Far away from the Academy, in a bastion city known as State X, a sealed industrial complex stood separated from the rest of the civilization.
From the outside, it looked like any high end lab. Tall concrete walls protected by gray steel, broken only by narrow black windows and a few steel vents that breathed out a faint chemical haze.
Bright security lights were placed by the periter, but the glow they cast did little to soften the feeling of the place. If anything, it made the entire structure look more haunted.
The entrance doors were thick enough to belong to a bunker. Beyond them, the corridors were sterile and cold, lit by pale white strips humming softly overhead.
After a heavy security door, was a room covered in red light. Inside this room, rows of tall glass tubes were arranged, and inside each one was a human body connected to multiple thick tubes.
These tubes pulsed as a fluid moved within them and entered into the body of the humans through skin, throat, wrists, and the hollow places where channels were being forced open.
So of the subjects twitched. So remained eerily still.
Cables ran into the tubes from the ceiling and the floor. Monitors lined one entire wall, each one displaying waves of magical flow, channel pressure, life signs, and adaptive resistance percentages.
Scientists in white coats moved briskly between the tubes, crystal screens in hand, checking readings, adjusting valves, and arguing in low voices over the numbers that kept changing on the screens.
The lead scientist, a silver-haired thin man, read a report with a look of disappointnt. He mumbled to himself about adjusting dosage.
Then a technician hurried up to him, expression tense.
"Doctor," he said, glancing at the central monitor. "Subjects 34 and 78 have flatlined."
The lead scientist barely looked up. "Dispose of them."
The technician nodded and imdiately signaled to two bodyguard-looking n.
They moved quickly to the tubes, detached the bodies and wheeled them out through a side passage. No one in the room reacted beyond a brief glance. Dead subjects were not a crisis. They were material loss.
The bodies were taken outside to the rear of the lab grounds where a broad, unmarked patch of earth lay beyond the lighting grid.
At first glance it looked like spare land, a rough field behind the complex with a few patches of weeds and dead grass. But the closer one looked, the more the ground gave away.
The soil was moulded, intentionally so, making long, layered rows. Low mounds broke the surface in places where the earth had sunk over ti. No flowers. No markers. Just dirt over dirt over dirt, stretched across a field that had clearly been used again and again.
This was a burial ground.
And the low mounds showed the places where hundreds had been buried over ti.
Back inside, the red room continued its work as if nothing had happened. A scientist at one of the lower monitors called out, "Magical pressure in tube twelve is stabilizing."
Another replied, "Not enough. Subject reaction is still sluggish."
The lead scientist tapped a reading on his device and frowned faintly. "We’re still seeing limited adaptation," he said. "The channels are resisting full integration."
"One of the newer batches is stronger," another technician murmured. "They’re taking the Gloom faster than the first group."
"Takes faster does not an takes well," the lead scientist said with a dry voice.
A low voice ca from the shadowed corner of the room. "That’s because you are still trying to force it down their throats."
Noctis Dyingbird stepped out of the darkness as if he had been there the whole ti and the lab had simply failed to notice him until now.
He looked out of place in the room, much younger and well dressed than the scientists. His black-and-silver hair was tied back neatly, one loose strand falling by the side of his face, and his expression was unnervingly calm as usual.
Behind him was Oden Fyrebloom, Rattlesnake and Reon Godgraham, Viper.
The lead scientist turned at the sound of Noctis’s voice and gave him a small nod of acknowledgnt. "Lord Cobra."
Noctis glanced at the monitors without much expression. "Give an update, Mundy."
The scientist lifted his crystal screen and swiped through the current data. "The latest batch is showing better tolerance than the first. I wouldn’t call it success but the failure rate has dropped."
Oden looked at the tubes. "Half of them are still convulsing."
"Then they are convulsing while adapting," the scientist said evenly. "That is still improvent."
Reon folded his arms. "How long until you get a proper channel shift?"
"Unknown," said the scientist. "The process is slow."
Noctis’s eyes moved across the room, then back to the central display. "And the one after this?"
The scientist hesitated only a mont before answering. "We’re experinting with a secondary infusion process. The first thod forces Gloom into the magic channels. Since humans use Grace, the channels reject it. But so body parts accept the dark energy on their own. Most still reject it."
He looked at Noctis. "The next thod should encourage the body to form compatibility instead of fighting the intrusion."
"How about a new thod?" Reon interjected, pushing his glasses up. "If shoving the Gloom into human channels shatters it, then bleed the Grace out first. A dialysis of magic. Drain them to the brink of death, and let the body pull the Gloom into it out of pure survival instinct."
Dr. Mundy blinked, genuinely impressed by the Viper’s cruel ingenuity. "We... we have begun testing a similar process, but the current stock of subjects is lacking. These Extinguishers and Kingdom Rangers you bring —they are low-rank Awakeners. Their channels are rigid. Weak. They snap before the adaptation can even begin."
At the word ’Extinguishers’, Oden’s head snapped toward the cylinders, his brows creasing.
"They deserve to snap," he muttered, stepping toward the closest tube. He stared at the suspended man inside, an Extinguisher whose body was rotting from the Gloom. "They’re governnt dogs. They’ll do anything simply because the crown tells them to. This is their punishnt."
"Oden," Reon said softly, placing a steadying hand on Rattlesnake’s shoulder. "Control your fangs. I know what they did to your parents. I know what the governnt took from you. But their suffering is just a stepping stone. Do not let your emotions cloud the objective."
Oden turned to look at Reon, then lowered his head, taking a deep breath to calm himself.
"Viper is correct," Noctis said calmly, ignoring what just happened. He reached into his coat and pulled out a crystal screen, then showed Dr. Mundy. "If you require better material, you will have it. Our contacts have secured our next subjects. We’ll take them from the Penitentiary."
Mundy tapped the file, his eyes scanning the pictures. "Inmates?"
"Specific inmates," Noctis corrected. "Young ones. Their cores are still malleable, and they are all ranked Radiant, so their channels are strong. They go by the moniker ’The Terrible Three.’ Claim them when the transport arrives."
Mundy nodded greedily. "With higher-tier subjects, the adaptation rate will skyrocket. But, Lord Cobra... our shadow backers in the governnt are demanding progress reports. They want to see the first ever Gloom-wielding Awakener soldier by the end of the month."
Reon let out a cold, mocking laugh. "Let the governnt dogs bark, Doctor. We do not really serve them. You should worry more about us."
The scientist stared into Reon’s bright white eyes, then gulped. "Of course. I’ll get to it imdiately."
Noctis pulled out a small orb from his pocket. It was vibrating.
"I told them not to call here."
He turned it over in his palm and the sphere activated at once, displaying a holographic fra above his hand.
Nyron’s face appeared in miniature light.
He was one of Noctis’s schoolmates in Class Group-S, and even through the projection he looked tense, one eye flicking off to the side as though he were speaking from sowhere he didn’t want to be seen.
"What’s the matter?" Noctis asked.
Nyron exhaled sharply, then leaned closer to the projection. "You won’t believe who’s in our faculty building right now."
Noctis looked uninterested. "Who is it?"
Nyron leaned in. "Lancet Leogardt."
That instantly caught the Lord Cobra’s interest.
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