"Agh…!"
Helios sank to his knees. His legs gave way beneath him as though they had lost all strength. A burning pain tore through his body, so overwhelming it felt as if he were being ripped apart from the inside out. Gasping, he wrapped his arms around his torso, as if that could contain the agony—but every touch only amplified it.
The last time he had felt pain like this was when he'd been shot.
No—this was definitely worse.
It was as though liquid fire coursed through his veins. His heart raced, his breath seared in his throat.
"Helios?" Dante's voice sounded close—too close. Every word resounded like a thunderclap inside his skull, making him flinch in shock. Overstimulated, overwhelmed—every sense sharpened to the point of unbearable. "Are you alright?"
Slowly, Helios lifted his gaze. Dante's expression was grave, his eyes filled with concern, yet Helios tried to nod. "I… I just need to lie down," he rasped.
He tried to straighten up, but his muscles refused to obey. The moment he moved, he collapsed again. Without another word, Dante slid one arm under his knees, the other behind his back, and lifted him as if he weighed nothing.
Helios clenched his teeth so hard he tasted blood, determined not to let a sound escape. His body trembled, caught between chills and burning heat. Every step Dante took made the world blur around him.
Damn it. He should have listened to Dante.
They should have just stayed away from home for the week—no matter the consequences. Anything would have been better than enduring this cursed transformation of his DNA under the watchful eyes of his father and the staff.
"Hold on, Helios. You're strong—don't forget that," Dante whispered so softly only Helios could hear.
Helios managed nothing more than an annoyed snort, and even that was exhausting.
Blurred faces flashed past—guards in black uniforms, servants staring with open mouths. Curious, shocked, fascinated. Helios could feel their gazes like sharp needles in his skin, until Dante finally pushed open the door to his room.
That was when hell truly broke loose.
The heat inside him became unbearable. His clothes clung heavy to his sweat-drenched skin, every scrap of fabric burning like molten iron. Even the warmth radiating from Dante's body was almost too much to endure.
"Hot…" The word escaped him, barely audible, as he writhed weakly in Dante's arms.
With trembling fingers he tried to undo the buttons of his coat. But his hands no longer obeyed—too slippery, too weak. Everything blurred before his eyes, the world dissolving into fog and noise. For a moment there was only emptiness—until the sensations returned, harsher, louder, more blinding than before.
A scream tore from his throat, wild and unstoppable.
He groaned in agony. Even with all his strength, Dante must have struggled to hold him properly.
"Wait, I'll help you," Dante said. He sounded overwhelmed.
Carefully he laid him on the bed, but the moment Helios touched the mattress, he curled up immediately—as if that could protect him from the pain. It was useless. It burned, stabbed, pulled through every fiber of his body.
Maybe he should just knock himself out and sleep until it was all over.
Another moan broke from him. Trembling, he ripped the sweat-soaked gloves from his hands while Dante dealt with his shoes. When Dante finally reached for the coat, Helios seized his wrist with the last of his strength.
"Dante…!" Helios gasped. "My suitcase! Ugh…!"
"Take off the coat first, you're burning up, Helios," Dante hissed.
Reluctantly, he let him help. He felt as though the heat were drying him out from the inside, like a fish gasping on land, waiting for saving water. The coat fell to the floor, and Helios yanked the sweater over his head with frantic movements. Cold air brushed his burning skin—a brief sigh of relief escaped him. But it lasted only a heartbeat. The next wave of pain crashed over him, forcing him to curl up again.
The glasses were unbearable, cutting into his temples like a foreign body. With a jerk, he tore them off and flung them away.
It was too much. Dante sat down on the edge of the bed behind him, the mattress dipping under his weight. His hand slid gently through Helios's damp hair. His hand was wonderfully cool compared to Helios's feverish body. Breathing heavily, Helios grasped Dante's hand and pressed it to his cheek—until even Dante's touch grew too warm.
"Damn it, your temperature's way too high!"
"I'm burning, Dante…" Helios whimpered. Darkness swam before his eyes for a moment. Straining, he forced them open. "…do you have it…?"
