Outisde of the city.
The cave did not feel like a place carved by nature.
It felt claimed.
The mountain itself seemed to reject what lived inside it. Its stone walls were scarred with markings—circles, symbols, and deep scratches etched not by tools, but by repetition. By obsession. By hands that no longer cared for pain.
The large stone gate stood open now.
Beyond it, the dungeon breathed.
Not air.
Suffering.
Hundreds of prisoners filled the cells—packed together, their bodies thin, their eyes hollow from sleepless nights and unanswered prayers. Chains clung to their wrists and ankles. Some were too weak to stand. Others still tried to shield the children behind them, though their own hands trembled.
The children did not cry loudly anymore.
They whimpered.
Their hope had already learned exhaustion.
And at the center of it all—
He worked.
The young man floated helplessly above the stone table, his limbs stiff, his eyes wide and alive with terror. Invisible force pinned him in place. Chains closed around his wrists, his ankles, his throat—not tight enough to kill.
Tight enough to remind him.
He was owned.
The sorcerer stood beside him, adjusting tools laid out with unnatural care.
Metal instruments. Bone needles. Glass containers filled with fluids that moved even when untouched. Some glowed faintly. Some pulsed.
Some… twitched.
The sorcerer's cracked glasses slipped down his nose. He pushed them back absently, his eyes not filled with rage—
But curiosity.
"I wonder," he murmured softly, almost kindly.
His fingers hovered over the young man's chest.
"What part of you makes you… you?"
The prisoner struggled, his breath shaking.
"P–Please…"
The sorcerer paused.
Not out of mercy.
Out of interest.
"Please?" he repeated, tasting the word. "Such a fragile sound."
His hand lowered.
The young man screamed.
Not because of pain.
Because of what entered him.
The sorcerer had taken a shard of something black from a glass container. It was not solid. Not liquid. It moved like it had its own will, resisting even the air.
He pressed it into the prisoner's chest.
It did not pierce the skin.
It sank.
The flesh accepted it unwillingly, rippling around the intrusion. Veins darkened instantly, spreading outward like ink dropped into water. The young man's back arched violently, chains rattling as his body tried to reject what it could not fight.
His scream became something else.
Something deeper.
Something wrong.
The prisoners in the cells began crying again.
Some covered the children's eyes.
Some turned away.
Some watched, unable not to.
The sorcerer leaned closer, fascinated.
"Yes…" he whispered. "Yes, survive."
The young man's fingers curled unnaturally. His nails cracked, darkening. His muscles spasmed—not growing, not shrinking—but rearranging beneath his skin.
His heartbeat became visible.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Too strong.
Too slow.
Too deliberate.
The sorcerer quickly grabbed another instrument—a needle carved from bone—and drove it into the prisoner's neck. Not to harm.
To stabilize.
To prolong.
To observe.
"You mortals break so easily," the sorcerer said calmly. "But sometimes…"
The young man's eyes snapped open wider.
The whites had turned gray.
"…sometimes you bend."
The prisoner tried to speak.
But his jaw dislocated slightly, shifting.
Not broken.
Adjusted.
A wet choking sound escaped him.
Tears poured down his face.
He was still there.
Still aware.
Still trapped inside himself.
That was the worst part.
The sorcerer placed a hand over the prisoner's chest, feeling the new rhythm beneath.
"Do you feel it?" he asked quietly.
The prisoner's answer was a trembling, broken whisper.
"…Make it stop…"
The sorcerer smiled.
Not cruelly.
Not kindly.
Simply truthfully.
"No."
He stepped back.
The transformation did not complete.
It never did.
That was not the purpose.
Completion ended the experiment.
Suffering prolonged it.
Observation perfected it.
The young man's body began rejecting itself. His veins pulsed violently, skin cracking in thin lines as something inside him tried to emerge—and failed.
His scream returned.
Louder.
Raw.
Animal.
Human.
Both.
Neither.
The children in the cells began screaming too.
"Stop! Please stop!"
"Leave him alone!"
"Please!"
The sorcerer turned his head slowly toward the cells.
Annoyance flickered briefly across his face.
Then indifference returned.
He raised one finger.
The children froze.
Their voices died in their throats, trapped behind magic.
Their tears continued falling.
They were forced to watch.
"To create," the sorcerer said softly, almost lecturing, "one must discard sentiment."
He turned back to the table.
The young man's body began collapsing inward. Not physically—but structurally. His strength could not sustain what had been forced into him.
The sorcerer observed carefully.
"…Still too weak," he concluded.
