Number eight was… a disappointment.

Mostly because he’d been so promising in the beginning, blood already getting into resonance with the parts of the throne previously dormant. A trace of angelic influence in the bloodline, probably – except without a heart pure enough to satisfy fiendish magic.

Adrian had hoped he could fix that.

Number six, while strong, didn’t work out – only turning more volatile, more reckless. Number seven didn’t make it past the surgery. Still, he’d hoped number eight would be different.

And maybe he was, except he wouldn’t stop screaming.

The second surgery didn’t fix things. It did, however, cause number eight to hallucinate, and his magic to go haywire.

Adrian had to use magic and Reginald to restrain number eight to be able to inject him with a sedative. It didn’t seem to get rid of all the pain, judging by his whimpering, but it at least made him quiet enough not to attract unwanted attention.

Adrian let him recover for a day before trying to draw blood again.

He was met with a glimpse of an image of a world on fire. Reginald, the weakling, stumbled away with eyes blown wide in terror before the nightmarish world dissolved into Adrian’s even breath. He ordered Reginald away before taking another look at number eight.

There was no recognition at first. Just a blank stare and a complete inability to answer simple questions about the year, his age or what city they were in. A pity, as far as wasted potential goes, but his blood was still useful, even if there are no changes for the better.

Another day passed, and number eight struggled against Adrian’s hold before suddenly going still.

“I remembered,” he whispers. “It was you! You –”

He struggled again, moreso with magic than with his weak body. Another guard hurt herself under his influence, and Adrian sedated him again, frustrated.

Still, it was interesting. Number eight used to have some potential before the surgeries, but nothing to this degree, and each time he tried to lash out, it was as if his talent got stronger, more focused.

It didn’t work out the way Adrian had hoped, but he was intrigued by this development.

He kept number eight sedated – the outbursts were unpredictable, and as his memory deteriorated, the range of his abilities kept getting wider. At times, Adrian wondered if number eight was truly remembering things or if there was something else going on, volatile magic interfering with the workings of his brain.

Regardless, it was worth researching more.

————

More on number eight’s future in Lost. More on things Adrian needed the blood for in Bleeding Angels.