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F/D Chapter 36 - Physician’s Appointment
🕑 Added 2025-12-06 04:30:22 +0000 UTCFate/Defiance
Chapter 36 - Physician’s Appointment
Time continued to pass quickly at the camp, and Icarus worked tediously–practice, practice, study, and then… more practice. During this time, he had begun to devise a ritual, one that would aid him in addressing his greatest weakness.
His feeble mortal coil.
…But, there were issues, many issues.
He couldn’t just brute force this one—not like with his workshop. No, for this ritual he needed data, specialized knowledge, and expertise.
Icarus had already done modifications—many modifications—to himself, and had to address them before going forward with his rudimentary ritual. It was simply too risky not to. Whether that be his Brain-Heart Prometheus ritual, or his workshop conceptual bonds.
He needed Asclepius.
…Even though he honestly dreaded the moment he got help.
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The workshop was cold in the early morning, so he had the automatons raise the sun—instantly warming the room.
Icarus meanwhile, sat shirtless on a low stone bench, breathing steadily while Asclepius worked around him with the grim focus of a surgeon preparing a battlefield amputation.
All-in-all, very dramatic.
“Don’t speak unless I tell you to,” Asclepius muttered.
“I wasn’t going to—”
“You just did.”
Icarus shut his mouth.
“Listen, I’m not even sure how well you can control yourself.”
Icarus was alarmed, a question already beginning to leave his lips.
But, Asclepius beat him to it, “—Have you noticed your emotions out of order? Maybe, you’ve been more impulsive, or irritable?”
Icarus paused, “...I’m not sure, maybe? I have felt a little unlike myself… maybe childish?”
“You are a child.” Asclepius replied blankly.
Icarus scoffed, “You know what I mean.”
Asclepius placed his hands on Icarus’ temples and closed his eyes, “…Your pulse is wrong.”
“That’s not a very comforting opening remark,” Icarus said.
Asclepius ignored him. His brows furrowed deeper and deeper as he moved his hand to Icarus’ neck, then chest, “The rhythm of your Vital Heat is inconsistent. It rises and falls out of sync with your breath cycles. Your blood is moving faster than it should. And—” He pressed a palm to Icarus’ sternum, “—your heart is generating more Vital Heat than its size should allow.”
Icarus froze.
Asclepius opened his eyes slowly, expression cold and sharp.
“I thought it was just your humors out of balance… but this—this is something much more, what did you do to yourself?”
A chill ran down Icarus’ spine. Asclepius wasn’t angry—he was focused—staring at him like some kind of exotic animal that strapped itself to his dissection table.
“…I experimented with something,” Icarus said hesitantly, carefully.
“No.” Asclepius shook his head. “This is not the result of ‘something.’ This is the result of several somethings you should never have done.”
He grabbed a clay tablet and scribbled furiously.
“Your brain… It's running hot. As if it’s converting Vital Heat alongside the heart. That is impossible. The brain does not generate heat—its function is to cool blood. And yet—” He glared, “It is behaving like a second heart.”
Icarus swallowed.
Asclepius wasn’t done.
“And your heart… the pulse there is not just Vital Heat. It’s carrying something else. A conceptual imprint, one also tied to your brain? As if you tied pieces of your identity to them.”
Silence.
Icarus looked down at his hands.
“Is it dangerous?” he asked quietly.
Asclepius sat back, eyes still drilling into him.
“For anyone else? Yes. For you… I don’t know yet.”
He tapped the tablet.
“But it changes everything.”
Icarus looked up. “How so?”
Asclepius straightened, becoming the teacher.
“You are no longer a normal patient. Your humors don’t circulate normally. Your Vital Heat doesn’t behave consistently. Your soul-expression is not anchored in a single organ anymore.”
He circled the liver, heart, brain, and spleen symbols on the tablet.
“You’ve created a contradiction inside your own body—possibly on purpose—and it means the standard humoral-balancing rituals will not work.”
Icarus blinked. “Won’t… work?”
“Not as I know them—not as we, have been taught them.” Asclepius crossed his arms. “Your blood circulation is influenced by two centers. Yellow bile production will react to emotional states in unpredictable ways. Black bile will accumulate differently depending on whether your ‘dominant’ seat of mind is the heart or brain that day. And phlegm—” He pointed accusingly, “—your phlegm cycle is fluctuating according to your cognitive load, and I hate that I even have to say that sentence!”