The prisoner's eyes locked onto his.
Begging.
Not for life.
For release.
The sorcerer granted neither.
Instead, he reached forward and pressed his hand firmly against the prisoner's chest.
The movement stopped.
Not because the prisoner was saved.
Because he was silenced.
His body went still.
His eyes remained open.
Empty.
The sorcerer exhaled slowly.
Not disappointment.
Not satisfaction.
Progress.
He turned toward the cells again.
The prisoners trembled.
They understood now.
This was not punishment.
Not revenge.
Not madness.
This was purpose.
They were not enemies.
They were materials.
The sorcerer scanned them, his tired eyes calculating.
"…Next," he said simply.
A child began crying uncontrollably.
A mother held him tightly, shaking.
The sorcerer watched them.
Curious.
Not moved.
Beyond the mountain, the world slept peacefully, unaware.
Unaware that beneath its surface—
Mortals had begun to abandon their own kind.
Not for survival.
Not for necessity.
But for creation.
And deep within the cave, surrounded by the silence of the broken and the waiting—
The dull creation of mortal men continued.
The sorcerer did not rush.
He never rushed.
Rushing was the behavior of amateurs—of fools who sought results instead of truth.
Truth required patience.
Truth required sacrifice.
Truth required bodies.
His tired eyes moved across the prisoners again, slower now. More deliberate. He was not simply choosing randomly. He was remembering. Observing. Measuring things no ordinary man could see.
Resilience.
Fragility.
Fear.
Hope.
Hope was especially useful.
Hope made them fight longer.
And those who fought longer… lasted longer.
His gaze stopped.
A young woman.
She could not have seen more than nineteen winters.
She sat near the back of the cell, holding the hand of a younger girl beside her—perhaps a sister, perhaps a stranger she had chosen to protect. Her body was thin, but not weak. Her eyes were red from crying, but they still burned with something fragile.
Defiance.
Even now.
Even here.
The sorcerer smiled faintly.
"Yes," he whispered.
His finger lifted.
The young woman's body froze.
Her hand slipped from the child's grasp as invisible force pulled her forward.
The child screamed in concern and pain.
"No! Please! Not her! Take me instead! Please! Elder Sister!!!!"
The sorcerer ignored her.
The young woman floated through the air, her body stiff, her eyes wide, her breath coming in shallow bursts of panic.
She tried to speak.
She could not.
She tried to scream.
She could not.
Her body betrayed her.
She was placed gently onto the stone table.
Gently.
As if she mattered.
Chains closed around her wrists.
Her ankles.
Her waist.
Her neck.
Tighter than the last subject.
He had learned.
He adjusted his cracked glasses again, studying her face.
Fear.
Pure fear.
Good.
That meant her mind was still intact.
Still resistant.
Still worth breaking.
He picked up the glass container.
Inside, the black substance stirred violently this time.
As if it recognized her.
As if it hungered.
The sorcerer tilted his head slightly.
"…Interesting."
The young woman's eyes darted to the container.
She could feel it.
Even without touching it.
Her entire body trembled.
The sorcerer placed his hand on her forehead.
Not gently.
Not cruelly.
Firmly.
"You will serve purpose," he said quietly.
Then he pressed the black substance into her chest.
Her body convulsed instantly.
Unlike the others.
Unlike all the others.
Her scream broke through the cave like a blade.
Not human.
Not entirely.
Her spine arched violently, lifting her body against the chains. Her veins darkened instantly, spreading faster than before—crawling across her neck, her face, her arms.
Her skin did not merely ripple.
It melted.
Not like wax from heat.
Like flesh forgetting its shape.
The sorcerer stepped back quickly, surprised.
"…Yes," he breathed.
Her fingers stretched unnaturally, bones shifting beneath skin. Her jaw cracked—not dislocating, but widening. Her ribs pushed outward, her chest expanding as if something inside needed more space.
The chains groaned.
Not from her strength.
From her change.
Her scream suddenly stopped.
Her mouth hung open.
Then—
Another mouth tore open beside it.
Not beneath.
Not above.
Beside.
Her skin split horizontally across her cheek, forming a second mouth that opened wide in silent agony. No blood poured.
Only darkness.
The prisoners began screaming in terror.
Some fell backward.
Some prayed.
Some could not look away.
Her face continued changing.
Her eyes—
One became two.
Two became four.
Four became six.
They opened across her face in unnatural positions, blinking independently, seeing everything, understanding nothing.
Her mind was breaking.
Her thoughts were dissolving.
She was still alive.
