WARNINGS: Non-graphic descriptions of violence

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Chapter One

Dark Cyan: A Dangerous Mix of Blue and Green

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Winter in London was the most surreal thing one could ever experience.

With its tall structures of great architectural designs outlined with dusty white, the sight was practically breathtaking. Trees and plants, their leaves abandoning them in favor of the snowy ground, scattered miserably in parks and pavements. Traces of snow covered them like chalk-shaded portraits.

The light breeze whispered cold bites to everything in its path. Fortunately (or unfortunately had you chose to ask the giddy children running rampant on the slippery white mounds), snowflakes had ceased their falling. Above, in the night sky, looming great clouds of gray threatened more snowfall.

The vehicles on the streets were slowly diminishing, the drivers and their passengers eager to get to the warmth of their respective homes. Wrapped in this wool clothing and scarves, the good people of London pulled their jackets closer as they trudged by. Most were walking at a fast pace, eager to escape the cold night. Other were holding a cup of warm beverage, enjoying winter the best they can.

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A couple of hours later, we go to a little corner in London.

A large structure in the color of beige stood grimly amongst the snowy terrain. Composed of three wings and about six floors, the structure was intimidating in its whole. Above its glass front doors, an "Albion Hospital" was embossed in thick bold letters.

Inside, a pale young man was striding towards the front door. Then, pausing and tilting his head, he abruptly changed direction.

"I'm off, Katie!" the dark-haired young man approached the reception desk. He gave a sun-bright grin towards the blonde woman on the other side. "Just finished checking up on the pediatrics ward."

The woman, with her hair in a messy bun, couldn't help but smile in reply, albeit the curve of her lips was a bit strained from exhaustion. "You're too cheery for this time of the night, Marvin." She managed to say around a yawn.

"No one's too cheery for any time." Marvin chuckled.

He pulled his thick cotton black coat around himself, the cold from outside permeating through the walls. Even the heater could not hope to eliminate the coldness from this near the front door. Katie herself was wearing a thick overcoat over her stark white uniform to stave off the cold.

"Well, you are. And you've been here since Friday night, you plonker." Katie said with a note of admonishment. "Francis is going to have a heart attack at what you're doing to yourself. You know how he gets."

Marvin winced, probably remembering that incident wherein he collapsed right in the middle of the hall, gotten admitted, and scolded by the director of the hospital himself. Apparently, Marvin had forgotten to eat or sleep for the past three days because of the many emergencies coming in simultaneously. With few staffs available back then, Marvin reasoned that it was necessary. Francis had been mollified by the explanation but said that Marvin wouldn't be able to go back to work if he didn't take three weeks of rest, much to the doctor's dismay.

That's what Katie, and practically everyone in the hospital, loved and hated about him; all self-preservation was abandoned because of his extremely selfless attitude. Katie sighed internally.

"Don't tell him." Marvin implored, stormy-blue eyes wide. "I ate and managed to catch a few winks in the lounge. Plus, it was only one whole day. No reason to worry." The last statement was said with a reasonably positive tone, as if he could convince Katie through his positivity.

However, Katie stared at him with mixed disbelief and confusion. "One day? Marvin, today's Sunday. Well, early Monday morning."

The doctor laughed nervously. "No, it's not. It's Saturday." He lifted his wrist and pulled the sleeves of his jacket back. He stared at his digital wristwatch and his brows rose.

Katie raised an unimpressed brow. "You have no sense of time whatsoever, Marvin." She tutted, shaking her head.

Marvin shrugged and Katie noticed the tenseness of his shoulders. "I guess that's what happens when you're getting old." He said with a cheeky grin.

Katie rolled his eyes but couldn't stop the small smile from getting to her face. "Always with the old man jokes, Marvin." She reached out a hand and held one of his cheeks in a hard pinch. "You're too young for that. See all that baby fat." She gave a small shake.

Marvin batted away her fingers with an indignantly childish yelp, further proving her claim. He rubbed the slowly reddening mark on his cheek. "I'm not that young!"

Katie gave an indulging smile. Then, her expression turned into a frown as she looked closer at the doctor. The dark shadows beneath his eyes suddenly became stark against his pale pallor. "I won't hold you up much longer. Go home and sleep." She said, worry dripping in her voice. "I won't tell Francis anything." She mimed the zippering and locking of her lips and then, throwing the key away.

