Here's how I imagine Prada! Hope you enjoy today's chapter <3

When Mark returned to the laboratory for the second time that day, he knew something was different. He could feel it.

Power, excitement, and nerves charged the air, making it thick and suffocating. As he walked behind Cibil, further and further into the laboratory, he could sense that familiar bloodlust in the room. It reminded him of killing, but now he was the prey.

Cibil sat at one of the lab tables, separating herself from the scene yet vaguely listening, while Mark stood at the edge of the testing room stairs. Antinstine stood next to the metal table with a shit-eating grin, and Mark glared at him, clenching his fists.

"Well... he's still got his spirit," said a voice, and Mark glanced up, searching for the source.

In a graceful motion, Prada stepped out of the shadows. His horns appeared first, then the rest of his body; he had that signature, sarcastic smile on his face, his yellow eyes glinting.

Mark stilled, his sudden appearance charging the air. The power in the room was unsettling.

"What's he doing here?" Viper said, wearily eyeing him. Prada walked down the steps with utmost elegance, posture perfect and movements calculated.

"You'll find out," said Antinstine, smirking over at Prada. He didn't smile back—he simply nodded and stood next to Antinstine, gazing softly at Mark.

Syl and Ox wheeled a cart down the stairs and set it next to the metal table. They stared at Antinstine and Prada expectedly, their hands folded in front of them.

Antinstine made a motion with his hand, and Prada walked forward, approaching Mark. He had such a determination in his step that it scared him. It was like he was going to kill him right then and there.

Mark took a step back, eyeing Prada.

"What are y—"

Prada walked straight up to Mark, chest bumping into his. Mark went to push him away, but Prada circled around him.

He pushed him from behind. Hard.

Mark stumbled forward, foot catching on the steps.

He shouted, but before he could fall down, his body froze mid-fall.

Invisible strings suspended him like a puppet, lifting at his joints. Mark's body tingled painfully, and it felt like his blood threatened to pierce out of his skin.

His leg jerked forward against his will, and his arms snapped into his sides. His body was walking down the steps, but he wasn't the one controlling them.

His face went pale.

Prada was bending his blood.

"Make him dance for me," sang Antinstine, eyes gleaming with a manic delight. He twirled his finger in the air, and Prada mimicked the action, making Mark do a spin in the middle of the room. The markings on his face were glowing bright red, and his hands were splayed open and tight like the crossbar of a puppet.

Mark was going to be sick.

He watched with horror as his own body betrayed them, falling to the will of Prada's powers. Every twitch, every motion sent streaks of pain through his body—his blood would bulge beneath his skin and tug along with Prada's motions, leaving him absolutely helpless. Just a puppet for him to use.

Mark glanced over at Prada, only able to use his eyes. His insides churned.

What happened to no malintent towards me? he thought, remembering what Prada told him when they first met.

Mark whimpered as his limbs jerked forward again, making him walk in a jittery, sloppy pattern. Antinstine smirked all the while.

He looked more excited than he usually did, his eyes glinting and his fangs clicking against his teeth... It reminded Mark of a child about to get a gift on Christmas, but... more psychotic.

Prada walked down the steps, using a hand to lead Mark towards the metal table. He didn't have to use his hands—could use only his head if he tried hard enough—but this was all for show. It was entertainment for Antinstine.

Mark's hands jerked forward, planting themselves on the cold, metal table. Before he could shiver, his body hoisted itself up, clambered onto the table, then sat down. He glanced over at Prada with his eyes, watching him.

Prada lifted his hand... slowly, gracefully... then slammed it down.

Mark's back collided into the table, knocking the breath from his lungs. His body pressed into it. It felt as if there were a weight shoving him down, squeezing his lungs and his limbs.

The rest sped into a blur.

Syl and Ox quickly tied the leather bands around Mark's wrists and ankles, yanking them on tight. Mark's face would've contorted in response to the pain, but he couldn't move it. He couldn't move anything.

In one smooth motion, Prada pulled his hand away, and his glowing markings faded back into his face.

