Chapter 5

"First, one must die inside. Only then can one become something more."

— Lost Fragments in Frankenstein Mansion

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Chapter 5: Separation and Resurrection

Pov. Eva.

At first, I didn't know what to make of Victor... my self-proclaimed creator.

For no real reason, he never sought me out. And when he did, our interactions were always cold, devoid of any warmth.

My memories of my past life? didn't help either; they only further confused what I was feeling.

When he started stopping by, ignoring me even more than before, I thought it would stay that way. That we could never get along. That there was no place for me in his world.

But then... Lea and Emma... by accepting me, by opening up to me... made me think...

I believed... that maybe, in time, he would change. That if I was patient, if I watched him from a distance, if I left him alone when he needed to… he'd end up talking to me. Seeing me.

That if I didn't force him, if I showed him that he could learn, that he could change…

That maybe he'd stop seeing me as a mistake. And start seeing me as something more.

As someone.

Maybe we'd be something more, friends...

Family...

Yes, family.

Now that I think about it, maybe that's why.

That's why I looked into Victor's mother.

That's why, despite the warnings, I investigated.

That's why, despite his treatment, I wanted to make peace with him and form a bond.

I wanted family, and I thought he, along with Lea and Emma, ​​could be that family...

But I was wrong.

Very wrong.

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The rain continued to fall.

Victor was gone. He'd long since left, lost in the shadows of the mansion, leaving her behind without another glance.

Eva was still kneeling in front of the grave.

Soaked. The bandages were loose or stuck to her skin.

The arm she'd hit him with hung at her side, heavy and trembling.

Her eyes were fixed on the ground, but she saw nothing. Her mind was still trapped in that moment, in how all her hopes had been shattered in an instant, in the sound of the impact, in the scream, in the words.

"Monster."

She pressed her lips together. Her breathing was ragged. The cold seeped into her body, but she didn't move.

Alone... she was there.

Alone.

And maybe...that's how it should be.

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Pov. Third person.

The rain hadn't stopped, but something had changed.

Eva, still on her knees, noticed that the drops were no longer falling on her shoulders.

The sound, once incessant on her body, suddenly ceased... as if the world had held its breath.

A circular shadow formed on the ground in front of her.

"You should come in," a familiar voice said, firm and gentle.

Eva froze. Stiffly, she twisted her neck.

Lea.

She stood there, as if time had no effect on her. Her impassive expression, the same as always... but there was something different in her dark eyes.

Sorrow. And compassion.

He held an umbrella over her, shielding her from the rain with one hand. In the other, extended toward Eva, a silent invitation.

"It's not good for your health to get so wet," he added, almost like a gentle scolding, in that measured voice that never rose or fell.

Eva looked at her.

Her lips trembled, her eyes huge and red.

For a long second, she didn't move. But the tears flowed again. This time without violence, without her being able to stop them.

Sobs. Groans. A shaky breath.

Suddenly, she jumped up and, without thinking, took the outstretched hand.

Not to stand.

But to embrace her.

She clung to Lea's body, sank into her shoulder, and wept.

She wept hard, with the desperation of someone finally finding shelter after a landslide.

The umbrella fell from the servant's surprised fingers.

Now they were both standing in the rain, getting soaked.

But Lea didn't push her away.

There was no reproach.

There was no resistance.

Only a long, silent sigh. And then, slowly, Lea raised her arms… and hugged him back. Tenderly. Carefully. As if she knew that this creature, though made of broken pieces, needed to feel that it could still be held.

This is why I told you to forget, she thought. Sorrow and pity were reflected in her dull eyes.

But she said nothing.

It wasn't her duty, and yet… she didn't care. Not this time.

She didn't need an order to comfort her.

Eva continued to cry, letting out all the pain contained in her empty chest.

And for the first time… she didn't feel alone.

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Victor ran.

His footsteps echoed violently through the mansion's corridors, barely visible through the mist that blurred his vision.

He didn't know if he was crying or if it was the rain that still dripped from his hair, hitting his face like penance.

He stumbled once. Twice. It didn't matter. He kept running.

From her.

Of himself.

Of what he had created with his own hands.

He crossed the workshop door, and as it slammed shut, he collapsed against the wood.

His breathing was erratic, his chest rising and falling as if he couldn't contain the weight of what he had just experienced.

He slid to the floor.

"No... no... I shouldn't have..." he whispered, aimless words that he barely understood. "It wasn't like that! It wasn't like that!"

He looked up and saw her.

A familiar, yet impossible figure.

