Inside the vault, three hallways stretched before us.
To our left, a gaunt-looking man approached—easily over six feet tall—draped in a long, heavy red coat that appeared both ceremonial and cumbersome. His head was concealed beneath a deep red hood, casting eerie shadows over his face. At his belt hung an array of strange, medical-looking instruments, alongside a golden book adorned with the engraved face of an eagle.
From what I could tell, he was some kind of medic—but not the kind I would ever want treating me.
His cybernetic eyes glowed an ominous green, and half his face was concealed behind a gas mask-like apparatus. Two thick tubes extended from the mask, connecting to a large mechanical backpack that hummed softly with power. From that same device, two additional cybernetic arms protruded, twitching slightly. His real hands, riddled with deep, ugly scars, hinted at a lifetime of suffering—or madness. On one hand alone, I counted over thirty scars.
Behind him, two circular drones hovered silently, their eerie presence adding to the unsettling atmosphere.
The moment he saw us, his body trembled. With a sharp intake of breath, he clenched a fist to his chest before dropping to his knees, pressing his forehead against the cold floor. His voice, shaking with reverence—almost worship—echoed through the chamber.
"Ah…! This day… mm… my existence is made whole, for I have been granted the sacred honor of beholding the noble lineage of my Lord! Speak but a word, and this unworthy servant shall obey without question… w-what is thy command, my Lord?"
From his words alone, I might have thought he was mocking us—but the way his body trembled and his voice quivered told a different story. There was no deception, no sarcasm—only pure, unhinged devotion. It was the kind of fanatical belief that stripped away all reason, the kind that made a man willing to throw himself into the fire at a single command.
For a few seconds, he remained kneeling, his head pressed against the cold floor, as if awaiting divine judgment.
Then, at last, my father spoke.
"Clear this chamber at once. I do not wish to see a single soul here for the next few minutes."
The moment those words left his lips, the kneeling man silently rose to his feet, his head still bowed as if unworthy to look at us directly. Without hesitation, he lifted his trembling hand and activated a wrist-mounted screen, his fingers typing rapidly across its glowing interface.
A heavy silence hung in the air as he stepped aside, his body still shaking. From my position in my mother's arms, I could see his face more clearly now—his cybernetic eyes glowing eerily, yet unmistakable trails of tears ran down his scarred cheeks. His expression was one of absolute horror, as if he had committed some unspeakable sin.
For a moment, I couldn't help but wonder—how could he even cry with artificial eyes?
Noticing me staring at the trembling man beside us, my mother suddenly spoke.
"You're forgiven."
Her voice was soft, yet it carried undeniable weight.
My father, who had remained silent, turned to look at her. His eyes lingered for a moment before quickly averting his gaze when she met his stare.
The man in red, still bowing, lowered his head even further, as if in gratitude.
Then, in a matter of moments, the entire vault began to empty.
At least five hundred people filed out—doctors, nurses, janitors, and others whose roles I couldn't quite identify. Many bore an eerie resemblance to the man beside us, draped in heavy red coats, their faces filled with reverence… and something closer to fear. It was unsettling.
Yet, despite the unease in their expressions, they moved in perfect unison.
As one, they placed their fists over their chests, bowed deeply, and then quietly left the vault, disappearing into the halls beyond.
Now, only the three of us remained.
Without a word, my father turned and began walking down the long corridor. I followed, still cradled in my mother's arms.
Through the glass windows lining the hallway, I caught glimpses of the facility's operations. What I saw sent a chill through me.
Various medical experiments were underway—some of them outright horrifying. Corpses lay on operating tables, their bodies splayed open in grim displays of surgical precision. Strange machines beeped in rhythmic sequences, monitoring whatever grotesque work was being done.
Before I could fully process what, I was seeing, my mother gently placed a hand over my eyes, shielding me from the sight. Her fingers were against my face, I felt the urge to move, to see more, but before I could react, she let go. We had already passed beyond the windows, leaving the haunting image behind.
Ahead of us loomed an enormous golden door.
Its surface was adorned with intricate engravings—the image of an old, beggar-like man holding a wooden bowl.
Without hesitation, my father stepped forward and pressed his hand against the golden surface. At his touch, the door groaned and creaked, slowly swinging open.
What lay beyond took my breath away.
The room was massive, its walls lined with countless thick cables and transparent tubes filled with glowing liquid. The substance pulsed, flowing like veins through the metallic structure, all converging toward the very center of the chamber.
There, within a colossal cylindrical containment unit, a woman floated in the luminous fluid.
Her body was encased in thick ice, preserved in eerie stillness. Even through the frost, her beauty was staggering—otherworldly, haunting, beyond human comprehension.
She defied every standard of beauty, a being whose mere existence could drive men to madness, to war, to ruin.
But what stood out most were the two small horns protruding from her forehead, adding a subtle yet undeniable demonic charm.
She was dressed in an elegant red and purple kimono, yet just below her abdomen, a dark stain of blood seeped through the fabric. A deep horizontal cut marred the once-pristine silk, the wound hidden beneath the icy embrace of her prison. The delicate fabric drifted ever so slightly in the glowing liquid, giving the illusion of movement despite her frozen stillness.
But more than anything, I could feel it—the sheer, bone-deep cold radiating from the massive containment unit.
Even from here, the chill reached out, wrapping around me like an unseen force, sending a shiver down my tiny spine.
A single thought echoed through my mind, drowning out all others.
"Is that my mother?"
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If we reach 100 stones, I'll reward you all with a bonus chapter!