Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months. Months into years.
Deven had been tortured, experimented on—subjected to everything imaginable. Over time, it broke him. His surroundings began to feel numb, like the world itself had dulled. Emotions faded into static. Even the other monsters, once terrifying, now stirred pity in him.
Five years.
That's how long he'd been trapped in this place. Five years of pain and silence. No escape. No hope. But today… today, something would change.
Deven sat in the corner of his cell, knees pulled tight to his chest, eyes closed as though asleep. But in his mind, he was somewhere else—a dream, maybe, or something deeper. Darkness surrounded him. Before him stood the figures again—those same people he'd seen a thousand times in his visions. Their eyes stared through him, lifeless and judging.
He had seen through all of them. Lived their final moments. Some had died naturally, others torn apart by monsters. One face in particular haunted him: his own. A version of him, twisted and violent, slaughtering them without mercy.
As he stared, a strange energy pulled at him from the right.
He turned.
Two white dots blinked back from the shadows—eyes, deep in the abyss. They watched him without blinking, without breathing. Intrigued, Deven stepped toward them. The closer he got, the more human the shape became—vaguely outlined, yet shifting like smoke.
Then, a voice spoke. Quiet, yet deafening. Soft, yet inescapable. A voice of loud silence.
"Your cry for help echoes—loud to some, silent to others. If such a soul desires freedom, then it is only fair I offer you power."
A shadowy hand extended toward him, palm open.
"Take my strength. My power. My wisdom. My darkness. With it, you can cast down those who ridiculed you. Those who treated you like you didn't belong in this world."
The voice grew louder, harsher, more commanding.
"Embrace the darkness in your heart—and become something more."
Deven hesitated.
He knew what this meant. Taking that hand would mean surrendering what little humanity he had left. What little good remained in him. But then he remembered the bullying. The humiliation. The years of weakness. Of being helpless.
In this world, the weak were discarded. Only the strong survived. That old world of equality was gone.
He clenched his fists, eyes narrowing.
Then he reached forward—and took the hand.
It melted into him like ink on paper, crawling across his skin, into his veins, burning through his chest. A rush of pain, energy, and raw power surged through his body. He arched back and screamed—but no sound came out.
Only silence answered.
And within that silence, something was born.
After a while, Deven awoke from his sleep and slowly stood up. Without hesitation, he reached up, grabbed the collar fastened tightly around his neck—and snapped it off like it was nothing. The broken metal clattered to the ground.
A guard, startled by the sound, turned around. His eyes locked onto Deven, who stood calmly, holding the broken collar in his hand.
The guard narrowed his eyes and opened the cell door, stepping inside cautiously. He raised his radio and spoke into it.
"Can I get another person to come do—"
His sentence was cut short.
His head fell cleanly from his shoulders before he could finish. It hit the floor with a dull thud and rolled to Deven's feet. The body collapsed behind it.
Deven stood over the corpse—older, stronger, and far more terrifying than before.
From the radio, a voice crackled in.
"Hey, what did you need down there?"
Deven picked up the severed head. His jaw stretched unnaturally wide, revealing rows of jagged, predatory teeth. Without hesitation, he devoured the head whole. The wet crunch of bone and sinew echoed in the cell.
"You still there? What's going on?"
Deven grabbed the radio. Blood dripped from his lips as he mimicked the dead guard's voice perfectly.
"Everything's fine down here. No need to send anyone—he hasn't tried anything."
A pause.
"Tch, lazy bastard," the voice muttered, followed by static as the line went dead.
Deven crushed the radio in his hand and looked down at the headless corpse. He crouched over it and began tearing into the flesh, ripping muscle from bone, devouring every piece of the man who once kept watch over him. The sounds were grotesque—sickening cracks, tearing flesh, splattering blood.
When he was done, there was nothing left.
He stood tall, his form shifting—his body morphing into that of the dead guard. Green eyes, ginger hair, standard uniform. The name tag read: Alex.
Deven—now Alex—walked down the corridor with quiet purpose. Other guards passed him, offering nods or ignoring him entirely. None suspected a thing.
Eventually, he arrived at the door to the electricity room.
A lone guard stood outside and frowned when he saw him.
"What are you doing here, Alex? This area's off-limits."
Alex tilted his head slightly, keeping his voice steady.
"A higher-up sent me. Said I'm supposed to cover your post—they're running tests on that... thing."
The guard shrugged.
"Ugh, whatever. I'll grab some lunch then. Just make sure nothing screws up."
Alex gave him a reassuring smile.
"Don't worry. I've been here three years. I've got this."
"Yeah, true. Later."
The guard walked away, leaving Deven alone.
He waited a moment before slipping into the electricity room. The door clicked shut behind him.
His form melted back into his true self—black eyes, pale skin, a quiet rage boiling beneath his surface. He turned to face the power grid.
His left arm morphed grotesquely, transforming into a long, clawed appendage. Black and jagged like obsidian, with elongated fingers that pulsed with dark energy.
Without hesitation, he plunged it into the heart of the system.
Sparks flew. Metal shrieked. Everything went dark.
Chaos erupted outside—shouting, footsteps, alarms that failed to sound. Power across the facility failed in an instant.
Deven turned to face the door, now just a silhouette in the flickering emergency lights.
And for the first time in five years, he spoke—his voice a low growl, steady and cold.
"Eye for an eye. Tooth for a tooth."