1 Waking Up In The Vatican

I opened my eyes, my mind abuzz with activity unlike anything I'd experienced before. In an instance I knew the temperature of the room, the fact nobody had stayed here for the last two months, that there were no electrical lights within the room--everything was taken in, reviewed and clarified within my mind.

My ears picked up the approaching person before they even got to the door. Their heart rate? Elevated. Their breathing? Somewhat hitched but they were trying to act calm. I could somehow tell their weight from the sound of their footsteps. Even their gender. Which was male.

Every bit of knowledge I'd ever picked up, knowingly or unknowingly was brought to the surface and easily available to me.

It was ironically mind-numbing.

...At least I knew my powers are here. Gained from some sort of eldritch blob, no less. Like something right out of a fanfic.

Regardless of my thoughts, the door opened and showed a man of average height and a slight build. My eyes scanned him over without me needing to consciously command them to and I could see from his attire, stature and hands that he'd never done a hard day's work in his entire life. But I could see calluses around parts of his index and middle finger...he writes a lot. A scholar, maybe? But from his attire it was easy to see he was a man of faith.

Not to mention the fact he had tonsure as well as the rest of his hair being cut in a short bowl cut. Stereotypically like a monk. He looked at me and seemed both shocked and elated at my consciousness as he hurried over to me with the wooden bowel in his hands.

He put it down on the bedside table next to the cot I was in and quickly got to looking over me. It was at that point I noticed I was naked and holding a claymore about five feet long and wider than a normal person's palm. The blade was thick as well. The edge unnaturally sharp, and yet it didn't cut through the skin in contact with it.

"By the Saints, we didn't think you'd ever be awake," the monk started, poking and prodding at me as he spoke, "You've been asleep for a month and yet there's no sign of atrophy nor any of the other afflictions that come with not moving for a month," he pulled out a notepad from his robes, jotting down something in scraggly, messy handwriting. What really caught my attention, however, was the old fashioned ballpoint pen he was using to write.

...That blob wasn't lying when he said I'd be sent back in time, huh? I'm in the 19th century, at least.

Thinking back, I recognized the slight accent to the man's English. European. It sounded British but there was something deeper - Italian, maybe? So I'm in Italy?

"Where am I?" I asked for clarification, my voice raspy and hoarse like it hadn't been used in a long time. A month, to be exact, if what the man said is anything to go by. I sat myself up and set the claymore to the side of me but not so far as to be out of reach. Who knows what place I've found myself in.

The man was brought out of his stupor as he looked away from his notepad and back to me, "Oh, you must excuse me, you're quite the mystery around here," he apologised, putting his pen and notepad away before continuing, "You're in the Vatican City, my friend. Safe, if you were wondering."

I hummed in response, looking down to my hands. Calloused and bigger than in my previous life - it looked like I'd have a life before I came here...and I'd lost those memories. I remember my previous life but not this body's life.

...How annoying.

But I still knew this body was one I could survive in. Even if I was about a century before what I'd consider 'modern' times. This body was enhanced to the peak of human potential by the same super soldier serum Captain America took and them improved upon by the same serum Deathstroke took*. It was the ultimate version of what a human could be.

(*A/n - The way I see it, the SSS Cap took enhances the human body and mind to the max it could be, while the serum Deathstroke took just improves whatever it comes into contact with. So even if the person was like Cap, the serum Deathstroke took would still give them a boost. Even if that's not how it'd work, I'm still gonna have it be like that because this is my fanfic. Creative license and all that.)

"What's your name, monk?" I asked, looking away from my hands and toward the man next to me.

"You can call me Carl - and I'm not a monk yet, just a friar," he corrected me, like it actually mattered and returned the question back on me, "And your name? Do you remember it?"

"Michael," I replied both consciously and on instinct. It made me feel like this body's name was also Michael as well. I tried to think of a last name but came up short, "I've no clue what my surname is, however, so let's just stick to Michael."

The friar nodded, "Michael," he said aloud as if to commit it to memory before he seemed to realize something, "I'll be back in a minute, don't go anywhere!" he said before pivoting and rushing off as quickly as his thick robe could allow him.

Which left me here. Alone.

Sighing, I absentmindedly reached for the claymore to the right of me. The hilt of the sword felt right in my hand, the grip seemingly crafted exactly for my palm and fingers to wrap around. It felt right.

Swinging my legs off the bed, I stood while holding the sheet over my lower body. Leaning the sword up against the bed, I used my now free hand to tie a knot with the sheet and make an impromptu skirt. My new height made it so the thin sheet only reached my ankles anyway, so it was fine. Picking my sword back up, I gave it a few casual swings and I was shocked at the power my arms now seemed to hold.

I was expecting superhuman but expecting and experiencing were two different things.

This sword was longer, wider and thicker than the average claymore, which would mean it would weigh much more compared to the average one as well. Meaning a normal human would need both arms to swing the sword in even a slightly controlled manner.

