NIGHTWORLD

22: A Cure for Curses

Southern France, 2002

The Adjudant-chef flicked through the dossier, a disappointed look on his face. Jaro sat opposite him, both of them wedged into the tiny office. Although he hadn't been allowed off base during the proceedings, it felt good to be back in France. He and Boz first met here – it felt clean, untainted by everything that happened. 

“So… Legionnaire Pueyrredón," the badger began in French, adjusting his glasses. He spoke comfortably, a native speaker. “Ah, shit, we can dispense with formality and tradition for this, I think. What do you prefer, Pueyrredón, or Jaroslav?" 

“Either is fine." 

The badger nodded. The pity in his expression was excruciating. “As you say. Now, I've reviewed your request for the… early discharge. Before we go on, I want it clear that the decision is not mine, it is made by Commandant Res and Lieutenant-colonel Suaine, and informed by the medical board, considering the… circumstance of your request." The badger gave him a rueful smile. “But I am a friendlier face for this discussion, no?" 

“Sure," Jaro replied. He was swaying in his seat, exhausted. The last few months had been a blur; half the outfit was gone from Chad, shipped off to Afghanistan to help the Americans destroy it. Although they were logged to stay in Africa, Boz and Jaro's transfer for Kosovo was denied. After that… everything had gotten worse.

“I only have a few questions, then we will be done. First. Do you have any intention of rejoining the Legion, presuming the discharge is granted?" 

“No." This is your fault. 

“As you are still ineligible to qualify for French citizenship, I must ask what your intended country of residence is following the potential discharge?" 

“I…" Jaro hesitated. It felt like he had no home. “Back to Hungary, I guess." Always said you'd take Boz there one day. It's too late now. Then what? Back to his father's farm? What was he supposed to tell him? 

“Alright, good," the badger said. He eyed Jaro, finally lowering the dossier to the table. “Son. You look troubled." Do I? It's my fault, and now he's gone. Guess that wasn't in the file. 

“Fine, I just want this to be done," Jaro muttered. 

“I saw the investigation report from the Provost Service. I understand what happened." How could you? “It's a unique circumstance, I understand that." Because it's two men? Stop saying that you fucking understand. He wanted to scream. Instead, he whispered.

“I'd rather not go over it again." The room was stifling. Couldn't they just let him leave? That's all Jaro wanted. To go away. To never speak French again. 

“You are not responsible for what happened, you know," the badger said softly. “It was unavoidable. A tragedy, but sadly not one we are unaccustomed to in the Legion. Your report is shining, and Afghanistan is only escalating… we need good, experienced men. If you wish, you have been granted a six-month sabbatical in France, to… recover. We also have counsellors and–"

“No," Jaro snapped, holding a paw up. “No, thank you, but no." Not my fault? Is that what the report says? He asked me for help. It was their last conversation, Boz had asked him for help, in the water. And what did Jaro say? He'd been annoyed, pissed that a special moment got ruined yet again by Boz's problems. “I don't know how to help you." 

“Alright then, Jaroslav, I'll inform them," the badger mumbled, scribbling in the dossier. “Then all that's left is the logistics. You identified Hungary, so the Legion will schedule a flight to Budapest out from Nice Côte d'Azur, and handle the last of your backpay. As this is an honourable discharge, we will also provide a written letter of recommendation for your future endeavours." Jaro blinked.

Was it over? 

“So it's… granted?" He was surprised. You let him down, and they let you off the hook for it. Typical. Part of him had almost hoped they would refuse.

The badger nodded. “Thank you for your service, Legionnaire Pueyrredón."

Nightworld, 2003

Sleep was ruined as a bell rang deep from within the tower. It was a small but piercing noise, and reminded Jaro of the lunch bell back in the Legion. Groaning, he wriggled himself awake, body wrapped around Kristian's in the plush bed. He shifted in place, blinking through the gunk and trying to figure out what the dreadful noise was for. 

“Up, up, now!" Kadir was already on his feet, half-dressed with a gun in one paw. “It's a fucking alarm." Seeing the caracal up jump-started Jaro, and he hurriedly pulled himself from the mumbling pine marten.

“What's going on?" Jaro asked, slipping into his pants. 

“Who's making that noise?" Kristian whinged, dragging himself from the covers and tugging on his shorts.

“Only started a few minutes ago. I don't know any more than you two," Kadir growled, tossing Jaro's shirt at him. The wolf caught it, slipping it over his head. “But I'd bet it's not good." 

