1% Lifesteal

Mark's gaze was among the coldest he had ever given anyone. "With all due respect, sir," he said, keeping his back straight and maintaining eye contact. "I have no interest in sharing my clients' personal information. Have a good day," he spat as he turned around and continued walking over to the levitating platform.

"I'm not asking for much!" The man insisted, but Mark summarily ignored him. "You have a sister, correct?"

His steps halted. He turned around with abject fury in his eyes.

The man saw this and rushed to defend himself. "No! No, no, God forbid, I'm not insinuating anything! I merely wanted to give you a sugges—"

"Get out of my sight," he spat. "This conversation is over."

"She will go to the academy, right?"

"Why are you still talking?" he said, taking a few steps toward the man.

"I can help out!" the man replied, raising his arms in defense and taking a step back.

"With what?" he fired.

"I have a few connections at the academy. I could make the acceptance process go a bit more smoothly."

"She's alrea—" Mark started and halted, seeing no reason to disclose anything. Without parting words, he turned around again and started walking away, showing no intent to stop this time.

"It can get complicated, you know," the man shouted. "You are never guaranteed a spot at the academy until the semester begins." But his words went ignored. "This is your final chance," he said, his voice turning slightly less slimy and annoying and just a bit more serpentine.

Mark's feet halted yet again, and he turned around once more, this time ready to throw hands if the bastard didn't shut up. But as he faced the journalist, he found himself hesitating.

Something about him had changed.

Gone was the slightly hunched, weak asshole. In his stead stood someone who had been playing a persona, and like a snake shedding its skin, his mask had been cast away.

This was nothing but an attempt to plant doubt into Mark's mind. And he knew better than to fall for it. "As I already said," he provided. "Have a good day."

The man hadn't stopped him then, merely nodding as he turned around and left.

The tiniest of shreds of worry wormed into his mind as he stepped on the levitating platform, and he knew he would sleep poorly that night.

***

The sun was setting. Freddy was sprawled out on the forest floor, grime and filth be damned. His entire body shook, and he still felt pain in his wrists.

Fatigue had settled deeply into his body. That day had been a rather educational one.

First, he learned that his talent didn't heal him from a lack of energy. Either that or it had been too preoccupied with reconstructing his shattered finger, which had taken him the better part of the day to put back together.

That was the first time he had ever broken a bone. Truly, if there was a stupid idea championship—

No. Freddy cut that train of thought off. Because what he had achieved today wasn't just a stupid injury. It was victory. Over himself and… maybe not over the tree, but still. It hurt so bad, but it hadn't been unbearable. Could he do it again? Hesitantly, but yes. He believed he could.

For that day, that was enough. Mainly because he wasn't sure that his body could properly recover the lost energy. He still had exercise to do tomorrow. Bloodshed happily jumped into the bag again, having spent the entire day slaughtering the vestiges scattered throughout the forest.

He could swear that it appeared slightly bigger than before. Maybe he shouldn't let it loose too often. If it turned into a spirit, that could spell trouble.

Frankly, the fact that it had defied his orders to stay in the storage room hung heavily on his mind. As he watched the blood skeleton slowly make its way into the bag he would carry it in, he couldn't help but worry that his knowledge of this construct was incomplete.

Something about it felt different from the myriad vestiges and remnants he had seen scattered around this community. And, as he believed to be pretty understandable, that made him scared shitless.

After leaving the Netherecho, he sighed and crumpled the bag, placing it into his pocket. The bag was no heavier despite the remnant it was carrying. It shouldn't be.

The machete went to its regular hiding spot, and he went home, falling asleep almost as soon as his face landed on the pillow.

***

Freddy sat beside Mark in the locker room, frowning. His trainer had just finished retelling the story of the creepy journalist, leaving both of them with a bad taste in their mouth. "Mark…" he started. "I really appreciate that you listened to me and stayed, but—"

"No," the man rejected him immediately. "I'm not gonna quit. It wouldn't change much at this point. Even if I leave, I'll still likely get a few visits from prying pricks. Besides," he said as he got up, "it's not a big deal anyway. Pestering people is strictly in my community. Stepping into contact with someone once isn't illegal, but trying to intimidate residents or repeatedly harass them is frowned upon, to say the least. I've already made the report, and that guy won't be making an appearance again."

