Ravian lay motionless, his body pressed into the cold, dirt-ridden ground, barely breathing. His chest rose and fell in shallow, irregular rhythms, each breath a reminder of the torment that pulsed through his veins. He could feel it—the weight of exhaustion, pressing him down like a stone, crushing the remnants of strength from his bones. Around him, the silence was oppressive, the kind that snuffed out even the smallest hope.
His muscles twitched involuntarily, a sharp spasm that sent pain shooting through his limbs. Every part of him hurt—his joints, his skin, even his bones. The pain was constant, gnawing, unrelenting. It blurred the edges of his consciousness, making it hard to think, hard to remember anything other than the ache in his body.
There were others—he knew that. He wasn't alone in this hell, though the truth of it hardly mattered. The other children were scattered around the room, their bodies broken and still, their breath shallow like his. There had been more of them once—more bodies, more weak, suffering souls. But now...now it was fewer.
Ravian could feel it. The room was emptier.
His eyes remained closed, but he didn't need to see to know. He could hear it—the slow, agonizing death of the others, their breath growing more ragged, more uneven, until finally, they stopped altogether. First one, then another. The silence would stretch for hours, only to be broken again by another's last breath.
And with each death, the air grew heavier, darker.
The strange energy that had clung to the room from the beginning felt stronger now, more palpable. It wasn't just something in the air anymore—it was something he could feel inside him, pressing against his skin, crawling through his veins. The more children died, the stronger it became, feeding on their suffering, growing with each life that slipped away.
Ravian shivered, though the room wasn't cold. It was the energy—it pressed down on him, invading his body with a force that felt both alien and intimate, like it knew him, like it had been waiting for this moment to sink its claws deeper into him.
He wasn't the only one left. There were others—he could hear their shallow breaths, the pitiful sounds of their suffering. But fewer now. So many fewer.
How many were still alive?
A dozen, maybe. No more than that. Ravian couldn't be sure—he couldn't see them, didn't need to. He could feel the thinning presence in the room, the diminishing life force of those who remained. The energy was consuming them, one by one, leaving behind only the strongest, those who had managed to survive its relentless grip.
But it didn't feel like strength. Ravian's body was broken, his limbs trembling with every small movement. The hunger and thirst were unbearable now, gnawing at his insides like a wild beast, but even that felt secondary to the overwhelming pressure of the energy that was coiling tighter around him with every passing moment.
The room had once been filled with the sound of soft cries, the occasional whimper of a child too weak to hold it in. But now, there was only silence—thick and heavy, pressing in on all sides, suffocating.
Ravian's ears picked up the faint sound of breathing from across the room, and for a moment, he thought it was his own. But no—it was another child, still clinging to life, barely. Their breath was shallow, weak, like the flutter of a dying bird. He wondered how much longer they would last.
And then, as if in answer to his unspoken thought, the breathing stopped.
The silence that followed was deafening. Ravian's heart skipped a beat, his chest tightening as he realized that another one had fallen. He waited, listening for the next breath, but it didn't come.
They were gone. Another one, taken by the energy that was now pulsing stronger than ever, feeding off the death that surrounded it.
Ravian opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the dim light that filtered through the room. His vision swam for a moment, the edges blurred, but he could make out the vague shapes of bodies strewn across the floor. Some were still moving, weak and trembling like him. Others lay still, their chests no longer rising with the shallow breaths of life.
He didn't count them. He didn't need to.
A dozen left. Maybe fewer now.
The energy pulsed again, stronger this time, and Ravian felt it crawl deeper into his skin. His muscles tightened involuntarily, his body shuddering with the force of it. It wasn't a gift. It didn't make him feel stronger, not in the way that mattered. If anything, it made him feel more fragile, more exposed. Every nerve was raw, every muscle burning with the tension that the energy brought.
It was inside him now—he could feel it, weaving through his veins like a parasite, feeding off his suffering, keeping him alive just long enough to endure more pain. His skin felt tight, stretched too thin over his bones, his veins bulging grotesquely beneath the surface.
