"Lux, it's almost time for breakfast!"
Traversing the swaying leaves of early autumn, a streak of gold wanders through the natural labyrinth the dense forest presents before her. Her voice rang a melody riding the morning breeze as the sound of the gushing waterfall grew louder with every step. The moist ground dampened her trail, navigating the rough path she had grown accustomed to over the years.
Every morning since the young lord had become old enough to do so, she found herself tracing the same route— to pick up her reckless brother who had gone to the depths of the wild to train himself beyond the absolute limits, break them, and the ones after that.
"He's not responding…" She muttered.
"Maybe I'm too soon? There's still some time before our agreed time, but I hope he didn't get too immersed in it again."
From the day the twins were warmly taken in by the benevolent Duke, their lives changed drastically. What once existed, chained to deceitful tradition, now had color.
They had purpose.
They've dedicated their every waking moment to the service of the House Zancrest, resigned themselves on the name of their Lords, and accepted their roles behind their blinding light.
But unlike those who came before them— they chose this destiny.
A devotion they had once cursed— resented.
To serve the Dukedom.
To become its most trusted vassals.
To be the sword that cuts down its enemies.
The pen to write their visions into reality, and should it become necessary…
The conscious shield to preserve its bloodline for generations and eternity to come.
To become tools, not people.
This was their tradition. Their fate was dictated before they could even learn to speak.
It had been so for centuries, and, by the absolute decree of the forefathers, it would remain so until their lineage faded into obscurity, swallowed by the unforgiving march of time.
To offer oneself bare for the sake of their Lords.
To live and perish on their servitude.
That is what it meant to be born a Shrift.
For the longest time since they'd gained consciousness, they had loathed their lineage.
Why were they condemned into being mere slaves? Why were they forced to bow down— drag their heads at the level of the feet of arrogant nobles who wouldn't spare them even a glance, let alone acknowledge their sufferings!?
Why should they abide by this lunacy?
The [Shrift]s. Obedient lapdogs of those ashen fiends, stripped of their individuality— no, they are fools who willingly denied their personality over worthless commands, their very existence dictated by the whims of another.
To the twins, they were nothing short of deranged— enslaved by their hollow, blind, and twisted notion of [loyalty].
Gill, especially, had grown to despise this reality.
She cursed their parents. She hated the elders who sought to mold her into a mindless puppet. She raged against the fate imposed upon her, rebelled in every little way she could. And in doing so, Silk, too, was swept into her defiance.
And they were not alone.
Many minds among the branch house shared their sentiment, quietly fanning the smoldering embers that wished to sever the chains weighing heavily upon their shoulders. The twins became their symbol of hope— the brilliant figureheads of a revolution that sought to shatter the tyrannical commandments binding them.
They were meant to be the saviors.
They were meant to break the cycle.
They were meant to unbind their shackles.
That was, until—
"Lux~ We have to wrap up soon or we'll be la—"
An abrupt silence cuts her voice.
The endless cries of crickets stopped, as did the chirping of the birds, the soft rustling of the wind against the flailing branches— everything stilled.
The serene breeze swirling through the forest gone, replaced by a suffocating air dense enough to be seen as though phantom blades rose from their sheaths threatening to slit the throat of those who dare approach any closer.
A cognitive reaction triggered by the overwhelming threat of another existence much more powerful than oneself— Fear.
This is how she knew she was on the right path.
"Still in the middle of meditation, I see. I shouldn't come to bother him, then."
Beyond the final bend, the trees parted as though bowing in reverence to reveal a wide clearing encircling a glassy lagoon— a place of transition where the water from atop the mountains meets the leveled ground. Its transparent surface veiled by a sparkling mist led light to its deepest areas— every single ripple that echoes its clear face, every bubble that forms and pops, all of the creatures residing under its fluid cage.
A serene image of nature. Undisrupted. Flowing.
It was there, at the ravenous basin of the falls, that she found him.
Soaked, exposed to the unrelenting surge running at a pressure that could easily shatter rocks, a boy was stood still— composed, balanced. One foot precariously still atop a sharpened spire, the other crossed behind it. His hands pressed against each other like the seal of an ancient relic, posture straight, muscles free of tension and strain as boulders hang loose, chained to his arms.
For anyone witnessing this sight, it would seem like torture. However, this is but a part of the rigorous regimen the young master had constructed himself.
A harsh, potentially deadly, drill designed to hone one's strength, endurance, and balance at once, as efficiently as could be.
That is half of the reasoning behind it, at least.
The other lies in mana control.
"This sight never ceases to amaze me no matter how many times I see it."
With his underdeveloped body, Lux quickly realized the dangers of his proposed method. As it was, it had already been deemed at a level where only the Duke himself could plausibly execute it without the risk of death. And that was only due to their father's superhuman stature.
It was simply impossible for a child to undergo such taxing activities. And so, being the rebellious toddler that he was, Lux concocted a countermeasure that got him punished for weeks.
