Helios' head sank as Dante collapsed before him. Without Dante's supporting hand, he could no longer keep his own head upright. The weight of his body pressed him down, even as he felt strength slowly returning to his limbs. Yet a dull, numbing haze still hung over him – as if the world itself had wrapped in cotton.
He could hardly wait to finally move again. Dante had pulled out the needle and hidden his arm once more so that no one could see. No one would notice that the IV had been flowing into the fabric, not into his body.
He had really come.
Helios could hardly believe it. This hell that had devoured him for so long was finally coming to an end. Soon, he would be free. The thought made his chest tremble, a fragile smile trembling across his lips. He had never thought relief could hurt so much. Dante hadn't disappointed him. He had kept his promise.
How many times had Helios wished that he would finally come to take him away?
Helios was exhausted—he could no longer, and didn't want to, go on. Every breath burned, every blink cost strength. The countless hours he had spent trapped here had drained everything from him. He would probably barely leave his bed in the coming week. All he wanted was to breathe, to sleep, to forget.
How wonderful it would be if he could just close his eyes now. Just a little. Maybe five minutes. Though he would force himself to stay awake until he could finally fall asleep in Dante's arms.
He was looking forward to it—to simply lie in his arms and let himself be cared for. He needed his warmth—and that of a long, hot bath.
Just a little longer…
But before they disappeared, he still had his part to play. Both Dr. Brooks and his father deserved punishment for what they had done to him.
A faint, muffled groan made him listen up. So his father was still alive. Helios hadn't seen who all those bullets had been meant for, but the pain-filled rattling breath spoke for itself. It gave him a deep, grim satisfaction to at least hear his father's suffering.
After all, his father had ignored all his pleas and screams. He hadn't cared about his tears, nor about his fading will to live. Helios had been helpless, and they had done everything they could to break him.
If the torture had gone on any longer, they probably would have succeeded.
Behind him, new shots rang out—short, sharp, echoing dully through the halls. Whoever was fighting out there was dealing with Josh, and Josh was not someone to be underestimated. Helios didn't know who had come here with Dante, but somehow, he was annoyed by that person.
Strange…
He felt the feeling return to his fingertips. He almost sighed with relief, but held himself back. Nobody must become suspicious. It was vitally important that he not give himself away in any way.
Dante wouldn't need long to come back to life. Still, Helios hoped he himself would be back on his feet sooner than Dante, so he could use the time a little for his revenge.
His father would suffer. Ideally, he wanted to free himself from him once and for all. But something told him he would never truly escape. No matter how far he ran. No matter where he and Dante hid. At least not while his father lived.
Maybe he should kill him.
Helios closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath.
He could still feel the cuts the doctor had made in him, as if he'd been carved up like a Christmas goose. He still felt that ripping pressure when the rib spreader had torn open his chest.
The feeling of not being able to breathe. As if his heart had been cut out of him.
What he would probably never forget was his father's expression when he had seen the heart floating in the tank. That triumphant look on his face broke him. His father truly believed Helios's heart would make him immortal too.
It was just a theory.
When he closed his eyes he saw his mother's corpse before his inner eye. When he opened them he thought he saw again the harsh light of the operating lamp. He shivered with cold.
Silently he clenched his teeth.
He would kill his father and Dr. Brooks within the next hour. No matter how. He had been through enough in recent days and he would make them suffer for every tiny pain.
Whoever had shot at Dante seemed to be pushing themselves up with a groan. It sounded painful—and very much like his father. Helios could hardly wait to see him writhing in pain and blood. The anticipation was almost tangible. Not much longer and he would finally be able to move fully again.
Still, even at full strength he would only have one chance. Otherwise his father would overpower him.
Gradually the haze in his head lifted and his thoughts cleared. At last he no longer felt mentally completely dulled. His mind normally worked nonstop and he was always grateful for a little distraction, but that state of total numbness had been unbearable.
Tingling returned to his limbs. The sensation grew more uncomfortable with every passing moment. He wanted more than anything to move, to ball his hands into fists and stretch his limbs. But he was painfully aware that even the smallest movement could give him away.
So he forced himself to sit as still as a puppet.
Since his captivity he had been forced to stay still—motionless, at the mercy of others, like an animal in a cage. But the clearer his thoughts became, the fiercer the rage within him burned. It flamed hot through his veins, throbbed at his temples, screamed to be unleashed.