Dressed and armed the three of them left for the hall, whirling as they tried to locate the source of the ringing bell. The constant piercing ding-ding-ding seemed everywhere, bouncing off the walls and echoing along the floors. Jaro's ears pricked at the sound of shouting voices and moving feet, people were rushing. Are we under attack? Did Zakhar finally pull the rug out? 

Further down the hall Frankie cracked her door, leaning out dressed in a singlet, a huge revolver dangling in one paw. “That's a loud bloody breakfast alarm." 

“Something's happening Frankie, get dressed and get the others up," Jaro told her. 

“Gah! This place is a fucking maze!" Kadir snapped, hackles up as he spun in place.

“I think it is this way," Kristian said groggily, jerking his chin and leading them deeper down one of the corridors. Trusting the marten, Kadir and Jaro followed close, their guns ready.

Several turns and a short flight of stairs led them up to Zakhar's library, the ding-ding-ding growing louder with every step. It was as if a tornado had torn through the opulent room. Books had been pulled from the wall-to-wall shelving in random order, papers had been scattered, and Jaro could already tell much of Zakhar's research had gone missing. 

“What's going on? Who did this?" Kristian mumbled. 

“Over here!" Jaro cried, spotting a slick trail of blood across the carpet, leading around behind one of the large desks. Following it led Jaro to Zakhar's herald, who was propped up against the end of a shelf, woozily ringing a large brass bell in one paw. His other arm was cradling his stomach, blood bubbling between his fingers. By his side, one of the honour guards laid dead, a vicious knife wound torn through his head. 

The herald cried out as Jaro knelt by his side, trying to pull away.  “Do not hurt me!" He begged in Wallachian. “Please!" 

“I won't, I won't," Jaro promised, finally silencing the ear-splitting ringing as he pulled the bell from the fox's grip. “But I need to look at this." He glanced back up at the other two. “Kadir, go back to my room and get the medic bag there?" 

“For him?" The caracal cocked an eyebrow. 

“You wanna tell Zakhar we just let his favourite servant bleed out, huh?"

Kadir grunted, “point taken," before heading off back the way they'd come.

While he fetched the bag, Jaro tried to examine the wound, putting pressure where he could to stop the haemorrhaging. It was soaking the fox's clothes, sticking everything together. The smell of it was almost too much to refuse, flooding up from the herald's body and filling Jaro's nose, making his head spin and his teeth ache. He flicked his tongue inside his mouth, catching the sharp edges of his teeth. 

“You… y-you…" the herald began, shifting in place beneath Jaro's grip. “You are vhampierre?"

The implication was clear. Jaro focused on breathing through his mouth. He still needed to breathe, he wasn't one of those things yet. Close, though, so tantalisingly close, more vampire than not. “I won't hurt you." 

“Are you alright, Jaro?" Kristian asked, peering over his shoulder.

“Fine, just fine," Jaro snapped. He jerked his chin at the dead guard. “You, talk to me, keep talking to me. Who did this?"

The herald licked his lips, clamming up. After a brief deliberation, he seemed to decide Jaro really was there to help. “It was one of your people. An interloper." 

Kristian tutted. “No… no, we did not do this, I swear it." 

The herald shook his head, wincing. “The large one. The bear. I caught him pilfering through Lord Zakhar's things, and called for the guard. Only Kazic heard me…" He winced with pain, a longing look aimed towards the dead guard. “Your man… would not have it. Kazic made to stop him, but he was… not ready, and the bear… ugh… his knife was too quick." 

“That… that can't be," Kristian whispered.

Kadir reappeared at that moment, huffing as he slid to his knees by Jaro's side, ripping the medic bag open and chucking it down. “Here, got it." He paused. “Something changed, didn't it?"

Jaro took the bandages mechanically, dousing the wound in sterilising alcohol. “It was Noah."

“What?" Kadir shook his head, glaring at the herald. “Why would he do that?"

“I don't fucking know, Kadir!" Jaro snapped, hurriedly stapling the herald's wound back together. The cut seemed relatively shallow, but stomach wounds were fickle and he'd need proper surgery to make certain. “Apparently he was caught going through Zakhar's documents, things are missing."

“After everything he pulls this shit? That fat backstabbing bastard."

