That man.
Of course he insisted on fighting Pentkehydra alone. Not that anyone could even spare a second to help him—not with all those villagers behaving like a pack of frightened animals, constantly needing guidance and reassurance to not let themselves be killed by the never-ending spawn of sandworms.
Torn between getting the job done and rushing in to at least once heal Dietrich, Fabio, logically, picked the latter. The citizens were useless and acted suicidally. Lamine was not… He was not useless, that is—the second part was debatable.
Every so often, he looked over his shoulder to witness the beauty and precision in which the blond man danced around five vicious heads, relentlessly slicing them before they managed to grow out. He was covered in blood and venom, but still kept going like that meant nothing. Risking his life for quite literally nothing—but that’s just who he was.
Clearing the path for future citizens wasn’t the motivator. Proving himself was.
When Anatolia, her allies, and Fabio had finally made it to the exit, five loud thuds echoed through the hall. Something akin to pride grew in Fabio’s chest, though he wouldn’t have a name for it yet.
But instead of welcoming the man—maybe even congratulating him on a job nicely done—he spotted the swordsman on his knees, and not rising up.
“Dietrich?” Fabio abandoned Anatolia, fastened his steps, and knelt near the man. “Are you hurt? Did you take your Antitoxin?”
The man looked at him, a dreamy smile on his face, hair matted with various shades of red and violet. He looked like he was about to laugh despite all the wounds that were obvious even from a distance, drunk on the fight.
Fabio did not feel jealous at all.
“I asked, did you take… Ah, what a waste of time.” Fabio murmured, pulled out the last Antitoxin of his own, and forced its contents down Dietrich’s throat. To be on the safe side, he also cast his last Heal. He still had 2 more vulneraries, so they should be good for now. “Let’s leave this place.”
Dietrich nodded and stood up, albeit with some difficulty, and began walking toward the exit, with Fabio following him.
“It was… ferocious!” Dietrich murmured. “Dagdan’s monsters are truly something else.”
“They are indeed.” Not a hint of sourness in Fabio’s voice.
Finally, they reached Anatolia, who had already led the residents outside and was now staying with Sha Lan. She stepped back to help, only to realize there was no more such need.
“You defeated Pentkehydra yourself?” The Mediator’s eyes widened. “I was sure you were only going to keep her busy, not actually deal with her all alone.”
She put a hand over her heart and bowed slightly. “Thank you for your help, truly. I don’t even know how to properly show my gratitude.”
“It was a pleasure. I wish for more encounters like that, so as a way of saying thank you, you can promise me that you’ll let me know when you find an opponent of similar strength.” Dietrich purred like a cat. “She danced beautifully, all her heads with a different rhythm and elegance… every single one… had something different to offer…”
He bent down and threw up blood.
“Does he require Antotoxin?” Anatolia asked Fabio, unaffected.
“No, I… I already gave him one.” Fabio furrowed his brow. “Heal as well.”
Anatolia hummed. Both of them exchanged looks, communicating without words for a moment.
“I will need access to a lab,” Fabio said. “Please tell me it is in an operable state.”
“It’s not in the best condition, but you should be able to use it. Let us go, quickly.”
Fabio and Anatolia took Dietrich under their arms and began to walk, guided by the Mediator. Lamine, who seemed not to be seriously injured at first glance, began to lose touch with reality, and his legs started to stumble over each other.
After rounding the fifth turn of the artificially lit corridor, they arrived at their destination. Anatolia took a moment to pry open the long-locked door and helped guide Dietrich inside. They sat him down on an empty operating table, on which he immediately lay down, chuckling to himself without a reason.
“If you need help—”
“Take his armor off and get out of here,” Fabio scoffed, already assessing the room and the available tools. You will only be in the way. I need to focus.”
Anatolia wasn’t the type to take offense at his blunt words, so she just got to work. While Fabio was gathering equipment, Anatolia stripped Dietrich of his armor and set it aside safely. After that, she simply left with a slight bow and a silent “Thank you” on her lips.