Icarus winced.
Asclepius let out a long, exhausted sigh.
“You’ve created a dual-mind system without knowing its implications. I know you explained your upcoming ritual, and while not without merit… this changes things. Your plans for the ritual must be rewritten from the ground up.”
He turned away, pacing while muttering frantically, “...Your blood-phase will need additional circulation exercises because your heart is overproducing heat. Your bile-phase will require emotional calibration since your mind splits its responses. Your black-bile-phase must address two possible sites of melancholic stagnation. Your phlegm-phase must stabilize both mental and respiratory clarity, not just one.”
He spun back toward Icarus.
“And the final Styx ritual? If you undergo that without adapting the preparation to this… this anomaly…” His voice dropped, “...You could permanently anchor the wrong part of your identity.”
Icarus felt a bead of sweat.
“…What does that mean?” he whispered.
“It means,” Asclepius said, stepping close, “That if the Styx ritual locks your ‘boundary of self’ while your mind is split, you could lose the ability to distinguish instinct from thought, emotion from calculation, heart from intellect.”
He tapped Icarus’s chest.
“You could become permanently divided.”
“...And if we fix the ritual?” Icarus questioned hesitantly.
“Then you become stable,” Asclepius said. “More than stable. You might become something… uniquely resistant to dissolution.”
Icarus blinked.
“…So you’re saying my screw-up might help?”
“No,” Asclepius snapped… then, after a moment, “…But, maybe.”
Relief flooded Icarus.
Asclepius narrowed his eyes.
“This does not mean you are forgiven. Whatever you did—”
“It was a spell,” Icarus admitted quietly. “A complicated one.”
Asclepius inhaled sharply. “Of course it was.”
“And it—kind of—involved my identity.”
“OF COURSE IT DID—I noticed!”
Icarus tried not to laugh, Asclepius was always so stoic—it was honestly refreshing to see him like this… even if it was at his own cost.
Asclepius forced himself to breathe, “…We’ll adapt. The ritual will still take a year, but the structure changes… we must rebalance your humors and your dual-seat mind. The weekly check-ups will be mandatory. No skipping.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“You would. You absolutely would. And you will not.”
He pointed a finger at Icarus, expression deadly serious.
“You already rewrote the map of your body once. If you do not stabilize yourself before touching your false Styx… that river will not strengthen you.”
He leaned closer.
“It will erase you.”
Icarus felt his heartbeat thud—both in his chest, and faintly under his skull. “…Okay,” He said softly, eager to move on, “Then let’s begin. We’re going to have to rebuild this ritual from the ground up, help me refine it and make a new version.”
Asclepius sat down, new determination settling over him, “...You’re lucky the previous data you sent me was inspiring… not to mention the effects of what this could do to you.”
Then, he looked over to Icarus with an intrigued glance, “I really wonder what’s going on in your mind—I’ve never met anyone who has so many… fascinating issues. Which is no small feat—I only know demigods and royalty. Yet, you have… out troubled them all.”
Asclepius slowly tilted his head, “It is rather frightening,” Then he glanced to the side, as if embarrassed, “But… I suppose it isn’t without merit, it is… rather inspiring to have someone like you to work with, and I refuse to let you die because you can’t sit still.”
Icarus glanced up briefly, eyes softening for just a moment.
“Thank you.”
Asclepius clicked his tongue, embarrassed, “Don’t thank me yet. This is going to be torturous.”
Asclepius dipped a slender reed into a bowl of diluted blood, then drew faint lines across Icarus’ chest following the flow of major blood vessels. The lines weren’t magical on their own—the magic was in how they shaped Icarus’ attention and breath.
“Thankfully, we don’t need much changes for the blood-phase.” Asclepius said. “And because you’ve performed a… brain-heart conceptual merger, your prior ritual has already mostly compensated for you. Although, your circulation is reacting in ways I’ve never observed.”
“Is that good or—”
“Don’t talk.”
Icarus pouted.
Asclepius continued working, circling the reed around Icarus’ sternum.
“Your heart and brain are both generating two rhythmic patterns,” he explained. “One from the physical organ, and another from the metaphysical seats of thought you’ve implanted into them.”
