[Author's Note: This story contains violence, body horror, and dark psychological themes. Intended for mature readers. Please read with discretion.]
HAKA — The Tomb, Gathering Place of the Anathema Clan
A dark chamber.
Only the flickering glow of torches lining the stone walls offered faint illumination.
The small flames trembled softly, casting long shadows that swayed like living things.
The air was cold.
Damp.
And heavy with an oppressive aura—an invisible pressure strong enough to force anyone to lower their head.
At the far end of the chamber, at the highest point—
A stone throne stood.
Seated upon it… was a man.
Erebos.
His eyes were closed.
His long hair was a deep crimson—like dying embers that still held heat within.
The black hanfu draped loosely over his body, its collar slightly open, revealing pale skin that starkly contrasted against the darkness of his attire.
Over his right shoulder hung a fur cloak—striped in orange, white, and black.
The pelt of a wild beast, preserved whole.
Even its head remained attached at the end—fangs bared, eyes hollow.
As if it still guarded the throne… even in death.
A symbol of authority.
A symbol of power beyond question.
He sat alone at the highest point.
Calm.
Unmoving.
As though the entire chamber existed for the sole purpose of affirming his presence.
Slowly—
Figures cloaked in black began to emerge from the darkness.
One by one.
Without footsteps.
Without voices.
They formed two long lines—left and right—leaving a clear path stretching straight toward the throne.
Every head was lowered.
No one dared to look directly at the man seated above.
Silence pressed down upon the room.
Until—
The hurried sound of footsteps echoed from afar.
A young man with long black hair entered the chamber. His hair was disheveled.
His breathing was uneven.
His eyes swept across the room for a brief moment—before lowering deeply.
Larcenous.
He moved quickly through the path formed by the clan members. His steps came to a halt at the end of the corridor—
Just a few meters from the throne.
Without hesitation—
He dropped to his knees.
His head bowed low. His hands pressed against the cold stone floor.
A gesture of submission.
Yet the man with deep crimson hair seated upon the throne—
Did not respond.
He did not open his eyes.
He did not move.
He remained still.
As if no one stood before him.
Larcenous stayed kneeling.
Daring neither to move… nor to speak.
His body stiffened. Cold sweat slowly formed along his temples.
Because he knew—
The silence in this chamber was not merely silence.
It was judgment.
The man on the throne did not open his eyes.
Yet the fingers of his left hand began to move—slowly tapping against the stone armrest.
Tok…
Tok…
Tok…
A faint sound.
But within the vast, silent chamber, the echoes spread endlessly.
Each tap carried an unnatural pressure.
As if the air itself had grown tense.
Breathing became heavy. Difficult.
The black-haired youth kneeling at the end of the corridor turned pale.
Cold sweat trickled down his temples—
Dripping.
It fell onto the stone floor.
Drop by drop, it dampened the surface beneath him.
Yet he didn't dare move.
Didn't dare lift his head.
Until—
A voice echoed.
Cold. Flat. Devoid of emotion.
"I will give you one more chance," Erebos said.
A simple sentence.
Yet to anyone in that chamber, those words weighed heavier than a death sentence.
The black-haired youth immediately lowered his head even further.
"Th—thank you…" His voice trembled, barely daring to form the words.
Erebos did not open his eyes.
His fingers stopped tapping.
"His power has been successfully sealed."
His tone remained calm—unchanged.
As if he were merely speaking of something trivial. "This time… you can finish it, can't you?"
The black-haired youth bowed even deeper.
"Y—yes, of course!"
"I swear I will not disappoint you, Chief."
His voice was tight with tension—yet laced with forced resolve.
A few seconds passed.
No response.
Then—
"Leave."
One word.
Short. Absolute.
No explanation. No excess.
But it was enough.
The black-haired youth immediately bowed twice, his forehead touching the floor.
Then he rose at once.
His steps were quick—almost hurried.
He moved through the corridor formed by the clan members, never once daring to look back.
Slowly—
The cloaked figures began to disappear once more into the darkness.
One by one.
Without sound. Without trace.
The chamber returned to emptiness.
Silent.
Only one figure remained.
Erebos.
Still seated upon his throne.
Eyes closed.
Unmoving.
Unspeaking.
Within the vast stone chamber—
He sat alone.
Surrounded by power…
And an unspoken emptiness that lingered in the dark.
****
After leaving Haka, Larcenous walked along a narrow path cutting through the forest.
That thin trail was the only access leading to an old house atop the hill.
The structure resembled an abandoned shrine. Yet there was not a single statue of any god to worship.
What existed instead… was a sight enough to make anyone vomit at a glance.
Humans.
Processed.
Refined.
Those still alive had their bodies pierced with thousands of poisoned needles, leaving them unable to move. Paralytic toxins dripped slowly through tubes connected to their flesh.
Other fluids—carefully engineered—were forced down their throats to preserve their skin.
After death, their bodies were submerged in large vats filled with preservative liquid.
For four full days.
Then came the next stage—
Skinning.
Mutilation.
The "useful" parts—eyes, hair, nails, hands, feet—were harvested.
The rest was discarded without a second thought.
Skinless carcasses left to rot in the corners of the yard. Meanwhile, the selected parts were processed again—soaked, dried, and finally sealed within black jars.
A scene that would haunt anyone who witnessed it.
A nightmare given form.
But Larcenous… smiled.
"Normally, the Chairman forbids killing among us," he muttered cheerfully.
"But this time, I've been granted an exception. Even a second chance."
A soft chuckle escaped his lips.
"How generous of Chief"
Larcenous stepped inside, heading toward an offering altar that had long stood empty.
There, he picked up a black box.
Slowly—
He opened it.
"Rexdeus…"
His voice trembled—caught between envy and admiration. "At last… I can become you."
Using the black stake still stained with Rexdeus's blood, he let the dark liquid drip into a white vessel filled with a viscous mass of melted human flesh.
Two different substances met.
Clashed.
Then fused into one.
"KHahahaha…" He laughed gleefully.
"With this… I will become Rexdeus."
Without hesitation, Larcenous drank the entire contents of the vessel.
PRANG!
He hurled it to the ground, where it shattered into pieces.
His black hair began to turn red.
But then—
Grotesque lumps surfaced across his face and body.
They shifted.
Twisted. As if something alive was writhing beneath his skin.
"GYAAAH—!!" He clawed at his own face. "Pain… what is this?!"
His body convulsed violently.
Unable to endure the agony tearing through him, he struck his own abdomen—
and vomited part of the liquid.
"Uueerrghh…"
The transformation stopped.
His face returned to normal—though patches of skin had peeled away, smeared with black blood.
Only his hair remained red.
"Hah… haah…"
"What… is this? Why?!"
Fury and confusion twisted across his expression. "I've grown stronger… but I didn't fully become him?"
"Is it because of the difference in power… or because we are both Anathema?"
A low chuckle escaped him—warped, unstable.
Whatever reason it was…
"I can track him now." Larcenous's gaze turned feral—madness flickering within his eyes. "Wait for me, Rexdeus."
"This time…" His laughter echoed throughout the house—wild, greedy, and utterly insane. "I will devour you."