It earned her a light chuckle from the doctor. "Thanks, Katie." He yawned, the exhaustion of the last few days suddenly catching up to him. "Don't overwork yourself, yeah?" he said, walking backwards towards the front door.

Katie resisted the urge to throw something at the doctor's head. "You idiot, that should be my line."

Marvin merely gave a smile and a small wave. He pushed the foggy glass doors open, shivering at the sudden gust of wind that met him. Then, he trotted down the front stairs of the hospital.

Katie watched him go. She shook her head fondly before getting back to work.

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Merlin (or rather, Marvin Ambrose as his birth certificate dictated) stepped out of the hospital's warmth and onto the cold winter air. Worn-out brown snow boots produced a squishy-crunchy sound as he walked down the ice-covered stairs. He exhaled, producing ice crystal in the damp minty air.

He glanced around and, seeing the deserted dark streets, gave a small sigh. I guess I'm walking, he said to himself. Well, it was only a twenty-minute walk anyway. He stuffed his gloveless hands in his coat pockets and started the trek home.

Before anyone gets confused, yes, he is the Merlin, (or Myrddin or Ambrosius or Wyllt or Aurelianus, and gods, how many names did Geoffrey have to invent to make it more dramatic?) immortal sorcerer of King Arthur Pendragon. And no, he is not an eighty-year-old senile man with a long white beard. That bit was an actual disguise because, well, magic was punishable by death back then and he had liked his head between his shoulders, thank you very much.

And, unlike the twisted words written by misinformed aspiring poets, he was not King Arthur's advisor nor was he nobleman. In fact, he was born in a fairly small village, raised alone by a kind-hearted mother, and journeyed to Camelot at the tender age of seventeen to control his inborn magical talents and find his destiny. Apparently, this destiny was to be the personal manservant and secret protector of an arrogant supercilious bully who called himself Prince Arthur Pendragon, who was actually older than him (but a lot less mature). Merlin's position at the royal household was disappointing and all kinds of horrible at first. He scrubbed wooden floors, did dirty laundry, fluffed cotton pillows (sometimes sleep on them), polished bulky armor, muck the royal stables (though that wasn't really part of his job. Arthur was just that much of an ass), and saved everyone's lives with forbidden arts all the time (with the prince getting all the credit and him, all the chores).

However, it got better. Apparently, Prince Arthur wasn't as much as a git as Merlin first thought. He defended servants and peasants, fought against his father (a tyrannical king) for what he thought was right, braved perilous lands to save the kingdom, and often attempted to sacrifice himself for the greater good (not that Merlin would let him). Merlin accompanied the prince in most of his quests because Arthur would literally be lost with the servant. Arthur got increasingly noble when he was crowned king, ruling his people fairly and wisely (though maybe, the wise part came from Merlin's unacknowledged advice). He married for love to a maidservant Guinevere (yes, not of noble blood either, people), practically breaking the prejudiced lines between noble-blooded and not.

Merlin and Arthur bantered and bickered incessantly (often to lighten the mood in dire situations), ignoring the amused smiles of knights and servants hidden behind hands. They were best friends, even if they were the last people to admit it.

So maybe, it shouldn't come as a surprise when jealous fate decided to separate them in most vicious of ways on That Day.

The feel of blood in his hands, the clinking sound of chainmail, the dimming of bright blue eyes, and the rasp of desperate last words . . .

The warlock closed his eyes against the onslaught of memories. He took a deep breath and successfully shook away all the morbid thoughts. Merlin glanced up at the sky, hoping to see some stars. The sight of them always calmed him. Plus, he had been cooped up in the hospital for way too long. Disappointingly, the sky only held thick gray clouds that loomed ominously.

"Oh well." He shrugged and continued his walk.

But as if that was the cue, a lone snowflake landed right on top of Merlin's nose. The coldness of it made him inexplicably sneeze. He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. Another snowflake followed and then another. A few moments later, snow was falling around the houses and buildings like gentle whispers in the air.

Merlin was torn between hurrying home so as to not get wet or delaying his walk home so as to enjoy the first snow fall he experienced this year. He loved the snow and sometimes the cold that comes with it, especially if it was in a place as beautiful as London.

