The young boy drifted in and out of consciousness, caught in a haze between fear and oblivion. The world around him swayed like a distant wave, then abruptly shifted, pulling him violently awake as he felt himself being forcibly transported. When he finally became aware, he found himself in a sinister, dimly lit building that pulsed with a menacing energy. Shadows stretched across the walls, and an unsettling chill scraped at his bones.
The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood, mingling with the anguished cries of children that clawed at his soul. The sounds echoed in an unending cacophony of torment and despair, resonating like a funeral dirge in his heart. Dread coiled tightly within him as he was roughly placed on a cold, sterile table, the stench of antiseptic mixing with the pervasive odor of fear.
Before he had a moment to process his surroundings, his wrists were shackled against the table, the cold metal biting into his skin. Panic surged through him, igniting his senses in a whirlwind of terror. Desperation clawed at his throat as two figures loomed above him, their masked faces inscrutable, yet exuding a palpable aura of malevolence. They approached with sinister instruments—sharp and glimmering—each more horrifying than the last. A chill raced down his spine as one of them produced a syringe filled with a swirling, sickly green liquid.
The moment the needle pierced his skin, an icy tendril of fear curled around the boy's heart. The substance coursed through his veins like fire, igniting every nerve in his body. He was plunged into an abyss of darkness, the world fading away, but not before his heart began to beat wildly—a frantic war drum in the cage of his chest. His blood vessels felt as though they were stretching, tightening near the breaking point, the pressure an unbearable torment.
His eyes flew open, bloodshot and wide with horror as the pain surged through him. His body writhed against the shackles, desperate for release, his hands straining against the cold metal restraints, and he screamed—a raw, anguished cry piercing the air, mingling with the surrounding wails. Each heartbeat echoed in his ears like a countdown to destruction, and he could feel the explosive force welling within him, boiling over.
Suddenly, the shackles shattered, the metal splintering into shards that fell away as if they had never existed. The surge of adrenaline flooded his system, and he ripped free, launching himself at one of his captors with unexpected strength. He tossed the man aside, the figure slamming against the wall with a grunt of shock and pain. For a fleeting moment, a flicker of triumph ignited within him.
But it was quickly snuffed out as the second figure overpowered him, hands grabbing him like iron chains, dragging him back into submission. His limbs felt heavy and restrained as despair crept back in, wrapping him like a shroud. His body fought against the grasp, but he was utterly exhausted. Defeated, he struggled to breathe, feeling the world spiral around him as he sank into unconsciousness once more.
In the depths of that darkness, his eyes returned to a semblance of normalcy, but the echo of that fight lingered, his bloodshot gaze burning with the remnants of fear. As the sounds around him faded, he latched onto the rhythm of his breathing, an anchor in the chaos. Just before slipping away completely, he heard a voice—a low, gravelly tone from the masked man who had been watching closely.
"Looks like we've got a survivor."
With those words reverberating in his mind, he surrendered to the enveloping shadows, uncertain of what awaited him when he awoke again.
________________________________________
When he awoke, the cold bite of metal pressed against his skin jolted him back to reality. Panic surged through his veins as he realized he was shackled once again, locked within the same hellish confines that had held him captive before. Blinking against the dim light, Vaden turned his gaze to a figure standing nearby—a man engrossed in a stack of notes.
"Oh, you're awake now," the man said, a sinister pleasure lacing his tone as he closed the notes and approached him. "Wow, that was some strength you demonstrated. You actually broke my friend's ribs. Impressive." His expression was one of twisted admiration, devoid of any semblance of compassion.
His heart raced, fear clawing at his throat as he tried to gather his thoughts. "Who are you?" he stammered, his voice trembling. "What are you doing to me?"
Without a moment's hesitation, the man brandished a small blade, its edge glinting cruelly in the weak light. He struck his leg with a swift, vicious motion, and a guttural scream tore from Vaden's lips, echoing off the cold walls. "Look, little rat," the man hissed, reveling in his pain, "whenever I ask a question, you reply with respect."
Tears streamed down his face, a blend of sorrow and rage swelling within him. But before he could form a coherent thought, the man continued with deranged curiosity, "Wow, you have quite a regeneration ability." As if wanting to test this claim, he pressed the blade against his finger, slicing it clean off. His screams pierced the air once more, filled with anguish, but as he grimaced in pain, he could feel the familiar warm sensation spreading from the severed digit.
Miraculously, within moments, he watched in disbelief as his finger began to regrow, the skin knitting together with a soft glow. In just five minutes, it was as if the injury had never happened at all.
"Impressive," the man remarked, his eyes wide with a mix of horror and fascination. "Let's see if you can regenerate your bones." He took the blade and sliced into his leg again. The boy screamed again, the pain radiating through him like a lightning strike, but once more, he could feel the healing process begin almost instantaneously. Each wound he received began to close miraculously, as if his very body fought against the darkness of his captivity.
The man, undeterred, continued slicing at his arms and sides, a malicious glee spilling from his lips. The innocent boy screamed and pleaded, but his cries fell on deaf ears. The twisted mage reveled in his torment, genuinely intrigued by his extraordinary healing abilities while he struggled against the shackles that restrained him. As each new cut opened fresh pain, the cycle of agony seemed never-ending, yet every time he thought he might break, his body fought back, healing even as tears streamed down his face.
Eventually, the man lost interest, tossing his battered form through a door that creaked ominously.
When he landed on the other side, he was shocked to find himself not in another sterile room, but in a darkened space resembling a deep forest. The shadows loomed around him as if the trees were watching—a foreboding presence that sent shivers down his spine. In the inky darkness, he could just make out the outlines of gnarled branches reaching toward him like skeletal fingers.
Beside the door, something caught his eye—a small piece of bread lay abandoned on the ground. Crawling over with bloodied hands, he snatched it up and devoured it greedily, desperation overriding any sense of dignity. The rough texture scraped against his throat, but as he swallowed it whole, he felt the tiniest spark of energy returning with each bite. He noticed a small cup nearby, filled with murky water, and drank deeply, relishing the coolness against his dry lips and the way it soothed his parched throat.
As the panic of survival faded and reality sunk in, the weight of his ordeal crashed down on him like a wave. He burst into tears, the hot, wet streaks mingling with the remnants of his blood and despair. "What have I done to deserve this?" he sobbed, his voice echoing lost and broken in the dark.
In a shadowy room not far away, two men sat, their voices distilling the cruel reality of Vaden's fate. "How many survived?" one man inquired, his tone matter-of-f
act, as if discussing mere statistics.
"Out of sixty, thirty survived," the other replied, a flicker of satisfaction igniting in his voice.
"That's good," the first man answered, a chilling edge in his tone. "I hope they all survive so they can be of use to the Lord."