[By generating a barrier around the body, it would alleviate the pulverizing stress caused by the falling water.]— This modification would not only serve as a great physical exercise, but the constant need to reinforce the barrier will emphasize the person's mana circuits as well, forcing them to develop.
On paper, it seems efficient and effective— and in practice, it actually is. However, the bizarre intensity of it is theorized— fatal.
For one, complete barriers are only possible through light magic.
For majority of the populace who are dark magic users, the process of creating a mimic of this protective shell is more consuming, and generally not as effective as the real ones.
Physical exertion aside, mana exhaustion could, and has, caused countless deaths, even among mages who've dedicated their lives expanding their mana capacity— which is exactly the progress route this training is promoting.
It would be foolishly suicidal for anyone, much less a child, to even try such a stunt… or so the Duke thought. But unbeknownst to him, by the time he was reading the note where all of this was reported, his daredevil of a son had already ventured out to put his concept to the test.
"Fufu~ That sure caused quite a ruckus back then…" Silk couldn't help but chuckle, reminiscing that time.
"The Lord was fuming from his ears as he gathered the knights and clerics to follow Lux."
How worried they were, how the Duke had erupted like a volcano, yet pale like a crystal, fearing for the worst… and how that anxiety soon turned into sheer astonishment after witnessing the young lords seemingly floating within the waterfall's basin, performing exactly as he wrote in that letter.
"He could only last for five minutes at that time before collapsing, but now… he's able to maintain that mindbogglingly cruel stance for hours on end without needing a break." She mumbled in awe.
"He even added spikes on top of that— just how deadly is he going to make this be? …What's next? He's going to do it upside down?"
…
Which is why it's such a shock to see a person like that come home with those kinds of injuries…
As Silk travelled further, her thoughts were interrupted by an unexpected figure at the edge of her periphery.
Clad in heavy armor weighing half a ton, arms crossed contemplatively, only his ruffled gray beard was visible under his unfastened helmet. And to her surprise, the man seemed like he was hovering— somewhat unstable, but nonetheless, stood above the surface.
"Lord Zancrest?" She called out curiously.
As his trusted aide, she was informed personally that the Duke had a prior appointment to attend to this day, but she didn't expect to see him here, of all places.
If it is training he is doing, he usually does it alone in the open fields of the estate. So why now?
"Hm? Who goes there?" A deep voice answered, gentle like a passing breeze.
"Ah… Silk, is it? I see. It must be about time for breakfast to be ready."
"Yes, I've come to inform Lux."
She nodded, adjusting the wooden staff in her hands adorned with a glimmering sapphire gem gleaming at its very tip.
"Though, it seems I'll have to wait a little longer…" Silk shifted her weight, eyes curious.
"Umm, was the Lord also here to train?"
"Also? Then, I take it that's your purpose as well? Haha~ Has Lux roped you into his madness?" The Duke inquired. Though his concentrated gaze remained fixed on his feet.
Silk nodded.
"Actually, I was encouraged by Lux to start training, too." She admitted shyly.
"I do not understand his perspective— and it seemed like nothing but a lucid dream— but, he told me that I have the potential to become a prolific mage in the future."
The Duke blinked, letting out a hearty chuckle.
"Then, that is no mere suggestion— that is a declaration."
"D-Declaration?" Silk echoed, confused.
"Lux is a prodigy unlike any other. His insights are always groundbreaking, and to this day, not one has been proven false." A small, knowing smile tugged at the Duke's lips.
"He doesn't make empty claims. If he saw something within you worthy of such praise, then consider it not just as encouragement, but prophecy of a probable destiny… Although I do believe the former is his main reason."
Silk's fingers tightened around her staff— the weight of his words sinking in her mind.
A mage? One of such great stature that even Lux seemed in awe. The mere thought felt like wishful delusion, like a distant ideal— a dream she had seen, but had hidden beneath her duties.
However… if the possibility is there…
"If that is true…" Silk mumbled.
"If I can be a mage you can be proud of… I will work as hard as I can to meet your expectations, Lord Zancrest— no… Dearest Father!"
"Un-unn~ That's music to my ears."
The voice came from the water beneath them— Lux, floating idly by their feet like a dead cicada.
"Wha—! Lux!?" Silk let out a startled shriek. Her magic almost crumbled, which would've plunged her into the lake.
"Why are you— H-How long have you been listening in…?"
"Just now." He said as though he didn't intend to drop them in the water by disrupting their focus.
"I just happened to see you talking with Father. You had quite the serious expression, so I thought I'd surprise you a bit."
"Show off…" Silk huffed under her breath, cheeks puffed and slightly pink.
"Oh, and Father." He turned to the Duke, clasping his hands like a proud teacher.
"I see that you can easily maintain afloat with your full armor now. Your mana has also grown stable, that's quite the impressive progress in this short time frame."
"Humu~ It is still quite taxing, but I'm managing to do it quite smoothly, unlike before." The Duke exclaimed, placing a fist in his chest.
"Yes, I see that. Perhaps, it might be time for Father to train with real magic soon."
"Oh! Already!?"
The Duke's eyes lit up like a little child.