Mark gasped for breath, the pain hitting him at once. His knees shot up, and his arms jerked. The weight was lifted from his body, but his insides felt sick. He felt violated.

"You bastard—" he choked, tugging on the binds. Prada only stared at Mark, his gaze full of remorse. His hands hung at his sides—limp.

Antinstine walked alongside the metal table, taking in a sharp breath through his teeth. He loomed over Mark, fangs pulling at his lip with excitement.

"Comfortable?" he sneered, eyes glinting.

Mark panted and tried swinging at him, but his arm only jerked back. Hard. The binds were too strong.

Antinstine smirked, a laugh pulling from his throat.

"Careful, now!" he mocked. "You'll hurt yourself more doing that."

"You let me go right now," Viper spat, tugging at the binds. His feet kicked and his fists heaved, but all it did was make a commotion. The metal table clanged with every motion, and the buckles on the binds clattered loudly. It only made Antinstine's smirk widen.

"Prada," said Antinstine, never breaking his gaze from Mark. "Come."

Now that Mark was so close to him, he could hear the excited tremble in his breaths. He could see the spastic twitches of his pupils... could feel the utter power radiating off of him.

It was suffocating.

Prada stood on the other side of the table, gazing straight at Antinstine. He didn't seem to be able to look at Mark anymore.

Syl and Ox emerged from behind him, holding another syringe. It was filled with a thick, viscid black; just the sight of it unnerved Mark.

Syl handed the syringe to Prada, and he held it, face withdrawn. His markings began to glow again—softer this time—and the sticky liquid began to move inside. After a moment, his markings faded, and the liquid stilled.

He looked up, nodding at Antinstine and the scientists.

He handed the syringe back to Syl, then put out his arm, pushing back his sleeve.

Mark watched them exchange glances in silence, his heart pounding.

Syl made a motion, and Prada's arm relaxed in the air... Syl leaned forward, and before he inserted the syringe, Ox's scales fluttered. The needle slid into his vein with ease.

Syl pulled back the plunger of the syringe, drawing a few drops of Prada's blood. He pulled the syringe out and shook it lightly, the black color lightening in the slightest.

They didn't bandage Prada's arm; instead, he hovered a hand over his arm for a mere second, then dropped it back down at his side.

Mark swallowed thickly, eyeing the syringe.

Prada lifted his hand, his markings glowed, and he controlled the mixture in the syringe again. It moved much easier this time, his blood finalizing the concoction.

Antinstine's eyes flashed, and he smirked down at Mark, satisfied to find him so confused, so horror-stricken... it was just like he had hoped.

Syl handed the syringe to Ox, and he stepped forward, looming over Mark. He grabbed Mark's hand and carefully pulled, stretching out his arm. Mark's eyes widened.

"Sir," Ox said to Antinstine, the syringe hovering inches above Mark's skin. "Are you sure you don't want me to... you know—take the pain away?"

Antinstine's eyes went half-lidded, and his smirk widened.

"Oh, I'm sure," he breathed, glancing down at Mark. He stared right in his eyes, and Mark couldn't help but shudder. "I want him to feel everything."

Just what was in that syringe?

Ox took a deep breath and sighed. "Alright, sir."

He pressed the syringe against Mark's skin, and he jerked his arm. Ox flinched, looking at Mark, then cowered when Mark began to struggle.

"I'm not letting you do shit," Mark yelled, glaring at Antinstine. He growled when Antinstine's smirk turned into a grin.

"What?" spat Viper, and though he tried to mask his fear as anger, the emotion was obvious in his eyes. "What are you smiling at?"

Antinstine flicked his fingers towards Prada, and within a second, Mark's body pressed into the table against his will. His eyes widened, and Ox was pulling at his arm again. He couldn't move.

He tried struggling—doing anything to avoid that damn syringe—but he could only twitch his fingers at the most.

Mark opened his mouth to try and yell, but nothing came out. Not only did it feel like his body was under a weight—it felt like a hand was around his throat. Strangling him.

Antinstine slid his palm up Mark's torso, pressing it down into his chest. His breaths came out quick... excited.

