleam of Cranksteel.
Restraints being made of such a terrifyingly resilient metal told a story in and of itself. What was worse, however, was that even these had glaring signs of wear and tear alongside a grungy red hue that seeped itself into each fiber of the cords.
If he didn't already know why this chair was here and what caused it to be in this state, he'd have assumed this to be some sick form of torture device. Fortunately, it was more of a safety contraption for Kingsmen who took their infusion and those who had difficulty keeping their bloodlust in check.
For a second, a hint of hesitation coursed through him. Being strapped down on one such chair would also be his fate if he failed to contain the contagion within the old blood.
"Oh yes… Paleblood..." came a rusty voice from somewhere deep within the building, from a shadow barely visible when shone in the dim light above the surgery chair. The floorboards creaked as the sound got closer, "Well, you've come to the right place."
Lucian leaned in close and whispered in Vern's ears, "This is Blood Minister. He gives me the creeps, but everyone says it's best to administer any infusions in his presence. He's said to increase one's chance of success by a large factor."
Vern narrowed his eyes, nodding tersely. Lord Osric had wasted no time and send both of them here—a special sanctum under the control of the King's Parity Court. Lucian didn't need to be here, but he insisted on joining to 'Watch Vern writhe in pain and agony' for 'comparison purposes,' and that ‘surely, I will win this time.'
Vern didn't mind. Better to have a familiar face with him in such a situation. He'd have preferred administering the old blood by himself in a more controlled environment, following the steps described in Mr. Carter's publication. Still, Lord Osric insisted he do it in the presence of this Blood Minister for the reasons Lucian mentioned.
It was hard to say no to something that was clearly a favor. Lord Osric was even okay with Vern doing whatever he wanted, just in the presence of this person.
Without wanting to, his mind circled back to the hesitation. He'd long rationalized this infusion as something positive for his path as an Observer. Yet, there was an inherent repulsion to the idea of infusing the blood of something that wasn't even human.
Heck, Mr. Carter's exploration clearly defined the first infusion's pros and cons with crystal clarity, to the point of even being able to completely reverse its effects, yet something still gnawed at his mind.
It was infuriating. He knew he would go through it now, no matter what. The balance was already established and the cost-benefit analysis was long complete, but the lack of internal acceptance was concerning.
In the carriage ride to the sanctum, he'd used the downtime to try and reach out to the collective subconscious and divine whether it was a good idea to infuse the Old blood, and the results ranged from nothing to incomprehensible.
He got no image through his singularity while linking himself to Axiom's showed him the vision of an unmoving structure that had nothing of note.
This was the limitation of his divination capabilities. They could only peer at the structure from what lay hidden in the collective subconscious.
Besides that, he'd also spent some time on Convergence Note looking for information regarding the Old Blood, only to come across random conversations between nobles gossiping about it and smugglers trying to figure out how to get their hands on some.
All these failures inspired no confidence. Yet, it wasn't in his nature to be over-paranoid either. There were hundreds upon hundreds of examples of people having no issues after ingesting themselves with the old blood.
Aghh… he shook his head. This was getting him nowhere. Time to go with my instincts, he asserted.
Hindsight told him this was the right decision. However, if he felt something was off, he wouldn't hesitate to back out of the process. Mistress Amelia had already gotten him a good deal. Letting it all go to waste without even trying would be wasteful.
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And it's not like I don't have my ways, he reminded himself. Even if this was a bad idea, he believed in himself to make the best of it.
Hahh, he took a sharp, deep breath and headed in, beelining for the surgery chair.
In a moment, his eyes caught the person slowly leaving the darker inner chamber. White scraggy hair, pale and wizened skin, and an unnatural smile, yet none fazed him as much as the item in this old man's hand.
It was a glass case. A case that housed a…pulsing…beating…thing? From inside the casing, two organic tubes extended outwards into the old man's chest as his body shook in tow with each beat.
"That's an…external heart?" asked Vern instinctively, more curious than disturbed. This must be one of the Blood Fundamentalists.
He'd only ever heard rumors of successful organ transplants from this bunch. This was…as fascinating as he'd expected it to be.