"Hearing that makes my blood pump harder!" He said, flexing his muscles.
"To think that someone berated for having no talent in magic like me could learn it this quickly, it's still baffling to think about."
"Ahaha~ With this, you won't feel left out during the four pillars' council anymore."
"KAHAHA! Indeed! Now, those senile geezers will finally have nothing to say anymore!"
"Just imagining the fear in our enemies' faces when the Iron fist of the [Ashen Ogre] suddenly burst into flames— I already know it would be quite the glorious spectacle."
"[Louis of the Smoldering Fist]— Yeah, I like that! That's not too bad of a title, don't you two think as well!?" The Duke proclaimed with pride.
"It would be very fitting for Lord Zancrest's tremendous power." Silk chimed with a smile.
"KAHAHAH!!! Isn't that right? That threat should bring more security to our region! It'd certainly be a valuable asset in the future!"
They laughed, sharing conjoined aspirations for a brighter, and… a little more exciting future.
"By the way, Lux…"
"Yes, Father?"
"How long are you going to be loitering around there for?" The Duke's said, cocking an eyebrow.
His eyes shifted towards his second son, calm as ever, composed, and nonchalant, slowly drifting away like a weightless leaf as the ripples in the pond dictate his course.
"Please stop with that phrasing."
Lux sighed with a lazy smirk.
"Despite how it may look, it takes immense mana control to do this, Father." He raised a correcting finger, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Replicating nature's unblemished flow through artificial means is, dare I say, the most difficult task I've done to train. It's a deceptively simple concept that will to be prove quite the maddening drill for anyone, even those with excellent mana control."
"Hm? Is that true...?"
The Duke questioned, skepticism in his mind. He peeked a glance towards Silk, but she seemed to be just as clueless as he was.
"Feel free to test it yourself."
His son, despite being earnest and disciplined, has an unexpected naughty side.
He is no stranger to playing pranks and the Duke thought that this might be just one of them. And as such, he decided to do as Lux said and tried, however, to his utter bewilderment, it was completely true— he reflected on this thought as he sank to the bottom of the lake like a ship with its guts busted open.
"L-Lord Zancrest!" Silk cried out, panicking as she watched her Lord sink further and further.
Wielding her staff, she pointed at the surface, accumulating her mana in the gem of her tool, summoning columns of water to hoist the fallen Duke from the cold embrace of the lagoon.
She washed him onto the shore where he lay motionless, drenched from helm to boot, gaze fixated on the skies.
"Are you hurt anywhere, Father?"
Lux's amused voice rang in his ear with the widest grin, conveying the words "I told you so.", looking down on the Duke's puzzled face as he funnels out the excess water inside his armor.
In contrast, his son's clothes were as dry as it was before he went training— possibly drier as though they had been left under the blazing sun. Not a single drop, not a stain, despite spending hours upon hours meditating under that waterfall.
A masterful execution.
"No, I'm fine…" The Duke sheepishly said.
"I'll have to try that again later." He proclaimed with excitement.
"Lux, teach me the trick to it later. That was quite the intriguing experience. I want to execute it properly next time."
The older man gave a satisfied grunt, then clapped his hands. He stood back up his feet, leading the way to their manor with the usual energy he carries himself with.
"Let's go home for now. Doing all that meditation made me hungry!"
Hearing his words, the kids exchanged knowing glances, sharing a smile as they walked closely behind him.
"Yes, Father." They replied in perfect unison.
Having returned from their morning venture, the trio was warmly welcomed by the residents of the manor. The Duke, without a word, made his way to his quarters, disappearing down the corridor with clinking steps, to change into a more fitting attire and tend to his drenched armor. The younger ones, less encumbered, headed for the dining hall without much worry.
Passing by the outside halls, they caught two figures by the courtyard garden. The awoken sunlight glinted off the golden trims of their black and white uniforms.
Liam and Gill, posture too practiced for leisure, clearly on formal duty.
Luxion spared them a glance, deciding not to interfere with their work— that is, until he saw the young man with blue hair standing before them.
Equipped with a dark vest underneath a darker cloak that made him seem like a grim reaper amidst the flower field, various enchanted items hang at his waist like a novice overthinking his first appointment.
And yet, despite that impression, he proudly wore a red armband bearing the insignia of the [Lotus]— a mark only granted to elites.
A mark shared by the black folder nestled ominously in his hands, looking suspiciously confidential if that augmented wax seal is anything to go by.
An urgent report directly from the director…?
And that scarlet ring— the rip-off ring of the [takatsuki]… that guy's from the secret corps.
"We have yet to identify their motives." The man reported, his voice stern, trying to be loyal to his professional look, yet failing miserably.
"However, judging from the traces found in the scene of the crime, we believe this incident is likely done by the same culprit."
"What about the victims?" Gill inquired sharply.
In response, the man uttered no words, simply shaking his head slowly.
"Very well. Keep investigating this matter." Liam commanded, a hint of contempt evident in his deepened tone.