"What do you need?" Dante asked, tense.
Helios opened his mouth—but then it struck him that he hadn't prepared anything. He had no strength to explain, no patience left for anything. He needed something for the pain, and then he had to mix something that would knock him out completely. With a bit of luck, he'd sleep for an entire week. Dante had said it had taken about a week for him.
So Helios forced himself upright with every ounce of strength he could muster. Even though it felt like it took him years just to sit up.
Without his glasses, it was even harder to see. But whether his vision was blurred with or without them hardly made a difference anymore. Besides, he knew his suitcase inside and out. Dante held him steady in his arms whenever he threatened to collapse.
With determination, Helios reached for the substances and an empty vial he meant to fill with the mixture.
But unfortunately, his hands didn't work the way they should. When he tried to pour the first substance into the empty vial, much of it spilled. He wasted too much—gritting his teeth in frustration, he tried to focus. When the next wave of pain struck him, his grip on the two vials loosened, and Dante had to intervene.
"Let me help you," Dante said calmly. "Tell me what to do."
"I… can do it," Helios growled through clenched teeth.
But in the next instant, he doubled over, and a bone-rattling scream tore from his throat. The pain lashed through him, making his muscles spasm uncontrollably. He had to admit to himself that he couldn't do it alone. Panting heavily, his head sank against Dante's shoulder, as if, for just a moment, he could find support there.
In a hoarse voice, Helios explained to Dante, briefly, how much of each substance had to go into the vial. Word by word, broken by strained breaths and painful pauses. His consciousness flickered like a candle in a storm. At times everything went black, then blindingly bright with pain, so much so that he could hardly tell what was real.
Helios could barely endure it. It was too much. Worse than any wound, worse than the time he had thought he had already glimpsed death. Compared to this, all of that had been nothing but a shadow.
At last, the mixture was finished. Through a haze, he heard Dante's voice. Then he felt the thin glass of the vial against his lips. Cold liquid wetted them. But as soon as he raised his head a little, a fresh wave of pain shot through him. He pressed his lips shut—he didn't want to, couldn't. On the second attempt, he choked, coughing violently, spitting the bitter substance back out.
"Come on, Helios, you just need to drink it," Dante murmured. "The pain will lessen once you take it."
Helios' hand clenched in Dante's shirt, as if he had to hold on just to keep from being torn away completely.
"Damn it… how did you endure this?" he forced out, tears gleaming in his eyes.
"Not at all," Dante said softly. "I just waited until it was over."
Helios' throat tightened. Hot tears ran down his cheeks, mingling with the sweat dripping from his brow. He wasn't like Dante. He wasn't that strong. Never. He'd rather die than endure this pain.
A dull knock at the door made them both flinch.
"Young master?" came a muffled voice from outside.
"Damn it, why now?!" Dante hissed in frustration.
Helios swallowed the bitter mixture. At least on the third try, it had worked.
He slumped helplessly against Dante, who held him close. He was still burning, his skin still felt as though it were about to ignite. But he couldn't form a clear thought that would allow him to mix something more effective.
His breathing was labored, and his pulse seemed twice as fast as usual. The pain now felt like millions of tiny needles pricking his skin. It was duller than before, though still intense.
It was hell—exactly as Dante had described it.
Another knock.
"Hello? Is everything alright?" came again from outside the door.
"One moment!" Dante called back.
He laid Helios down and pulled a blanket over him.
"Too warm…" Helios groaned irritably.
He grimaced, wanting nothing more than to tear the blanket away. But Thomas couldn't be allowed to see—neither his fresh and already healed scars nor the stumps where his fingers had been. He needed to deal with that problem quickly.
Here at home, he was under constant observation. It wouldn't take long before someone noticed.
Damn Belladonna! Why had he cut off two of his fingers of all things?!
"Can you manage to stay covered for a little while?" Dante asked quietly.
Helios nodded. "Don't let him see," he whispered.