Himself, standing across the workshop, in the same corner where he had once stood, filled with sick determination and empty hope.

The ghost of his past self.

"Don't do it," Victor stammered, trembling. "Stop! Don't do it!"

The figure moved, like a shadow projected from memory, approaching the workbench, where ideas were still dreams and plans were still clean. The echo of a voice resonated in his mind: "Eva will be perfect... Not like the others..."

"STOP!" Victor shouted, launching himself at the silhouette like a crazed animal.

But when he fell, there was no one. Only the table. Only papers.

And one of them, floating in the air, descended like a sentence upon his face.

Eva's original plans.

The design of her face, the anatomical records, the obsessive strokes with which he had tried to immortalize his mother... and failed.

Victor screamed. A guttural shriek, filled with rage and revulsion.

He tore the paper to shreds with his hands, as if by destroying them he could erase the past. He knocked over jars, stained-glass windows. He opened drawers and emptied their contents onto the floor. Tools flew like projectiles. Books and grimoires opened and fell, scattering knowledge he no longer wanted. That he could no longer bear.

And when the table fell, his last bastion of control broke with it.

Outside the room, Emma stood at attention by the closed door.

"...Master..." she murmured, her anxiety growing. "Master Victor. Can you hear me?"

Inside, the chaos continued unabated.

But what worried the woman most wasn't the noises.

It was the silence between them.

That silence that spoke louder than any knock.

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Several days passed.

The mansion fell into a strange silence.

Not the usual one, full of mechanical stillness and programmed footsteps.

This was a different silence: heavier, as if its walls dragged it with them.

A mourning without words. A mourning that no one dared name.

Victor never left the workshop again.

After the episode of destruction, Emma had found the door in disarray, the tools scattered, and her master wrapped in a blanket of dust and shame, lying on the floor.

She didn't try to comfort him.

She only left him water, bandages, and some food, which he often returned untouched.

She didn't force his exit. She just waited, patiently, attentive, as if she understood that the wounds of the soul didn't heal under pressure.

And in another wing of the house, Eva had also withdrawn.

Not because she was ordered to.

Not because she was afraid of another attack.

But because she still couldn't figure out what she felt.

She spent hours sitting on a windowsill, staring at the gray sky or scanning her bandaged arm.

Sometimes she tried to touch the air, as if she could reach the words she couldn't yet pronounce.

Lea accompanied her silently, without asking questions. Sometimes she brought her something warm, sometimes she simply sat nearby, saying nothing.

Occasionally, her fingers would slowly rise, and she would gently place a blanket over Eva's shoulders.

The creature didn't move, but she didn't push her away either.

Both parts of the mansion were wounded. Both contained a broken reflection of the other.

And between them, Emma and Lea, like silent pillars, held up the entire structure.

Without giving advice.

Without passing judgment.

Only ensuring that, despite everything, neither of them would completely fall apart.

Sometimes, for her part, Lea tried to cheer her up.

Not with sweet words—because she didn't know how to use them—nor with grandiloquent gestures. But with presence.

Sometimes she approached with a book. Other times, she left fresh fruit or warm bread on the table.

She even brought her some small objects that, in days gone by, would have fascinated Eva: an antique music box, an ivory comb, a bracelet with tarnished gems.

But the creature no longer looked at them with the same curiosity. She only gave her a glance or two. Sometimes, not even that.

Sitting by the window, Eva seemed to have dissolved into herself.

The curious gleam in her eyes had faded.

Her body, once restless, now remained still, as if the will that animated it was on strike.

Lea, accustomed to silence, was beginning to discover that there was a worse kind: the one that wasn't chosen. The silence of creatures who close themselves off because they can no longer bear the noise inside.

That day, she had stood by the door, silently observing Eva.

For several minutes, she said nothing. She just looked at her, the tray still in her hands, her face as expressionless as ever… but something in her eyes had changed.

"I brought tea… and warm bread," she finally said, in a low voice, almost as if she hesitated to break the stillness of the place.

Eva didn't respond. She remained seated by the window, motionless.

Lea placed the tray on the table, carefully arranging it. Then she took a few steps forward.

"The weather is better today," she commented, a rarity coming from her. She never made comments that weren't practical. She never started conversations.

"Perhaps… you could join me later. We need to rearrange the shelves in the west wing. It's tedious, but… it's better than being alone, isn't it?" she added, her tone containing more humanity than she usually displayed.

An invitation. Silent. Clumsy. Honest.

But there was no response.

Eva didn't turn around. She didn't blink. She just kept staring at the window, as if she hadn't heard her.

Lea waited a moment longer.