His father rose with a groan; a low curse escaped him. He came closer with dragging steps—each creak on the floor echoing in Helios's head. Then suddenly he stopped.
"Damned bastard!" he snarled.
A dull sound came, as if he'd stepped into something. He drew a sharp, hissing breath and let out a pain-racked moan as he fought to find solid footing. Helios clenched his jaw when he realized his father was kicking Dante.
Dante lay dead on the floor before him, and his father took all the time in the world to vent his rage on him.
Everything in Helios screamed to throw himself at him. To slit him open. To finally see him suffer.
Helios closed his hand around the knife's handle and counted silently to ten so he wouldn't charge off recklessly. It was damn hard to sit still, but he forced himself. His time had not yet come. He fought for inner calm. He forced himself to sit quiet and give nothing away.
His limbs still felt weak, even though feeling had returned to them. Acting now would only endanger him.
Again and again his father kicked Dante; more curses fell from his lips. Until finally he stopped and stood there, breathing heavily.
"You lowly worm!" he spat at last, his voice a hiss of anger and arrogance. "Who did you think you shot here?!"
Helios heard the rustle of clothing; he wanted to lift his head and check on Dante. Even if he was immortal, those kicks must hurt.
Had he healed enough to feel the pain already?
A pistol clicked, then three loud shots cracked out and the gun was secured again.
He would have to get that pistol from his father somehow—otherwise things would get tricky.
"I really can't understand why they had such trouble killing you," his father jeered with icy calm. "In the end you're just an interchangeable pile of muscle. Nothing more."
He sounded so arrogant that Helios almost leapt up. What did his father think he was desecrating? Dante would probably need longer to heal his wounds now. That wasn't good at all. If things went wrong, Helios couldn't really count on Dante to help him.
He exhaled slowly.
So he would have enough time to unleash his anger on his father.
Strength had returned to his body, though he was so exhausted he would have gladly fallen asleep immediately — nothing could stop him. Tentatively he opened and closed his hand, and at least it no longer felt numb.
Inwardly he apologized to his mother for what he intended to do. His father would not live much longer, and he would not have a peaceful death. Helios would make sure of that.
Shuffling steps approached. His chin was lifted, and at last he could look into his father's pain-twisted face. Oh, what a beautiful sight to behold.
His father had no idea that the hell he had unleashed was about to turn on him.
"We have to go, my boy," he hissed, still angry. His breath was heavy. "Your damned guardian has done enough damage."
His gaze drifted to Josh and the person he was fighting.
"And whoever helped him break in here won't be living much longer, either."
The corners of Helios's mouth twitched; he barely held back a grin.
"He really got you good," he observed in a rough voice. The rage simmered beneath his skin; he could hardly contain himself. He could scarcely put into words how much he hated the man before him. Sweetly he added, "Does it hurt?"
He let his eyes roam over his father's blood-stained clothes, as far as his limited vision allowed. He had been hit in the left shoulder, a graze had struck his left cheek, and from his posture Helios guessed a bullet had hit his thigh. It was almost disappointing that only two bullets had found their mark.
However, his wounds weren't bad enough to kill him. So Helios could still have a little fun with him.
The thought of killing his own father didn't frighten him in the least. Not anymore. Not after everything he had done to him.
"Those are only flesh wounds," his father sneered, surveying the room as if looking for an escape route. "Brooks!"
His shout cut through the muffled echo of the fighting behind them. "Damn it, where is that idiot of a quack?!"
"Maybe he's had enough of you," Helios remarked. His tone went cold. "I'd be pretty pissed if someone kept insulting me."
"Careful, boy, I'm not in the best mood," his father spat angrily.
"Does that bother you?" Helios shot back. "I'm really sorry I still don't meet your standards."
His father took a deep breath.
"Helios," he said slowly, visibly struggling to keep his composure. "That's enough."
Helios snorted in contempt. "But you were the one who wanted me to talk," he said, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. "Wasn't that the reason you did all those things to me?"
"I said that's enough!" his father snapped, his control slipping.
Helios couldn't wait any longer. He laughed aloud, tore the sheet away, and lunged at his father with the blade raised high.
"A shame — I'm nowhere near finished!" Helios said coldly as he slammed his father to the ground and drove the knife deep into his abdomen. Carefully, he guided the blade to avoid the aorta; he didn't want to grant him a quick death. The end would come — but slowly, painfully, at his command.
