(Please read the summary first to understand this chapter)
September 24, 2042
At Nèo-Lyon, France
Deep beneath the ruined earth, far below where the remnants of the old world lay buried, an underground laboratory pulsed with cold, artificial light. The air smelled of sterilized metal and rotting flesh, an unnatural blend of science and decay.
Inside a vast observation chamber, dozens of figures writhed in containment cells—grotesque, early mutations of the Gifted. Their bodies were broken, misshapen mockeries of human form.
Some were nothing but pulsating masses of flesh, fused to the walls by their own uncontrollable growth. Others had elongated limbs, stretched into unnatural angles, their bones having never settled into a stable structure. A few still had something resembling faces, but their eyes were empty voids, their mouths twitching as if trying to recall the concept of speech.
They were the forgotten.
The first generation of mutations.
And watching them with quiet disdain stood Vael Iscariot.
He stood tall, a figure clad in a dark, high-collared coat, his presence like an abyss that devoured the very light around him. His eyes—cold, empty—observed the creatures before him without a hint of pity.
Beside him, adjusting his thick glasses, stood Professor Eldran Karst. The lead scientist of the Global Administration's research division, a man who had survived the collapse of the old world not through strength, but through knowledge. His once-pristine lab coat was stained with time and sleepless nights.
They stood upon a raised observation deck, separated from the containment chamber by reinforced glass—though everyone in the room knew that if Vael willed it, no wall could protect them from his power.
Vael's voice was measured, quiet—but it carried the weight of absolute authority.
"Fourteen years ago, we called this 'evolution.'" His gaze swept across the grotesque forms below.
"A mistake. We assumed the mutations would stabilize, that humanity would ascend into something greater. But the first wave of the Gifted…"
He gestured towards the writhing creatures. "This was the result."
Professor Karst adjusted his glasses, nodding. "The earliest mutations were… unstable. They lacked control. Most of them never even developed coherent abilities—just rampant, unchecked biological changes." He exhaled, as if remembering a past he wished he could forget.
"They were powerful, yes, but they were incomplete. Dangerous. And… unfit for civilization."
Vael turned his gaze to him. "And yet, now, the new generations are different."
Karst nodded. He tapped a few keys on the holographic console before him, bringing up a series of projection screens. They displayed data, images, and video feeds of Gifted individuals from across the world.
Unlike the malformed creatures in the cells, these were refined. Their powers were precise, controlled. Elemental manipulation, enhanced physical capabilities, space-time distortions—abilities that could be wielded with purpose.
Karst gestured to the screens. "The newer Gifted have stabilized. Their abilities are more structured, more… useful. Their mutations don't deform them. Instead, their bodies adapt."
Vael's fingers tapped against the metal railing in thought.
"Why?"
Karst hesitated for only a moment before responding. "We believe it is due to generational refinement. The first wave of mutations was uncontrolled, chaotic. But as time passed, those with stable abilities were the ones who survived, who reproduced. Natural selection took over."
He switched to another screen, displaying a genetic breakdown. "Fourteen years later, the majority of newborn Gifted no longer suffer from disfigurement. Their bodies instinctively refine their powers, ensuring that they remain… human."
Vael remained silent, his gaze unreadable.
Then, his lips curled—just slightly.
"Survival of the fittest, then."
Karst swallowed. "Yes… In a sense, the weak Gifted are already being phased out. Those who couldn't control their powers either died or became like… them." He nodded toward the early mutations in the cells below.
One of the creatures—a massive, fleshy abomination with multiple faces shifting across its body—let out a long, guttural groan. A sound that might have once been a name. A memory of who it used to be.
Vael's gaze lingered on it for only a moment before looking away.
"Have they outlived their purpose?" His voice was indifferent, final.
Karst hesitated. "They are valuable for research, Administrator. Understanding them helps us—"
Vael raised a hand, and Varst immediately stopped speaking.
"I did not ask for their academic value, Professor. I asked if they serve a purpose."
A heavy silence filled the air.
Then, finally, Varst sighed. "No, sir. They are obsolete."
Vael exhaled slowly, as if he had already known the answer.
He turned away from the observation deck, walking toward the exit.
"Then erase them."
Varst tensed. "Administrator—"
Vael's footsteps stopped.
Without turning, he spoke once more. "They are relics of a failed evolution. We do not preserve failure."
Varst knew better than to argue. He bowed his head. "Understood, sir."
With that, Vael left the laboratory, his figure disappearing into the cold metal corridors beyond.
Behind him, the containment chamber was sealed. The lights within flickered, shifting to a deep crimson.