Then she sighed, very quietly, and stepped back.

"I'll come back later," she murmured. "Unless... you want to come with me."

No words in reply. No movement.

Only silence.

Lea, resigned, turned on her heel and left the room, gently closing the door behind her.

Eva didn't even notice her departure.

Her gaze remained lost in the windowpane until, suddenly, something caught her eye.

Her own reflection.

For the first time since waking, she saw herself with true clarity.

Her body, almost completely covered in bandages. Most of them torn, worn, stained by time, dirt, and blood.

Her hair, long and unruly, fell in dark strands, a deep burgundy shade that sometimes shimmered with red in the light. Wild, tangled, unkempt.

The golden plaques stood out like scars: on her forehead, on the sides of her head, grotesquely integrated with her skin. A reminder of what she was.

Of what made her "different."

And her eyes... one pale blue. The other pale emerald green. Both swollen and reddened with long-shed tears.

Too strange. Too sad.

"...monster..."

The word escaped her lips, trembling, more hurt than angry.

That echo pierced her again and again, as if it were still bouncing between her ribs.

And then another emotion emerged. Darker. Older.

It wasn't fear.

It wasn't sadness.

It was anger.

Anger at having begged for understanding.

Anger at having been humiliated by having been offered an olive branch he refused to accept.

Anger at having offered his mother flowers… and having been beaten in return.

And even more terrible: a small spark of satisfaction.

To see him tremble.

To hear his voice crack.

To see him flee.

And that spark terrified her.

Because she didn't know if it was right to feel it.

Because she didn't want to enjoy it... but something in her did.

She didn't understand what it was. What she was.

"Am I a monster, then?"

The thought gripped her, burning her throat, freezing her chest.

But then, again. Stronger. Bitterer.

"...MONSTER!!"

Her fist clenched. The air tensed.

And without thinking, without calculating, she slammed it against the glass in front of her.

The sound of the impact echoed around the room. The window didn't break completely, but a crack spread like a spiderweb, distorting her reflection beyond recognition.

Eva was breathing heavily, her fist still pressed against the cracked glass.

Her gaze—though still broken—now held a different gleam.

Not of fury.

Not even of determination.

But of something she didn't yet understand, but that was slowly growing.

And it wouldn't go away.

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On the other side of the mansion, things were no better.

Victor lay in the darkest corner of his workshop, hunched over like a wounded animal.

The dim light barely illuminated his broken figure.

His clothes were torn, dirty, hanging from a body that refused to fully yield but showed every sign of wear.

Old bandages covered part of his arm, yellowed and dried, remnants of wounds that refused to heal.

His beard grew patchy, unkempt, and his hair, tangled and greasy, fell over a forehead furrowed with deep lines of exhaustion and despair.

Every breath was an effort. A stifled sigh that seemed unwilling to leave his chest.

His eyes, once fierce and full of arrogance, now wandered with a mixture of fury and emptiness.

They stared into nowhere, or perhaps into a place only he could see: an inner abyss where he faced his own creation… and himself.

"It looks like that thing…" he murmured, his voice cracking, a shadow of fear creeping into his words. "But it can't be… It can't be like me."

His trembling hands clenched their fists tightly, as if trying to crush a thought that tortured him mercilessly.

Mental chaos devoured him. Memories, regrets, rage, and guilt danced in an unstoppable storm.

He thought of the creature he had created, that mixture of flesh, magic, and something even he didn't understand.

"That shouldn't exist..." he whispered, as if uttering those words could erase her from the world.

The tremor in his voice grew, turning into a strangled cry, a lament with no way out.

He clung to that thought like a burning nail.

The tremor in his voice grew, turning into a strangled cry, a lament with no way out.

He clung to that thought like a burning nail.

A dark and terrifying thought that repeated itself in an endless loop.

That shouldn't exist.

And in that instant, the man, the genius, the alchemist... was completely lost in the storm of his mind.

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Lea and Emma walked silently down the mansion's long hallway, the echo of their footsteps mingling with the heavy atmosphere that seemed to have settled in every corner.

Emma, ​​frowning, spoke in a low, worried voice:

"Master Victor is worse than ever…

He barely leaves his confinement. He seems consumed by his own demons."

Lea nodded, without taking her eyes off the floor, her tone also grave:

"Eva isn't well either. She used to be curious, almost innocent… Now she seems like an empty shell. She doesn't respond, she doesn't listen. She's not the same."

"...What can we do?" Emma wondered.

"...I don't know."

They both continued walking when suddenly, from the end of the corridor, a figure appeared.