His father screamed in agony. There could be no more beautiful sound in that moment.
"You pumped me so full of sedatives that I couldn't shake the nausea for days! I threw up over and over again because of you and your damned delusions!" Helios spat. "When was the last time I even got a single drop of water?!"
With a violent twist he turned the knife, and another scream tore from the man's throat. The heat of fury burned in Helios's veins; it felt good to move again, to finally strike back.
"H–Helios…!" his father stammered, trembling. "Stop!"
Helios ignored his pleas — just as his father had ignored his.
"You didn't let me sleep for a single second! How long have I been awake now, Father?! I've completely lost my sense of time down here!" Helios shouted.
He twisted the knife again. The scream that followed cut through him like steel. His father spat blood; some of it hit Helios's face, but he couldn't have cared less. Panic filled the man's eyes — he looked at Helios as if he had never imagined this day would come, as if the thought of his son's revenge had never even existed.
"Stop! Please, stop!" his father sobbed.
Helios grabbed his father's shirt and yanked him close, the other hand still gripping the knife.
"Stop?" he asked coldly. "Did you stop when Dr. Brooks cut me open like a damned Christmas goose? Did you listen when I begged you to stop while he gutted me alive?"
He let him drop carelessly to the floor.
"I don't remember that! But I do remember him slicing open my chest! I remember the sound of the bone saw cutting through my ribs, and how he finally pried open my ribcage to tear out my heart! Just. Because. You. Wanted. It!"
With a trembling hand, his father reached for his hand.
"Helios…" he said softly. "I did it so that we could live forever together… your mother—"
"Enough!" Helios shouted, tearing his hand free. His father's hand fell limply to the side. "I don't want to bring Mother back to life, and I certainly don't want to spend eternity with you!"
Tears streamed down his cheeks.
"Why did you preserve her for so long? Why is she floating in that stinking tank instead of buried in the ground? How delusional can you be? You can see how she's decomposing! She's been dead for fourteen years! Nothing and no one can save her!"
He could no longer control his rage. He pulled the knife from his father's abdomen, raised it high, and looked him in the eyes.
"You will never control my life again," Helios hissed coldly, and drove the blade with all his strength into his father's chest. "Die knowing that I've achieved everything you ever longed for — and that you'll never have any part of it."
The sound of metal piercing flesh echoed through the sterile room.
His father let out a bloodcurdling scream as the knife sank deep into his chest. His body tensed, trembling under the weight of the pain before collapsing in on itself. The scream faded into a wet, gurgling rasp as blood spilled over his lips. With eyes wide open, he gasped for air while the warmth drained from his body and his fingers clawed helplessly for something to hold onto. The metallic scent of blood filled the air—heavy, acrid—while the world around him seemed to stand still.
Helios's breath came in ragged gasps, his gaze fixed on his father's eyes, which widened in disbelief. For a moment, he thought he saw regret there — or perhaps only fear. Then the tension drained from his features, and his head slumped lifelessly to the side.
His father was dead — and yet it wasn't even remotely as satisfying as he had imagined. He tore the knife from his chest and, with a scream, plunged it back in again. He should have made him suffer longer! It had all happened too fast — his death was far too merciful! Over and over, Helios ripped the knife out and drove it in again. His father lay dead before him, and still he felt trapped in a nightmare.
"No… it's not enough!"
The wounds on his own body had healed, yet the pain remained. It was as if Dr. Brooks were cutting him open again and again, gutting him alive until there was nothing left to take.
He could still feel the man's hands on and inside him.
Dr. Brooks would die next — he only had to find him. He could make him suffer longer than his father. Maybe then he would finally feel the satisfaction he craved so desperately. For now, there was only this aching emptiness inside him, and the memory of everything they had done to him.
"It was too quick!" he screamed. "Too quick! You deserve to suffer!"
He stabbed again and again, until his arms grew heavy and his fingers cramped. Tears burned in his eyes, mixing with the sweat on his skin. Yet the emptiness remained. His father's death didn't feel like freedom — it felt like another cage.
"Brooks…" he whispered hoarsely. The name was poison on his tongue. "You're next."
In his mind, images took shape — fantasies of revenge, of pain he would return tenfold. Maybe, he thought, that would finally set him free. Maybe then the emptiness would disappear — the emptiness he felt now that everything was supposed to be over.