And then—one by one—the screaming began.
Crimson Dawn
Minutes later
The doors of the Aegis-9 slid open with a whisper, its reinforced frame gleaming under the neon lights of the underground facility. This was no ordinary car—it was a masterpiece of engineering, a floating fortress disguised as a sleek, black service vehicle. Built with the most advanced kinetic shielding and quantum-reinforced plating, it was an indestructible coffin to anyone who wasn't its master.
Vael Iscariot stepped inside without a word.
The interior was bathed in dim, blue light, the hum of the anti-grav engines barely perceptible. He sat back in his seat, fingers steepled, as the doors slid shut behind him. The Aegis-9 lifted off the ground effortlessly, merging into the flow of high-speed transit across the skyline of Neò-Lyon.
Across from him, seated with perfect posture, was Hisen Lemoine. Hisen was Vael's personal administrative assistant—a man with a sharp, analytical mind and a mouth that "rarely slipped". His suit was flawless, his hair neatly combed, his cybernetic display glasses flickering with real-time data.
As the car drifted through the sky, Hisen cleared his throat.
"Administrator," Hisen began, voice clipped and efficient.
"There has been an increase in Outcaster production in Japan. Our latest surveillance reports show a growing insurgency in the ruins of both old Tokyo and old Kyoto. It seems the Outcasters there have begun forming organized sectors—factories, supply chains, even armories. They have evolved alot since the last dominion tournament four Years ago..."
Vael remained silent, gazing out at the shimmering lights of the city below. New Paris was a gleaming jewel—one of the last bastions of order in a world consumed by chaos.
Hisen continued. "This level of production suggests they are preparing for something larger. Possibly an attempt to disrupt the upcoming Tournament of Dominion."
Still, Vael said nothing.
Hisen hesitated before adding, "Sir… some within our intelligence division believe Japan may become a second Forbidden Zone at this rate."
At this, Vael finally spoke. His voice was smooth, calm—devoid of concern.
"It won't."
Hisen exhaled through his nose, nodding. "Understood."
A few moments of silence passed between them, the only sound being the low hum of the car.
Then, without thinking, Hisen spoke again.
"This was a mistake..."
The words left his mouth before his brain could process them.
A mistake..
A mistake...
Silence.
Hisen's entire body went rigid. His cybernetic glasses flickered slightly as his hands clenched into his lap. He hadn't meant to say it—hadn't even realized it was in his mind until it had slipped out.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Vael turned his head toward him.
Hisen felt it immediately—that presence.
Like gravity itself had changed.
His throat went dry. His heart pounded in his chest.
Still, Vael did not speak.
The air inside the car seemed heavier, as if something unseen had entered the space between them. A phantom pressure, crushing, suffocating.
Hisen swallowed, hard.
"I… I misspoke, Administrator." His voice was quiet, forced. "I did not mean—"
"A mistake."
Vael's voice was barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the air like a blade.
Hisen's body locked up.
Vael's gaze did not waver. It was not anger, not frustration—just a cold, absolute awareness.
"Elaborate."
Hisen's breathing shallowed. His mind screamed at him to fix this, but there was no escape now. He had already spoken.
Carefully—desperately controlling his tone—he responded.
"…Humanity was never meant to evolve like this."
Vael said nothing.
Hisen forced himself to continue. "The Gifted… The world as it is now… It was never meant to be like this. We were meant to advance naturally. Progress slowly. Civilization should have—"
A single breath from Vael.
Hisen stopped.
His lungs felt constricted. His vision blurred for a fraction of a second.
Then, Vael spoke.
"What is 'meant to be?"
Hisen's lips parted, but no sound came out.
Vael leaned back, gaze returning to the city outside. "A tree is meant to grow toward the sun, but if a storm tears it in half, is that unnatural?"
Hisen hesitated. "…No."
Vael continued. "If a lion devours a herd of prey and becomes the dominant species of its land, is that unnatural?"
"…No."
Vael's fingers tapped idly against the armrest. "Then tell me, Hisen. If the weak are consumed, and the strong shape the world in their image… what exactly was 'meant to be?'"
Hisen felt sweat gather at the base of his neck. He lowered his head slightly. "I understand, sir."
Vael gave the smallest hint of a smirk.
"Good."
The pressure in the air vanished.
The Aegis-9 continued its smooth flight through the city skyline, as if nothing had happened.
Hisen let out a slow, careful breath, keeping his hands steady in his lap.
He did not speak for the rest of the ride.
And neither did Vael.