This lab has seen better days, and Fabio could barely resist making a comment, but in times of emergency, it’ll have to do. He gathered all the sharp scalpels, forceps, clamps, retractors, and all kinds of empty glass vials onto one table. None of the heavier machines were working. They had probably deteriorated after a long period of disuse, and so the primitive tools would have to suffice. Although Fabio wasn’t normally a fan of such unsophisticated solutions, surprisingly, he had no problem with them in this setting.
“Dietrich,” Fabio said, starting to disinfect the tools with Fire. “Tell me about those Pentkehydra’s heads. What did they do to you?”
His condition could be so many things. Head trauma was quite likely, organ failure due to some serious damage taken, or maybe some unknown toxin, for which they didn’t yet have an antidote. He was no doctor, so far from it; he was almost the opposite of one, but with all his biochemistry background, he should be able to come up with something. Narrowing possible causes would, however, be tremendously beneficial, if they don’t want to just blindly cut him open and hope for the best.
When Fabio received no response, he turned around to see the man unconscious. He dropped the clamps he was holding and rushed over to him, slapping him on the cheek a few times. “Dietrich. Dietrich! Wake up.”
Violet eyes opened lazily, a milky mist obscuring the clarity of the gaze.
“Talk to me,” Fabio commanded. “I need you awake.”
“I’m hungry…”
It was strange to hear about such a basic need coming from him, but well. Maybe he was just that unwell. “Keep talking, Dietrich. Talk about anything you want.”
“I had a dream…”
“Yes, yes.” Fabio engaged in conversation only to keep him conscious. He hurried over to the other table, continuing to sterilize the equipment. “What was it about?”
“We were on a battlefield… it was unlike anything in the Arena…”
“I hear you. And?”
“It was… bloody and… unusually violent even for a war… I got my back pierced by some kind of ancient weapon…”
“I see. And then?”
“You said I’m… not gonna make it…” Dietrich’s voice weakened. “And you pleasured yourself using this wound.”
Fabio froze. “…Pardon?”
“You… You used my flesh like a hole.” An unwell chuckle, punctuated by a cough of blood. “Until you came.”
“And was it…” Fabio stopped his lip from trembling with excitement. “Was that a pleasant dream?”
He was talking nonsense, Fabio reminded himself. It was all just the ramblings of an injured man. But even so, he waited for a reply. And it didn’t come.
Once again, Fabio dropped everything and rushed to the table, patted Dietrich on the cheek, and urged him to stay awake.
An unpleasant expression spread across Dietrich’s face when he returned to his senses. “I’m hungry.” He whined. “I want a… I crave a grilled fish.”
“You’ll get one once we…” Fabio shook his head. “What did you say? Grilled fish, of all the things?”
“Mmm… yes…”
It hit him like a Bolting.
Hunger, changes in appetite, vomiting, lack of response to medication, and rapid deterioration of mental capabilities despite the lack of head trauma.
Could it be?
There was—lived—something inside Dietrich that counteracted the effects of the Antitoxin while continuing to produce more toxins. Unless Fabio was greatly mistaken, it meant that some kind of parasite had attached itself to Dietrich’s guts, possibly altering his stomach acids into something more fitting to its own conditions.
Given the rate at which the Pentkehydra’s heads regrew, this parasite may also have had a proportionally fast growth rate.
Bad. But not irreparable.
“Did you swallow something while you were fighting?”
“Something…” Dietrich’s eyes wandered. “Maybe. Toxic rain. Thick as a waterfall. I choked on something… Mmm…”
Fabio desperately hoped that it was actually his stomach and not his lungs that were affected. That would be much, much worse.
Attached to the operating table were both metal and leather straps, which allowed restraining patients in more difficult situations.
Crude and boorish. But they’ll come in handy now.