"Consult the court mages if needed. Tell Rein to reevaluate the status results from a few days prior and monitor every changes, down to the smallest variable, within the designated scope."
Court mages… that's a bold move.
"Report any progress to me immediately."
In a world where magic is weighed more than gold, more valuable than any amount, court mages are akin to the kingdom's trump cards.
Except for a few individuals, especially recognized by the country as a national treasure— our orc-ish Father being one of them— they are the strongest asset the nation possesses. Summoning their assistance meant that the situation had escalated to a threat far above our territory, possibly endangering the entirety of Beseigen— perhaps, something even beyond.
Disappearance of multiple people— possibly outright slaughter. Judging from their reactions, it's been going on for a while now, and the culprits are still on the loose… with close to nothing in terms of evidence.
Is this what the old man is referring to?
The only beings that could garner this much caution are demons, mutated monsters, rogue elites… and those things.
If that is true, then no wonder Liam started taking more drastic measures to deal with it.
"Brother." Lux called, greeting them with an innocent smile— too smooth, too cheerful.
"Mind if I take a peek at that?"
He appeared, seemingly, out of thin air. One moment, he was walking with Silk, the next— he was beside his brother.
Everyone, except for the soldier, remained unbothered by this feat.
The man tried to hide it, but his nervousness rained down beads of sweat streaming from his forehead. His poker face visibly cracked, inciting a shared giggle from the siblings.
From their perspective, it had always been amusing to witness other people's reactions to Lux's sneaky, downright spectral movements. A trait that not even trained assassins could mimic, perfectly executed without a hitch.
"Go ahead." Liam lightheartedly sighed, tossing him the folder like it was a casual Frisbee.
"Since I assume you already have a good grasp of what's going on, anyway."
"Now, now, please don't be ridiculous. I don't know what you're referring to." Lux smirked, playfully retorting in a knowing tone.
"I'm merely a curious bystander."
He caught the folder and swirled his fingers in its lid, revealing its ethereal message.
Hm, as I thought…
Missing people— majority are women and children. Mangled bodies lacking organs, rough and lousy, unlike a trained murderer. None of the common motives fit the data either.
In its vicinity, found were damaged structures with large claw marks— too massive to be stray animals, yet not too despairingly monstrous to be of a roaming monster. But despite this, there has not been a single report on the suspects' sightings or even strange noises from the local residents.
There are days of multiple counts, then some days, there's none. It's sporadic— simply inconsistent at a glance, somehow feeling deliberate… as though it were nothing but a rouse.
Luxion's fingers halted at the mention of one particular detail.
Wait— this district… At this timing?
Is it just a coincidence?
His expression remained neutral— smiling, composed, contemplating— but his mind raced like a revving engine.
I wasn't aware of any event preceding that point… But then again, I'm not really that subtle about my goals, am I?
If I'm correct in my assessment, then our time is extremely limited. Though it ought to be just enough to cook something up… Maybe I even get to call my children if I make this a two-part act?
A grand prelude before the first real arc?
Kufufu~ This is more interesting than I thought!
"What do you think?" Liam asked curiously, suppressing a grin.
"Please prepare a subjugation unit immediately."
An absolute command.
Just as he shut the seal of the folder, Luxion blurted out a statement that it caught everyone off guard. And what more, his voice relayed no hesitation, but a sense of finality.
"We will strike— tonight."
"What…?" The agent muttered, briefly losing all composure in his professional facade.
"Let's see…"
Arms crossed, a finger on his chin, Lux articulated the details of his plan.
"A three-unit platoon will suffice."
"Majority being mages with, bare minimum, ten vanguards at the helm. If possible, add mobile rangers adept in deploying traps and distractions in restricted spaces. Otherwise, make it so that the team is capable of acting in triad cells, each with a tank and support—"
{Author's Note: Unit = 10 people.}
"Wa-Wait for a moment, young master!" The man interjects in disbelief, having a hard time wrapping his head around his words.
"Have you already figured out where the enemies are situated!?"
"Not yet. But I do have a few ideas." He replied with the nonchalance of a man in vacation, not even batting an eye to his concern.
"I'll confirm where exactly after my little shopping trip in town. I'm actually about to head to the central district this afternoon, so I'll snoop around while I'm there."
The soldier looked like he was about to faint.
"Would that suffice?"
Ever the voice of clarity, Silk inquired. Her gaze, not doubtful, but one of a curious mind.
"From what I could tell, this group is fairly large." She stated the facts.
"We may be a bit shorthanded at the moment, but I believe we can afford to organize a battalion on command should the situation demand."
"No. Have them evacuate the surrounding districts instead." Lux immediately replied.
"We don't need number, we need precision. We already have the element of surprise. Not to mention that this is our territory— our land. Outsiders lack that familiarity of knowing the very soil you step on like the back of your hand."
Lux's gaze sharpened as though peering into a future unknown.
"I'd say that this amount is even exaggerated… Though better safe than sorry."
{Author's Note: 3-4 Units = Platoon. 3-4 Platoons = Companies. 3-4 Company = Battalion.