A new voice joined them in the library, rhythmic and booming. “What a curious development this has turned out to be…" Still focused on wiping away the herald's blood, Jaro's heart sank in his chest. He prayed Noah hadn't completely ruined their deal. Gently, he touched the grip of his pistol, tucked away at the back of his waist. You gonna shoot him then? Good luck getting the cure then.

“We didn't have anything to do with this," Kristian insisted.

“Yet here you are," Zakhar tutted.

Jaro gave the herald a small shot of morphine, and decided he was stable enough for the minute. Snapping the medic bag shut, he stood slowly, turning to face the giant cobra.

He saw Ioana and Frankie had joined the scene now, the two women standing defensively over by the library's entrance, weapons up. Having only just arrived, their faces darted in confusion from Zakhar, to Jaro, and then the others.

“I invite you all into my home, offer you salvation and treat you with nothing but utmost respect…" Zakhar began to pace by the edge of the room, studying the ruinous state of his formerly meticulous archive. “...and one of your kind repays me by stealing my work and attempting to murder my most loyal servant. Will he live? Your kind is so fragile."

“He needs proper attention, but I think it's only a flesh wound," Jaro said, watching the vampire keenly. Zakhar was fickle, and hard to read. Like any cobra, they wouldn't know he was about to strike until it was already done. It'll be fast. Slowly, Jaro's paw reached behind his waist, fingers slipping through the grip of his handgun. You think that's gonna do anything? “Be smart, Zakhar, he betrayed us too." 

“Oi! What the bloody hell is goin' on here?!" Frankie called, the barrel of her shotgun hovering dangerously close to being aimed at Zakhar.

“You should keep your dog on a leash," the snake hissed.

“It was Noah," Kristian called back. “He killed a guard in the night." 

“The fuckin' priest?!" She exclaimed, scoffing. “Can you believe Fyodor was telling the truth?! I figured that cunt was lying through his teeth!"

“I never liked the bear," Ioana muttered, in Wallachian. “Too curious."

“Explain to me…" Zakhar hummed. “Why come all this way only to turn on you now?" Rather than angry he seemed, if anything… curious. 

This is just more study for him, Jaro realised. He couldn't be fooled into thinking the snake actually cared for the herald. All Zakhar saw was an opportunity to learn.

“He was working for a foreign government," Jaro said, sniffing. “A plant to our team, sent in to gather something they could use." 

“Government…" 

“Another nation, a world faction." Jaro gestured at his own team. “Our program isn't associated with any country, its a free agent. Guess Noah was up for sale."

“Who?" Kadir hissed, shaking with rage. “Americans? Russia?"

Kristian shrugged, nudging one of the scattered books with his boot, blood seeped pink into the pages. “Does it matter now, really? I imagine Noah decided that our plans to overthrow Dracula might be a bit daring for his taste. Evidently he grabbed whatever work he thought might be valuable and ran. I'd estimate he'll be making for the Source, try to slip through unnoticed. Might manage it, too, just one person."

“Fuck that guy," Kadir hissed.

“What happens when he gets through?" Frankie asked, coming closer and scowling at the dead guard. Some of Zakhar's honour guards had appeared in the library behind the cobra, and they worked to shift the injured herald to his feet, helping him away. Frankie spat. “Whaddya think the chances are he'll keep the door open for us?" 

Kristian sniffed, adjusting his glasses. “Slim-to-none? I imagine the moment he gets through, he'll tell the rest of the program's detachment we are all dead, and order the charges blown. Without the stabilisers to hold it, the Source will close, and who knows how long until it opens once more?" 

“Closing it was part of our bargain…" Zakhar interjected, a playful tune accompanying his weird accent. “You should be pleased, even if things didn't shake out quite like you might have preferred." 

“We're supposed to be on the other side of it when that happens, dickhead," Frankie snapped.

Jaro sighed, digging his palms into his eyes and groaning. “Fuck. Fuck." 

“If Noah gets through the thralls and if the Source does close, and that is dependent on quite a few ifs," Kristian started. “It will open again… erm, eventually. There'll be chances to get home." 

“How long you planning to spend here, Doctor?" Frankie asked, incredulous. “Cause when I spoke to Isla, she told me that the Source can vanish for years. And don't forget, that bitch moves. Took her five years just to find it once, and that was in a world with resources, planes, and no vampires breathing down her neck." 

They all looked over to Zakhar, who seemed to be grinning, his forked tongue darting through the air. “Truly, the wound is a trifling beast, inorganic and random. It may reopen immediately, even right here in Orobos. It may also remain closed for a hundred years, as it did when Dracula first returned to us. Who could say?"