Victor emerged from his retreat, his head bowed, his bangs covering his eyes, as if he wanted to hide from the world.

He stopped in front of them with difficulty, his voice barely a hoarse whisper:

"Silence."

Emma and Lea exchanged a surprised look, but remained silent.

Victor slowly raised his head, revealing somber, tired eyes, but filled with cold determination.

"You have... new orders."

Both women tensed inside, their faces showing nothing.

Victor's orders were harsh, implacable, and promised to make the already fragile situation even worse.

But in the end, despite their fear and uncertainty, they both complied.

Because he was the master.

And his orders, though fearsome, had to be obeyed.

__________________________________________

Pov. Eva.

Consciousness returned like a muffled whisper. Eva opened her eyes, or at least tried to... but saw nothing.

Darkness. Everything was darkness.

She wanted to move, but her body didn't respond. As if she weren't there. She couldn't feel her limbs, the ground, or the air. She was just floating, or perhaps lying... nowhere.

The last sensation she remembered was exhaustion enveloping her like a wet blanket.

She had surrendered to exhaustion, collapsing onto a bed or in a forgotten corner, without strength or will.

And now... this.

Then, a voice filtered into the darkness. Cold, trembling. Loaded with something that made her shudder inside.

"You're awake... fine."

It was Victor.

But it wasn't the clinical, dry, or hysterical tone she was used to. It was something worse. An echo of morbid satisfaction. Pleasurable.

Eva tried to speak, but nothing came out. Not a whisper, not a gasp. Nothing.

She tried to move her lips... but there were no lips.

Panic ignited in her mind.

"I was wrong from the start," Victor continued, as if reciting before a mirror. "My research, my ideal... my goals..."

A long, almost theatrical pause.

"You were a mistake. The biggest one of my entire life."

She wanted to scream. To shake. To fight. But her body remained deaf, absent. As if she had been taken apart piece by piece. As if sealed in an invisible cage.

Victor spoke, and each word was a dagger, another nail in a coffin she couldn't see.

"So this is where it will end." A metallic sound, like a briefcase being firmly closed, broke the silence. "My quest, my life so far, my research… and everything related to it… will be forgotten. Along with this mansion."

"What the…?"

Terror pierced her chest like an icy spear. Her heart—yes, she could still feel it—was pounding. But not in her body. No… it was somewhere else. Far away. Separate.

And that made everything even worse.

"And as for you…" the voice came closer, lowered. "My beloved abomination. Unholy being sprung from my imagination…" She felt its breath brushing skin she didn't yet know was hers. "Damn monster…"

A pause. A smile barely contained behind the words.

A pause. A smile barely contained behind the words.

"Your destiny is to perish here. Disarmed. Forgotten. Right here."

Another pause.

"I'd like to say I'm lying if I said I didn't enjoy this. But no. No, you can't imagine the satisfaction this gives me."

The footsteps began to recede. Firm. Definitive. She listened to them as if each one sealed her grave more and more.

"This door will remain closed forever," Victor declared, with an almost ceremonial gravity. "Even after my death, you'll never see the light of day again. I made sure of that."

She stopped all movement.

...why...?

"Goodbye, Eva."

The tone was neutral, mechanical. As if marking an end.

"No... that name doesn't suit you. 'Lilith' would suit you better, don't you think? Because like her... you were nothing but a mistake from beginning to end."

And then, the sound of a hatch closing.

The clang of the latch falling.

A final click.

Absolute silence.

And darkness swallowed her whole.

__________________________________________

She didn't know how much time had passed.

Hours? Days? Weeks?

In the darkness, time didn't flow. There was only silence… and pain.

A strange pain, not coming from just one part, but from all at once. As if every fragment of her body—separated, broken, discarded—were screaming from some unknown corner of the workshop.

But it wasn't just physical.

It was the pain of abandonment. Of betrayal.

The absolute rejection of the one who had called her "Eve."

Of the one she… somehow… had wanted to understand.

Her mind spun in circles, each thought darker than the last, each emotion more chaotic and angry. One part of her screamed that it was her fault, that she had failed. Another, louder, roared that it wasn't.

"It wasn't my fault!"

"I didn't ask for this!"

"I didn't ask to be created!"

"It was you who did this!"

"Damn you, Victor Frankenstein!"

And then… she felt it.

A spark.

A part of her body responded. A slight movement. Distant, disconnected… but real.

An arm.

Her arm.

Somewhere in the workshop, hidden under a table or in an instrument tray, the fleshy, bandaged limb twitched. Not from a nervous impulse… but from the force of her rage.

