Christopher
watched on with cold disdain as the serum was injected into the twelfth
soldier, their name and rank taken down by a short man in a lab coat. The glass
separating them allowed Christopher a chance to look over the nervous looking
cadets, who had all been told this was to prevent an outbreak of Spanish Flu
from spreading through the Nazi ranks. He gave a half smile as a shirtless
shoulder smacked one of his comrades on the shoulder, pulling himself up to a
top bunk where he laid himself out.
“So
do you think the G-32 series will have a better yield?” Richard asked from
Christopher’s elbow, his British accent far out of place deep within the German
bunker. Christopher turned, sliding his hands into his pockets before smiling.
“I
have higher hopes than I did with the G-30 series, that’s for certain. I’m not
sure what the Fuhrer is hoping we can achieve with these tests, but hopefully
we will find out soon.”
“Yes,
the serum should take effect within the next hour or so, then take another
twelve to work through their systems. The survivors will be an interesting
lot.”
“Quite,”
Christopher agreed, walking out of the secret room and into the hall that
allowed them back into the laboratories. Great spinning rods channeling arcs of
blue lightning sat high in the air atop spires of bent steel while bubbling
chemicals sat in beakers and test tubes, all tended to by a random underling
Christopher had never bother to learn the name of. Several such underlings
passed them by, greeting them with nervous glances and stuttering’s that left
Christopher disgusted with the so called superior race.
Moving
to a door flanked by two soldiers, fully armed, Christopher nodded to the door.
“Crack it open, I want to speak to it.”
The
soldier on the left, Hans, nodded and turned to take grip of the wheel lock
sealing the room, turning it slowly and carefully as the pressure began to seep
out. Finally the door popped open and the wheel spun loose, and Hans pulled the
door open and stepped inside. Christopher and Richard followed the soldier
while the second one closed the door behind them and sealed it once more,
trapping them in the narrow stone hallways sloping down in a narrow circle,
water dripping from the stones and pooling in uneven steps of footing.
The
dank air of the tomb seemed to crush Han’s and Richard’s spirit, while
invigorating Christopher’s. He began to hasten his step, doggedly following the
bulky soldier on his heels as they approached the trapped quarry the SS had
found some fourteen years ago, after falling from the sky.
The
tunnel ending in a wood paneled cavern with stained glass windows, high domed
roof and lines of pews, Christopher sneered at the obvious attempt to make the
captive feel more at home. Standing up where a preacher would normally wax on
about God and his love was a boy, frail and thin, with six wings spreading from
his back to a wingspan of some ten feet. Each wing was shackled and bolted to
the walls, holding the lad in place.
His
frame was emaciated, his belly puffed out and sick, skin peeling as bone shone
through thin patches of flesh. The boy’s face, once cherubic, was now nothing
more than a vicious snarl with deep red eyes and pointed, needle teeth over
black gums. The boys arms, shackled and bound to the floor, held claws each an
even six inches in length; claws that Christopher was well aware could tear
through one of Germany’s finest in a matter of seconds.
The
bindings that held him in place were wrought cold iron, particularly strong
against spirits. Or so the folklore had predicted… so far they’d held true.
The
boy looked up as Hans stopped at the entryway, making room for Christopher to
walk into the room, followed by a quaking Richard. “Ah, company…” It hissed in
a sibilant tone, it’s eyes narrowing to slits. “How utterly delightful. A shame
I couldn’t have prepared anything.”
“Oh
but you have Nicholas, you already have.” Christopher said with a smile,
reaching into his coat and removing an empty syringe.
The
boy looked at the needle lazily before rolling his eyes back up to meet Christopher’s.
“You seek my life essence once again, Balkan? Have you not learned that you
cannot use my gifts on your soldiers without severe repercussions?”
“We’ve
already isolated the part of your genealogy that causes the main problems, and
will only need a few more trials before we will begin injecting all SS officers
with your blood.” Christopher said, walking boldly up the dais towards the
bound boy. He stopped as the boy fell limp against his restraints, hanging
limply from his wings, which strained against his taut skin. He pushed himself
back up, glowering at Christopher.
“Still
have the faith, I presume?” Christopher taunted, moving closer to the small
creature’s frame.
“If
I didn’t I could remove these blasted wings and you know it.” The boy pouted, not
even bothering to struggle as Christopher moved to take blood from him. “Take
of me what you will, I have no basis to fight you any longer…”
“Oh?”
Christopher asked as he slipped the needle beneath the boy’s yellowing skin
into a vein before pulling back the plunger slowly, filling the needle with a
red glowing fluid. Holding it up to the dim lighting of the room, Christopher
smiled as he stared at the syringe, before looking down at the sallow-skinned
youth.
“Your
faith to God is what punishes you, you realize this right?” Christopher said,
looking at the tangle of chains and clamps holding the boy in place. “If you
just let him go, you would be free in moments.”
The
boy remained silent as Christopher packed the syringe back into his pocket,
turning to walk down the dais as he smiled at Hans and Richard, who were both
still wavering at the entrance of the cathedral.
As
he almost reached them, the boys voice rang out in the room, echoing from the
walls. “And it is your lack of faith that results in the death of dozens, if
not hundreds of God-fearing men. You will one day have to answer for your
crimes.”
Christopher
looked over his shoulder, his face solemn. “Perhaps. But with your blood,
perhaps not.”
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