"Hmph," Freddy scoffed. "That's some fancy rules you got there."

Mark shrugged with a sly smile. "What can I say? I would never catch a break from all the women otherwise."

"Oh, fuck off, you bastard," he said, grinning.

The two of them proceeded to the gym, and Mark asked, "What did you do yesterday, by the way?"

"Broke a finger," he bragged.

"Huh?" the man blubbered. "You… You good?"

"Yeah, already healed. See?" he bragged as he lifted his hand. "Good as new."

Mark shot him a strange look. "How does your talent even work? You don't need to share it if you—"

"Nah, it's fine," he said, briefly describing 1% Lifesteal.

"Damn…" Mark breathed out. "That's honestly insane."

"Yeah," he confirmed, brimming with pride. "But it comes with a few caveats."

"Like what?"

"Well, first, I doubt it will be much use in combat."

Mark opened his mouth but paused to think about it before nodding slightly. "Yeah, I can see that. For now, at least."

Today, they did biceps and shoulders; this time, the green-eyed blonde trainer had significantly less mercy to show.

"Mate," Freddy spat. "What am I gonna do with that?" He pointed at the five-kilogram dumbbells the man was handing him.

"Lift them over your head like this." Mark demonstrated.

"Are you sure?" he asked cautiously. "That seems a bit heavier than most stuff we've done."

"Oh, come on, this is light as all hell. Besides, I had to ensure that you didn't injure yourself before. Now that I know that won't be a problem…" He wiggled his eyebrows.

"You're kidding," Freddy said with a deadpan expression.

"Nope," Mark cheerfully denied, giving him a thumbs-up and flashing a cheeky grin.

"Are you allowed to do this?" he asked with a sneer. "What about the contract?"

"Depends," Mark responded in kind. "Are you willing to remain injured just so that I'll lose my job?"

He clicked his tongue. "Just give me those, you bastard."

The man cackled evilly. "Let's see how hard you can go. This should be fun."

It wasn't fun at all. The man seemed to extract some sort of sick pleasure from tormenting Freddy.

"Just one more," Mark said as he lifted the barbell in a forward raise. "Okay, now juuust one more."

"You—kuh!" he groaned, blinking sweat out of his eyes. "You said that three times already!"

"Okay, but this is seriously the last one," Mark lied.

They continued the grueling workout, finishing with a run that left Freddy gasping for breath. "Is this… Is this how it's gonna be every time?" he asked, feeling unsure that he would survive if things continued like this.

"Nope. It will be way harder," Mark said, grinning at his miserable expression. "I'm changing the schedule. We'll cut it down to only four days. We'll do push-pull-legs, and add an extra day to wrap it up," Mark said as he picked up his water bottle and took a swig.

"What the fuck does any of that mean?"

"Push day will cover upper-body muscles that push things away from you. So, your chest, front shoulders, traps, and triceps. Then we'll do pull, which is back and biceps. Leg day is self-explanatory. And we'll add one day to train your core, work on your neck, forearms, a few isolated muscles, and do a ton of cardio."

"That seems fun," he said sarcastically, gasping for breath.

"It will be," Mark said, but not in a joking tone. "I mean it. Once you get into it, exercise can get pretty addicting. The rush of adrenaline, endorphins, and the feeling of personal growth and triumph. It's some good stuff."

Freddy wanted to shoot him a snarky retort, but he thought back to yesterday and nodded. "Yeah. That actually does seem pretty fun."

***

Freddy found himself in the forest again, this time with Mark at his side. He had just finished his plant slaughter, and his trainer looked like he could barely believe it. "That actually works? Don't get me wrong, this isn't the strongest talent I've seen, not by a long shot, but it just seems… like this really shouldn't work."

"I sure am glad it does, though," he said.