Well, he didn't used to like the cold back when Camelot was being plagued by ghost-like creatures called the Dorocha whose very touch froze and killed every mortal creature in its path. He especially didn't liked it when one of those creatures went through him when he tried to save Arthur. Painful couldn't even begin to describe what he felt back then. Tiny but painful pinpricks pinched his skin like a thousand needles. The cold was unbearable, like the very blood in his veins were frozen and jaggedly flowing under his skin.

No mortal could ever survive the Dorocha's touch, Merlin remembered his mentor, Gaius, saying. When Merlin himself survived the ordeal, everyone had thought nothing of it, too relieved to question fate's workings. Gaius had said that perhaps the book he had consulted was wrong. It would be several decades later that Merlin would find out the real reason why he had lived—when his youthful skin fail to age, when all his friends grew gray with age. No mortal . . .

Merlin sighed once again, blowing away some of the snowflakes that threatened to land on his face. Lately, he had been getting lost in the memory lane of what he considered his 'first lifetime'. And although these memories from more than a thousand years ago will never truly fade, Merlin had wanted to move on from them. He didn't want to be tied to the past, not when he had been given the rare opportunity to explore many things.

The legends said that Arthur would come back when the world needs a prattish royal highness again. And really, that will be swell and all because Merlin was actually starting to miss the cabbage-head. But he had been disappointed before. He was not going to let his whole world revolve around the slight hope that his best friend would be back. He had to move on, especially when all his other friends had eventually passed away. And he had.

"Just feeling slightly nostalgic today." He muttered, reasoning that the stinging sensation in his eyes was because of the cold.

He turned a corner and realized with a start that his flat was only a few meters away. Posts of lamps shone brightly upon his street, lighting the way in the darkness. So lost in his thoughts, he hadn't noticed that he was nearly home. He sighed in relief. Well, Katie was right. Once he had stopped working, the exhaustion he had been staving off had immediately caught up to him. All he wanted now is to sleep the whole (apparent) Monday away. His shift in the hospital wasn't due for another three days, thank gods.

With a sigh of relief at the sight of his red-bricked flat, he took a step forward. Unlike the crunchy sound of snow he was expecting, he heard an odd metallic sound under his boot. He also felt some kind of smooth hard object meet the sole of his foot. He paused, glancing down as he moved his foot. A sort of silvery object was protruding above the snow, glinting against the bright lights of the lampposts. Merlin bent down, intent on picking up the object when his eyes strayed further.

A dark smudge stained the top of the snow, large and foreboding. Another one was near it, looking like a painter had dragged his fingers through the snow. It mixed with a snow like some kind of dye, some kind of drag marks smudging them even further. The colors were thick and wide in size. And . . . wet? Merlin had dipped his fingers in them and his fingertips came away sticky with the substance. Actually, looking at it closely, it appeared a bit like . . . Merlin held his fingers up in the light. Blood?

CLANG

In a dark alleyway between houses, a noise resounded obscenely loud. Merlin whipped his head towards the sound, battle instincts working up in his veins. His eyes darted towards the alleyway where the light, unfortunately, didn't reach its depths.

This street was only a couple blocks away from a police station so rarely would a robbery take place in any of these parts. Still, it was deep into the night and no sane person would be out at this time.

Merlin took a defensive stance, eyes narrowed. He took a careful step forward, not wanting to alert whoever was on that alleyway. If it turned out to be a mugger, Merlin didn't want anyone else to be victimized. When nothing came out to attack him, he risked another step. And another. On his third step, he saw a shadow in the corner moved further away, huddling in on itself.

"Hello?" his idiot mouth ran off, unable to contain itself. He cursed internally at his foolishness. But nothing more happened other than the shadow moving closer to itself, making a soft almost accidental whimpering sound.

Something snapped in Merlin's mind, an epiphany he probably should have had much earlier. He was doctor, for Avalon's sakes! The drag marks on the snow, that dark stain following it . . .

"Hello?" he tried again, approaching the alley more slowly for wholly another reason.

