Chapter 32: Damage Control

The sweat hailed from his face while he wrapped his hand in the slightly protective bandage again.

"Strike harder!" sounded the sharp, commanding voice somewhere behind him, while the black-clad trainer in front of him stepped into his defensive position again. His body trembled from exhaustion while his stumbling feet found ground on the force-repelling mattress under him again. The blood ran down into his eyes and made his lashed stick a bit together. His long canines had long ago bitten through his lips, holding back a cry of pain in order to not humiliate himself in the training match. All around them, spectators shouted and cheered. For both of them. He didn't know who. His ears could only register noise and Vladimir's voice, which cut through the wall of sound.

"Harder!"

How about he did that himself? His opponent had disarmed him, and now he stood with his hands wrapped in white straps of cotton, and tried to focus on the point where his opponent was. The whistle sounded and a new round began, the cheering and shouting increasing again. His opponent dashed forward and he evaded easily, even though his feet struggled to land properly for him to remain standing. He pulled back for every lash the opponent made, longer and towards the edge of the small square which made it for the arena. He felt like a mouse, trapped in a glass cage with a frothing, starving lion.

He balled his hands into fists, ducked when the sword again swiped at his head, and then lunged forward, as if he was trying to butt his opponent into the floor. It gave him an advantage, as his opponent was knocked backwards and accidently flung the sword across the mattress. He trapped him, holding him down, one hand around his throat, while the other pounded with what almost was the force of a torpedo, leaving the chamber in a submarine. The white strips of cotton were coated in blood, and a couple of teeth got stuck in the frayed fabric. The pain in his body had ceased and had left a cocktail of feeling powerless and rage, which made his vision blur and only the anger let his hand, where his own knuckles were starting to show signs of damage due to the rough treatment of his opponent.

The shouts had lessened a bit behind the fencing and the whistle sounded again, when it became apparent, that the opponent on the mattress was quite unconscious, if not dead.

Some guards climbed over the ring and pulled him away, sweating, trembling and shaking. His lips were separated as if in a scream, but no sound past them. The tears of anger and bitterness had begun flowing while he felt Vladimir's hands around his waist, and he was dragged out of the ring, through the throng of people who had fallen silent while the medics had gone up to check on the opponent, who still lay unmoving on the mattress.

He was dragged to a changing room, where he was placed on a bench. A trainer brought him a bottle of water and poured it over his face while Vladimir tried to get some sign of life from him. His green eyes strayed to the blood-soaked hands where the strips of cotton still were wrapped around his knuckles.

"Gabriel!" the sharp, slightly hoarse voice cut through again. "Gabriel, look at me!"

The green eyes slowly rose to the man in front of him. His vision swam, but found a slight focus when he met the strong, intense gaze of the grey eyes.

"I just stroke through... just like you said," the voice was soft, almost apologetic.

"That's good, my boy, that's how it should be but... we've just heard that he's dead," Vladimir said and looked fixed at Gabriel, who said nothing, only lowered his gaze again.

"I only did what you told me to," his voice was floating and absent, the eyes misty and a dark gleam hovered in the iris. Vladimir sighed, straightened up and pushed a strand of the long thick, silvery white hair away from his face before turning and exchanging some quick words with the trainers, who left the changing room. He looked back down at Gabriel. There were blood stains even on his face and the white vest where the sweat had made a line down the back and across the chest. His pale skin was stained, as well as the hair.

"It's going to be expensive this one," said Vladimir. Gabriel said nothing. His head shook a bit from side to side. Cold sweat hailed off him, he was paler than usual and his eyes were unfocused. Slowly he bent together on the chair and toppled over on all fours as he convulsively crawled to the opening into the bathing area. He slipped into a cabin where he reached for the tap. The water splashed down on his head as he lay there stretched on the floor on the stomach, cooling and pain-killing. Cramps rushed through him and he coughed violently until he vomited black, thick blood into the drain. The water shredded its way over his trembling body. The veins were clearly visible on his pale skin, like lines on a marble statue. His muscles tensed as cramp upon cramp forced the black bile out on the white tiles where the water dissolved it and washed it away. Vladimir stood behind him silently observing him with his arms crossed and a despondent shake of the head.

"I'll get your father," he said. A moan or half-drowned protest sounded from Gabriel's throat but was blocked again as another wave pressed more out of him. He ended up sinking to the floor. His arms trembled and allowed him to rest on the cold tiles where he lay with his face in the water and black blood. It had a strange warmth, the black liquid. Body temperature.

