** A young woman sees a walking dead in the open streets of Whitby. A train full of corpses crashes into Kings Cross. In an Asylum, a gruesome nightmare becomes horrible reality.
All this should have been a warning to Kyle and his partner Benjamin...
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"That looks... terrible," the doctor gasped, clenching his teeth tightly. Even his dark beard couldn't hide the shadow across Benjamin's features at that moment.
Across Kyle's Palm and back of the hand, just below his slender index finger, was, in each case, an ugly cut. Although the injuries were almost a year old, they had not yet closed properly. They weren't bleeding, but the edges of the wounds were blackish, and it was possible to see the injured, twitching muscle tissue underneath. Fine dark veins branched out from the wounds to the wrist. Another minor wound on his thumb painted the same picture, and Dr. Archer pressed his lips together so tightly that they turned pale.
"I should never have let this happen," Archer said quietly. His grip on Kyle's hand tightened a little, almost as if he wanted to hold his patient so that he couldn't slip away. At the same time, his pitying look was full of unspoken self-reproach.
Kyle groaned softly and ran his free hand through his black hair from his forehead, brushing back the dark waves.
"Sure, because you could have stopped me!" Kyle said, clicking his tongue in sarcasm. "After all, the best way to fight fire is with fire! Dark magic against dark magic. Without it, we would never have survived the fight against the demon. I put our survival above the commandments of the order. It was necessary," he assured the doctor for what felt like the hundredth time, "and you know that damn well!"
"You must never, never do something that insane again! Do you understand? This..." and Ben pointed to the wound that wouldn't heal, "... is going to kill you one day. If it's not the effects of these occult practices, then it will surely be the germs and impurities that find an open door to your bloodstream." Benjamin Archer fixed his comrade's gaze with a determination as if he wanted to carve these words in stone.
Kyle Crowford pursed his lips a little angrily in response.
"Do you think I would have recklessly decided to use forbidden magic? I risked being robbed of my powers and knowledge by the Order," Kyle hissed irritably, his eyes glancing nervously toward the door to ensure no one was listening to this conversation. From his point of view, it was madness to discuss this topic here in the Order's headquarters of all places.
The loss of his magic would have cost Kyle much more than Benjamin Archer realized. It was about far more than forbidden knowledge and lust for power. It was simply about Kyle's soul. He could not allow his partner to stir up the dust that had fortunately settled with his concerns—and all because of these comparatively minor cuts.
"Don't you understand that I'm just concerned about your well-being, Crowford?" the doctor asked. "Look at this: The wound is highly infected, festering, and keeps breaking open. Surely, that must hurt!"
Ben sounded almost desperate, and Kyle's anger fizzled out. It was as if someone had pricked a hole in a balloon with a needle as he looked into the doctor's genuinely concerned face. It must be frustrating for a doctor not to be able to heal a wound with traditional medicine ... especially for his partner. Ben looked helpless - and entirely at a loss.
