Ethan awoke from his slumber. His eyes were blinded by the morning sun, that bore from the cracks in his curtains. He was beginning to get real tired of being blinded.

It took several minutes, and a painful amount of effort, until he was no longer laying in his bed. He stood shakily beside his new bed made entirely of wool, gripping tightly on a boat oar - which he had christened as his new walking stick. The one the old man had given him last night was much to small and thin to support his weight comfortably. Unable to touch metal, he was forced to use the old oar he found in the corner of his new bedroom.

Ethan had absorbed nine months of information in the span of six hours last night. He thought the sheer amount of information would keep him awake, but he surprised himself. He slept like a log, and judging by the position of the sun, a damn lazy one.

Now that it was light, he shuffled towards the large mirror in the room, so he could finally have a good look at himself.

It wasn’t pretty. His skin was pale, paler than anytime he had been riddled with fever. His body had been stripped of even the smallest of hairs, he was not a fan of seeing his cranium so bare. His already formidable collection of scars was further added. Some he suspected were the work of the ruffians in Maidstone. The long ones that ran across his arms, legs and chest, that looked to have been done with surgical precision, he had a good idea of who gave him those. While he found now of these new changed pleasing, all of them very eclipsed by the body that hosted them. His body was thin, so horrifically thin. The muscle he had accumulated from years of fighting and hard labour had all disappeared without a trace. Even the fat that was slowly appearing when he was in his darker days, was nowhere to be seen. Every single bone he possessed made its presence known, all protruding from his paper skin. The combination of bare white flesh, pronounced skeleton, scars, and natural azure eyes, he certainly looked like a creature that had been brought back from the dead. The giant pieces of metal fused to his back, that pumped lightning into his body, wasn’t helping either.

Having his fill at looking at his new body, Ethan made his way to his bed. He grabbed the wool blanket, which possessed the weight of lead, in his bony arms, draped it over his body and left his room.

As he was leaving his room, he noticed that a piece of paper was stuck to the front of the room’s door.

- Specimen, the Kitchen is Downstairs. I will be in the Room I showed you yesterday. Do not disturb me! I will summon you, when I require you. -

Ethan was glad that he paid attention in school and could understand words, unlike some of his fellow soldiers.

As he was making the arduous journey down the spiral steps, it occurred to him that his new employer/master didn’t know his name. He wasn’t even sure he wanted him to know his name, he himself wasn’t even sure he was Ethan Baker. He felt like that man died even before he was beaten to death.

He put his thoughts on hold, now that he had retched the kitchen. The place was fairly clean, which surprised him. There wasn’t much of a selection, nothing but bread, potatoes, cheese, apples, and some strange looking meat. Ethan ate a third of the kitchen’s contents before he was content. He felt a little guilty for eating so much, but he hadn’t had a proper meal in over nine months, and was in desperate need of body mass.

On that thought, since the old man didn’t seem to need him yet, he decided to spend  the time until then exercising.

*  *  *  *  *

It wasn’t until several hours past dusk that Ethan was told to meet the old man. Until the point of him finding another note on his door with the order, his day had been spent walking up and down the stairs, and pressing his body weight against a wall.

The manor he now lived in had three floors. His bedroom was on the second and the master’s was on the top, along with his rooms he uses for his various research.

Ethan had to pause mid ascent up the stairs so he could catch his breath. His exercising had made even weaker, but after some rest, he’ll be stronger than he was yesterday.

After about nearly ten minutes had passed, Ethan finally made it to the room with all the light globes. Unsure on how to enter, he knocked and waited. Like yesterday, the door opened as if it was being pulled an invisible force.

“What took you so long?” The old man yelled across the room, not even bothering to turn around to see if it was actually Ethan.

“Have you seen my body?” Ethan panted slightly.

Bartholomew turned around and stared hard at him. “Fair point.” He admitted “I hope you're dedicating free time to get that body of yours back to fighting shape. Otherwise, you’re not getting paid.”

“Of course I am! I can’t stand the way my body is right now, so- Wait! I’m getting paid?”

“Perhaps. I’m not sure yet. Definitely not anytime soon. I need someone to pay me first.”

“Thought so. In the future, when reviving someone so you make them into your inhuman body guard, make sure have money to equip them with something beyond a blanket,” Ethan complained, as he took note of all the metal to avoid in the room.

“Would you quit your belly aching. If I knew you’d be such a whiny baby, I would have left you for the crows.”

While the philosopher didn’t sound serious, Ethan still felt a pang of guilt. “You’re right. I should be more grateful to you. Even if I am now an abomination.”