So, just around a 600 meat shields.}
"Question." Gill raised a hand, a thoughtful frown furrowed above her silver eyes.
"Does it need to be tonight? The execution won't be perfect since it's on such a short notice, you know."
Gill posed her opinion. A concern shared by her other siblings as well.
"They don't have to." He declared with finality.
His answer was quick and unwavering, brimming with utmost confidence that rendered the three frozen on their feet.
"After all, I personally plan on participating tonight as well."
His words struck like Thor's wrathful tantrum.
Liam's brows twitched. Silk's lips parted open. Gill's silver eyes widened further. They exchanged glances— concerned, yet at awe.
"Well, that's that. Please excuse me for the time being as I have to make some preparations."
Luxion was already walking away lazily, waving casually over his shoulder as though he had not just initiated a ridiculous sequence.
"I'll leave the troublesome— I mean, important details to you, Brother! Also, please keep a close eye on those bazaar folks. That Tyde fellow— I don't trust him… His mustache is shady."
He jokingly remarked as he strode down the path like a giddy child on Christmas, gesturing a stache over his lips with his fingers.
"Oh, and one last thing…"
Lux paused as he reached the marble pillar, eyes gleaming, his demeanor shifting.
"If Father tries to insert himself into tonight's operation— which I know he will, decline him at all costs. We can't have the Duke leave the estate in case… something happens."
At the end, his voice was barely a whisper. His expression briefly darkened before returning to its usual radiance.
"Well then, see ya later, everyone!"
And with that, he's gone.
Before they could stop him, he vanished from their sights as if the conversation they had just now was merely an apparition… not that they ever intended to slow him in his tracks.
They can't even if they wanted to.
That is just Lux being himself.
"He's participating…" Liam chuckled, a beaming smile emerging from his lips.
The poor soldier, confused and visibly shaken, stood there with his jaw on the floor. As time passed, the gravity of those words dawned on him, inciting not-so-slight panic to well up in his chest.
"Umm… Lord Liam, what should we do...?"
"Assembling an entire platoon. Making the preparations needed for a subjugation… even if we do the utmost minimum, there's no way it could be done in a few hours—"
"You heard him." Liam turned, composed.
"Inform the captain of the knights about this matter promptly. Rein as well. Make sure to remind him to bring all the necessary documents. The meeting will be held in… hm, let's see… thirty minutes at the Duke's office."
Liam's voice fluttered not even once, each syllable clear and intended.
"Move! This is of utmost urgency!"
"Have you lost your mind!?" is what the soldier thought; however, one glance at the heir's eyes was all it took for him to understand.
"As you wish." The agent uttered, disappearing in the shadows.
In his mind, the bud of reverence blossomed.
For the renowned young Lord to be this easily swayed by what seemed like the whims of a clueless child, he could only fathom what sort of tremendous value they perceived in that prodigious son.
"Hmm, it's currently 9 in the morning. And he said tonight, so I assume we have 10 hours to prepare at most." Liam reflects with a chuckle, shrugging his shoulders with a sigh.
"I suppose we should celebrate the fact that it's more than the previous ones."
"I guess this means breakfast is canceled." Gill chimed with a dramatic sigh, the grin she held only growing wider.
"The Lord should be in his quarters right now. If we are to have a meal, I suppose it would have to be after the meeting." Silk added. She, too, was smiling from ear to ear, cheeks slightly flushed.
"I should at least inform Ms. Treu about this, right? Since we'll need the estate secured."
"Mother won't be amused by this." Liam stated with another sigh, deeper than the one before.
The three of them shared a collective ember, ever-burning with excitement. Their eyes gleamed with thunderous anticipation, reflecting the undying emblem of their house.
Another night. Another specter.
They headed inside, prepared to lay the groundwork for their brother's latest spectacle.
"Stop… I'm begging you! PLEASE! I can't… I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE! I SWEAR TO DO ANYTHING! I WILL GIVE YOU EVERYTHING I HAVE!"
The scream ripped through the void— raw, animalistic, visceral— shattering the daunting silence that haunts the dark chamber.
"Just… Just spare me from this torment, my Lord— GAAAAAAAHHHH!!!"
In this suffocating darkness, [It]— if one could still call the grotesque being in that hexagonal cage truly alive— twisted and corrupted, clawed the bars, screaming rabidly in a desperate attempt to escape its morbid fate.
Shadows danced against the walls, beating at the tune of flickering embers conjured by these incomprehensible machineries, humming faintly of monotonous dread amidst the endless abyss. These devices, far too advanced for mortal understanding, created with a sinister rhythm, pulsating like the heartbeat of some malevolent God— watching, observing, torturing.
A conclusion not too far from the truth.
The creature within the cage was monstrous. Its disfigured body, a chaotic amalgamation of malformed limbs, infested flesh— twitching eerily at different intervals, and jagged bones that defied the reason of logic.
It was not born— it was created.
Its warped frame oozed a malignant aura, a presence so vile that it felt as though the very air resented its presence. This thing, this… pitiable, screeching shadow of a living being, had no place in any natural world. Its form was a nightmare given sentience. A horrifying puzzle pieced together with the cruelty of psychopathic lunatics and the madness of a false deity.