Dante nodded back, serious and resolute, and went to the door. Helios closed his eyes and let his head sink into the pillow as if he had already fallen asleep. In truth, he was clenching his teeth just to keep from groaning. The pain still burned in his bones—dull, deep, relentless. And the heat… that damned heat. He could hardly endure it anymore.
Sweat poured down his body, clinging cold and unpleasant to his skin. The clean bed felt filthy and stifling beneath the dampness. A vile sensation. He longed for water—for a bath, for a shower, anything. Just to wash away all the salt and heat from his skin.
He heard Dante speaking with Thomas, their voices drawing closer.
"He's running quite a high fever," Dante explained calmly.
"Good heavens… the bed is soaked!" Thomas' voice wavered between dismay and concern. "We need to change the sheets at once! He can't possibly recover like this."
"Thomas, he's only just fallen asleep," Dante soothed. He spoke quietly to the old butler. "Don't wake him, or it will get worse."
A cool hand touched Helios' forehead. He flinched inwardly but forced himself to remain still.
"Just yesterday he seemed perfectly healthy," Thomas whispered, visibly worried. "He's burning up."
"He hasn't been feeling well for a few days now. But he insisted he didn't need a doctor."
A sigh. "Yes, that sounds like him," Thomas murmured.
Helios heard every word, even through the haze of exhaustion. At least his mixtures were working as intended—potent and foolproof, even in his current condition. Gradually, the effect began to set in. The pain grew duller, lost its cutting edge, though it still lingered, heavy and oppressive in his limbs.
His eyelids grew heavier. Tired. Each breath was a struggle, yet at last he could let himself drift. At least for a while.
Sleep tugged at him, and he gave in.
He took the chance to allow himself a little rest. Even though he knew he would definitely not be able to work the next day.
___
When Helios opened his eyes, it was already midday, and he felt as if he'd been run over by a train. The last few days were a blur, unreal, dreamlike. He couldn't even tell what day it was anymore.
But one thing he could say for certain: the pain was gone. The fever had broken, and he felt… different. Even though, in truth, nothing really felt different.
Was the transformation process complete? Had he finally made it through?
He sat on the edge of the bed. He was drenched in sweat, his hair stuck to his face, and he felt utterly disgusting. He had endured so much—immobilized by agony for so long. It was as if he had been torn apart, only to be pieced back together again, bit by bit.
And now, he was a better version of himself.
At least, in the best case.
A soft murmur pulled him from his thoughts. Dante was still lying beside him, turned onto his side in his sleep. His face, unusually relaxed in slumber, and his deep, steady breathing revealed how exhausted he too must have been. Helios wouldn't wake him for anything.
As carefully as possible, he got up, grabbed fresh clothes from the dresser, and slipped into the bathroom.
He pulled off his sweat-soaked underwear and tossed it carelessly into the laundry basket. Then he lifted his gaze to the large mirror—and froze.
He looked awful. Pale as a corpse, filthy and drenched in sweat. His eyes were swollen from all the crying. He, Helios Vale, the man who only shed tears when someone close to him died—and even then, only in private.
He looked like a man who had suffered through an illness that nearly destroyed him. He was certain he had lost a few kilos. His skin clung tighter to his bones, his muscles looked more sinewy.
But he didn't know what day it was, nor exactly how much time had passed since his "death."
Dante would surely give him the answers once he was awake.
Helios stepped into the shower and turned on the water. With satisfaction, he closed his eyes and let the warmth cascade over him, while trying to piece together what had happened over the last few days. But no matter how hard he tried, there was only pain, despair, and the desperate wish for death. He had tried to ease it with his substances, but their effects had been brief from the beginning, and eventually nothing had worked at all.
He vaguely remembered that Dante too could no longer take medicine, as its effect simply vanished. At some point, he had just clung to Dante, unable to endure it otherwise—while Dante had stayed by his side, whispering soothing words and making sure no one grew suspicious. Especially Thomas, who despite every warning had come again and again to help him.
So was he truly like Dante now? He needed to test things in the lab as soon as possible. He would have to compare their blood samples, find out how quickly his wounds healed compared to Dante's, and much more.