As he entered the shadowed alleyway, a strong smell of compost hit him. He coughed, covering his nose with his jacket sleeve. He can just about make out the garbage cans littering the corners and the various disgusting trashes scattering the whole ground. Everything had a smattering of snow to it, making it a bit of a desolate sight. And then there, Merlin saw it, from beside a cylindrical trashcan. A humanoid figure was trying to hide, balling up and trying to make itself small.

"Hey," Merlin held up his hands up in a placating manner even though he knew it wouldn't be seen. "It's okay. I want to help." He gave a brief glance at the blood on the ground. "A-Are you hurt?" He stepped deeper into the shadows.

A screeching noise alerted him to the fast moving projectile headed his direction. He easily sidestepped the garbage lid thrown his way. The lid landed unceremoniously in the middle of the street, making an unholy crunching sound. A universal sign for 'Go away!', Merlin thought to himself. But blood had coated the sides of lid, in shapes of handprints. No, Merlin cannot leave this alone.

"Look, I can help," he approached the huddled figure. "I'm a doctor. It's okay."

The figure didn't move an inch. Now that Merlin was in front of it, he could see dark neck-length hair and tattered clothing that was barely hanging together. The figure was hugging his knees, head bent atop them. Because of the lack of light, Merlin couldn't see any obvious injuries so he cautiously bent down, hands still out to show that he didn't mean harm.

"Where are you hurt?" he ventured but didn't dare touch without permission. There was something strange about the figure's skin color. Even in the darkness, it had a complexion that was somehow . . . blue?

Merlin heard a growl. Suddenly, the hands that were previously wrapped around knees came up and shoved Merlin. Hard. The warlock hit his back on the opposite wall with PLAK and his head joined in with a resounding PAK. A great pain erupted at the back of his skull, making him see black spots. His shoulder blades ached horribly from the impact.

He groaned in pain, blinking rapidly to force away the threatening unconsciousness. He managed to successfully regain parts of his senses after a couple of moments. By the gods, what was that? His eyes turned again to the figure, meeting gazes with black pupils drenched in red-blood color.

Merlin froze at the inhumane eyes piercing through him, heart beating a loud rhythm in his ears. An unusual fear ran through his veins, paralyzing him for moments with a loud DANGER DANGER chanting in his head. What the . . . The owner of the strange eyes jerked its head to the side, a gesture clearly saying to 'Go or face the consequences'. The threatening gaze almost forced Merlin to obey, which, considering he had been the receiver of many more from intimidating enemies, was something.

But then, the warlock's eyes drifted downward. And what he saw could be described as a scene from a horror film. In the time it takes to blink, Merlin found himself right in front of the figure once again. Without really thinking, his hand came up and grabbed the other's chin. He raised the head up, blue orbs widening as he realized his eyes weren't deceiving him.

"Bloody hell . . ."

Crisscrossing threads stitched the whole mouth closed, dried blood staining what was previously golden strings. They cut the skin around the lips, pulling at every movement. It was like an emulation of one of those voodoo dolls in movies.

The figure jerked its head out of Merlin's grasp, glaring. The male features in its face becoming evident. The movement must have pulled something because the man (from what Merlin could see) closed his strange eyes for a brief moment and released a pained whimper from the back of his throat.

A surge of pity and anger went through Merlin. What kind of person would do such an inhumane thing? Something so horrible . . . When he managed to take a closer look, the warlock gave a startled gasp. In the meager light filtering through the alley, he saw an expanse of blue skin being covered by those inadequate clothing.

Mutant, his mind supplied. Many mutants had been his patients throughout the years, mostly brought to the hospital because they had been victims of hate crimes. Most injuries were severe, almost critical. Hate crimes against them were so unreasonable and so sickening. Why hate someone because of a quality or ability they were born with? Merlin pursed his lips, attempting to assuage his anger lest he lashed out with his magic. No wonder the other had been so aggressive. He probably thought that Merlin would cause him further harm.

Merlin's eyes softened as he turned to the huddled figure. "Hey," he started with what he hoped was a soothing voice. Obsidian orbs narrowed suspiciously. "The hospital's a few blocks away. We can get there in a few." He hesitated, hands hovering between them. Then, making a decision, he ventured a hand on the other's shoulder.