He pressed two fingers to Icarus’ neck.
“Your pulse rises and falls twice per cycle.”
Icarus blinked, “…I hadn’t noticed.”
“That’s the problem,” Asclepius sighed. “Your body adapted without telling you. Now you must learn to control it—control them.”
He stepped back.
“Begin the breathwork.”
Icarus inhaled deeply, in a pattern Chiron taught them.
He visualized the way Vital Heat flowed, from the heart, to the arteries, and then the limbs and brain. He tried to synchronize both “heartbeats,” the physical and the conceptual.
It was like trying to line up two shadows cast by different torches.
His chest suddenly tightened.
“Stop,” Asclepius said sharply.
Icarus exhaled, shaky.
The healer frowned. “Your brain’s heat production is rising too quickly. It’s trying to match the heart’s rhythm instead of coordinating with it.”
“Is that bad?”
“It means you’ll pass out within minutes if you push it. Again.”
Icarus tried again, with rising slow breaths, he focused on the warmth flowing in his vein—aligning them with his respiratory rhythms. Suddenly, his vision sharpened abruptly.
His heartbeat thudded in his skull, and his blood pulsed like it was two different rivers trying to flow in the same channel.
“Stop.”
Icarus exhaled hard, sweat dripping down his temple.
Asclepius pressed a hand to his shoulder, “You’re fighting yourself.“
“How do I stop?”
“You don’t,” He picked up the bowl of water infused with spring herbs, “You redirect it.”
Asclepius poured a thin stream over Icarus’ forearm. The water flowed along the lines drawn on his skin, running in two branching paths—one straight, one spiraling.
“Your body is trying to follow two patterns at once,” he said. “So your task is not to force them to match. Your task is to choose which one leads.”
Icarus froze.
He hadn’t considered that.
“Try again,” Asclepius said quietly. “But this time, direct one rhythm to guide the other. Don’t merge them. Don’t equalize them. Put one in command—one as your mind’s true seat.”
Icarus inhaled.
He felt two pulses beneath his skin, two senses of self.
“The heart or the brain, it’s up to you to pick which one to prioritize—although, I couldn’t see why you would focus on a blood cooling organ…”
Heart… or, brain? Icarus paused for a moment.
Which should he choose? The heart seemed correct, in this era it was where the mind was—even Asclepius dismissed the thought of choosing the brain.
…But, he wasn’t from this era. He knew how important the brain was! Regardless of mystery—or, the way things were now, he refused to believe the brain just cooled blood!
Icarus trusted his gut, and so… he chose.
He pushed his mental rhythm upward, letting the heart’s conceptual beat fall into step behind the physical brain.
The result was immediate.
His chest loosened, his veins warmed, soon enough… his breath synchronized.
And for the first time since performing the Prometheus ritual… his blood felt like it moved correctly. He never even noticed.
Asclepius’ eyes widened slightly.
“Well,” he murmured. “Look at that. It actually works.”
Icarus grinned—but didn’t break the rhythm.
Asclepius stepped behind him, checking his back, shoulders, and pulse.
“Your blood quality is stabilizing,” he said. “Vital Heat is circulating properly. And your brain isn’t overheating.”
He paused.
“And your Vital Heat’s flow… it’s smoother.”
Icarus blinked. “It is?”
“Yes,” Asclepius said, almost annoyed. “Apparently giving your brain conceptual authority over your heart reduces magical turbulence. How irritating—yet, intriguing. Why are they so strangely compatible? This should be eroding your emotional control and burning your vital pathways raw within hours.”
“Oh.”
“Indeed.”
Asclepius circled back around him, stylus tapping repeatedly against his palm—a sure sign he was thinking very, very hard, which wasn’t good for Icarus’ nerves.
“Your entire circulatory system is reorganizing in real time,” Asclepius muttered. “This is not normal. This is not anything. This is—” he gestured vaguely, “—you.”
“Is that… good?”
“It’s terrifying,” he answered honestly, kneeling to check the lines on Icarus’ ribs. “Because if your body is capable of adapting to two contradictory command structures without immediate collapse, then in theory—in theory—it may also increase your chances of withstanding the ritual’s conceptual pressure without shredding your identity.”
