The Tell-Tale Heart

Supine on a fresh meadow, Valerius was placidly contemplating the world around him. Birds flocked in a clear and terse sky, barely a breeze moved the grass straw. Valerius felt a pleasant tickle itching on his back, the gentle lunge of grass tingling his sensors so their fresh touch could be felt throughout his body. It didn’t bother the man, not anymore: he had passed just recently the phase where the faintest sound, the most insignificant vibration would strum his fresh like a guitar played by a madman, strings coming from everywhere and flaying every inch of his mind with searing, hellish pain.

He had wrestled with his senses, and now he would enjoy a perk with being an advanced hybrid of man and machine: a perception more refined than what men could ever dream. Colors and sounds were ebbing with clarity and flavors previously unimaginable: just by raising his eyes, the metal-man would bask in a spectacle of mottled light all around him, coalescing in a pleasantly suffused tune. He could see violet, blue, red mashing all together and then… hues he couldn’t even describe. Weil had told him he had granted him eyes capable of perceiving lightwaves the human apparatus was not equipped to notice. He mentioned some animals which bore the same characteristic, some kind of crustaceans. That part never mattered him too much, since Valerius’ interests in biology always stopped at knowing the exact best way and point where to hack human limbs or stick them back together before a real doctor would give proper medical treatment.

Now Valerius wished he had more time to dedicate for other hobbies beyond fighting. He was in the position of doing so, finally. Life in Midium was the typical brutal nonsense of slavery: killing your comrades at whims of some pampered noble, throwing your life and skills you spent years honing through toil and sweat only to please the lust for blood of some pig who had never picked a weapon in his fucking existence. Weil had freed him from that madness, from that barbarism. He had made him a man who could wage wars for causes he fully believed in, who would never again be forced to slaughter poor bastards for the greed of others. Thanks to the kindly doctor, he was free to fight and not to fight for a higher purpose. That sense of liberation pouring from his chest, he had never felt it in his entire life.

“I am glad you are enjoying so much your freedom, Valerius-dear”. Weil’s paternal voice came from the assistant robot which accompanied the former gladiator: it was a floating head with one eye, mashed in a way it resembled a binocular, with an oblong shape. “I am also pleased that your recovery rate is beyond any expectation. Many would take well over a year before taking few steps, and slightly less to be fully accustomed to the overload wrought by your sensorial equipment; and yet, you are surpassing those steps just after few months. Though, if you concede me some bragging, my computers are also helping to smooth the process of computing and analyzing information”.

“I suppose you have earned some bragging”. Valerius smirked, as much as his lupine helmet allowed him to do so. “Don’t want to blow up your ego even more, but you did an excellent job bringing me back to shape, given the mess I was at the Dragon’s Maw. The only thing I would complain about is the look of my panoply. A black, horrid wolf doesn’t strike the image of a champion of the masses, does it?”

“It does beget fear, Valerius-dear. Which is, regrettably, a necessary tool to fight back the corruption and injustice festering in your country. Plagues and tumors are dealt with the brutal efficiency of a surgeon: cut down everything without remorse and spare the healthy tissues as much as can. With such appearance of yours, the cowardly lords of Midium, right to the emperor himself, will bow down and tremble before you with only a glance needed”.

“Yes, I am dying to see those bastards crap their pants in front of me. I wouldn’t like to dirty myself with their shit when I disembowel all of them and leave their worthless carcasses to crows and vultures”. Valierius’ limbs jerked with rage, he almost wanted to punch the ground. The smell of blood, piss, vomit, and rottenness was still fresh in his nostrils, he could almost see again the deathly haze shrouding everything, slowing creeping inside flesh, and stripping away their senses, then their motion, then their will and then their lives. He had lost all of his friends, his comrades, his loved ones, his family of gladiators because of that damn chemical weapon; and, even more so, because of the ravenous greed and utter callousness of Emperor Otho.

How he wished to have the very ruler of one of the mightiest countries of Earth right in his tightly grasp. How he dreamt to make the king squirm and piss himself. That fat pig would beg for his life, weep like an alligator and spew some half-assed apologies. One that Valerius won’t ever accept: a man who has no respect for any life but his own does not deserve the gift of mercy. Valerius would squeeze the emperor’s chest like an orange until every rib cage was mashed, hack his throat with a sweep of his claws, leave him to choke on his own blood while slowly ripping apart his limbs and peeling away the skin from his face…

Valerius was so lost in own rageful thoughts that it took a while he noticed the island shuttering under his back, birds chirping in the distance as their nests trembled and fell. Careful, careful. The small earthquake stopped. Valerius was better than that: his father had shown him the beauty and finesse behind martial arts, how to put a leash on his fiery temper. Abandoning himself to rage would mean betraying everything his father had taught him; more so as the transformation in a cyborg had increased his strength to truly obscene levels. Careful, careful, not to cause accidental cataclysms while growing accustomed to his newfound powers.

“I suppose it is time for me to get on my feet and walk around for a while. Idleness in excess can quickly turn healthy rest into sloth”. Slowly, he picked himself up, so that he would not accidentally trip on his feet a stumble around like a fool.

Valerius’s eye beamed to an apricot tree, near the edge of the grave he was standing. He sauntered to its fronds and picked a fruit. Big as marble compared to his large, jet black hand, the apricot shimmered under the sun, bright orange gently flushing in red stains. Valerius found it so delicious he couldn’t help but feel his mouth watery, something noticeable given how it was encapsulated in a maw of hot metal and thus always a bit dry.

Weil’s proxy drew closer to the fruit, the pupil inside of the monocular slit while examining it. “A first examination confirms that this peach is free from any discernible disease or parasite, thus healthy for human consumption. You do not need to eat this, however, Valerius-dear: thanks to your equipment and the Logia Fruit as fruit, you could go without nourishment virtually forever. Monthly doses of artificial proteins will more than make up for your nutritional requirements”.

Valerius nodded. “Good to know. But I’ll eat this delicacy regardless. No offense, but it looks much more tempting, and probably tastes much better, than artificial proteins”. He consumed the apricot in one bite, swallowing and spitting the seed far in the deep valley, where, given few decades, it would turn in another tree and make new, delicious fruit. He sat close to the trunk, closed his eyes and begun meditating.

Valerius’ mind went adrift, his scope was rapidly expanding until it covered the entirety of the valley, like oil over a flat surface. A typical training routine of his, to spread his Kenbunshoku in a relaxed manner to get a sketch of the surrounding, shifting his concentration on the tiny details, then turning to rest again. The rhythmic shifts in focus would strengthen his mind in a way akin to how powerlifting benefits one’s body. In that period of rehab, his mind was his greatest asset, the quality the cyborg transformation didn’t temporarily deprive him of; better to train as much as it could, as Crixus had thought the young Valerius when he was a young, rambunctious brat.

What Valerius perceived all around him was beauty, primarily. He basked in the morning warmth, let the wind cuddle his cuirass with his pleasant touch. Beyond the glade he was standing, animal life frolicked and flourished: squirrels chirped and cracked nuts with their teeth; deer drunk in a peaceful river at the edge of valley; a wild boar was fending off wolves flanking him on every side, scratched and bleeding, yet still giving his all in ramming blows against the predators.

The natural landscape was rich, beautiful, wild, unlike Midium; however, it was also violent, just like the sordid capital. Conflict truly seemed an inevitable facet of existence: that drove Valerius to treasure those moments of leisure as much as he could, for he could never know what kind of predicament would thunder right in front of him at any moment, blessing or curse it might be.