The metal ones required some kind of power source which wasn’t available, so Fabio grabbed the leather strap around Dietrich’s neck and tied him to the table, careful not to make it too tight. As he did so, he felt a weight on his side, and noticed a pale hand latched to his robe.
“Don’t… Don’t let me die outside of battle…”
The swordsman stared at Fabio with an unusual anxiety, swallowing with obvious difficulty under the pressure of the strap around his neck. Fabio felt his throat tighten as well.
It was such a pure request.
Although his usual response would be “I cannot promise anything,” this time he stopped himself.
“I won’t.” Came instead.
After he dealt with Dietrich’s neck, he gently grabbed the hand still clinging to his robe and laid it flat on the table, releasing it with a slight delay. A moment later, he tied his wrist to the table.
“If I die today…”
“You won’t.”
He did the same thing with his other hand, both biceps, tights, as well as with ankles. That left only his stomach free of any constraints—leather ones, at least.
“But… If I die today…”
“I said you won’t. Do I really have to repeat myself?”
Fabio turned his back on him, and with the two leftover vulneraries, started washing his hands over the unusable sink.
“You can do… what you did… in that dream…”
Fabio made sure to wash his hands very, very meticulously. “You cannot say things like that, Dietrich.”
“You told me I can talk about… anything…” A weak cough. “You… You wouldn’t want tha—”
“We need to act quickly,” Fabio interrupted, returning to the table with his hands cleaned and a scalpel in them. “Apologies, but we don’t have time to wait for any narcotics to take effect.”
“Don’t want them… anyway.”
“Do you require something to bite on, then?”
“…No need…”
Fabio hovered over the naked body, still-warm blade in hand. It wasn’t the right time to admire, but he did nonetheless. Despite all the sweat and blood, all the wounds and bruises from the fight, unkempt hair and unwashed skin from the long journey, he was still, undeniably, the most beautiful human Fabio had ever laid his eyes on.
Even more so, when he was flattened before him on an operating table.
Were he not so attached to this man, he’d dissect every inch of his tissue, pray open every organ, study each bone and then sketch them all, to fondly remember for the years to come.
Alas, he wanted him to live even more.
Fabio placed his left hand just under Dietrich’s ribs, stabilizing him, and placed a blade beneath his sternum. The blond man was shivering, and Fabio was certain it was due more to the toxins than to nervousness.
“Hold a breath now, just for a moment.”
Dietrich complied, and Fabio started a slow cut right into his abdomen. The midline incision had its perk of not cutting any muscles—he knew that the swordsman would appreciate it during the recovery. The body tensed deliciously under his fingers. Dietrich’s hands curled into fists; sweat showed on his forehead.
It hurt. He knew.
“N… Ngh…”
It was almost surreal how easily this honed body gave up under the scalpel. The blade went steady through all the layers. Fabio cut down until the belly button, when he took the arched turn to go around it.
“H-hah…”
Sensitive region, yes. But it was Fabio who wished Dietrich had opted for some kind of muffler. The quiet sounds that came from him were too distracting. Too stimulating.
And it seemed like it wasn’t stimulating for Fabio alone. Because when the blade returned to its original central trajectory on the lower part of his belly, it encountered an… obstacle, of sorts. In the form of a full erection.
Fabio raised his hand just as the scalpel’s blade was right at its tip.
“You can breathe now,” Fabio announced, although he could take his own advice. He quickly turned—to cool down a little and bring new tools with him. Whatever just happened must be noted, but postponed.
Fabio started mounting retractors to the metal pole attached to the base of the table. “It would be wise not to look now. It is far from pleasant. But please stay with me.”
The Agarthan worked quickly, setting all the rakes until they were all above Dietrich’s stomach. When the setup was completed, he lowered them and pulled the tissue aside.
Skin, thin layer of fat, linea alba, fascia transversalis, extraperitoneal fat, and finally, parietal peritoneum. A completely new, beautiful world for Fabio to admire.
The man sighed with adoration.