"Hm-hmm~! I'm glad to see you are as lively as ever, Mr. Ogre."
From the void beyond, a voice hummed.
"Truly inspiring how much vigor you've got left to spend. I was touched by your heartfelt effort, so today— guess what? I've brought you a gift!"
Sweet. Cheerful. Inhumanly wrong.
Its words brought despair, its footsteps counted of impending doom. Its tone reverberating in the air like a demonic gospel unveiling the boundless cold hands of the phantom from beyond.
"Your wife's here to cheer you on, you know."
Its timbre dropped into a sickening revelation.
A figure trailed the voice.
His face, hidden behind a mask sculpted in an eternal, voiceless agony— a screaming visage of an eyeless face, frozen in gleaming plaster that looked too… realistic for something so trivial.
His silhouette shifted under the dim lights to accommodate his crippling existence.
On one hand, he carried a glass jar. Its contents glowing in a soft, eerie green light. Something within it pulsed, moving through bubbling liquid as though it— they were still alive.
And on the other, a single line of chain— gleaming faintly as it sang its metallic hum, trailed into the shadows, plunged deep from the corridor where something was cited.
"Dear…? Is that you?"
A trembling voice broke through the silence, tone hoarse and fragile as though it would crumble under the softest breeze.
Its origin walked to the light— a woman draped in tattered rags.
She weakly moved at the end of the chain, thick collar of cold iron clasped around her neck like a manifestation of her misfortune. Her auburn hair fell over her face in greasy clumps. Her form was gaunt, her skin ghostly pale and severely bruised, as if all her vitality had been drained to exhaustion.
"No… No… this isn't real." The creature in the cage muttered in breathless gasps, its many malformed eyes widening in disbelief.
"F-Fu, why are you…?"
"I've found you." The woman cooed in a quiet sob, her lips trembling in a fragile smile.
"This kind gentleman saved me… saved us from those slave traders who destroyed our village that night. He has told me everything. He was the one who informed us that you were here… that you were still alive and well."
"No…" The word slipped from the ogre's lips— a ghastly whisper.
"It's all lies… It's all HIS ploy!"
He screamed, roared— though the woman didn't seem to hear his call.
Her voice faltered, her words rippled in the air like a distant echo lost to the void, but it reached him. It fell on his ears with emotions that his failed to carry.
"I told him about our daughter— about what… they did to her." She uttered with contempt.
"The Mister accepted everything and told me that it wasn't too late. That we could still save her… That we could still be together again."
"No… Don't… DON'T LISTEN TO HIM!"
The ogre grunted furiously, his body contorting violently as he pounded on the cage, but his words fell short— distorted, drowned within the few meters that separated them.
"…Dear?" The woman tilted her head— troubled.
"Why won't you answer me? You are here, aren't you? I can feel you…"
As she stepped forward, the veil slipped off her face. The faint light cast shadows upon her, revealing hollowed sockets where her eyes should be. The flesh around them was raw, scarred with burns, held together by golden threads stitching her lids to her cheeks.
Her once beautiful emerald eyes… were gone.
"I can no longer see you." She whispered in a solemn cry.
"But I know you are by my side. Your presence— even if you do not speak, I could feel your warmth as if you were to embrace me in your arms."
A shudder ran through the ogre's monstrous figure, body stilled yet shivering. His breath came in ragged, choking gasps of bloodborne breaths as tears of crimson spilled from his fractured eyes.
"Fuma… Where's Fuma…?" He croaked, the sound barely coherent.
"Did you mention our daughter!?"
The woman inquired in a frantic breath, her smile revitalized by the voice she had longed to hear.
"She's safe… nursing back to health at our refurnished village. She stayed behind with the others. Only I came to find y—"
"RUUUUNNNNNNN!"
The ogre growled, exhausting every ounce of strength left in his fragmented lungs.
"RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! Get away from… HERE! It doesn't matter where… just go as far away as you possibly can…"
His distorted words struck the air like a sea of lightning, ravenous against the dizzying buzzing of machines, guttural to the point of cracking fissures in the lab's foundations.
"RUN AWAY FROM THAT… DEVIL!!!"
A scream that echoed violently, carving a warning into the very marrow of the world. However, the woman's face only twisted, puzzled.
"Dear… What are you—?"
She never finished.
The collar around her neck writhed like a living organism, twisting into a pair of serrated obsidian wings, spread across like a veil of nightmares. Her skin split with a sickening crack as they rose from her back, edges glistening with a crimson tint like the blade of the reaper's scythe.
She was lifted off the ground, her frail body dangling helplessly as the black metal began to spread like a locust's swarm, devouring her limb by limb until she had lost motion, crucified in an invisible cross.
"Ah-ahh~"
Came a gleeful humming, his flippant tone laced with sadism as he wagged his finger as though reprimanding a helpless child.
"That's no good, Mr. Ogre."