"Now," Mark barked as he adopted a more serious tone. "I can't afford to be your trainer 24/7, so you'd better do your best today. I will show you what proper martial arts practice looks like. Do your best."

As he had already assumed, martial arts practice was hard to do when you were by yourself in the woods. Mark knew this quite well and did his best to teach him all he could.

It came down to a lot of repetition. Mark promised to ensure that his muscles would be trained well enough through what they'd do at the gym, so that left a ton of technique.

Again, as was to be expected, without guidance or a partner, actually learning how to fight was tricky business. It was akin to trying to learn piano without… well… a piano. But that didn't mean studying music theory or practicing your dexterity was worthless.

From how to hold stances to how to switch between them; how to throw a punch to how to launch a kick. Many athletic achievements served an essential purpose, like doing a backflip, a headstand, climbing a tree quickly, landing a kick after a quick spin, and so on.

And finally, he had to be flexible.

"Let me see your split," Mark said.

Those words made him tense up, but he soon did one.

"That's the best you can do?" the man asked, eyeing his legs with squinted eyes. "We are gonna have to change that."

Mark stepped forward and put his foot under Freddy's, pushing it further.

"Ow! Dude, what the—"

"Forcing splits is incredibly stupid, and all that it will result in is an injury. For normal people, that is. For you, though… You can take a shortcut."

***

Freddy's ass finally touched the ground as he did a full split, not even an hour after they started. He was sweating profusely and did not look happy.

Mark had simply forced his legs apart, as wrong as that sounded, all the way until it started hurting more than it should, and then told him to heal. Rinse and repeat, and voila, full split acquired.

Although he did not like the experience, he had to admit that it was quite satisfying to see such rapid progress.

"I think we should do your back next," said Mark.

He contemplated running away.

***

After a few arduous hours and quite a few back, shoulder, elbow, knee, and just-about-every-tendon-and-joint-in-the-body injuries later, Freddy was an impressively flexible man. Anything from giving himself a handshake behind the back to some freaky back bending to crossing his legs behind his head was entirely within his abilities.

It felt damn liberating to achieve such an extensive range of movement, even if the acquisition method had been quite dubious. Very painful, too.

Still, any "injury" Mark inflicted on him healed much faster than the stuff he had inflicted upon himself, showcasing just how well-versed the young man was in matters of the human body.

There was one thing he couldn't ignore, however. "The results are plain to see, yeah, but don't you think you've been a bit way too fucking harsh to me today?" he accused. Even as a favor, there was such a thing as taking it too damn far.

Mark shrank a bit upon hearing that and nodded meekly. "Yeah. I was. Sorry."

Although he wanted to be angry at him, it was hard to do so with the results so readily apparent. Not to mention that this was something the man was doing for his sake. So rather than say anything, he sat on the ground a bit to the side of Mark and waited.

"It isn't okay, man," Mark said. "This whole thing with that creepy shithead left me in a bad place."

"You think he's gonna do something?"

"I don't think he can. He shouldn't be able to anyway. Maybe I'm just being paranoid…"

He patted the man on his massive back, and with a slight and short-lived smile, Mark nodded in gratitude. "Now," he said as he got back up again. "We still have quite a few things to cover."

***

Freddy practically crawled from the hallway into his room. Showering after a day like that was pretty up there with one of the most challenging things he'd done. He had been so sure that he had healed perfectly, but the echoing aches let him know that he would have to make extra sure that he was fully healed after a day like this.

After all was done, he made a few conclusions.

Apparently, smashing his body against a tree was the right idea since an excellent way to get tough was to repeatedly bludgeon yourself until you no longer felt it. While successful backflips were cool, unsuccessful ones were agonizing, and finally, he hoped that he was dropped on his head as a kid or something.

Why? Because his lack of coordination was so terrible that it better have been an injury he could heal from. Mark hadn't been enthusiastic about his prospects as a martial artist, but, in the man's own words—as long as he was alive, he could afford to fail as catastrophically as was necessary for him to learn.

Although he had technically recovered from all that had been done to him, his energy level was so low that he could eat a whole cow. After smashing a record-breaking three full meals in the kitchen, exhaustion knocked him out before he could even get off the chair.

