Deep underground, in a sealed lab lit by dull red lights, Skeroth worked in silence.
Metal trays clinked as he moved instruments.
A dissected human lay on the table before him—its chest cut open, bones cracked.
To his side, the corpse of a beastkin mutant, twisted and massive, rested on another slab.
Skeroth carefully inserted a syringe into the subject's spinal cord.
He pressed the plunger. The serum inside glowed blue.
He leaned in, watching veins twitch faintly. His red mechanical eye clicked.
"Partial response," he murmured. "Nerve reaction… improving."
Across the room, Yural scribbled notes rapidly, muttering to himself.
"Damage layer three… collapse rate slower… muscle tension good…"
Then, Skeroth paused.
His injector hand froze mid-air. He turned slightly, eyes narrowing.
Yural looked up. "Doctor Skeroth? Something wrong?"
Skeroth didn't move.
"…I felt something," he said. "A change."
Yural tilted his head, blinking. "Change? What kind?"