“You make it sound like being an abomination is a bad thing. There are many a folk out there that would make all sorts of sacrifices and deals with demons, for the power to conjure lightning from their fingertips.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Ethan had to admit. the man made a good point. Once he got the right gear and got used to it, having electricus pouring through his body will certainly be handy.

“But I am loathed to admit, you are right. I can’t have something walking around discharging electricus everywhere, could do some serious damage - not mention ruin my experiments. . . In one month a tailor will be round to take your measurements and make you some wool clothes. Until then, stay away from the top floor.”

“Erm, yes sir.” Ethan replied as he made his way back through the metal door.

“Wait before you go! I should give you a name.”

“You may have a leash around my neck, but I am not your pet.” Ethan growled

“Oh don’t be like that. I’m not going to name you something like Spot, of Blackie. No I’ll give you a good name. Something strong and awesome. Besides, you have failed to tell me your name, which tells me you wish for it to be forgotten.”

Ethan wondered if all natural philosophers were this annoyingly condescending and perspective. “Fine. Name away.”

“Hmmm… Let’s see… You’re tall. Blue eyes, fairly wide jaw, strong brow, blond hair - or least did. 

Your accent tells me you're from the south of England, most likely London...”

“Very impressive, but can you hurry this up” Ethan interrupted.

“And rude. These qualities all tell me you’ve got germanic blood in your veins, a lot I’d wager. Using this information, I shall christen you… Werzdalvin.”

“Little fancy don’t ya think.” Ethan retorted, unsure how he felt about the name.

“For you, most certainly. But that’s the name I’m going with.” The philosopher replied proudly.

“Werz-dal-vin… It’s pretty long; isn’t it?”

“People will call you Wervin, for short - if you prefer.”

“Wervin ay. I’ve heard worse. Does it mean anything?”

“Of course it does! I didn’t just put it together because it sounded appealing to my old ears. It’s the combination of several different languages. You want to know what it means, I suggest you start reading some books.

“I accept your new name.” Wervin isn't so bad.

“Good. You may go now, Werzdalvin.”

“Yes sir.” Wervin replied. Just as he stepped through the doorway, he turned his head back around.

“Sir?”

“What is it?

“I suggest you double your grocery shopping.”

The philosopher stared at his new servant. “Very well. You better be worth all this extra coin.”

“Oh I am Sir. I am.” He stated boldly. His old cockiness slowly returning.

Not waiting for his master to excuse him again. Wervin carried on his journey again.

Two weeks had passed since Wervin had woken up on Bartholomew Griffiths table. Apart from the day after, where Wervin was given his name, the old man had not once summoned his new servant.

Apart from the couple of times he had to go upstairs to get his batteries recharged, the two had only seen each other on several occasions - each brief. Wervin had stayed true to his word, spending almost all of his time awake training his body, only stopping to eat, drink, shit, piss, and on rare occasions, read. The master had also stayed true to his word and provided Wervin with an abundance of food. His diet now mostly consisted of lard, cheese, nuts, spinach, milk, eggs and fish. All bought for the specific purpose of growing muscle. He now no longer clung to the wooden oar so desperately, only needing after his training. It seemed that the electricus was aiding his body, for his muscles were coming back quicker than he anticipated. He believed the tingling sensation he constantly felt throughout his body, might have something to do with it.

After finishing his daily crunches, Wervin got up, and donned his blanket - which now had a hole he put his head through. One of the few things Wervin had noticed over the past two weeks was that he no longer sweat. The master must have done something to prevent him from doing so. He believed it because of what happens when electricus touches water. He was also to familiar with the phenomenon thanks to his daily baths in sea water. Another thing he noticed was that his body no longer grew hair, which upset him terribly so. His body was also now surprisingly  heavy, considering how skinny he was. Probably because of the metal sticking out of his back and all the hidden goodies lurking inside his body.

As he made his way to the stairs, so he could do his daily walk, he heard scurrying coming from behind him. He looked back but saw nothing. This wasn’t the first time he had heard footsteps behind him; yet saw nothing. Wervin had long suspected that he and the master weren’t the only one living in the manor. He had met the man who delivered the weekly shopping, but he lived somewhere in Ramsgate. The manor was always moderately clean, plus the old man had mentioned past specimens, so the chances of someone else living were high. He wasn’t surprised that the master hadn't said anything about any other residents, but the old coot only even said as much as he felt was required.

As Wervin began his walk, he pushed the thoughts of his stalker to the back of his head. He doubted the person meant him harm, so he will just have to wait until they find the courage to finally confront him.