But even that was secondary to the hunger.
The hunger gnawed at him constantly, a deep, painful emptiness that consumed his thoughts. His stomach had long since stopped growling—it was beyond that now, the hunger too deep, too primal to be expressed in such simple ways. His throat was dry, his lips cracked and bleeding from the constant thirst, but no water had come.
They were being kept alive, just barely. Just enough to prolong the suffering.
Ravian's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, sharp sound. Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, echoing through the room like the toll of a death bell. His heart raced in his chest, his body tensing involuntarily as the sound grew closer.
He turned his head slowly, his vision still blurred, but he could make out the shadowy forms moving toward them. There were more of them this time—not the usual overseers who had tormented them before. These figures moved with a cold, calculated efficiency, their faces expressionless as they stepped over the bodies of the fallen.
Ravian's body trembled as one of the figures knelt beside him, their cold fingers gripping his jaw with an iron strength. He didn't resist—he couldn't. He was too weak, too broken. He could only watch, his mind numb with exhaustion, as they forced something into his mouth—a bitter, foul-tasting herb that made his stomach churn.
The taste was revolting, burning his throat as it slid down, but there was no escape. He tried to spit it out, but the figure's hand clamped down on his mouth, forcing him to swallow. The herb settled in his stomach like a stone, heavy and nauseating, and for a moment, he thought he might vomit it back up.
But then, the pain began.
It was slow at first, a dull ache that spread through his stomach, but it quickly intensified, growing sharper, more unbearable with each passing second. Ravian's body convulsed violently, his back arching off the ground as the pain ripped through him like fire. His muscles spasmed uncontrollably, his veins bulging grotesquely beneath his skin as the herb took hold.
He couldn't scream—his throat was too dry, his mouth too weak to form the sound. But the agony was written across his face, his eyes wide with pain as his body twisted and writhed on the ground. His muscles stretched unnaturally, growing and tearing beneath his skin, his bones cracking and shifting as they expanded.
It was as though his body was being torn apart from the inside out, each nerve ending set alight with the searing heat of the transformation. His skin stretched tight over the growing mass of his muscles, his veins pulsing grotesquely with each convulsion, but there was no relief in the strength that came. Only pain. Endless, all-consuming pain.
He wasn't the only one. Around him, the others were screaming too—those who could still manage it, their voices raw and broken as they writhed in the same grotesque agony. The transformation was happening to all of them, their bodies convulsing and growing in grotesque, unnatural ways as the herbs forced them into something stronger.
Hours passed. Or maybe it was minutes. Time had ceased to have meaning long ago. All that remained was the pain—the constant, unrelenting pain that tore through his body with every spasm, every convulsion. His skin felt like it might tear at any moment, stretched too thin over the growing mass of muscle beneath it. His bones ached, cracking and shifting with each new wave of the transformation.
And through it all, the energy pulsed stronger than ever, feeding off their suffering, keeping them alive just long enough to endure more.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the pain began to ebb. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the convulsions began to subside, and Ravian's body sagged against the ground, trembling with the aftershocks of the transformation.
He lay there, panting, his chest heaving with the effort of breathing. His muscles still twitched, his veins still pulsed painfully beneath his skin, but the worst of the agony was over.
His body felt...different. Stronger, yes, but not in the way he had imagined. His muscles were denser, his veins more prominent, but it didn't feel like a gift. It felt like his body had been warped into something unnatural, something grotesque.
And yet, despite the transformation, despite the newfound strength that now coursed through his veins, the hunger and thirst remained. If anything, it was worse now—an all-consuming need that gnawed at him from the inside, sharper and more painful than before. His body was stronger, but it was still starving, still desperate.
Ravian's mind was numb. There was no room for thought, no space for emotion. He had survived, but it didn't feel like survival. It felt like another layer of torment, another cruel joke played on them by the forces that controlled their fate.
He wasn't alive.
He was something else entirely.