***

Starting the day by arriving late would usually be a sign of poor discipline, but on that day, it had been anything but. When Freddy woke up, the first thing he realized was that he had greatly underestimated the state of his body.

He had been in so much agony that he could barely get out of bed. Thus, it hadn't been too hard to explain to Mark that he had to run to the woods and do some quick eco-terrorism to put himself back into shape. Which was the right choice to make, given that, on that day, his new schedule began.

For the second time, he was doing chest exercises, and this time, Mark told him to just lift the barbell on its own. That was a tall demand since he had done two three-kilogram dumbbells last time. The barbell was marked "20kg"—nearly thrice as heavy as his previous record.

"Are you sure I can do this?" he asked Mark cautiously.

"Just trust me. I'll spot you."

"Okay, then."

He was instructed on how to grip the barbell, and with a few deep breaths, arching his back, and firmly planting his feet, he pushed. The barbell lifted off the rack surprisingly easily, and he nearly dropped it from how much he overcompensated for its weight. It was still hefty, and the last few reps took much effort but not nearly as much as he expected they would.

He finished a full eight reps and put it back on the rack, nearly exploding with excitement. "That was so easy!"

"You'd better cherish this, boy," Mark said in a weird accent. "Beginner growth is a precious thing, indeed."

"What are you," he asked, "some sort of kung fu master?"

"Hmm, yes, you seek a lashing, I see?"

"No, Master," he replied, putting his fist into his palm.

They both chuckled at each other's antics.

Freddy looked up again. "Seriously though, am I gonna get thrice as strong every time I work out?"

Mark scoffed at that. "Sedentary muscles go into a sort of hibernation. If you don't need them, your body doesn't want to spend unnecessary resources on maintaining them. Merely making the flip from inactive to active makes a huge difference, and I suspect your talent might have sped that process along."

Sped that process along, indeed. But it felt like there was more to it than that.

His eyes slid down his forearm as he felt… weird. His body felt light. Usually, moving hurt. Straining his muscles felt uncomfortable in a way that he hadn't recognized until that moment when he found that feeling suddenly absent.

They proceeded with the rest of the workout. It was some of the most fun he had ever had. He felt like an entirely different person. No longer did some of the absurd weights people were lifting around him seem like an impossible accomplishment.

He usually avoided looking at his body since he felt a little ashamed of it, but he couldn't help but catch a glimpse of himself in a mirror in the locker room. His scars were gone. His shoulders were a bit less bony, and his torso was no longer just a flat, saggy surface of sickly white.

What stood in that reflection was a somewhat skinny man. But he was full of life, flushed red with light reflecting off his sweat-drenched body. And there were just the faintest hints of strength beginning to appear.

***

Mark had instructed Freddy to exercise shirtless and bare-footed, wearing only skimpy shorts. Primarily so that he'd get some of that precious vitamin D and expose himself to the elements.

While his barely dressed form wasn't a problem, not having shoes was an utter pain in the ass.

"Ow, fuck my life!" For the twentieth time that day, he stepped into something sharp in the grass and injured the delicate bottom of his foot. Just standing was tricky with how soft his feet were, and his compromised footing ruined nearly everything else. He wouldn't permit that for long, though.

He repeatedly kicked the harsh bark with the bottom of his foot, healing it whenever it started to bleed. It didn't develop the toughness he wanted even after hours of doing so, but merely acclimating to the pain was enough to put it out of his mind.

He fell over many times. He landed many awkward strikes on the tree. He failed to maintain a stance as long as he should.

But any time he failed, he took a deep breath, healed if needed, and continued to work.

Toward the end of the day, he sat in a spot where he specifically instructed Bloodshed to gather water-affinity wisps. The obedient remnant had done its job, creating an impressive cloud of water-affinity ether.

When he meditated, the storm of wisps flooded his soul, pushing him into too much pain to handle almost immediately. But compared to the drop of dew off a blade of grass he'd received so far, this session felt like he'd drank a full glass of water.