They also needed to visit Dante's acquaintance as quickly as possible, so he could craft finger prosthetics for him. He would need a full set of gloves to hide his stumps, and he'd have to come up with something for the scars.
Especially the thin scar along his neck, where Belladonna had pressed the blade, ready to behead him. Helios' fingers brushed over it unconsciously, as if to reassure himself that his head was still on his shoulders.
He had to see Spider. As soon as possible.
He needed the certainty that Belladonna was truly dead—for good.
There was much to do.
His to-do list had already been dauntingly long before his death. His desk had been overflowing with unfinished files and correspondence, and he was certain that in the days of his absence the stack had only grown higher.
After soaping himself several times and rinsing off again, he finally felt clean. He turned off the water, stepped out of the shower, and began drying and dressing himself.
He was hungry. He desperately needed something to eat. His stomach growled so loudly that he instinctively laid a hand on it. Whatever he found in the kitchen—sweet, savory, stale—it didn't matter, as long as it calmed his body.
He was also tired and still felt unsteady on his feet. More than anything, he wanted to crawl back into bed. But he couldn't afford to be absent any longer.
He would grab something to eat and bring Dante a snack as well. Then they needed to go to the company, so he could get an overview and maybe even tackle part of the mountain of paperwork before returning.
He would ask Spider for a meeting in the evening, as usual.
Helios slipped back into his room after brushing his teeth and fixing his hair. He grabbed the gloves Dante must have left on the sideboard at some point and pulled them on. The leather fit snugly over the stumps of his fingers, hiding what no one was allowed to see. At least for the moment, the illusion was perfect.
He cast a brief glance at Dante, still asleep in bed. Quietly, he left the room. Two guards stood watch outside his door as usual, throwing him a startled look that Helios ignored as he made his way to the kitchen.
It felt strange to walk through the estate again. Everything was just as it had always been—the high ceilings, the heavy paintings, the scent of polished wood and old carpets. And yet, nothing was the same anymore. His life had changed beyond recognition in just a few days. No one but Dante knew what had happened. A secret that lay in his chest like a ticking time bomb. Every glance, every conversation could expose it.
A faint clattering came from the kitchen, accompanied by a gentle humming. Helios stopped in his tracks. A small smile crept across his lips. Thomas. He would have recognized that humming anywhere.
He was glad to see the old butler. At least now, with his senses back under control, he could hide his new scars more easily. Helios lingered in the doorway, watching the old man as he prepared a small tray of coffee. Thomas didn't seem to notice him. The aromatic scent of coffee filled the air.
Yes, that was exactly what he needed now.
"Good day, Thomas," Helios said.
The old butler flinched so hard that a cup nearly slipped from his hand. But with the elegance of decades of practice, he caught it at the last moment and set it down. Slowly, he turned around.
"Young master?" he asked in surprise, his eyes widening as he took in Helios. "How are you feeling?"
In his gaze lay something between relief and worry.
"Better. Even if I still feel a little weak."
Thomas approached him, looking astonished. Helios tilted his head slightly. He couldn't at all understand why the old man looked at him with such bewilderment. Hesitantly, Thomas laid his hand against Helios' forehead.
"You have no fever anymore," he murmured. Thomas sighed in relief. "You really do look better—almost as if you'd never been ill."
Helios pulled his lips into a faint smirk. "Funny, since I felt worse than I had in a very long time," he replied, sliding into a chair at the kitchen table with an almost casual motion. "Will you make me a coffee too? And I'm starving."
"Of course, young master."
Thomas immediately set to work. A few minutes later he placed a steaming cup in front of Helios. The scent of freshly brewed coffee spread warmly through the room, and Helios wrapped both hands around the cup. For a moment, he simply enjoyed the heat, which he could feel even through the leather gloves.
Thomas' eyes lingered on the gloves. That brief hesitation was impossible to miss. Helios decided to ignore it—for now—until Thomas found the courage to bring it up directly.
"How many days have passed since I collapsed?" Helios blew the hot steam away from the coffee. "It feels like weeks."