Slender fingers shot up and wrapped around Merlin's exposed throat. He felt the unusual coldness seeping from the appendage, making him flinch. The hand didn't tighten, remaining a firm but threatening grasp around his neck. Eyes drenched in crimson glinted menacingly at him, fingers squeezing lightly for a moment in warning. Then, Merlin found himself thrown to the side. He just managed to catch himself on his forearms before his face hit the dirty snow-covered ground.

And, well, Merlin didn't think he could give up that easily. He lifted himself up to a sitting position, facing the figure in the darkness once more. He lifted a hand to his throat, feeling the ghosts of cold fingers pressing it. His fingertips came away wet with blood. Losing a lot of blood. If I don't hurry . . .

Merlin fished out his mobile from his pocket. Having turned it off because of the hospital rules, he waited for it to turn on. The screen lit up and he immediately dialed the number of the Albion Hospital. The ambulance should arrive in less five minutes at this distance. Just as he was putting the phone right to his ear, the figure in the alley abruptly stood up. The figure was shaky and lilting to the side, threatening to topple over. He placed a hand on the wall for support. He was stubbornly taking little steps forward deeper into the alleyway.

"Wait! Don't—" Merlin got to his feet and ran after him. He put a hand on the other's shoulder. When the action caused the man to release another whimper and stagger in his steps, Merlin hastily removed it. The warlock's hands hovered yet again. "Stay still. I'll call the ambulance." He tried to be as comforting as possible but couldn't help the concern dripping in his tone.

The words fell on deaf ears as the man continued trudging on, steps heavy on the snow-covered ground. Merlin ran a hand through his hair, uncaring of the way it stuck up in gravity-defying angles. He didn't want to force anyone who didn't want help. But, observing how the other man was almost bent over in pain and blood was dripping liberally wherever he stepped, Merlin already saw too many men die because of either stubbornness or pride. He was not about to let another one go. Muttering a silent apology, Merlin stepped forward to put a palm flat against the other's back.

"Swefe nu." Merlin whispered, feeling the slight burn of his irises. He felt the power shifting and pushing through his fingertips, doing his bidding.

Instead of falling over unconscious like Merlin expected, the other man froze in his steps. His whole body was tensed, breathing almost nonexistent. The man turned around to face Merlin, wide obsidian eyes belying astonishment. The warlock's eyes were similarly wide and his mouth was agape, hand dropping to his side. That was supposed to work. Never had this spell failed him.

Suddenly, dark blue fingers held both his shoulders in a firm grip. The warlock could feel the coldness of the limbs seeping through his clothes. Merlin looked up, locking gazes with those dark-red eyes. The man was staring at him like he was seeing him for the first time, eyes assessing him like he was some sort of rare relic in a museum. Merlin didn't think the other man suspected he used magic; perhaps he would think that Merlin was another mutant like himself. Surely, there was no reason for the extreme scrutiny the warlock was being given.

'What are you?' seemed to be the question running rampant behind those eyes. And well, ouch, because that line of thought had always been a sore subject for Merlin. Cutting off any notion that might lead him into unwanted memories, Merlin opened his mouth to try and reason with him again.

However, it seemed it was unnecessary. After a few seconds, the fingers on his shoulders went limp. Merlin saw the odd eyes roll at the back of his head before closing completely. The warlock instinctively caught him, arms wrapping around the lithe figure's torso. He gingerly lowered both of them to the ground, heaving a sigh of relief. Merlin didn't know whether the other man passed out because of his injuries or perhaps because of the spell. Either way, Merlin could finally call the ambulance . . . which he would do as soon as he find his mobile in this dark alleyway.

"Buggering shite." When he went off to chase the man, he had absent-mindedly dropped it. Now, in the darkness, he couldn't distinguish which shadows on the ground were garbage or his mobile. Great.

He pulled back the arm around the man's shoulders and inhaled sharply when his whole sleeve came away drenched in blood. He didn't have time to look for his phone. Making a decision, he shifted his hold on the mutant; he put an arm around his shoulders and another at the back of his knees.

He stood up, struggling a bit at the additional weight, and muttered, "Bedyrne ús. Astýre ús þanonweard."

A great wind enveloped them both, disturbing the snow and garbage around. Merlin felt the universe shift to bend to his will, closing the spaces between his current location and inside the bedroom at his flat. Within moments, they were both gone from the alleyway.