Nicodemus in Immortalis Logs a Daily Nicolas Note on Procedure

Log: Day 147. Subject: Nicolas. Procedure: Standard dermal infusion, variant 4b. Time: 03:17.

The chamber reeks of copper and regret tonight, though Nicolas bears it with that infuriating composure of his. Strapped to the slab, veins mapped like a cartographer’s nightmare, he watches me prepare the syringe. His eyes, those pale slits, hold no plea, only calculation. I wonder if he tallies my errors as I do his tolerances.

Incision at the brachial juncture, precise as always, three centimetres. The blade whispers through flesh, parting skin with minimal resistance. Blood wells, dark and sluggish, but the anticoagulant holds. I thread the cannula, feeling the subtle give as it seats in the artery. He tenses then, a flicker across his jaw, but his pulse remains steady at 72. Predictable.

Infusion commences: 50cc of the serum, heated to 38 degrees to mimic body warmth. It courses in, silver-threaded venom binding to his cells. His skin prickles first, gooseflesh rising in waves from the site. Then the burn, I know it by the way his fingers curl against the restraints, knuckles whitening. He does not cry out. He never does. But tonight, a low rumble escapes his throat, animal and raw, as the transformation gnaws inward.

By minute 12, the first signs: capillaries fracturing beneath the epidermis, blooming purple then black. His arm swells, tissues rejecting the foreign alchemy, yet clinging. I note the demarcation line creeping toward the shoulder, precise measurement 7.2 centimetres proximal. Vital signs elevate: heart to 110, respirations shallow at 28. Pupils dilate, fixed on the ceiling’s cracks as if reading prophecy there.

At minute 27, the peak. His body arches, cords of muscle straining, a grotesque ballet of agony and ecstasy. Sweat beads, mixes with the seepage from the entry wound. I palpate the abdomen: liver enlarged, tender under my gloved hand. He murmurs something then, incoherent, perhaps my name laced with curse. Or invitation. The line blurs.

Flush initiated at minute 35: saline purge to leach excess. The drain runs crimson, flecked with iridescent shards of failed mutation. Pressure drops, colour returns unevenly. By hour’s end, he slumps, spent, the arm a mottled ruin that will heal by dawn. Tolerance confirmed: serum uptake 84%. Incremental progress.

Observation: Subject’s psychological resilience intact, though sardonic glint in his gaze suggests adaptation beyond physiological. He questioned the variant dosage mid-procedure, voice steady despite convulsions. Amusement? Defiance? Irrelevant. The logs accumulate, the body endures. Tomorrow, we escalate.

Nicodemus.

Immortalis Book One August 2026