Yet, the Blood Minister scoffed, "Heart? No no. Why would I recreate an inferior organ? Cough! Cough!"
Suddenly, the man began hacking, almost seeming like he'd cough his lungs out. Yet, he stopped as abruptly as he began and croaked, "This is the only instrument that could circulate the Old Blood in one as ordinary as I."
Wiping his forehead with the empty hand, he coughed, "No matter. Come, finish your contract. I need to get back to refining the design for the dead ones."
Vern wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he chose not to. He silently retrieved the casing that Mistress gave him on his first training day. It still had a large bronze syringe and a vial full of viscous maroon liquid.
He didn't need to be an alchemist to know how to make use of this setup, so without any delays, he filled the syringe by flipping the vial on its nib and sucking the liquid that seemed to churn inside the transparent glass.
"Huhuhu, don't be foolish, Paleblood. Settle down and lock yourself in. We don't want you puncturing a hole through your arm once the little ones struggle inside you."
Very assuring.
Regardless, Vern followed the directions, quickly figuring out how to use the surgical chair to make himself physically stable.
Lucian jumped in and helped him tighten the ones he couldn't himself as the old man overlooked the process with a distant look and an unnatural smile.
Ultimately, his right arm was tightened around the wrist and bicep, causing veins to emerge on his elbow.
"Can you pass me the syringe?" Vern demanded, extending his other hand that wasn't tightened to the same degree.
Lucian gave him a suspicious look but still complied when the Blood Minister suddenly slapped Lucian's arm away, "Tch. Don't underestimate the effect of the first infusion, Paleblood. No need to act tough when I'm here already. Give it to me."
The scraggy man snatched the syringe from Lucian's hand and tilted it upside down against the only light in the room.
Vern's heart sped up as a shiver raced down his spine. The scene was straight out of some nightmare. He was tied down on a bloody surgical chair in a sinister basement as a crazy-looking doctor was getting ready to pump him full of some eldritch blood.
What was even crazy was that he'd gotten into this situation willingly.
Fortunately, these were the times when he was the calmest. Instead of having last-moment regret, he was preparing every fiber of his being to combat whatever was to come.
From accounts of Osric, Mistress, and Lucian, he knew that accepting the first infusion was no easy task. This blood was a processed solution that contained mutagens that helped control the 'little ones' that existed inside this old blood.
Yet, these mutagens worked in tandem with one's body and only activated after the little ones had had some effect on the user's body. So, one had to touch the depths of hell before they were pulled back to the surface.
Tap, Tap… the Blood Minister lightly tapped the syringe on his glass casing before a seriousness overtook his face, and he asked, "Ready, Paleblood?"
Vern was too focused to care about the way this man addressed him. His perception was highly alert, perceiving his body through all the lenses available to him to monitor any abrupt changes. So he nodded, and before he could think any further—
Puncture!
A searing heat coursed through his right elbow as the sharp needle pierced through his skin without any effort.
"Hahh—" he lost his held breath instantly, and in the next moment, the world…skipped a beat? No, it flashed. All his senses flickered in the most literal sense as his body urged him to jump out of its restraints.
The sharp heat transitioned into streams of what felt like molten lava, and he gritted his teeth. When he finally looked downwards, the sight was terrifying, to say the least.
The veins on his arm bulged out like worms as they began to turn black, extending outwards to the rest of his arm at a breakneck pace.
His perception told of a similar story as all kinds of the balance of his body broke with the point of ingestion as the epicenter.
Fuck! he wanted to curse, not very adept at handling the pain, but even words denied him.
Yet, even through all this, he felt something deeper. He was too out of breath and in pain to react to the physical changes, but his mind had gone through many similar ordeals, not nearly phased enough to ignore the invasion happening to the very essence of his being.
It's trying to latch onto my singularity! he realized instantly. 'Connections' weren’t as simple as their real-world counterparts in the mental world of singularity, but he’d felt this feeling before. Whenever he reached out to Axiom’s, this was what he felt.
Worse yet, there was more.
He felt this…thing inside his Thought Space extend in another direction simultaneously—an unknown direction.
What the hell!?