“God fucking damn it!" Frankie cried, kicking out at a small podium and toppling it, sending a small model castle tumbling across the library floor.

Kristian shrugged at Zakhar. “Sorry." 

“This doesn't change anything," Jaro said, softly. “We keep going." 

“Jaro…" Kristian began, but Jaro cut him off. 

“You want to spend two weeks chasing Noah down through the snow? One guy in all that? He might not even make it to the Source, Dracula's bound to have even more thralls standing by than when we first came through." He looked over to Zakhar, eyebrows raised. “Can you still perform the cure on me?" 

The cobra's hood trembled with excitement. “Absolutely. The loss of this work is tragic, but I fear your man has stolen little more than my musing on our species origin. Fascinating research but… perhaps not terribly practical in its application." 

“So it was for bloody nothing too!" Frankie whined. “New plan. After we kill Dracula, we go back home and find that bloody fat bastard so I can wring his neck."

“I…" Jaro looked down at his paw, which was shaking. He could feel the vrykolakas in his chest, thrilled by the flood of anxieties pumping through him, searching for new fears to latch onto. It wanted to get inside his head, it wanted to turn him inside out. Focusing on his breath, Jaro redrew the runes Chevron had given him, the mirrored ones meant to help him remember himself. “I've wasted enough time. Zakhar, I need to do this soon. How long do you need to get ready?" 

The snake stood unnaturally still, like a statue, staring at the dead guard by his feet with something approaching boredom. “I have made all the required preparations while you slept. I need only a moment's notice." 

Jaro closed his eyes. For all the vampire's talk, this was an unproven surgery. It had never been done before, and there was a very real chance he could die during the procedure. Willing to take that risk? 

But without it… treating the herald's wound had been hard. Jaro had wanted nothing more than to split him open and devour his essence, and that urge would only get stronger the longer the vrykolakas was allowed to fester. Even now he was thinking like a predator, wondering where the injured fox might have slunk to. What if next time he was treating Kristian or Kadir, and couldn't stop himself? How would he live knowing he'd butchered one of his own? 

“Jaro?" Kristian prompted, peering intensely at him. They all were. All watching, probably unable to even think why he might want to delay. It was going to be painful, and they'd have to fight the other vampire lords without the help of Jaro's new strength. But you have Zakhar, and his soldiers, and whatever the Homunculus is.

Would it be enough to stop Dracula? 

It would have to be. Boz is gone because you were too weak. You let him down. Don't make the same mistake again.

“Okay then."

He met Zakhar's cold, red eyes, nodding once.

“I'm ready." 

The operating room at the top of Zakhar's tower was completely transformed. When Jaro was first brought up to the vampire's dome, it had been relatively spartan, save for a few pieces of equipment. Now it was the opposite. He tried not to look too hard at the arrays of tools and vials laid out on the benches, with needles of every size and length, tubes and gauze packed in every drawer. The room was hot, gears grinding beneath the floor as they continued to crank out power, pumping bellows by the sides of the room, maintaining pressure where it was required.

“You look quite timid. Doubting my ability?" Zakhar asked, one step behind Jaro. 

“Your self-control. I know what it feels like, what's to stop you from eating me once I'm under the knife?" 

“You wound me, Jaroslav. What's to stop me from eating you now?" The snake tutted, circling around to a wheeled tray piled high with sterilising liquids and surgical equipment of all descriptions. “You should remember there is nothing for me to learn from yet another meal. You'll simply have to pray to whatever Gods you have that I am hungrier for knowledge than your flesh."

“Reassuring," Jaro muttered, stopping by the operating table. It was ancient, by his standards. Made of steel, with rudimentary leather straps poking free for his arms, legs, and tail. A huge clamp rested at the top end, roughly head-shaped. It was all becoming too real now.

“Remove the clothing on your chest," Zakhar instructed. Heart racing, stomach knotted, Jaro slowly obeyed, dumping his coat and shirt to one side. The cobra whirled on him, eagerness simmering beneath his black and gold scales. “There is no sense in delaying. If you please." He waved a claw to the operating bench. 

Jaro's instinct didn't care for all the reason and logic, they screamed and howled that he was making a mistake. Even as he laid his back against the icy metal, Jaro couldn't stymie the feeling he was a fattened pig shuffling into the abattoir. The arguments all made sense, and he agreed this was his only real chance of survival – but that didn't make it any easier. 

