Bloodwalker

Chapter 4: Venom

Trigger Warning/s: blood, hostage, strong violence, injury, discussions of death, medical torture

Pre-chapter notes: none

Art: on ArtStation. This is a beautiful piece by the Brazilian illustrator and he has many more in this art style.

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Drip. Drip.

You're in The Undertaker's lab again. The smell of acid and plastic and who knows what else attacks your senses. Colourful chemicals are beautifully displayed in flasks all around the room, and blueprints are scattered all over the desk in the far corner. To anyone else, it would feel like a museum. But to you, this is the place of your nightmares.

However, at the moment, you're not getting experimented on. For once, you're the one in control.

The Adjudicator watches your eleven-year-old self with scrutiny as you pipette the solvent into the beaker. As part of your chemistry lessons, he taught you the fundamentals of poison, and today you're perfecting the technique of one of his favourite recipes. Your footsteps are light and careful - it took a lot of convincing from your master to get The Undertaker to unhand control of his beloved workstation to the second-in-command's apprentice, let alone once per week. He did end up relenting - which is why you've had the privilege of operating in it for the past month - but not without him threatening to experiment on you double each week if you were to break or mess anything up.

So you make sure to be careful.

Adjudicator nods in approval at your concoction as you pour the dark, murky liquid into a flask for storage. All is well until you carelessly trip and knock over a layered trolley.

Every last jar on the trolley smashes to the ground. The floor is now painted red with an assortment of carmine hues, flowing towards the two of you.

Crap.

Your insides run cold and your heart beats erratically. You're pretty sure those jars were full of concoctions made with your blood and you know Undertaker is going to work you to the bone, extracting it out of you again to replace what you destroyed.

Kindly enough, your master notices your distress, but doesn't discern the reason behind it.

"It's okay, I'll replace the jars, and I'll ask a cleaner to mop up this mess."

As if that will solve anything!

When you don't respond, The Adjudicator takes a moment to curiously survey your expression. You're trembling uncontrollably, breaths coming in short gasps, eyes dancing all around the room. He doesn't understand why.

"Oi, relax," he chides, as his hand gently lands on top of your head. "Everything will be fine."

No. You're wrong.

The worst part is, he doesn't even know that he's lying.

"Ren will refill those jars in no time," he continues.

Yes, you tremble, he will.

And he'll do it with your blood.

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The Undertaker is livid.

He has a strange way of showing his fury, since his ever-present Cheshire cat grin never once leaves his face.

But you know he's mad. You know from the way he stalks over to you with purpose in the stuffy hallways of the compound, with a pace slightly faster than his usual, unsteady gait. You know from the way his yellowed, chipped nails dig into your arm and almost draw blood. You know from the way the restraints he fastens on you threaten to cut off the circulation to your limbs.