“…That sounded like a compliment.”
“It is in a way.”
He then pressed two fingers against the inside of Icarus’ wrist and hummed low.
“Fascinating… your blood obeys whichever mind is leading, but your other humors don’t shift with it. They remain… stable. Almost suspiciously stable.”
“Suspiciously?” Icarus echoed.
“Stable beyond reason,” Asclepius corrected. “Beyond what should be possible for a mortal. Even a demigod. Maybe it's your ego, or your conceptual dualism, or—for all I know—the absurd structure of your brain decides to simply work.”
“That’s fair.”
Wow, it’s almost like his brain was better suited for controlling emotions and bodily functions…
But, he wasn’t going to say anything.
“No wonder you attempted something this reckless… with a second mind, the benefits must have seemed irresistible.” Asclepius stood again, rubbing his chin with the end of his stylus, “…This may actually work.”
Icarus looked up. “The ritual?”
“Yes. All of it.” The corner of Asclepius’ mouth twitched.
He then reached for the bowl again, dipping his fingers into the last of the spring-infused water. With a surprisingly gentle touch and a subtle glow, he flicked droplets onto Icarus’ shoulders and chest.
“This seals the blood-phase for today,” he said. “Tomorrow, your heart and brain will resist you. They will compete, at any moment they could switch dominance without warning.”
“That sounds awful.”
“It will be,” Asclepius said cheerfully.
Then his voice lowered.
“If you lose control of either rhythm—if your heart tries to lead when your brain is supposed to—your humors will destabilize, your dual-mind structure will desynchronize, and you will vomit blood.”
“…Oh.”
Asclepius smirked—just slightly.
“That is the polite version. The impolite version involves seizures, temporary emotional inversion, fainting, or sudden philosophical despair.”
Icarus frowned. “Philosophical despair?”
“Yes,” Asclepius said, unbothered. “Imagine being so internally misaligned that you feel an existential crisis in your liver.”
“…Doesn’t sound very fun.”
“That is why you will train,” Asclepius said sharply. “Every morning until spring ends, you will repeat this alignment exercise. Every afternoon, I will test your humors. Every evening, you will meditate on controlling the mind which leads.”
Icarus groaned.
“You are attempting to prepare your body for a ritual that mimics the Styx. The Styx, Icarus. The river that erases identities and devours contradictions.”
He leaned close.
“You cannot approach it as you are. But with this… structure… this aberrant dual-seat mind of yours…”
He straightened, eyes gleaming with scientific hunger.
“…Perhaps you can become something that even the Styx cannot swallow. By the time it’s over, not only will you improve your emotional imbalance, but reap many potential benefits as well.”
Icarus felt a shiver—not fear, but anticipation.
“…That’s the goal,” he admitted.
“I know,” Asclepius said quietly. “That is why I am helping you… this is something special, and until the ritual is complete,” Asclepius finished, “I will keep reminding you—painfully, if necessary.”
“Painfully?”
“Yes,” Asclepius said. “Because if you skip one adjustment, your humors will destabilize, your dual-mind structure will desynchronize, and—”
“—Yes, yes,” Icarus snarked, “vomit blood, existential crisis in the liver, emotional inversion, brains leaking sadness, edgy music in my ears, I got it.”
Asclepius paused.
“…I didn’t mention half of those.”
“I inferred.”
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Author’s Notes
Not too confident in this one, please tell me if I did alright!
This chapter was to give a main character interaction with Asclepius, as well as an explanation for Icarus’ recent characterization!
Also, hints for the next power boost! …You can probably make some guesses.
Comments
Deathknight134
Imagine if he got Ladon's heart and blood. :v
IgnisPrimus
Seeing as how he is in the middle of the Age of Gods, and Phantasmal Species are everywhere. He can easily get Hercules to team up against a "weak" dragon when they are a bit older, and use its heart and blood to make a ritual with Chiron and Asclepius's help to get a stronger body that can maybe rival some of the stronger Demi-Gods. Or at least that is one way to get stronger
Kurupt
Look fine to me, I’m loving how you gave more details on Icarus transformation and his plans to strengthen his body. Also I’m curious on Athena’s reaction to what Icarus has been doing, since I know for sure she’s watching him closely