Freddy got up, walking over to a tree. He was finally confident enough to use Flowing Strike on a target. It probably wasn't going to be pretty. He fully expected to break a finger again, so he would use his left arm.

Getting into the pose, he pulled from the ether shell in his soul, and essence flowed through it, forming a series of waves that traveled through his blood. The water in his body bounced from one end to the other, gradually losing momentum with every cycle. He felt it reaching his fingertips, and he clenched his fist.

Now, the momentum gathered in his entire hand. He pulled it back, feeling the shift in the flow in his body. Timing the punch perfectly would be challenging, but as long as he ensured that the momentum served to add force to his strike rather than take it away, he would be satisfied.

It was hard to keep track of the sensation in his body, so he closed his eyes and focused.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Like the chimes of a bell, the tips of his fingers reverberated with every change in momentum. Until finally…

Now!

His eyes shot open, and his fist flew forward, carrying the full force of the water in his body; just as the strike landed, so did the wave catch up, almost perfectly synchronizing the ability with his punch.

The burst of pressure crushed his knuckles, blew his nails off his fingers, and instantly turned his entire hand purple. His elbow hurt like hell, and his shoulder seemed to be dislocated. He wailed with gritted teeth, bewildered at how severely that damaged him.

The rest of his day was spent frantically smashing plants, and by the time night arrived, he was still busy cleaving through the grass. It took far too long to recover from this injury, and he now knew that severe damage could easily cost him an entire day.

But the fear of that wasn't as prevalent as he expected it would be. For the point of impact where he landed his punch…

Had left a slight, fist-shaped mark on the tree.

***

Despite eating a large breakfast, Freddy was still starving as he finished the pull-day workout. On his trip home, he ate a large lunch and even packed some food to take to the woods.

He went through his routine, focusing on all the advice Mark had given him. He used Flowing Strike, and then, following along with the momentum, he merely sought the moves that best complemented that flow, swinging his limbs at empty air. Large, full-body movements, like a tsunami falling on his enemies, seemed the best for allowing the technique to shine and felt the most natural to use.

Any of the fancier moves were utterly beyond him, and until he understood martial arts well enough, he'd stick to the basics.

It didn't take that long for his essence to run out, and when it did, he noticed something alarming. His hands and feet were blue. That was where the momentum concentrated, so it was natural that his weak capillaries and veins couldn't keep it contained.

Usually, this was where Ethereal Mercy kicked in. But the problem was that he had already been doing this for a while. And he was starting to lose feeling in his extremities.

Given that this was probably, most likely, definitely a goddamn emergency, he hurriedly worked to heal it.

The rest of the day was spent holding stances, hitting trees, and working on maintaining his flexibility.

***

The next day went smoothly, but his appetite grew so voracious that it was beginning to hinder his schedule. He snuck into the locker room four times to get a snack, using the excuse that he needed to use the toilet. And once, he wasn't even lying. His stomach rumbled like a wild animal, and the call of nature couldn't be ignored.

For the second half of the day, yet again, he worked on his Flowing Strike; this time, his extremities were less bruised.

***

The fourth day was by far the least fun since it mainly focused on cardio. The hunger was so bad that he considered drinking raw oil to get his calories. And when he stepped into the locker room and took his shirt off, it wasn't hard to tell why he felt like this.

The fat on his body was vanishing rapidly. Even though his muscles hadn't grown that much, his physique had utterly transformed in just a couple of days. The surface of his body was shredded, and he started worrying that something was off.

And so was Mark. "Wow. Well, that takes the cake as the most extreme transformation I've ever seen. Are you eating anything?"

"Dude, I've been doing nothing but eating," he shot back. "But I don't stop feeling hungry."

"Then tell me," Mark started with a flat look. "How are your bowel movements?"

He winced at that question and stuttered, "Th-They have been… explosive."

Mark sighed. "Yeah, as I thought."

"What do you mean?"

"Just because you're eating enough doesn't mean your body is digesting enough," Mark clarified. "You've changed your lifestyle habits drastically in less than two weeks, and now your body is struggling to keep up. You're probably only absorbing a tiny portion of the calories you take in, and that's probably why you've been losing so much weight."