He tried to get up again, pushing with all his might against the floor but each time he had to surrender to exhaustion. His eyes were black now, they had probably also been in the ring. It was the reason he had had the misty sight. He turned around onto his back and looked up into the neon tubes. Everything turned around and made him even more nauseous. A series of cramps tried to force the last drops out of him, but there was nothing left to get out. He was barely able to support himself against the wall with his feet and ended up sitting in the corner of the cabin where the water splashed over him. His bottom lip trembled and he blinked now and then to get the water out of his lashes which stuck together.

He heard steps from the changing room and saw his father dressed in a long, black coat step into the middle corridor where the glass panes shielded the showers on the one side from those on the other side. He took of his coat and handed it to Vladimir, rolled up his sleeves and reached in to get a hold on the boy under his arm pits and drag him out on the dry floor. Gabriel followed freely, his sight was still blurry, and he coughed up some of the black blood now and then.

"Vladimir, find some proxofamyl," Matthew said as he checked Gabriel's black eyes. Vladimir hesitated.

"Lord Darklighter, are you sure that-"

"Do as I say!" Matthew's voice rang out in the silent changing room with an echo to emphasise his meaning. Gabriel moaned quietly and moved uneasily as if he did not know where he was and what was going on around him. Matthew took him closer and made him sit up against him as he pulled off the vest which was smeared with both black and red blood. Soothing, he hushed down Gabriel, but the boy did not pay attention to him, just looked around with a drunken gaze; the eyes were black holes into nothingness and the skin was white as snow with the black lines pulsating with every movement he did.

"Shh, easy Gabriel, I'm right here," Matthew whispered softly. Gabriel put his head back and stared in front of him like a dead corpse. Vladimir returned with a little glass container with a clear substance and a syringe. They prepared Gabriel's arm for the shot, but Gabriel was too far off to notice anything.

"This might hurt a little, love," Matthew said quietly and placed a kiss on Gabriel's temple as he punctured the skin and forced the liquid into him. The boy curved violently, his muscles tensing and a long, complaining moan followed as Vladimir came to support him. Matthew emptied the syringe and Gabriel dropped his head back, the lips split apart and his hands limp in his lap. His fangs were growing fast, the eyelids quivered and the veins stood out clearly when suddenly it all seemed to fade and he slumped back with a painful grimace. A little, black tear slid from his eye and into his wet hair as the drugs settled in and reality gradually faded.

Heavy as lead, he forced his eyelids open. He lay in a clinically sterile room with white walls, ceiling and large windows turned to a grassy area. His body was like a bag of rocks and his head ached worse than ever before. Slowly he turned his head to evaluate his surroundings. The first thing he saw was the table beside the bed. There was a vase with the most beautiful lilies, a box of chocolates, a beer with a bird's feather bound in a string around the bottle neck, a condom, a bottle of red wine and a book about something he could not read from the distance.

The door went up and Isobel stepped in. She was clad in her nurse apron but other than that she looked as sweet as always. Her mere presence was like a sunray washing away all dark nightmares. She went to the bed with a kind smile.

"Well, how's our patient today?" she asked. Gabriel corrected himself a bit and closed his eyes.

"How... how long have I been gone?" he asked with a rusty voice.

"Four days or so," Isobel answered. A slightly worried gleam was visible in her eyes but as always the smile did not fade. "You've had many visitors. Your father has been watching over you almost every day and night and left Vladimir at the wheel of the firm for some time. I sent him home a few hours ago to make sure he had some sleep."

Gabriel smiled vaguely and looked around again. His body felt beaten as if he had been in a fight. He looked back at Isobel as she removed the featherbed to listen to his lungs and heart. She pushed it back over him again and removed the stethoscope. He reached out and grabbed her wrist lightly.

"What happened?" he asked silently.

"You went crazy," she said. "Your father had to give you some sedative and your psychic state had to be controlled so we've been keeping you in comatose for some time to prevent you from hurting yourself or others."

"And... and my opponent?" he asked.

"The funeral was two days ago. We sent a condolence to his relatives," said Isobel and put a hand to his chest to keep him down when he bolted up. It hurt too much and he had to resign and lie down again with an empty stare past her. "Your father thought it best to keep you down until the funeral was over and perhaps a bit longer to make sure you wouldn't go do something stupid."

"I'm a monster," he whispered silently as he stared in front of him. She put a hand on his forehead and pushed a few strands of his hair away.

"No, you're just different, and this is a precaution we have to take," she said quietly. He turned to look at her with a faint smile.

"But, can't you see? I'm doomed to failure. I do this all the time," he looked down at his hands that rested on top of the feather bed. A drip had been removed but he had a band across the back of his hand. "I oughtn't try and fight. I'm useless at both hand-to-hand combat and magic."

