He was naked and trembling.
His eyes blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.
His mind was foggy, filled with fragnts of sothing he couldn’t quite grasp.
The air around him was cold, and the place was dark.
It filled him with fear.
Footsteps echoed.
The child turned toward the sound.
A tall man walked forward from the shadows.
He stepped into the light cast by the cube’s fading glow.
He had long black hair, deep red eyes, two horns that curved slightly from his forehead, and a face that had uncanny similarity to the child.
"Stand up."
He tossed sothing at the boy’s feet.
A sword.
It clattered as it hit the ground, and the tal ring against the stone.
The noise frightened the child, who didn’t understand what was happening.
"Stand up and pick up the sword."
The boy didn’t move.
His legs trembled, his arms twitched, but he stayed crouched on the ground, too afraid to act.
Then ca the whispers.
"Why isn’t he responding?"
"Is there sothing wrong with the Womb of Devil? He’s supposed to have knowledge already."
"He looks clueless. Another failure?"
The child’s eyes widened.
He looked around.
His vision adjusted.
In the darkness surrounding the chamber, he saw figures in white coats.
They were standing along the walls, clipboards in hand, writing sothing down every ti he moved or reacted.
He stared at them, confused and afraid.
He was hyperventilating.
"Stop looking around."
The cold voice cut into his mind like a blade.
His eyes snapped back to the man standing before him.
There was no expression on the man’s face, but sothing in his gaze made the child’s stomach twist.
He could tell the man was getting annoyed.
Shaking, the child moved.
Every movent felt wrong. His limbs were stiff, like they didn’t belong to him. But he pushed himself to move.
He could feel the man the whole ti.
A voice deep inside warned him: if he failed to et the man’s expectations, sothing bad would happen to him.
So, with trembling fingers, he picked up the sword.
He pushed himself to stand.
His chest was rising faster now, and breaths were becoming uneven.
The tal felt cold and heavy in his grip.
"Attack with your strongest attack."
The boy blinked in surprise.
Still, he gripped the sword with both hands.
He took a shaky breath, trying to understand the strange thing he was holding.
Slowly, almost unconsciously, his instincts began to awaken.
Sothing within him shifted.
He started to understand the weapon’s balance, its weight, how to swing it.
But he didn’t attack imdiately.
He knew sothing like a normal swing wouldn’t impress the man.
He needed sothing better.
Power gathered around him.
Red lightning flickered around the blade.
Gasps ca from the white coats, but the child didn’t notice them.
He was focused entirely on the weapon, and on what his instincts told him to do.
He raised the sword and slashed downward with all the strength he could muster.
Lightning exploded forward.
It rushed at the horned man with a fierce hum.
The chaotic energy crackled in the air.
But just before it touched him, the energy was dispersed by the man’s aura.
The child panted, gripping the sword tighter.
He heard the voices again.
"That was almost Expert-level mastery of the Death elent."
"He was created only monts ago... and already he’s this far?"
"Hahah! We succeeded in creating an Artificial Devil!"
"He inherited the Sovereign’s blood. It’s stronger than we thought."
The boy stood still, unsure what to do next.
But hearing those words, he felt sothing stir inside him. A warmth.
He didn’t understand what they ant by ’Sovereign,’ but he assud it was the man in front of him.
Their praise made him straighten a little.
His fear didn’t vanish, but it dulled slightly.
Maybe he had done well.
The Sovereign exhaled loudly.
"It’s a failure," he said.
The words hit him hard enough to make him breathless.
Silence fell across the room.
The voices stopped.
Even the people in white coats looked confused, eyes shifting between each other.
"This is the best result we could get from the Womb of Devil," the Sovereign continued. "But in the end... he’s pathetic. I shouldn’t have expected anything better from a tool gifted to by the disgrace of the Witches."
The child’s heart sank.
The people in white coats hesitated.
So looked at the child, others at the man.
Their expressions were mixed with confusion and disbelief.
One of them finally spoke, voice low.
"But Sovereign... his talent is clearly—"
The man turned slightly, eyes flashing.
"This level of talent is worthless. It’s not power we need. We need a miracle. And this... creature is not it."
The room felt colder after that.
The white coats no longer spoke.
One by one, they bowed their heads.
No one defended the child again.
They understood the Sovereign was correct.
"End the Womb of Devil experints."
The Sovereign turned and walked back.
The child stood there, sword in hand, still trembling slightly.
The echoes of the Sovereign’s footsteps faded, but the silence that followed was heavier.
One by one, the people in white coats began to leave.
They didn’t say anything.
They didn’t spare the child another glance.
They just quietly walked away, their clipboards still clutched tightly in their hands.
Eventually, the room was empty.
The child remained standing there, unsure of what to do.
He didn’t know if he was supposed to wait for soone or if he had been abandoned.
Hours passed, maybe days.
He couldn’t tell.
With nothing to do, the child tried using the knowledge embedded in his mind.
He shaped dark cloth around his body with simple weaving techniques.
His hands were clumsy, but he managed to cover himself.
The magic-based fabric felt rough, but it was better than the cold air.
He kept practicing with the sword.
That was the only thing he knew how to do best.
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