"I don't get it, though," he said. "Shouldn't my talent be dealing with that?"

"Somewhat…?" Mark said as if he wasn't sure himself. "It probably is staving away more serious side effects. But the thing is, right, your body's ability to absorb the food you consume is like your muscle size. Even supreme-quality healing can't help you with small muscles. In the same vein, it can't undo that your body isn't used to taking in so much food and spending so many calories."

"I see…"

That day, Mark told Freddy to rest and take it easy. He didn't fully comply. First, he went to the woods. Then, he ate a small amount of food and used his body tempering technique to aid his blood in getting all those nutrients to his cells. And finally, he swung his machete around to help recover his body from its current state. Rinse and repeat.

The rest of the small breaks were spent gathering, and he went home a little early.

After all, tomorrow morning was the first arranged check-up with his doctor.

***

"…that's why I suspect that the food I consumed is somehow triggering my talent," Freddy finished his bullshit excuse. He was lying on a bed in the clinic, having just undergone a physical examination, and, naturally, explaining his drastic change hadn't been easy.

He had provided the doctor with an explanation that involved his talent triggering whenever he ate meat or fruit, which was only half a lie since vegetables and fruits, if eaten raw, actually did trigger his talent.

The doctor nodded. "I believe there is a whole collection of possible ways your talent could be triggering without you being able to tell, and that isn't an impossible explanation." Then, the doctor smiled a bit. "Although, that suits me quite fine. It could eliminate the side effects of your treatment, and even if it doesn't, it could make it less necessary. You're already well on your way to looking good enough even without it."

Freddy lit up upon hearing that, but the doctor's following statement quenched his excitement almost instantly. "You're stable enough for us to begin. We'll do one dose tomorrow and then see where to take it from there four weeks from now."

***

Dr. Garfield watched the young man leave the office. The instant Mr. Stern was out of the room, he paled.

"Holy shit," he whispered. "What the hell is that talent!?" he asked as he scratched his scalp. "This isn't gonna work. If he keeps doing whatever he's doing, it won't be long before his heart defect is entirely gone," he said, biting his nails.

"I have to act immediately."

***

After the doctor's appointment, Freddy went to the gym and explained his situation to Mark. The young man simply shrugged. "Relax. Supreme-quality healing works on the endocrine system. If it does any damage to you, you should be able to recover just fine."

…should be able to…

…could possibly eliminate…

It was the way both Mark and the doctor phrased it that made him hesitate. Still, for that day, he swallowed his anxiety and did his best. It was push day again, and he outdid himself compared to the last time. Then, yet again, he had a nature hater's idea of a picnic in the woods.

The next day, they did another push day, and when Mark headed home to see his family, Freddy headed to his meeting with the doctor.

***

Mark's head was filled with thoughts of wanting to see his family immediately. His kind little sister, his patient mother, and his hard-working father. But for some reason, his mind was swimming with dark thoughts. The anxiety had been ever-present these past few days, and if it continued, he'd be joining Freddy in the soft-stool club soon enough.

As he stepped onto his home island, he first noticed that their balcony was docked to the building. Although that was nothing strange, not seeing his sister on it made him hurry just a bit for some reason.

He stepped into the building. Went up the elevator. He stopped before the entrance to his apartment, unlocked it, and then gently opened the door.

***

Freddy waited in the well-illuminated room, pants off and lying on the firm bed. His heart was beating out of his chest, and he couldn't help but glance at the door every few seconds.

Once the knob turned, he winced a bit, and the doctor stepped into the room carrying a small box. "Be there with you in a second, Mr. Stern. Please breathe slowly and relax."

The box cracked open, and the man pulled out a gigantic syringe. He kept trying to get his breathing under control, but the substance within did not look like something he wanted in his body. Hell, just looking at it made him feel… scared. A lot more so than he should be.

As the doctor walked toward him, every subsequent step grew slower.

"Are… Are you all right, Doctor?" he asked.