Eva froze. Her mind clung to that sensation like a rope in the abyss.

…there is a way…

…a chance…

She focused. She didn't know how, but she tried. She summoned that inner turmoil again, that mix of wild emotions… and the limb responded again. This time, stronger.

The arm barely dragged. Then it moved further, groping for something.

And found it.

Another part. A leg. Inert, cold…but hers.

She touched it. And something in her awoke again.

Now two pieces. Then three.

Her hand, a leg, part of her torso. Each reanimated not by magic or science, but by the burning will of someone who refuses to die forgotten.

One by one, like pieces of a puzzle driven by fury, its parts began to seek each other out.

As if Eve, from the very center of her mental prison, were calling them.

"Victor..."

"...you abandoned me..."

"...you broke me..."

"...and locked me away..."

A new thought emerged. Clear. Precise.

"...Now I'm going to get out."

"...And I'm going to come for YOU."

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Pov. Third person.

Three months later.

Dawn had barely broken over the hills of Geneva, but inside Frankenstein Mansion, time had stood still.

For three months, two figures had remained stationed in the east wing, where a large iron door reinforced with magic circles and seals marked the entrance to Master Victor's main workshop.

Lea and Emma.

They had received their orders without question.

"No one opens this door."

"No one enters."

"No one... leaves."

Victor offered no further explanation. He answered no questions. He only delivered his final instructions in a low, dry, and icy voice.

And they, their hearts broken, obeyed.

Now, sitting on the edge of the corridor, in complete silence, they stood guard.

Emma, ​​frowning, her fingers clenched against her apron; Lea, her face imperturbable, but her eyes darker than ever.

They both knew what—who—lay behind that door.

And neither of them could talk about it.

"She hasn't eaten in three months," Emma finally murmured, breaking the stillness in a barely audible voice. "I don't even know if she's still alive."

Lea didn't respond. She only lowered her head slightly. Something inside her burned with silent guilt, a weight she couldn't shake.

She didn't even know what state Master Victor had left her in. And that terrified her.

But orders were orders...right?

Then it happened.

THUMP.

A loud knock.

They both tensed instantly.

THUMP.

Another one. Louder.

THUMP.

The entire doorframe vibrated with a dull metallic sound.

And then, with a burst of energy, the magical engravings and seals began to spark, spitting out green sparks that traveled across the surface like lightning.

The energy gathered around the doorknob, where the circles began to crack and vanish, fragmenting like broken glass under pressure.

No, they weren't fragmented... but absorbed.

Absorbed and converted into electricity.

CRACK.

The door shook violently, and suddenly, the entire doorknob was ripped free, shooting down the hallway with a dull bang.

Emma took a step back, instinctively.

Lea… remained motionless. But her eyes didn't blink once.

Green sparks danced on the door frame, traveling across the now-broken runes. The air grew heavy. The silence, unbearable.

And finally...

CHRRRAAAAK.

The creak of the door opening slowly died away, leaving behind a silence as thick as fog.

The green sparks still sizzled softly on the frame, but the focus of attention shifted to the dark interior.

Very slowly, footsteps began to sound.

At first faint, shuffling... then firmer, more certain.

TACK... TACK... TACK...

Heavy, wet footsteps echoed against the stone floor.

Something was moving beyond the threshold, Invisible among the shadows... until finally, a silhouette emerged in the darkness.

A tall, lanky form, almost human but not quite.

Emma held her breath.

Lea narrowed her eyes, her chest tightening imperceptibly.

"Eva...?" she asked softly, using that name for the first time, like a delicate key thrown toward the shadow.

The figure stopped.

A long silence.

And then, one word emerged, low, trembling... but carrying the full weight of her soul.

"...Victor."

Like a sigh. Like a broken prayer.

Emma trembled slightly. Lea didn't blink.

The entire hallway held its breath.

And then...

VICTOR!!!

The roar that followed wasn't a human voice.

It was a scream that reverberated off the walls, shook the chandeliers, rattled the windowpanes.

A crash of thunder erupted high above the mansion as if the heavens responded to the monster's clamor.

From within emerged a figure covered in torn bandages, metal parts gleaming in the flickering light, mismatched eyes alight with fury and suffering.

The creature walked, each step firm and filled with brutal purpose.

The abomination created in a man's dream...

...now turned into the nightmare that comes for him.

End of Chapter 5

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...You know, maybe I made Fran-chan compatible with the Avenger class when I wrote this...

I hope you enjoyed it. Criticism and comments are always welcome. See you next time.