“How does it work?" He asked, as the snake moved out of view. Hissing faintly, Zakhar yanked on the straps from behind, squeezing Jaro down painfully tight. 

“Your worm will fight me, soon. Do not be surprised if you undergo panic, fear, even paralysis. As soon as the creature understands what I am to do, it may even try shutting your organs down." Zakhar showed Jaro his fangs, a horrific imitation of a smile. “But you are a healthy specimen, so I trust in my abilities to bring you back, even if you mortals are frustratingly weak. You must attempt to remain still and calm." He reached over Jaro's ears, winding the cranks on the head clamp, two padded prongs squeezing in place around the temples, a small bolt beneath the chin restricting his movement almost completely. “You are afraid of me, as nature has taught you. Understandable. But if you cannot accept my thirst for knowledge, trust in my hatred of chaos." The cobra circled back, raising a claw before Jaro's eyes and clenching his fist. “I will not be held to this worm like a horse to its rider. I will control my own fate, my own destiny, and yours. Understood?" 

Jaro nodded with his eyes. Oddly, he did believe the creature.

“We begin at the intravenous level," Zakhar explained, turning in place and wheeling a tall column of large glass chambers across. It was like something from the 18th century. Jaro saw green and yellow liquids bubbling inside, one translucent, the other like cream. 

Zakhar pulled forth a thin rubber tube capped by a large needle. He slipped it into the veins at Jaro's elbow, once for each coloured liquid. “You will remain conscious, but the pain should be dulled while the worm is displaced. I will set fire to its home, I will make all manners of your body its enemy."

“A-awake?" Jaro wanted to protest, panic constricting in his throat, but his muscles weren't reacting. “I j-just… ugh…" 

A dull throb echoed from the tips of his fingers as the fluids spiralled into him, coursing up his arms with an icy heat. The effects hit fast and hard. Jaro felt like he was being beat like a drum, the drugs stretching his senses, confusing his bodily map of himself. He was falling, forwards, onto his face, tumbling, dizzy, vision blurred. It hurt. It hurt so much, tears burned in his eyes and a scream in his throat. His chest clenched, pained, straining as he bucked against the restraints. 

Stop. Stop. Please stop. 

He shouldn't have done this. It was a mistake. Joints ached, it was going wrong, he was certain.

“Can't breathe, can't b-breathe," he rasped. Zakhar was inches from his face, staring intently at his torso. 

“I see you, and you can," the cobra explained. He shifted slightly, giving Jaro a horrifying glimpse at the large mirror behind him.

The wolf choked as he stared at his own insides on display. His chest muscles had been flayed, the ribs sawn off and removed. As he stared, frozen, his lungs inflated, holding a moment before they began to fall again. 

When did this happen? He wondered, still reeling. It was difficult to focus on the thoughts, like grabbing hold of an eel. There was a sucking noise to his side, some kind of vacuum removing excess blood. Another line had been put into his other arm, more blood, going in. Did vampires know about blood types? Why hadn't he asked Zakhar what was involved? 

Without moving his head, his eyes scanned the operating theatre, trying to find evidence of his missing sternum. Everything had been cut out, Jaro was in fucking pieces, behind his lungs he saw the back of his own rib cage, the small bones embedded in meat. It was unreal. Painful to even look at.

“Do you see it?" Zakhar asked, gesturing to the middle of Jaro's lungs with his scalpel. “There. Our dark passenger."

Waiting for his double sight to focus properly, Jaro followed the snake's knife, the action demanding all of his available concentration to understand what he was seeing. His own heart. His own heart beating in his chest, valves and arteries running in and out like a machine. The worm was there too, a green-black flattened rot. It curled around the organ like a slug to a rock, distorting the thin membrane of his pericardium, stretching the sac.

“I… Oh… Oh…" He wanted to be sick, stomach turning over as pins and needles stabbed at his spine. His heart beat slowly, and the worm moved, wriggling like a cockroach under a light. The thing was trying to hide. 

“Fascinating how the infection spreads," Zakhar mused, prodding with forceps. Jaro, swallowing the dry rocks in his mouth, tried to follow where the vampire pointed. He saw it, flowing like a sickness, black oil pumping in his veins. They reached out as dark roots from his heart, curling overtop his lungs, his muscles, everything. “My own internals are unfathomably corrupted, like so. Even this early, the worm must be pruned." 