The man's hands shook profusely, and he dropped the syringe. It fell to the ground and shattered as the doctor's arms limply hung to his sides. For some reason, he started cackling nervously, and his body was bathed in sweat within seconds.

"How did she find out…?" he wondered.

Suddenly, the door cracked open, and a woman stepped inside. A tiny black hat decorated her cerulean hair, which flowed down her back in rippling curls, and she donned a full gray suit complemented by her white high heels.

The doctor took a few shaky steps back as he did his best to greet her, "L-Lady… Madame… How…?"

***

The moment Mark pushed the doors open, his breath caught. His apartment seemed empty. The lights were off, the shades were down, and there was no welcoming smell of food. Nobody had made lunch today.

His steps hurriedly carried him forward, moving from one empty room to another until, finally—

His mother appeared in one of the hallways, standing awkwardly.

"Mom!" he yelled as he rushed to hug her.

She jumped in fright and hugged him back, confused about why he acted like this. "Are you okay, Mark?"

"I'm—Hahaha," he laughed, pushing his tears down. "I was just so… I don't know, I had a bad feeling coming here, and I…" Suddenly, he realized something. There were faint signs of crying in his mother's eyes, and they were standing right outside his sister's room…

Where sobs echoed from within.

"What is…? Haha…" Mark chuckled anxiously. "Is she just…"

Only when she handed it to him did he notice the still-moist piece of paper in his mother's hands.

It started with the words, "We apologize for the sudden correction…" and as soon as he read them, his limbs went numb, and all color drained from the already-bleak world around him.

***

The doctor took unstable steps back, stumbling into a cabinet as Madame approached him. "Stay—Stay away from me!" he yelled.

Freddy was already getting off the bed, and as Madame stepped right before the man, he grabbed scissors off the shelf to his side and swung them at the tall woman, who simply took the sharp blow with her open palm, allowing the object to stab right through it.

"What the fuck!?" Freddy exclaimed as he stumbled back, unsure of whether he should or even could run away.

Suddenly, the doctor's hand began to morph into a gross, slimy mass of flesh, a transformation that traveled up his arm and down his torso, turning his entire body into a disgusting, pulsating biomass.

"What the fuck!?" he screamed again. "Holy shit, you crazy—" His knees buckled, and he fell over to the ground.

With a swift thrust, Madame bent down and ripped the man's still-beating heart out of what had once been his body. The pulsing biomass froze and shrank as if all life had been drained out of it.

Her hand that had been stabbed through wasn't even injured.

She turned slowly to face Freddy, who was rapidly crawling away.

The wall appeared behind him, and he slammed his body into it, realizing he was out of room. But Madame was approaching him.

"Wh-Wh-Why!? Why did you do that!?" he yelled.

Rather than say anything, she stepped forward, crouching and sitting in his lap, pressing her index finger to his lips. "Shhhhh…" she shushed him as she ripped his shirt off, using it to wrap the sloshing organ into a bloody bag. "You're lucky that I caught him," she said, her voice even softer than usual. "He was about to kill you," she declared, accenting the word kill with a tightening of the improvised knot on the bag she made out of his now-bloody shirt.

"K-Kill me!?"

"Slow-acting, untraceable poison. Three weeks at most, and poof. Mysterious heart attack, judged to be due to your heart defect."

Freddy's heart was pounding, and his breathing was erratic. He couldn't bear to look Madame in the eyes, but she cupped his chin with her fingers, and his body, entirely on its own, moved to face her in direct eye contact.

"He would have gotten away with it so easily," she continued, "but your talent scared him, so he got sloppy. Shame." Suddenly, she pulled a strange pill from somewhere and forced it into his mouth. "Did you know that oral steroid consumption is dangerous? For you, however, there is no such risk. You little immortal freak," she said with a finger tap on his nose.

He didn't want to swallow the pill, but his throat muscles moved independently, pushing the drug down.

"Good boy," she said, handing him the heart still sloshing in the makeshift bag. "A present for your trainer…

"To ensure that he, too, doesn't suddenly become an idiot."