Fabio placed his hand on Dietrich’s open stomach and began to massage it gently, trying to feel for any abnormalities. To his surprise, he sensed something fairly quickly.
“I’m about to make an incision.” He said out loud.
And so he did. A small cut was all he needed.
“A-ha!” Fabio grinned. “There you are.”
The parasite looked like a scaled-down version of a sandworm itself. Slick, long, with its teeth mercilessly dug into the stomach tissue, it was surrounded by a sizable pool of sticky, purple sludge. Curious. That sludge was probably what made it so resilient to the Antitoxin.
It had leeched into an exceptionally good spot, quickly replenishing its reserves, growing almost in real time with a pulsating motion. This wasn’t strange at all, given the nature of Pentkehydra. It was rather fascinating to watch such a tiny creature trying to survive under such conditions.
What would happen if she were left alone? Would it die once it had drained the body dry? Or might it eventually burst through the host’s tissue and escape, ready to survive outside the body?
He shook his head to snap out of his reflections. That was not a time.
Fabio took a large pair of pliers and grabbed the parasite by the head, right next to the tissue. He squeezed, watching to see if its teeth would come loose, but they seemed to hold on tighter than he’d expected. They would never have been able to get rid of this “guest” by either vomiting or the use of herbs, not without poisoning the patient as well.
“Come here, you insolent… little… beast…” Fabio whispered, and the parasite finally let go, writhing frantically like an eel. The man breathed a sigh of relief and dropped the organism into a glass vial, sealing it with a stopper.
Next, he picked up a pipette and began transferring that sticky goo into a separate container.
If he had a moment later, he’d like to take a closer look at them and investigate how this parasite creates its own hospitable habitat in a completely foreign environment, and what components it consists of, when—
If he had a moment, yes. He got distracted again.
Dietrich looked at him through half-closed eyes, breathing shallowly. The wrinkles on his forehead had smoothed out considerably, and the trembling had stopped. That was a good sign.
“See? I told you.” Fabio sounded confident now. “You must be exhausted. Rest now.”
Fabio reached out and gently brushed Dietrich’s cheek, driven by an unexpected surge of tenderness. He was a magnificent specimen.
As far as the strap around Dietrich’s neck would allow, he leaned toward Fabio’s hand, his hazy gaze fixed on the Agarthan. He gently parted his lips and brushed them against Fabio’s hand before closing his eyes. Fabio audibly gasped, but Dietrich didn’t get to hear it—his head fell heavier onto the table as he fell asleep, exhausted by the day’s events.
Fabio’s hand lingered on his cheek for a moment longer; his thumb hesitantly brushed Dietrich’s lips once before the man withdrew his hand, drawing a deep breath.
Fabio was shaking, ever so slightly. Now that the sense of urgency had faded, a flood of delayed emotions began to rush in.
Fabio wasn’t used to being aroused. It was confusing, primitive, and almost nauseating how strong he was under its influence now. He rested his fists on the operating table and let his head hang just above the slit in the abdomen. He pressed his groin against the cold table, breathing deeply. The sensation wouldn’t go away.
Fabio glanced sideways at Dietrich’s face and remembered his dream, his… request. His sweet moans as he was cut open. His erection as a response to the blade. His soft lips against his hand.
Oh, the Agarthan felt dizzy.
He placed one knee on the operating table and pulled himself up, climbing onto it and straddling Dietrich’s thighs.
Dietrich’s cock, which had been fully erect just a moment ago, had softened slightly, but it was still far from completely flaccid. Fabio brushed the tip with his finger, collecting a bit of fluid, and licked it, tasting both a bit of blood left on his fingers from the surgery and Dietrich’s precum.
Fabio pulled up his robe, tucked the bottom hem between his teeth so it wouldn’t get in the way, and began to masturbate. Clumsily at first—neither he nor the Fabio who had inhabited this body before were used to these movements—but that was the thing about body maintenance: when there was a need, it came rather naturally even without prior practice.