He raised the knife again, ready to strike once more — maybe just to feel something again, anything. But before he could act, a hand closed around his wrist.
"Lio," Dante said softly beside him.
Helios flinched violently at his touch. Startled, he turned toward him. The knife nearly slipped from his fingers as he spun around.
"Dante…" he whispered, his voice trembling. He bit his lower lip, fighting the urge to throw himself into his lover's arms. "I'm not done here. Don't stop me."
Dante stepped closer, his gaze steady but filled with warmth. His hand brushed Helios's cheek, wiping away a bloody tear. With the other, he slowly took the knife from him.
"He's dead," Dante said.
Helios's body trembled, every muscle locked in tension. How could this mountain of a man remain so calm, so unshakable? He himself felt as if he were being torn apart from the inside.
More tears streamed down his face.
"He deserved so much more," Helios said in a rough voice.
He quickly wiped the tears from his cheeks — a moment later, Dante pulled him into his arms. He was so wonderfully warm. Finally. Finally Dante was here. Finally he could hold him again. The tension drained from his muscles, and suddenly the exhaustion of all the sleepless hours crashed over him. He sobbed uncontrollably into his lover's shirt, burying his face in Dante's shoulder, his fingers clutching at his clothes.
"Don't let me go," he wept. "Don't leave me… please, don't let this be a dream…"
Dante held him even closer.
"Shh… I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere," he said quietly, kissing the top of Helios's head. "I won't leave you."
Helios wanted nothing more than to let go, to close his eyes and finally sleep. He wanted Dante's face to be the first thing he saw when he woke. He wanted to drink Thomas's coffee in the morning and eat something. Then he wanted to go back to bed and, with Dante's help, forget everything that had been done to him in the past few days.
But there was still one thing left to do. With a sudden movement, he pulled away from Dante and looked quickly around the room. But he was nowhere to be seen. Or was it just that Helios couldn't see him clearly without his glasses?
Panic surged through him as he realized the doctor was gone.
He mustn't get away — not without paying for what he'd done to Helios.
"Lio?" Dante asked, concerned. "What's wrong?"
"Brooks!" Helios hissed, rubbing at his tear-streaked face. "Where is he?!"
"Brooks? The doctor?"
Helios stood up, swayed, and fought for balance. He was dizzy as hell; his legs felt like pudding. He could barely stay on his feet. Before he knew it Dante had sprung up and was holding him.
"Careful!" Dante called. "You can hardly stand!"
Helios clung to Dante.
"He can't get away, Dante!" Helios said desperately. "Not after everything he did to me!"
"Calm down," Dante said softly, holding him back as Helios tried to wrench free to chase after Dr. Brooks. "Lio! Wait! You are absolutely not in any condition to go after him!"
"Let me go, Dante! That damn bastard gutted me!" Helios's voice broke; the memory flared like fire.
Dante looked at him sadly. "I saw it… listen, we'll take you to Thomas and then we'll look for Dr. Brooks, okay?"
Helios hesitated. On the one hand he wanted to charge off, on the other all he wanted was to sleep.
"He mustn't get away, Dante…!" he sobbed as the memory of what had been done to him boiled up.
"He won't. I'll find him. Promise," Dante said quietly. "He will pay for what he did to you."
"I don't want to ruin your little moment," someone suddenly said behind Helios. Something heavy hit the floor. "But this one here tried to run when I was dealing with the big guy over there."
"Damn! Let me go!" Dr. Brooks shouted, roughly bound and lying on the ground.
Helios stared in disbelief at Spider, who stood there grinning triumphantly and holding his side. He looked as proud as a dog that had done something clever and expected a treat.
"Spider? What are you doing here?" Helios asked, confused.
"Entertaining myself with the big guy," Spider said, then shot Dante an accusing look. "By the way, thanks for the help earlier — I dealt with the rifle just fine."
"Sorry, I just...", Dante started.
Spider snorted. "Forget it. But I expect a five star rating and a bonus for doing all the heavy lifting while respecting my clients privacy."
His gaze drifted to the water tank and to Helios's father lying on the floor.
"Shall we go?" Spider asked quietly.
Helios nodded slowly. He could barely keep himself awake.
His father was dead, Brooks hadn't escaped, and he could finally bury his mother.
He'd deal with the chaos down here later.