"There it is again," breathed Antinstine, fingers digging into Mark's chest. "Your heart..."

It took all of Mark's energy to bare his teeth at him.

Ox stuck the syringe in Mark's vein, but this time, it pricked him. His lashes fluttered in surprise, and he forced himself to look at the ceiling.

Oh god... whatever they were injecting into him... it was going to hurt, he thought. Really—really bad...

Prada lifted his hand, freeing Mark from his hold. He gasped for air, but before he could jerk his arm away, Ox injected the serum into his veins.

Mark's gasp curdled into a scream.

He could feel the liquid coursing through his veins—could feel every pump of his heart carrying it around his bloodstream. It was ice cold but white hot—so hot it was cold—so cold—hot—

Mark writhed in the binds, his back arching but falling back into the table. The surface was cold and unforgiving, just as Antinstine planned; it only made the pain worse.

"W—what did you—" Mark screwed his eyes shut and cried out as pain tore through him. "—DO TO ME!"

Antinstine licked his lips, feeling Mark's muscles twitch and spasm beneath his fingers. He bent over, breath fanning over Mark's ear.

"I hadn't planned for the experiments to be this brash, you know," he breathed, lowering his voice.

Mark could barely hear him over the sounds of his own wailing. His body was shaking, every breath shuddering in his aching lungs. He tried so hard to escape—to break the binds—but the serum was so deep in his blood now; escaping wouldn't do anything.

"I was going to hurt you, of course..." continued Antinstine. "Show Dark the damage I'd done..."

He slid his hand up Mark's chest, digging his nails into his neck.

"But... because you've denied me, Viper... I'm going to tear you apart." His eyes flashed. "No one... ever... denies me."

Mark thrashed against the binds for his life, choking against Antinstine's grip.

"F-fuck—you—" Mark gasped, sweat rolling down his face.

Another wave of pain streaked through his body, and he threw his head back, unable to help but cry out. His very blood was attacking him, stabbing at him with poisoned nettles and showing him no mercy. It was like his insides were full of needles, growing and twisting and expanding and burning—burning white hot—so hot—he thought he could burst—

Antinstine pulled his hand away, gazing down at Mark with satisfaction. He glanced over at the scientists, who were eyeing Mark with worry.

"Fill me in," Antinstine ordered, crossing his arms. Syl and Ox jumped, collecting themselves.

"W-well, sir—" said Ox. "His cells are changing at a rapid pace—a... rather dangerous pace, if I do say so m—"

"Think of it as a fast-acting virus," interrupted Syl. Mark continued to thrash and scream as they spoke. "Prada's abilities are... well, the 'virus,' so to speak. Once the process is complete, Viper's genetic makeup will have rebuilt itself entirely and seized the new ability."

Antinstine nodded, glancing at Mark.

"How long will he be like this?" he asked.

The scientists exchanged nervous glances. Syl gulped, turning back to Antinstine.

"Two hours, sir," he said, pushing up his glasses.

Antinstine smirked, leaning his elbows on the table and sneering in Mark's face.

"You hear that, Viper?" he sang. "Two hours until this pain goes away."

Ox nervously cleared his throat, flinching when Mark thrashed in the binds. They clanged against the table loudly.

"That's—that's a lot of stress on the body, sir—" said Ox. "We may have abilities, but—but our bodies still follow human constraints—"

"Human, my ass," spat Antinstine. He straightened himself, gazing at Syl and Ox. "If he passes out, you wake him back up. He will feel every second."

Ox paled, gulping. Syl sent him an understanding glance.

"Very well, sir," said Syl. "We'll take it from here."

Antinstine smirked and shook his head.

"Oh no," he said in a dreamy tone. "I'm staying here."

He glanced over at Prada and Cibil, gently waving a hand in dismissal.

"You two can leave," he said. "Come back by midnight."

Prada stiffly nodded, glancing at Mark before turning and leaving. He didn't wait for Cibil; she simply slid off the chair and followed far behind him, silent.

It would be a long night.

Thank you so much for reading!

Have a wonderful day, and stay safe out there <3

-Kass xoxo