Allen hadn't completely passed out.
His consciousness felt torn in two: one half had sunk to the bottom of pitch-dark water, and the other half still floated at the surface, able to see everything and hear everything, just unable to move. He saw his own body shaking violently on the stone slab, saw his hand still gripping Vera's, his knuckles white to the point of blue, as if he meant to crush someone's bones. He saw Vivian pinning his right shoulder, her lips pressed tight, fine beads of sweat at her temple. He saw the Demon King standing just beyond his head, dark red eyes half lowered, as if watching a play he'd seen long ago.
He heard his own voice. It sounded like someone else's, squeezed out of his throat in broken bursts, like a torn bellows. He wanted to stop, but he couldn't. A fire seemed to be burning at the back of his throat. He couldn't help sucking in air desperately, but the air seemed to have turned into hot water, pouring into his lungs and scalding him until his whole body convulsed.
"Press down harder." Vera's voice came from the surface of the water, cold and clear. "His left hand."
Someone pinned his left hand. It was Vivian. She lifted Allen's left hand off her own shoulder, and with both hands pressed it down against the stone slab. Her palms were very soft, but the strength in them was frightening; Allen felt as if his wrist had been locked in two warm, heavy shackles. He couldn't even move his little finger.
He wanted to speak. He wanted to say "Let go of me," wanted to say "I can't take it anymore," wanted to say "Please, stop." But his tongue felt scalded through, lying limp in his mouth without the slightest response. All he could do was make that sound from his throat that even he didn't recognize, like the last bit of breath that leaks out of an animal with a foot on its neck.
The drop of blood was still boring inward.
Allen could feel its path. As if it were alive, it set out from the very center of his chest and split into three: one route going up, one going down, one spreading out toward his limbs. Wherever the thing passed, it was as if molten iron had been poured through his body. His blood vessels hurt section by section, not a clean, sharp pain but a dull, swelling one, as if something were being forced in and shoving his original blood aside. His skin lit up from within, dark red light showing through his thin undershirt in streak after streak, like a spider's web. Those were his own blood vessels glowing. He saw it, but he could no longer react at all.
"His body is rejecting it," Vivian said. For once she wasn't using that airy tone; her voice was pitched very low, as though she were afraid Allen would hear. But Allen did hear. Right now he could hear everything. Even the sound of the candle flames licking at their wicks seemed to explode beside his ears.
"That's normal," the Demon King said. "Drive the old blood out of his body. Once the old blood is cleared out, the new blood won't fight anymore."
Allen felt like a cloth being held underwater and scrubbed over and over, every part of his body being hollowed out. He thought he would bleed. But he didn't. The things being squeezed out of him seemed to evaporate from his skin, turning into a very faint red mist that drifted off him little by little and vanished into the air. He could smell it: it was his own scent. A very faint, warm smell of blood, the same as any ordinary person's. He watched that mist rise from his arm, like watching his own life slip out of his body.
"Don't..." He finally squeezed out a word. It was small and broken, as though leaking out of a crack in his throat. Vera's hand moved slightly, as if brushed by that one word. But she still didn't let go. Allen didn't know whether she'd heard it. Maybe she had, and maybe she thought it didn't matter. He had no strength left to say more anyway.
The heat came again.
This time it was even more ferocious than before. The drop of blood seemed to explode inside his body. Allen's vision went white all at once, as if the entire world had been ripped out of his head. His whole body went rigid, the back of his head slamming into the stone slab with a thud, his body bent like a fully drawn bow. Several pairs of hands pinned him down at once. He heard Vera's voice rise a little, shouting something, but he could no longer make it out. All he could feel was that light, that heat, those things that didn't belong to him, washing over him like a tide and swallowing him up.
He felt himself sinking. Sinking fast. The water around him was very hot, as if it were boiling him, or as if it were catching him. He stopped struggling. He couldn't struggle. That body no longer seemed to obey him; it shook, twisted and changed only at the will of that drop of blood. He was like a bystander pinned to a chopping board, huddled in a corner of his mind, watching his own body being taken apart piece by piece and then put back together piece by piece.
"Allen." Someone called him.
His eyelids twitched. He didn't respond. The voice sounded very far away, like a beam of light shining down from the surface of the water. He didn't want to answer. He was tired. He only wanted to sink, down to where he couldn't feel anything at all.
"Don't fall asleep." The voice spoke again, closer this time. It was Vera. Her voice was still cool, but mixed into that coolness was something else. Allen couldn't say what. He had never seen Vera like this. From the first time they met, she'd been like a wall, cold and hard. But right now, that wall seemed to have developed a hairline crack, and a breeze was leaking through it, carrying a warmth that didn't seem much like her.
"You are not finished yet," Vera said. "If you fall asleep now, you will never wake up again."
Allen's fingertips moved. He could feel his right hand, still held in hers. Her hand had been warmed by the heat too and was no longer as cold as before. But that bit of warmth, amid the burning that filled Allen's whole body, was almost negligible.
With every ounce of strength he had, he lifted his eyelids a crack.
Everything before his eyes was dark red light. He saw his own chest glowing, and the light seemed to have a pulse, throbbing and throbbing, already out of sync with his heartbeat. It was faster, more urgent, as if chasing after something. Vera's face surfaced in the light, silver hair slipping down from her forehead and hiding half her face. Her lips were moving, as if reciting something. Allen couldn't hear it. He only saw her pale red eyes, very close to him. Those eyes held reflections of his own light, cluster upon cluster, as if trapped there.
"Don't let go," Vera said again. Same as before. Exactly the same as what she'd said when that most brutal wave of heat came crashing down.
Allen tightened his fingers again. In truth, he no longer knew what he was holding on to. Maybe he just didn't want that last bit of consciousness to scatter. Maybe it was because, in this absurdly cold castle, only this hand still made him feel he hadn't been completely abandoned.
"Vivian," Vera called.
"Here." Vivian answered quickly, as if she'd been ready for it.
"Stabilize your portion. The vampire dose has gone through, but the succubus side is still running wild."
"I know, I know. And you, don't spoil that hand of his so much. If he keeps squeezing like that, your bones are going to crack." There was a very faint note of reproach in Vivian's voice, like an older sister scolding a younger one for always hugging the things she loved too tightly.
"It is of no consequence," Vera said.
Allen didn't hear what came after. His consciousness was starting to scatter again, like soft clay doused over and over with hot wax, slowly oozing down off the edge of the stone slab. He felt his limbs starting to grow longer, or thinner; his shoulders felt as if something were slowly pressing them inward; at his waist, his hips and his chest, energy was churning wildly, as if reshaping them. He wanted to move, wanted to know what he looked like now. But he no longer had a "look." He was just a still-scorching mass, being kneaded back and forth by those three drops of blood.
"It'll be over soon." Vivian's voice came from far away, as if spoken to him just above the surface of the water.
Allen didn't respond. He only thought: some kind of "over" this was. He missed home, missed that plane, missed the old man and old woman who'd sat next to him. He even missed the floor tiles at the airport, missed those Moments posts he'd never sent. At a time like this, the things people remember are all the most useless ones. He clutched Vera's hand while those useless images slid past his eyes one by one, as if saying goodbye to him.
He didn't know whether he was crying. Maybe he was. Because he tasted a little salt. Or maybe it was blood. His own. Flowing from his nose, hot, like two little snakes crawling past his lips. He had no strength to deal with it. Whatever. Whatever happened now.
The heat crashed down a third time. His consciousness went out with a snap, as if someone had blown it out.
Darkness surged in from every direction, and this time... he didn't resist.