Jaro wanted to look away, he tried, but the clamp securing his head forced him to stare straight ahead, over Zakhar's shoulder and into the mirror. The vampire's body obscured much of the work, but as he shifted and moved, Jaro caught flashes of red and black. Slices and cuts along the stretching roots, snake claws digging them out and dropping the pieces of leech in a nearby bucket. 

This was the real vampire. In here. Eating him from the inside. It pulsed, slowly, a second arhythmic tempo alternated against his heartbeat. 

His memories attacked him. Isla's train in Romania, when Jaro had first learned about the program, Kristian and Isla had shown him the x-ray of his chest, pointing out the dark shadow curling near his organs. Back at his father's farm, bruised and battered, bloody and wounded. The sick vampire running amok in Hungary, saying his name as she bit into him. Nearly killed Jaro's father. Gave up her one leeched seed to infect him, try and carry on his legacy. Romulus inside Steambreather, feeding Jaro vampire blood and psychically calling to the monster within.

This was the circle, right here inside him. As Zakhar cut around his open chest cavity, Jaro saw it as the end of a thread that had carried him here from the very beginning. I'll be a person again. In the sun. Eating food and being normal. 

“The infection goes quite… deep, I am afraid," Zakhar said. He was wrist-deep into Jaro's abdomen, still slicing. “Without your new healing, recovery will be an agonising process."

“Cran…rugherth…" Jaro tried to say, his lips barely moving. 

“Sssssilence," Zakhar hissed. “I have tinctures to aid the healing, but only so much can be done for your kind."

The vampire's knife tripped on something and Jaro's whole body lit up like an electrical grid. Pain lanced through every inch of him, a low guttural scream burning between his teeth. Had he not been so well-secured, he would have thrown himself to the ground, smashing his head against the floor to make it stop. 

“Stop. Be calm," Zakhar insisted. As he moved, Jaro saw his own heart racing. “The knife tugged at a nerve." The knife, as if wielded by its own will. You'd never make a mistake, would you? “The worm is trying to stop this. It has realised what I want." 

Jaro tried to pull air in, and found his usual muscles unresponsive. His vision began to seep white as he started suffocating, for real this time. He tried to signal Zakhar, get him to see. 

The vampire reacted quickly, dragging a new device over, a round seal, cranking with gears and bellows. He secured the mask around Jaro's muzzle, locking it to the clamp. 

Air was brutishly shoved inside Jaro, swelling within him, agonising relief. In his open chest, he saw the pink bags of his lungs swell half-heartedly. 

“The worm would rather shut you down than let itself be removed," Zakhar chuckled, prodding at the distended membrane around Jaro's heart. Everything was so wet, coated in gore, dripping with black blood from where pieces of the parasite had been cut out. “The more it fights, the closer I am to success." 

Jaro tried to let his eyes roll as the vampire continued his work for what felt like hours, prodding and poking, occasionally ceasing to scribble down notes or make adjustments. 

“To see a half-corrupted organism like this, still partially mortal with fully functioning organs…" the snake's tongue darted. “Even if we fail, oh Jaroslav, what an exquisite corpse you shall make." 

That was hardly reassuring, but there was little Jaro could do now besides closing his eyes and trying not to hear the squelches and crunches of Zakhar's work. Briefly, he wondered if he would get his own ribs put back in, or some horrible prosthetic replacement. 

The vampire paused as a deep, resonant rumble sounded off in the distance, muted by hundreds of tons of wood and stone. Across the city and deep in the tower, bells began to ring. 

“Who would dare interrupt…?" The vampire hissed,stepping aside and – to Jaro's horror – fully revealing the mirror before him. 

I do look like a corpse. But there was nothing exquisite about him. His fur was flat, body deflated like a balloon out of air. Countless tubes reached into him, pumping blood, oil, even internal gases in and out. Foul and foreign, it made Jaro's insides itch. 

For the first time, he wondered if he really would be back to normal after this, or he'd be something else. Not a vampire, but not quite a person either. Something new.

“I see," Zakhar said firmly, staring down from the laboratory window. “Jaroslav, we shall need to work faster. There is a complication." 

“Whugh…" Jaro tried to ask, through the rudimentary oxygen mask still on his muzzle. 

The cobra glanced over one shoulder, as if considering. Finally, he shrugged, pulling a series of levers set into a narrow console. Mechanical arms whirled and gears clicked, and the vampire slid across a hanging mirror fitted to some overhead rails, allowing Jaro a look.