The man, draped in shadows, stepped aside. His presence— an aberration born as a mockery of the divine. One eye, glistening in purple hue, slipped through the slit of his mask. A nefarious grin— unseen, yet felt through the chaos that is his guise.
"Contracts are sacred. You need to abide by its restrictions, or else the Gods will be mad, you know." He scoffed mockingly.
"Not that there's anyone other than me, though."
Laughter. Unnatural and inhuman.
"Let's begin the final test, shall we?"
With a snap of his fingers, the wings unraveled into a viscous black sludge, seeping over the woman's quivering body like sentient tar. It slid in her ears, into her mouth, beneath each fingernail, filling every pore, invading every crevice—swallowing her whole.
Her shrilling screams tore through the room like a raging tempest— painful, excruciating, merciless.
"No… Stop… STOP THIS!"
Her body convulsed, bludgeoning in a violent frenzy as dark veins ran along her flesh as though her very being was a strained vase about to shatter.
"NOT MY WIFE! PLEASE, LORD [Qqdtxs]!!! STOP THIS MADNESS!!!"
It halted.
"Madness?" The man turned, sparing him a smirk.
"Don't be so dramatic."
The splattered ooze consuming Fu had stopped. Her endless screams ceased. It hadn't peeled off her body, but it appeared more stable— calm, docile, unlike how it was a moment ago. It shifted, molding into a glassy material akin to porcelain— fragile yet still.
A flicker of hope, thinking that the man had heard his pleas… However.
"This is only the beginning."
What a foolish assumption.
With another snap, the woman's body erupted in a geyser of blood.
Muscles tore from the bone. Bone twisted, snapped into splinters. Joints bent and spine twisted as her flesh that had merged with the black substance split open to birth new limbs— malformed antlers of bloodied bones and rotten flesh, unrecognizable from the living.
Her voice— once serene and sweet— erupted into gurgling howls, her screams mangled with malice beyond mortality.
She was no longer human.
She was a mockery of life. A sculpture of torment crafted by the hands of a mad god.
The woman's figure hovered midair like a thrashed puppet, suspended by the dark cocoon that now seemed alive, pulsating, mimicking a heartbeat it shouldn't have.
The dark ichor oozed down her form, pooling at her feet and coalescing into tendrils that lifted her higher into the air.
Her head snapped back, twisted sideways. Her neck bent at an angle parallel to her unhinged jaw, resting at her shattered shoulder blades as it stretched wide in an eternalized wailing.
"FU!!!"
It was purely diabolical, not the action of a man who claimed to be divine... or perhaps it was? For no one truly knows what a real god might be like in this cursed world.
"Fu…" The ogre roared from within the cage.
"Let go… of her! You sick bastard!"
His body, warped into an abomination from countless grotesque experiments, shivered. He slammed himself against the unyielding metal bars of his prison, crashed onto its cold resistance like a beast robbed of its prey.
However, he was fragile— painfully so.
His every movement caused his corrupted flesh to shatter, unable to withstand the force of his desperation. Each punch, his limbs erupted in a spray of blood. Each bash crumpled his frame into mangled stumps. Each breath felt like knives scratching his veins. Each growl ending in excruciating agony.
Still, he persisted.
His voice grew exponentially hoarse, speech devolving into incomprehensible, feral snarls. Blood poured from his eyes— crazed irises glaring with a madness so raw it could pierce through the soul of any man— if one could still call him that.
He had long since broken the limits of his mind. Reason and sanity had abandoned him multiple times. What was left— only the mindless, wrathful, wallowing will of a vengeful soul.
The ogre died, giving rise to… [This].
"Magnificent!" The man exclaimed with maniacal ecstasy, his voice trembling with reverent awe.
The creature that emerged was the incarnation of impurity. The monster that the [King of the Endless Peaks] could truly become— far removed from any mortal understanding.
Corrupted by the cursed essence of the countless races it had slaughtered, his regal blood had become a tapestry of evolutionary horror.
The towering bat-like wings of a [Gargoyle] erupted from his back. His chiseled, monstrous frame bore the brutal strength of a [Minotaur], and the prideful, spiraling horns of an [Ogre] crowned his veiny head. His scaled hide was rough like that of a [Naga]. His fanged jaws dripped with malicious venom like a [Basilisk], sizzling on contact with the still air, while his razor-sharp talons tore the very space itself as it glistened in the dim, flickering light of his creator's concoction.
This abomination… This perfectly imperfect fusion of corruption and cancerous anomalies— this was the benighted form his twisted benefactor had long desired to create and seize for himself.
"Just as I thought, you truly are the perfect host, Mr. Ogre!!!"
It wasn't merely a chimera.
Not only a sentient reminder of doom.
But the apex of the world's greatest sin.
"Ahh~! What a wondrous visage you own. Disgusting, but you shall be the foundation of a breathtaking ascension…" The man cooed with utmost joy.
"I can't wait to make it my own—"
However, his triumph was short-lived.
A loud snap shattered his glee, broke his ambition in one swift blow.