"Last night," Thomas answered, bewildered, almost disbelieving.
"Good joke," Helios snorted.
There was no way Thomas was telling the truth. It had definitely been more than twenty-four hours since he'd come home.
"This is no joke. You spent the entire night groaning and screaming in pain. Your fever was so high we had no idea how to help you anymore. Your father called for a doctor," Thomas explained. He glanced at the wall clock. "He should be arriving shortly."
Helios tried to process what Thomas had just told him. None of it added up. He knew his mind hadn't been working properly through the pain, but it was impossible that he had recovered so quickly. It had felt like an eternity. So many times he had wished for death to finally come.
How many times had he begged Dante to kill him?
Helios could now understand why Thomas had looked at him with such shock. It was absolutely not normal for someone to feel fine after a single night of such agony. He forced a confident smile.
"I don't need a doctor. Apparently, my remedies worked just as well as always," he said with a smile. "Why else would I be feeling better so quickly? Though I admit I'm still cold—ideally, I'd spend the entire week in bed."
Thomas frowned skeptically, but finally nodded. "If you truly feel strong enough…"
Luckily, Helios had chosen a turtleneck. He could also use the gloves as an excuse. Even if it wasn't a permanent solution. He really needed to come up with more elegant ways to conceal things.
A plate of fresh sandwiches was set down in front of him. Helios couldn't quite read Thomas' expression. The butler didn't seem to buy his story—or perhaps he believed him but simply couldn't comprehend it.
Helios grabbed a sandwich and bit into it. At least there was finally food, and he couldn't remember ever being so glad to eat.
"Don't worry, Thomas. I really am better. I'm just tired, and I feel cold."
Thomas sighed. "Perhaps you've caught some strange illness."
On second thought, Thomas might even know about the Sentinel Project. After all, he had long served Helios' father and was his closest confidant. Thomas was privy to so many of the family's secrets that Helios would honestly be surprised if he knew nothing of it.
"That's exactly why, after eating, I'll head to my lab and run a few tests. I'm quite interested myself in what managed to bring me down like that," Helios said.
Thomas shot him a shocked look. "Your father wishes for you to resume your work as soon as possible. Still, you ought to give yourself more rest. You're still as pale as death itself," he said with concern.
But Helios no longer felt as drained as when he'd first gotten up. Quite the opposite. The more time passed, the better he felt. More alert, far stronger. He suddenly had so much energy he didn't even know how to channel it.
It had to be the substance coursing through his system.
He needed to run some tests, urgently. His to-do list was so crammed with important matters that prioritizing them seemed almost impossible.
Then heavy footsteps interrupted his thoughts. Urgent, hurried steps.
"Thomas! Helios is gone! Have you—…?" Dante's voice was breathless, filled with panic.
He appeared in the doorway, hair tousled, dressed only in sweatpants and a loose shirt. When his eyes fell on Helios, he froze. Disbelieving, as if he were seeing a ghost.
"…Helios?"
Helios smiled calmly, as if nothing had happened. "Sit down. You should eat something too, before we head to the company." His voice was steady, almost playful—a deliberate contrast to Dante's turmoil.
Dante brushed his hair back from his forehead, stepped closer, and laid his large hand against Helios' brow.
"No fever… are you really alright?" he asked, still bewildered. His gaze was full of worry.
Helios nodded. "It's fine. I'm not in pain anymore, the fever is gone, and I just feel tired. And cold—but other than that, everything is as usual."
Dante looked as though he wanted to say something. But he pressed his lips together and gave a small nod instead. He withdrew his hands and straightened up. "Are you sure you want to go to the lab?" he asked in his usual professional tone.
Helios took a sip of coffee. "There's a lot to do, as you know, and I don't like leaving my projects unattended for too long. Sit down, Dante—you'll be on your feet long enough later."
Dante sat down, his eyes never leaving Helios as he ate something and drank his own coffee. Together with Thomas, they chatted about various little things without any particular focus. It was an afternoon coffee as relaxed as Helios hadn't enjoyed in a long time.
He could hardly wait to begin running tests on himself.