But me? I couldn't even feel the weight. It felt light. Not only that, it felt natural. The swings came to me by instinct, carving through the air with a slight whistle as the air was slashed apart.

I couldn't stop slashing after I started, letting the swings come to me one by one. Then came the thrusts. The footwork. My mind began going into overdrive as I found new ways to use the sword in effective and deadly ways. It was almost like I was fighting someone that wasn't there, testing which moves were best and most efficient.

A mind enhanced by two super soldier serums is really something, huh?

But it was more than that. Like before, it felt like my body already had this ingrained into it and I was just re-learning it mentally. Before long, I had a deadly bladed dance going on, slashes, hacks and thrusts all merged together into a symphony of sharpness.

I paused the sword an inch away from someone I hadn't even realized was there - I was too enthralled in my practice; a stupid thing to do, I'll admit - and looked to see an utterly terrified Carl with an unimpressed older man behind him. The older man was dressed like someone high up in the Catholic church, with a priest robe of red and a zucchetto of red. Which would make this guy a Cardinal.

Pulling the sword away from the pale friar, I gave him an apologetic smile, "Sorry, Carl. Didn't notice you come in," to which he gave a shaky nod before stepping aside for the Cardinal behind him.

The older man in red walked over to me, no fear on his face as he looked me up and down before he paced around me, "I hear you call yourself Michael," he said, his heavily accented English confirming it was most definitely his second language, "I fear that only confirms my thoughts on why we found you outside our Cathedral. You are a message from God, telling us we're in need of capable warriors," he said just as he came back in front of me where he stopped, "I will admit, even I was unsure of my own thoughts when you lay asleep for a month straight...but now I see you are a warrior, aren't you, Michael?" he asked.

"...I would assume so," I said in reply, unsure whether it was a rhetorical question or not. But I answered nonetheless.

"You have no memory of your life?" he raised his eyebrows at me but didn't seem all too surprised by the implied amnesia. I shook my head and he cursed in Italian before seeming to apologize to the Almighty himself before he looked me dead in the eye despite our height differences, "That leads me to my next question; are you a warrior for good or for evil, Michael?"

I met his gaze and thought about my answer for a little while before answering, "I believe in helping the less fortunate. In banishing those who wish to take advantage of those in need. So, I would say I'm a warrior of good, not evil*."

(*A/n - MC's a good guy, so sorry not sorry for those of you who wanted an anti-hero edgelord who acts like a second-rate villain)

The Cardinal smiled, his serious face giving way to one of joy as he put both hands on my arms before he began chanting something in Latin and finishing it off by drawing a cross across my chest, "I have blessed you, my son. And if helping the less fortunate and banishing evil is what you want, you are welcome to join the Knights of The Holy Order. God did not put you here for no reason, after all."

I wasn't sure what to make of that, but the idea did appeal to me. I was once a firefighter in my past life - it's how I lost my life the first time. Dying in a fire after saving a family of four. I was a religious man as well. Not the type that went over the top and fanatical about the religion they followed while badmouthing all other religions.

But I did believe in God. Even if it wasn't THE God that sent me to this world or gave me my chances of power, I wouldn't mind fighting in His name. And I knew I'd be fighting.

The Knights of The Holy Order. I remember that name. It's from a movie called 'Van Helsing'. The friar from earlier was called Carl - a supporting character from the same movie, if I recall correctly. And with my new enhanced brain, I'd say do recall correctly.

Which means this world is one of a supernatural persuasion. Vampires, Werewolves, freakish science experiments gone right or gone wrong--and that's just what was shown in the movie.

Who knows what else is here. And this place could help prepare me for that.

"As long as it does not go against my values, I would be honoured to fight in His name, Your Eminence," I gave him a nod and his smile only got wider. I could see there was nothing fake about it, that he didn't seem to hold any ulterior motives - it would be better to say I could sense the good intentions in his heart. That having another capable warrior to defend the masses against the supernatural hoard was a joyous and sincere experience for him.

"Wonderful, wonderful," the Cardinal replied before looking down at my sheet-made skirt, "...Let's get you some clothes then, Micheal."

. . .

Six years. Six whole years since I found myself waking up in that room within the Vatican.

And now I was in the thick of it, tracking a certain Mr. Hyde or Dr. Jekyll if he hadn't taken his potion in a while. Which meant I was in Paris. In Paris with my good ol' buddy Van Helsing.

Both of us were looking at a wanted poster of his. Well, it was more like he was looking at it and I was looking over his shoulder. "They still can't get your eyes right, can they?" I joked and got an unamused scoff in return.

"I still can't believe they don't make any posters for you," he said, scrunching up the poster in his hands just in time for the two of us to hear our targets insane laughter alongside the screams of a woman. Inwardly I admonished myself for not thinking about the plot of this movie in such a long time - my memory was powerful and rarely, if ever, forgot anything. But that didn't mean I had access to everything in my head at every minute of every day. I needed to search for it and in my search, the death of that woman escaped my notice.