That was the horror.
Her back convulsed violently.
Her spine pushed upward.
Her skin split.
And from it—
A horn emerged.
Black.
Curved slightly forward.
Not smooth.
But cracked.
Like it had forced its way out through resistance.
Her arms began splitting.
Her left arm divided at the elbow, forming two separate limbs. Her right arm followed. Bone stretched. Muscle rearranged. Flesh reformed.
Four arms.
Each twitching.
Each shaking.
Each wrong.
Her legs convulsed next.
Her right leg split apart, forming two separate appendages. They did not mirror each other perfectly. One was longer. One bent slightly outward.
Three legs.
The chains snapped.
Not from strength.
From transformation.
Her body fell onto the stone floor.
It did not stand.
It crawled.
Her six eyes blinked rapidly, unfocused.
Her two mouths opened and closed.
No words came.
No thoughts formed.
She was empty.
Gone.
Whatever she had been—
Was no longer there.
The sorcerer stared.
Breathless.
Not with horror.
With awe.
"…Success," he whispered.
The creature twitched violently.
Its four arms clawed at the ground without purpose. Its three legs struggled to support its weight. Its melted skin sagged unevenly across its body, barely holding its shape.
It was alive.
It was stable.
It was broken.
But it endured.
One of its mouths opened wide.
A sound emerged.
Not a scream.
Not a voice.
A noise without meaning.
Without identity.
Without soul.
The prisoners recoiled in terror.
The child who had begged for her release stared in frozen horror.
"…Sister…" she whispered.
But the creature did not respond.
It did not recognize her.
It did not recognize anything.
It turned its six eyes toward the sorcerer.
Not with hatred.
Not with obedience.
With nothing.
It had no will.
No mind.
Only existence.
The sorcerer approached slowly, cautiously.
He extended his hand.
The creature did not attack.
It did not react.
It simply existed.
His fingers trembled slightly as he touched its melted skin.
Warm.
Alive.
Real.
"…You survived," he said softly.
Not to her.
To himself.
Behind him, the prisoners had fallen into complete silence.
Hope had died.
Not because they would die.
But because something worse was possible.
The sorcerer turned toward them.
His tired eyes gleamed behind cracked lenses.
"We are closer now," he said quietly.
No one answered.
No one dared.
Behind him, the creature twitched.
Alive.
Unstable.
Unfinished.
And somewhere deep within its broken flesh—
Something ancient had begun to notice.
At first, the creature only twitched.
Small, meaningless movements.
A tremor in one arm.
A jerk in one leg.
A slow, uneven turn of its horned head.
The sorcerer observed carefully, his breath steady, his eyes wide with fascination. He had expected instability. He had expected violence eventually.
But not yet.
Not this soon.
"Fascinating," he whispered.
The creature's six eyes blinked out of sync.
One of its mouths opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
Then—
It screamed.
Not like before.
Not a scream of pain.
Not a scream of transformation.
This was different.
This was rage without mind.
Its four arms slammed violently against the stone floor.
CRACK.
The impact split the surface.
The sorcerer's eyes widened behind his cracked glasses.
"…No," he said quietly.
The creature moved again.
Faster this time.
Its three legs pushed against the ground, lifting its malformed body upright in a grotesque, uneven stance. Its melted skin sagged, stretching and pulling with every motion.
It did not look at him.
It looked everywhere.
Too much sight.
Too much sensation.
Too much existence.
Its second mouth opened wider than the first.
A sound came out.
A broken, layered shriek that echoed through the entire cave.
The air itself seemed to tremble.
The prisoners screamed in terror.
The creature's arms struck the nearest object—
The stone table.
It shattered instantly.
Fragments exploded outward.
The sorcerer stumbled backward.
"…Stop," he commanded sharply.
The creature did not respond.
It slammed its arm into the wall.
CRACK.
Stone fractured.
Dust fell from above.
The cave groaned.
Something deep within it shifted.
The creature struck again.
And again.
And again.
It was not attacking with purpose.
It was releasing existence.
Every motion was chaos.
Every movement was destruction.
The sorcerer raised his hand immediately.
Invisible force wrapped around the creature's torso.
He clenched his fist.
"BE STILL!"
The creature froze mid-motion.
Its limbs trembled violently against the invisible restraint.
Its six eyes darted wildly.
Its mouths opened and closed.
It resisted.
Not intelligently.
Instinctively.
Its flesh began to pulse.
Dark veins spread further across its melted skin.
The sorcerer's arm trembled.
"…Impossible," he whispered.