The sight appeared before his eyes. Dietrich, teetering between life and death, his eyes filled with both pain and pleasure. Dying man’s warm entrails clenching around Fabio’s cock.
He was stroking his dick, trying to be quick with it. The fantasy of Dietrich’s dream combined with the sight of the open abdomen before him made it quite easy.
Oh, Dietrich, Fabio thought. What a perverted fool you are. You truly are the one for me.
He had the distinct impression that Dietrich’s eyes had opened for a split second, and with the embarrassment of being watched in this pathetic state, the release came to him.
“Ngh…!” With his eyes closed and his teeth clenched on the robe, he came all over Dietrich’s wide-open abdomen. For a moment, he rode the wave of his orgasm, savoring the new sensation, thanking Dietrich for granting him access to it.
But then, the moment passed, and the excitement gave way to mortification.
“…Gods.” In a rare display of profanity unusual to him, Fabio let his embarrassment show. He put down his robe and stepped down from the table, legs trembling with an unfamiliar sensation.
He walked unsteadily to his workbench and picked up a few needles and some thread. He decided to just start stitching Dietrich up. He should have done that way earlier anyway.
When he returned to the operating table, clarity struck him like an elephant, and he shook his head in disbelief at his own actions.
Oh, there was no way to clean up this mess in a sterile manner. He’d simply had to… leave it like that.
Fabio felt himself flushing at the thought of his seed remaining inside Dietrich’s body, flowing down through his innards. With him unknowing, on top of that. But it seemed like it was the only option, and so the man began working, starting with the innermost layer of the stomach, just where the parasite leeched onto.
“I might as well have given him sepsis,” Fabio muttered to himself, trying to ground himself before the second wave of arousal could hit him. No… A moment. The infection is possible, yes, but the sperm also contains proteases and hyaluronidases, which promote tissue remodeling. It can also contribute to the release of epidermal growth factors… Hmm. As long as no serious bacteria were present, this might even aid his healing…”
Rationalizing what he had done, he continued to stitch the layers of tissue together until he was left with a perfectly patched abdomen. After that was done, Fabio gathered all the tools in one place and cleaned them as best he was able.
Lastly, he returned to the man lying on the table and, with some hesitation, unfastened all the leather straps that held him to the table. It was almost a shame to let him go.
With a little bit of liquid left in his water bottle, Fabio washed the dirtiest parts of Dietrich’s body. He then took off his shoulder cape and covered Dietrich with it, and sat down against the wall, waiting.
The job was done. Well—hoped so—the potential complications will take some time to emerge, but at least they will be more obvious and better understood than some alien parasite.
It took a few hours before the slow movement on the table caught Fabio’s attention, and a relief washed over him.
“Do not move. No solid food and definitely no fights for a few weeks. We’ll have to ask Anatolia for two weeks of asylum, since you won’t be getting through a desert in this state.” Fabio stood up and, as he came closer to the operating table, shook his head. “You insufferable creature. How do you feel?”
“Mmm…” Dietrich stretched just slightly. “In pain. But… just regular pain.”
“I believe your demise should be more spectacular. As long as I’m alive, I won’t let it be any other way.”
“…Thank you.”
Dietrich pushed the cloak covering him aside and looked at the prominent red line on his abdomen.
“It will take years before it pales. But it will, eventually.”
As he watched Dietrich’s pale fingers gently stroking the stitches of the fresh wound, Fabio felt a pang of both excitement and guilt. Although the concept of sin didn’t apply to him, and Dietrich had, in a way, given him permission, he still didn’t feel quite content with what had happened. He wanted to keep that information to himself forever, and he also wanted to confess straight away.
After pondering how to even begin to explain this whole situation, he opened his mouth, but Dietrich was quicker.
“You know, I had a dream again…” Without stopping to caress the wound, Dietrich turned his gaze to Fabio and smiled at him from beneath half-closed eyelids. “And yes, it was a pleasant one.”