Van Helsing and I shared a look before we shot off toward where the laughter/scream combo came from. It didn't take long for us to arrive at the poor woman's corpse. I moved my hands, making a cross in front of my chest, saying a prayer mentally for the person I'd failed before turning to the Notre Dame and seeing Mr. Hyde scaling it.

Giving a kick to Van Helsing who was crouched over the corpse and inspecting a larger cigar left near the woman, I got his attention and pointed to where Hyde was.

And then we were back on our wild goose chase.

We made it into the Notre Dame without trouble, a mixture of Van Helsing's experience and my inhuman physical attributes helping up get in. We made our way to the bell tower up top where I knew Hyde was - both because of foreknowledge and the scent he left. The guy stunk of BO and tobacco. Not to mention the bloody stench he gave off.

Walking in, I pulled my sword from it's scabbard and looked to the rafters where I saw the large form of Hyde, "Mr. Hyde, good evening," I said but despite my polite speech, the anger and hatred burning underneath the surface was hard to miss.

Ever since arriving in this world, I'd developed an utter hatred for those who are evil. Probably something to do with what the serums did to me, enhancing certain aspects and whatnot.

But it meant that people like Hyde, who I could sense and knew were evil, made my blood boil.

Van Helsing tipped his hat to the giant man who'd begun hanging from the beam he was on, his muscular arms being about the size of the common man's torso, "You're a pair of big ones, aren't ya?" he spoke, his gritty voice barely hiding a more primal growl behind a thin veil of civility, not to mention the slightly subdued voice because of the cigar in between his teeth, "You'll be hard to digest."

"We'd hate to be such a nuisance," Van Helsing quipped, pulling down his face covering, his breath coming out as a visible vapour. Hyde laughed at that, letting himself fall to the ground and causing the wooden floor below us to shake and groan under his weight.

As he stood to his full height, he continued to rise and rise until he stopped. Van Helsing and I were quite tall being 6'2" and 6'5" respectively but Hyde had us outmatched. He must've been about seven or eight feet tall and his stature was completely filled with thick bands of muscle - apart from his stomach which was quite rotund.

"Mr. Hyde," I started, "You're wanted for the murder of twelve men, six women, four children--" I was cut off from my disgust-filled retelling of Hyde's crimes by the thing himself.

"Three goats, and a rather nasty massacre of poultry!" he said in a tone that sounded somewhat proud, though he still seemed to be sizing us up. He looked to Van Helsing first, "So, you're the great Van Helsing?" he asked before turning to me, "And you must be his partner, the Vatican's Gladius, the Sword of God himself. I thought you'd be bigger," he mocked, crunching down on his still lit cigar and swallowing it whole.

"They want him alive, don't they?" I asked, giving Van Helsing a side glance to which he nodded in reply, causing me to sigh, "Of course they bloody would," I cursed before drawing my sword up quicker than Hyde could react, pulling my free hand along the blade as I said one word, "Ignis."

The edge of the weapon began to glow a fearful orange, the air around it distorted from the heat.

And then I slashed through Hyde's limbs. The wounds didn't even get a chance to bleed, cauterised the second my blade cut through them.

I'd discovered this little ability a few years back. The Latin word for 'Fire'. It heated up the edge of my blade and increased it's cutting power as well. A rather handy power if I do say so myself. "Frigus," I said once more as I traced a finger along the flat of the blade the opposite way this time - from the tip of the blade to where the guard was. The heat didn't hurt me. Probably because I'm it's owner or some other magical voodoo stuff.

"Michael," Van Helsing groaned as Hyde's screamed, the pain finally catching up to him after my cuts.

"What?" I asked in reply, a look of mock innocence on my face as I turned to Van Helsing, "He's alive, is he not?" I gestured to the limbless thing that used to be a man, "Besides, we both know he's better off this way. Now the Order can extract whatever they want from his deranged mind without fear of him escaping and killing more people. It was either this or death, really...even if I did wish I'd inflicted the latter upon him."

I cast a scathing look back to the convulsing Hyde just as Van Helsing placed a hand on my shoulder, "I know, my friend, I know. He reeks of evil. If you hadn't been here, I'd have most likely ended up killing him myself."

"That you would have," I smirked, remembering that he did indeed kill him in the movie.

Hyde began to twist and contort and soon changed back into Dr. Jekyll who passed out very quickly from the pain. Putting my claymore back in it's scabbard, I picked up the unconscious mad scientist, "It's about time we left Paris, no?" I asked my comrade who gave a nod and pulled up his face covering once more.

And from there, we began our journey back to the Vatican and the headquarters of the Order. Then, if everything happens as it should, we'll be off to Romania to deal with a leech problem.