His magic was strong enough to hold dozens of men.
This thing—
This thing was fighting it.
One of its arms jerked free.
Then another.
The invisible restraint cracked.
Like glass.
The sorcerer's eyes widened in genuine fear for the first time.
The creature lunged.
Its arm slammed into him before he could react.
CRACK.
His body flew across the chamber.
He struck the stone wall violently.
His glasses shattered completely.
Pain exploded through his ribs.
He collapsed onto the ground, gasping.
Blood filled his mouth.
"…Ah…" he choked.
The creature turned toward him slowly.
Its six eyes focused.
Not with recognition.
With stimulus.
It was movement.
it was presence.
it was something.
The creature took a step forward.
Its third leg dragged behind slightly.
Unstable.
But advancing.
The sorcerer forced himself up, clutching his side.
Pain burned through his chest.
Something was broken.
He could feel it.
"…You will not destroy my work," he hissed.
He raised his trembling hand.
Dark energy gathered in his palm.
Not experimental magic.
Not careful magic.
War magic.
He fired it.
The blast struck the creature's torso.
BOOM.
Its body slammed backward into the cages behind it.
Metal bars bent.
Snapped.
The cages collapsed.
Inside them—
Movement.
Low growls.
Hissing.
Breathing.
Other prisoners.
Not human.
Creatures.
Monsters he had captured.
Things he had studied.
Things he had broken.
The cages fell apart completely.
One by one.
Locks shattered.
Doors fell open.
Silence filled the cave for one brief moment.
Then—
Chaos.
A massive shape burst from one cage, its claws tearing into stone.
Another slithered across the ground, its body long and scaled.
Something with too many limbs crawled across the ceiling.
The human prisoners stared in disbelief.
The doors of their own cells had cracked open from the impact.
Freedom.
They hesitated.
Too afraid to move.
Too afraid to hope.
The creature—the woman who had once been human—rose again from the rubble.
The sorcerer fired another blast.
It struck her shoulder.
Flesh tore.
But no blood came.
She did not slow.
She screamed again.
The sound drove deeper this time.
The other creatures heard it.
And responded.
Not with obedience.
With recognition.
Not of her.
Of what she had become.
Something closer to them.
Something broken.
Something free.
The sorcerer's breath grew heavier.
This was no longer an experiment.
This was survival.
One of the freed monsters lunged toward him.
He raised a barrier instantly.
Its claws struck the invisible wall inches from his face.
The force pushed him backward.
He gritted his teeth.
He was injured.
His magic was weakening.
Another creature escaped behind him.
Then another.
The human prisoners began running.
Some toward the exit.
Some simply away.
The cave filled with screams.
Metal clanged.
Stone cracked.
Roars echoed.
The creature he had created advanced toward him again.
Its six eyes locked onto him.
Its two mouths opened.
Not screaming.
Breathing.
He realized something then.
It was not attacking randomly anymore.
It was attacking him.
Its creator.
He felt it.
Not hatred.
Not vengeance.
Correction.
He had made something that rejected its maker.
His hand trembled as he gathered power again.
"…You belong to me," he whispered.
The creature lunged.
He fired.
The blast struck its chest directly.
It staggered.
But did not fall.
It kept coming.
His fear became real.
For the first time in years—
He did not know if he would survive his own creation.
Behind them, the cages lay broken.
The prisoners were escaping.
The monsters were loose.
And the cave—
Was no longer under his control.
The blast struck her chest.
For a moment, she stopped.
Not to fell on the ground.
Not to staggered.
She stopped.
Smoke rose from the blackened wound where the sorcerer's magic had struck. Burned flesh peeled away in layers, revealing something beneath that was not entirely muscle, and not entirely anything mortal should possess.
The sorcerer watched carefully, breathing heavily.
"…Yes," he whispered hoarsely. "You will fall."
But she did not fall.
The wound moved.
Not from outside.
From within.
The torn flesh began to pull itself together.
Slowly.
Then faster.
The edges of the wound crept inward like living things, stitching themselves back into place without hands, without thread. The blackened tissue flaked away, replaced by wet, glistening new flesh.
Whole.
Unbroken.
Untouched.
The sorcerer's pupils shrank.
"…No."
One of her six eyes focused on him.
Then another.
Then all of them.
She took a step forward.
The wound was gone.
Completely.
He felt something he had not felt in decades.
Fear.
Real fear.
Behind her, chaos continued.
Human prisoners fled through shattered corridors. Some stumbled. Some crawled. Some carried others. None looked back.