It took a moment to process that he was looking at the Orobos town square, magnified through a complex series of lenses and reflective panes. Several metres from the gates of Zakhar's compound, the frozen fountain in the centre of the city square had been demolished to rubble, tiny chunks of stone and cement scattered across the streets, water pumping from a busted pipe and freezing the moment it hit the ground. Snow dusted the scene, but the sun was out and shining, gleaming off of Ashani's fearsome armour. 

She came back. 

The Daybreaker stood defiantly in the debris, that massive greatsword clutched in one armoured gauntlet. As Jaro watched, she lifted a bloodied figure in her other arm, tossing them forward so they fell flat before the gates. 

Even through the swollen features and shivering limbs, Jaro recognised the body.

Noah. 

The bear had been savaged, but he was still alive. One arm had been folded too far back, and he was covered in wounds, with no guns or books on his person to speak of. He'd betrayed them, yes, but Ashani had put him through hell and left him breathing. Whatever had happened between them, Noah had been kind to Jaro once, and it hurt to see him suffer like that.

“ZAKHAR!" Her voice rang out loud, clanging through a metal speakerphone built into the laboratory roof. How the Dreamless had managed that trick Jaro couldn't hope to guess. The Daybreaker's voice was distorted and tinny, but her words were clear enough. “LOOK WHAT I FOUND CRAWLING ON THE OUTSKIRTS! A FLEEING INTERLOPER! WEAK AND PATHETIC SLIME SUITED TO YOUR TASTES!" 

She pointed at Noah's quivering wound of a body. He'd managed to get to his knees, but knew well enough to stop there. 

“Ashani…" Zakhar hissed, reverting to Wallachian. “You pestilent whore."

“HE TOLD ME HOW YOU HARBOUR THEM! HOW YOU MEAN TO SLAY OUR EMPEROR!" The Daybreaker raged, aiming her gigantic sword at the very top of Zakhar's tower. “DELIVER THEM, OR I WILL RAZE THIS CITY TO THE GROUND!" 

The snake looked back at Jaro, his expression vacant and empty. 

“Duh… don't…" Jaro pleaded, his voice muffled and his tongue fuzzy. He tried to think loudly at the snake, imagining a vision of what would happen if he chose to give up Team Two. Ashani might leave now, but she would tell Dracula of Zakhar's betrayal. The Emperor would not be pleased, and any chance the Dreamless had at deposing him would be long gone. At best, Zakhar could run. But was there anywhere he could go, where the Cortège would not hunt him?

You know that! Come on! Jaro bucked in place, trying to force the thoughts forward as the snake only stared. 

“Guards!" Zakhar finally bellowed, a choir of bootsteps rattling up the steps to the laboratory. Jaro squeezed his eyes shut, dreading the next few words. 

Don't, we came so far. Dracula's castle. The Lady. Cujac. Steambreather. Fyodor. The Chateau. Orobos itself. This is the end, isn't it? Jaro pleaded, he prayed to a God he wasn't sure could find him anymore. Don't let us die here. 

“My Lord?" The guard captain asked. Jaro looked, and saw the cobra staring down through the window. Still deliberating. 

“ZAKHAAAAR!" Ashani wailed. “DO NOT MAKE ME WAIT!" 

“My Lord? Your command?" The guardsman asked. 

Zakhar turned, coat flapping. “Ready all soldiers. Arm them with silver spears, and prepare the tower cannon." He has cannons? “Keep her outside. The Daybreaker is forbidden from this place." 

“Yes, at once!" The guards turned in place, a cacophony of cries going up as they rushed back down in the depths of the tower. 

“There is no turning back now," Zakhar hissed, returning to Jaro. “Your traitor has ruined things for me. Our only grace is Ashani's arrogance, she has come here first, to resolve things herself." He slid the mirror with the courtyard aside, so it hung almost outside of Jaro's sight. Zakhar continued talking, as if to himself. “The work must go on. I will not become a slave as Dracula and the others have." He cut, and tugged. “I will not be weak. I will have control."

Jaro's body seized, and far below the cannons went off. Thick, resonant shudders rocked the building, Jaro's eyes straining as he tried to watch the mirror, any glimpse of the carnage outside. 

“She cannot do this, she has always meant to ruin me."