The creature stilled. A fountain of blood erupted from the chimera's neck, its body— already at the verge of collapse— began to bulge unnaturally, violent surges of energy sparking across its distorted frame like a short-circuiting motherboard. The acidic air crackled with buzzing static and the putrid scent that smelled like burning rubber. The streaked lightning it conjured scorched the walls and melted the strange metallic mechanisms scattered across the lab.
The chimera trembled like an electrocuted ape. Fissures stretched across its swollen flesh, painting lines of growing pressure as its form collapsed in on itself even as it tried to resist the inevitable call of its end.
"W-What!? W-W-Wait a second! I can fix this! I can still salvage this—"
Boom! Fireworks.
The beast exploded in a devastating burst of power and raw viscera, tearing the reinforced cage to fragmented shrapnel. Shards of bone and ruptured tissues hurled across the chamber like ballistic projectiles, embedding themselves in the walls and ceiling, painting the room in streaks of crimson, punctured holes, and a poisonous mist that liquefied everything it touched.
A macabre work of chaos— a rather anticlimactic end to his hell.
By some stroke of fate's whimsical writing, as if the world itself decided to mock him— or perhaps, a gift to a soul lost to a demon's savagery.
His dismembered head rolled across the room, landing with a sickening thud… beside the faceless, lifeless, desecrated corpse of what was once— his beloved wife.
"Well, ain't that romantic—"
The masked man observed with an amused chuckle, his voice audibly cracking as he surveyed the destruction around him— panic finally seeped into his ever-so-jovial tone.
"Wait! Now's not the time to joke around!" Frantically, he scrambled across the ruins of his laboratory.
"Ahhhhhh!!! All of my precious data! All my work! PLEASE DON'T BE GONE!!!"
Shards of glass crunched beneath his boots as he overturned shattered machinery, scanning through the remains of his ruined visions. Many of his experiments were beyond salvation at this point, shredded beyond recognition, if not completely destroyed. Most of the chimera's remains, too, obliterated along with the vital components of the facility itself.
But even in failure, the twisted mind of the madman found triumph.
He stopped. Breathing heavily, his gaze fell on the glowing, liquid-filled glass jar he had brought earlier. Behind its miraculously unscathed surface floated two orbs— crimson roots snaking through their emerald cores like veins of corruption.
"Eyes of a Gorgon, huh…" He murmured with a sigh, still bummed from this outcome.
"I guess I'll take these as consolation."
His attitude reverted eerily abrupt to his usual tone, brimming with gleeful malice. After a quiet thought, he reached for a syringe.
"Well, whatever."
With steady hands, he collected vials containing the minced remains of the chimera and slid them into a strange device that, no matter how one looked at it, is a cyberpunk-futuristic blender.
An arcane recreation modified to handle more gruesome duties than its real-world counterpart.
With a press of a button, the machine whirred to life. Magic circles ignited across its surface, runes hummed within the script, casting the lab in a kaleidoscope of flickering elemental glow.
The contents spun with unnatural speed, alchemical fluids and monstrous flesh melding together in a horrifying concoction until finally— a yellowish-crimson liquid oozed from the device, its glow sickeningly hypnotic. He funneled the vile substance into another syringe, his hands trembling with both excitement and dread as he watched the needle, thick enough to pierce bones, exude the same pungent smell.
"Kufufu~ I wonder what kind of mutations this batch will bring me… I can't wait any longer!"
Without hesitation, he plunged the needle into his arm, introducing the abominable elixir into his bloodstream in one continuous injection.
At first, there was silence.
Then came the pain.
His veins darkened, turning an incandescent red before glowing a sinister green hue as they bulged grotesquely beneath his skin. The flesh around the injection site immediately blackened, fissures formed as though his body was splitting apart under the pusillanimous pressure of containing the unholy mixture. His muscles strained and torn from within. His very bones shifting like fragile twigs, cracking audibly as his vessel rebelled against the foreign invasion.
Steam hissed from his pores, blood oozed from every orifice, his eyes rolled back— pure white, devoid of all humanity.
"Ohhh~! This feeling…"
Yet still… He laughed— a high-pitched, delirious laugh that pierced through the chaos.
"KAHAHAH~ YES!!! This is it… I can already tell… THIS BATCH IS GREAT!"
His body twisted, spine arched in an impossible angle. Limbs elongating unnaturally narrow, his serene form warping into something inhuman— something monstrous and demonic. A living nightmare born from his own hubris.
The masked man was no longer merely experimenting on monsters.
He had become one.
One adorned with the feathered wings of an angel, scorched in darkest black. Arms— two of a human, four more resembling those of an ogre. Horns, thick and pointed, twisted in a spiral akin to a minotaur, built with the frame and vitality of an archaic behemoth of the ruined past. His hands, scaled and jagged, decorated with piercing talons, while his eyes, jaded white— colorless like that of a spirit king.
A second head split from his shoulders, rooted at his nape— half-formed, whispering blasphemies in forgotten tongues.
Unnerving. Unparalleled.
A malformed horror.
A monster of two heads.
Demogorgon.