After the bloody trial and a silent lunch, the children were sent back to their cells, their minds and bodies still reeling from the brutality of the laboratory. But that day, something unusual disrupted the routine. Light footsteps echoed through the metal corridors, drawing nearer.
No machines or faceless attendants appeared—only perfect clones of the Mistress of the Laboratory. These replicas moved gracefully from cell to cell, offering sweets, gentle touches, and soft words of comfort. For the children, it was an unfamiliar experience of warmth in a world otherwise devoid of it. Many clung to these moments, tears falling as they embraced this fleeting solace.
But in Seyrin's cell, the encounter was entirely different.
When the magical barrier to his cell dissolved, Seyrin expected to see one of those clones. Instead, it was her—the true Mistress—who entered.
Her presence was both mesmerizing and suffocating. She exuded an aura of elegance and power, wrapped in a black, form-fitting dress that clung to her flawless figure. Her alabaster skin glowed faintly under the dim light, contrasting with her blood-red lips and raven-black hair that cascaded like silk. Her icy blue eyes, piercing and unyielding, held a gaze that could cut through steel.
In her hands, she carried a small ornate box, gold accents glinting faintly as she approached.
"Number 4," she said, her voice smooth and intoxicating. "I wanted to visit you personally. You're… special."
Seyrin, sitting on the edge of his metal cot, looked up at her. His slit pupils glowed faintly red, but his expression remained cold and distant, unshaken by her striking beauty.
She stepped closer, holding out the box with an almost maternal tenderness. "I brought you something. A gift. Your favorites."
Seyrin's eyes flicked toward the box briefly, then back to her. His lips curled in disdain.
"Do you think I'd thank you for a piece of candy after everything you've done to us? Are you insane or just stupid?" he spat, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
Her smile didn't falter. Instead, it widened slightly, her interest visibly piqued.
Then, with a swift motion, Seyrin raised his hand and struck the box out of her grip. It hit the wall with a sharp crack, spilling colorful candies onto the cold, metallic floor.
"I don't need your damn gifts," he said harshly, his fiery gaze locked on hers.
For a moment, the Mistress said nothing. She stood still, her sharp eyes fixed on him, her lips curling into a predatory smile.
"You have spirit, I'll give you that," she murmured, her tone almost teasing. "But you're so… unrefined."
Before he could react, she moved. Her hand shot out, gripping his neck with a chilling strength. Her fingers, cold and unyielding, clamped down like iron. In an instant, she lifted him slightly and slammed him against the wall, her body pressing close to his.
"Do you dare to speak to me like that?" she whispered, her breath icy against his skin.
Seyrin didn't flinch. His crimson eyes bore into hers, unyielding even as her grip tightened.
She leaned closer, her lips brushing against his before she kissed him deeply, her tongue forcing its way into his mouth with a cruel dominance. Her movements were invasive, claiming, as though she sought to break his defiance.
Rage surged through Seyrin's chest. He tried to pull away, but her grip was unrelenting.
Breaking the kiss, she smirked and leaned in closer to his neck. Without warning, her teeth sank into his skin, biting hard enough to leave a lasting mark.
Seyrin growled low, his fists clenched as the sharp pain radiated from the bite. He could feel blood trickling from the wound, warm against his cold skin.
She lingered, her lips brushing over the fresh bite as her hands slid downward. Her fingers traced slow, deliberate lines across his chest, her touch both mocking and possessive.
"Look at you," she purred. "Your fire, your strength… your potential. You're everything I could have dreamed of."
But Seyrin wasn't broken. A heat began to build within him, rising from the depths of his being. Small, flickering embers appeared in the air around them, glowing like fireflies in the dim light.
The temperature in the cell spiked, the embers growing brighter and hotter. The metal walls shimmered faintly as the air around them seemed to ripple with heat.
The Mistress released him abruptly, her hand sliding from his neck as she stepped back. Her icy blue eyes widened momentarily, but her smile returned quickly, now tinged with satisfaction.
The embers swirled around Seyrin, some exploding into tiny bursts of flame as they touched the ground. His breathing was heavy, and his crimson eyes burned with defiance.
"Impressive," she said softly, her voice almost a whisper. "You're even more fascinating than I imagined."
She adjusted her dress with practiced elegance, taking another step back toward the door.
"But it'll take more than fire to impress me, Seyrin."
She turned toward the exit, her movements deliberate and unhurried. Before leaving, she glanced back over her shoulder, her smile widening.
"We have all the time in the world, Number 4," she said, her tone laced with mockery. "And I'm very, very patient."
The door sealed behind her with a faint hum, leaving Seyrin alone in the charged air of his cell.
Seyrin slid down the wall, his hand instinctively moving to the fresh bite on his neck. His fingers brushed against the puncture marks, the skin still throbbing from the wound.
The embers around him dimmed slowly, their light fading until only darkness remained. He stared at the metallic floor, where scattered candies and charred marks from the flames lingered.
"You can try," he muttered, his voice low and filled with simmering rage. "But you won't break me."
His crimson eyes burned faintly in the shadows as he clenched his fists, the fire within him still smoldering—a promise of destruction yet to come.