Orobos guardsmen rushed Ashani, flooding out from every angle across the city. In the distance, the city dwellers ran for their lives, even as massive cannonballs flew past the fountain, rupturing the road and tearing large chunks out of the buildings.

“Afraid, jealous, yes, they've always been jealous, every one of them mindless sycophants."

What Ashani did to the dozens of men in that courtyard made Jaro's own attack look like a toddler's tantrum. He winced, forcing himself to look as her armour became a grey blur, the plume of her helmet fluttering in the wind. Her sword tore through the men, slicing them to tiny chunks upwards and down, the air itself becoming a red mist. 

Another volley of cannon fire went off, and Ashani rolled aside, batting the cannonball out of the air and sending it blowing through a guard to her side, turning him to paste. 

“The work must go on, there is no alternative. Come hither…"

It was incomprehensible. She ripped and tore, pulling out spines and crushing skulls, ripping apart the army as she went. Zakhar had a lot of men, but they fell upon Ashani like waves on a cliff. Some turned to flee, but that seemed to excite the Daybreaker even more, causing her to abandon whatever she was killing in order to leap across the whole crowd, crashing down on the running men. 

We can't fight that. Jaro realised, his eyes looked up to Zakhar. Can you? 

“Cut, and cut, and cut again." The cobra pulled a thin sticky fluid out of Jaro's chest. The membrane of his heart. Did he need that? “Nearly there, Jaroslav. Then I can tend to my unwanted guest." Even by vampire lord standards, she's freakishly strong. You said that yourself, Zakhar. How are we going to fight that? Tell me, please.

Jaro's hope died as he heard automatic gunfire. Muted, but definitely there. Team Two had joined the battle. 

Eyes pounding from how hard he strained, Jaro stared at the mirror, refusing even to blink. Bullets shredded the ground, pinging and sparking off Ashani's armour, occasionally catching Zakhar's men. The vampire tossed a whole squad aside with one batted arm, whirling to face some unseen threat. Something small fell at her feet, and the mirror went bright orange as she was engulfed in flames, an incendiary grenade blossoming around her like a blazing flower. 

She walked from the fire as if it had been nothing. Unharmed. 

The gunfire continued, and Jaro only imagined what the scene must be like. 

“Hurry," he grunted through the mask, though to what end he didn't know. After the surgery was done, Jaro would be almost useless while he recovered. Zakhar might speed things up, but even he couldn't work that fast. At least he can help them. A vampire on-side was what they needed. Please. Help them. Leave me if you have to.

Below, Ashani recreated her assault on Cujac, skipping forward and hurling her sword forward like a javelin. It flew point-first, smashing into the front gates of the tower with so much power that even from inside the operating room, Jaro heard the metal warp and explode. She's unstoppable. 

“They're dying…" he moaned, tears running down his cheeks. “All of them." Because of him. To protect him, to slow Ashani down. Surely they knew they couldn't beat her? Run. He begged, but the gunfire only carried on, more grenades going off. Please. Kristian. Kadir. Frankie. Ioana. Just run away. 

This was the end. 

They were all dead. The Daybreaker was inside the gates, very soon she'd be inside the tower. There just wasn't enough time. Ashani would kill all of them.

There's nothing you can do. Jaro stared at the ceiling, squeezing his eyes shut. What can you do?

Inside his chest, something moved. 

Zakhar isn't done. You're not cured yet.

“W-wait." Jaro opened his eyes, and the vampire paused his work, staring down at the wolf, his crazed muttering finally dying. 

“I…" Jaro tried to cough, spluttering blood into the mask. His tongue barely worked, the chemicals were ruining his body. Help me. Help them. The parasite was a curse, a blight, a nightmarish plague on Jaro's body. It was a great evil. But maybe a necessary one. A devil to fight the devil. 

There's no other choice.

“There is no time, Jaroslav, speak!" Zakhar demanded, ripping the oxygen mask free. “What?!" 

“Is it…" He choked. “Too late?" 

“Too…" Zakhar paused, eyes darting down to Jaro's open chest. “Too late?" 

“To…" Another cough, fucking hell, below another round of cannonfire sounded. “To wake it up? To turn me… back?" He coughed again. “I have to… save them." 

Slowly, a haunting grin spread over the cobra's features. He turned, digging through his supplies, glancing back at Jaro's desiccated body. Finally he reappeared, a new set of tools and purple-tinged vials wiggling in his eager claws.

“Oh, my exquisite corpse, I can absolutely turn you back."