Creatures of claw, scale, and shadow escaped into the open tunnels, their instincts screaming survival. They did not stay to fight. They did not stay to challenge.
They fled.
Because even they felt it.
This was no longer a place of imprisonment.
This was a place of death.
The sorcerer realized it too.
Everything he had built.
Everything he had gathered.
Everything he had studied.
Gone.
Years of work.
Years of suffering inflicted.
Years of careful, patient construction.
Destroyed.
By one mistake.
His mistake.
His breathing became heavier.
His fear burned.
Then hardened.
Then transformed.
Into fury.
"You…" he whispered.
The creature tilted its head.
Its mouths opened slowly.
Not screaming.
Waiting.
"You dare," he said, louder now.
His hands trembled.
Not from weakness.
From rage.
"You dare destroy what I created?!"
His voice echoed violently through the cave.
"You dare take from me what is mine?!"
The creature moved toward him again.
He screamed.
Not in fear.
In wrath.
Dark energy erupted from his body.
Not controlled.
Not careful.
Wild.
Violent.
The cave trembled.
Stone cracked above them.
Dust poured down like rain.
He raised both hands.
Magic gathered in torrents around him, spiraling like a storm given form.
"I gave you existence!"
He unleashed it.
A beam of pure destructive force tore across the chamber.
It struck her directly.
The impact obliterated everything behind her. Stone vaporized. Metal dissolved. The cave wall exploded outward into the mountain beyond.
Her body vanished inside the light.
The sorcerer panted heavily.
The beam faded.
Smoke filled the air.
Silence followed.
For one brief moment—
He believed he had won.
Then something moved inside the smoke.
A shape.
Standing.
Her silhouette emerged slowly.
Her body burned.
Her flesh torn.
Her horn cracked.
Her arms mangled.
But standing.
Still standing.
He stared in disbelief.
"No…" he whispered.
Her wounds began to heal again.
Not slowly.
Quickly.
Violently.
Flesh reformed.
Bone reshaped itself beneath the surface.
Her cracked horn fused back together.
Her arms straightened.
Her melted skin crawled back into place like living wax.
She took another step.
Toward him.
His rage broke into something deeper.
Not fear.
Not anger.
Denial.
"This is impossible," he hissed.
He raised his hand again—
But she was faster.
She lunged.
Her arm struck his shoulder.
CRACK.
His body slammed into the stone floor.
Pain exploded through him.
His arm twisted unnaturally.
Broken.
He screamed.
She advanced again.
Unstoppable.
Unrelenting.
He crawled backward, his mind racing.
This was wrong.
This was beyond his calculations.
Beyond his mastery.
Beyond his control.
Behind her, the last of the prisoners escaped into the night beyond the mountain.
None remained.
No humans.
No creatures.
No witnesses.
Only creator.
And creation.
His breathing slowed.
His fear hardened again.
Not into rage.
Into decision.
If he could not control it—
If he could not destroy it—
Then he would destroy everything.
Including himself, if necessary.
His eyes darkened.
"…Then we will both die here."
He pressed his unbroken hand against the ground.
And spoke words older than his experiments.
Older than his corruption.
Words of destruction.
The mountain answered.
The stone beneath them trembled violently.
Cracks spread across the walls like veins.
The ceiling groaned.
The creature paused.
Not from fear.
From awareness.
The entire cave began to collapse.
Massive stones tore free from above, crashing downward.
The sorcerer stood slowly, blood running down his face.
"You will not exist beyond my will," he whispered.
The creature lunged.
He did not move.
Stone fell between them.
More followed.
The ceiling collapsed in massive sections.
The mountain itself began to bury them.
She pushed forward through the falling debris.
Relentless.
He continued chanting.
His voice growing louder.
More desperate.
More absolute.
The ground split open beneath her feet.
Stone engulfed her legs.
She tore free.
But more fell.
More and more.
The weight of the mountain descended.
Her arms still reached for him.
Still trying to advance.
Still refusing to stop.
His voice broke into a scream.
"BE ERASED!"
The final support gave way.
The entire chamber collapsed.
Stone buried everything.
Her body disappeared beneath the avalanche of earth and rock.
His body followed.
Darkness swallowed them both.
The mountain fell silent.
Outside, far beyond the buried cave, the escaped prisoners ran into the night, never looking back.
They did not know what had happened behind them.
They did not know if the sorcerer lived.
They did not know if the monster lived.
But deep beneath the mountain—
Buried under endless stone—
Something still existed.
Not dead.
Not gone.
Waiting.