She laughed softly. "Now, now, dear, you are something. Alexander said you were a rather fine sharp-shooter."

"That doesn't help me. I like it but I wouldn't spend the rest of my life in a training hall shooting at dolls when I can't go outside fearing that my temper would run off again," Gabriel answered and looked away from her. She smiled lightly and patted his cheek.

"Shall I call your father and tell him that you've awakened?" she asked. He nodded without answering and she left the room. The door closed shut without a sound. Gabriel sighed and shuffled down to lie stretched. The eyes closed again, heavy from exhaustion, but he needed to get up and about. Perhaps when his father got there they could take a stroll in the hospital garden outside. The sun was bleak but the sky was blue. The trees were golden and red. Autumn was here.

The air was fresh; it had probably rained not long ago. The small paths between the beets and bushes were wet but the clouds had left. Gabriel had borrowed a jacket and some warm trousers along with shoes to go outside in. His legs shook for each step he took, so he had to support himself as well as he could against his father, who went beside him, straight and calm. But he was able to read the sad lines along the eyes, and Gabriel had to swallow his shame. What kind of heir was he to give his father more troubles than he already had? And he ought to be old enough to take care of himself. Or was he? He felt like a sick person who had to be nursed and taken care of. Useless, incompetent and made sick by his own weakness: his temper.

They came to a gazebo with a glass roof. Wines climbed up the posters, in the middle stood a small fountain and by the edges stood stone benches. They went to the fountain and sat down on the basin edge. Gabriel let go of his father's arm and let his hand slip across the water surface broken by the continuous torrent sprinkling over the statue in the middle. They had walked in silence from the main building some hundred meters behind them. Their eyes had darted here and there but never at each other although Gabriel had tried to catch his father's gaze now and then.

He sighed softly to end the silence. They were far from the building, hidden behind the bushes and no one else was about.

"Gabriel-"

"Father-"

They looked up at each other as they heard their words collide like two waves. Matthew looked down at his hands folded in his lap. Gabriel smiled apologetically and bowed his head.

"Yes?" he asked

"Don't let this take you down," Matthew said slowly. Gabriel tilted his head and looked inquiringly at him.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"You've run into so many problems, so many obstacles, which you haven't been able to defeat," Matthew began calmly. "You start something and find out that either it's too hard or too easy. Your temper -"

"I know," Gabriel looked away with a dark glance. "I can't be an Axi'Rôs, just tell me."

"Perhaps you can't," Matthew said finally and looked up from his hands to his son. "Maybe not yet."

"Yeah, but when then?!" Gabriel asked and spread his arms in a hopeless gesture. "One moment I get a life line, but when you can't handle me, you reject me even though I try to hold on. I'd really like to do this, father! It's indescribable, my wish. I'd so much like to do something for the family, to show that I'm something else than a deformed creature only controllable in comatose in a hospital while those I've trained with are being buried one after the other."

"Gabriel, it's not that easy -"

"No! I know very well! But I don't want to submit to this anymore! Either you want me, or you don't!" Gabriel voice broke before he hid his face in his palms. His shoulders trembled but only the faint sound of sob upon sob was heard. Matthew moved closer carefully and put an arm around his shoulders. Gabriel did not push them off. At least that was a good sign. Lovingly he slipped a hand through the blonde hair and hushed him down while he cradled him gently.

"Gabriel, there's a time for all of us," he said. "Yours is yet to come. It might be out there ahead of you still."

"Father, I've been living for more than 2000 years, when the fuck is my time then?" Gabriel asked with a thick voice and looked up at his father. Tears streamed down his cheeks, black and shining like pearls. Matthew smiled faintly, perhaps resigning and doubting, but Gabriel sighed and shook his head despondently. "I can't stand this much longer," he leaned in against his father's chest with his head on his shoulder. His hands rested in his lap and where his tears fell, his white hospital garments turned grey. "I'm a disgrace, a failure, a monster. I dishonour the family again and again. You keep protecting me as if nothing's happened, but how many more memories can you delete or modify? How many more will stand and watch it happen while they all know I'm a wandering catastrophe bound to destroy everything?" he looked up at his father. The eyes were red-rimmed and glossy with tears. Matthew drew away the worst traces from the cheeks and looked sadly at Gabriel.

"Don't say that, Gabriel," he said silently. Gabriel swallowed hard and looked past Matthew's face. They sat like that for a while before Matthew rose and had to get back before nightfall. There was a dinner in the mansion. Gabriel followed him to the hospital where he prepared for the night. They exchanged a trembling kiss before his father left him alone in the room where the light from outside was the only illumination. He lay down and surrendered shortly after to another long, heavy sleep.