The cold moonlight stread through the only small, locked window of the prison cell, casting its glow inside and bringing a faint touch of light to the otherwise dark prison.
The environnt inside was extrely harsh—green moss-like plants covered the ground and walls.
The only passage leading to the outside was a specially constructed iron door, with a small compartnt at the bottom for passing food.
The floor was covered with nothing but a thin layer of straw, and a small child with golden hair lay motionless on the cold ground.
The child wore a white prison uniform.
His delicate features and long golden hair gave him an almost ethereal appearance.
However, if one were to look a little higher, they would see that his right wrist was pierced by a strange, glowing black iron nail, pinning him firmly to the wall.
Even the slightest movent would bring him unbearable pain.
His body trembled slightly, seemingly from the agony, yet his expression remained eerily calm—perhaps even lifeless.
His pupils were entirely unfocused, a void of emptiness and chaos.
Slowly, Nord raised his trembling left hand and held it before his eyes.
It was such a small, ordinary movent, yet the mont he did so, a deep wound suddenly tore open on his left hand.
Bright red blood gushed out, staining his entire left arm in crimson.
(Am I... still here? My hand...)
Staring at his bleeding arm, a twisted, pained smile crept onto Nord's lips.
He closed his eyes, as if doing so could bring back the mories of that mont.
His body had been subrged in a pool of blood.
In an instant, countless consciousnesses surged into his mind—resentnt, fear, despair, hatred, pain—as if innurable souls were screaming in his head, trying to shatter his very mind.
"Why... why are you killing ?!!!"
"I curse you! I curse you, you demons!!!"
"I will kill you all! Give back my child!!"
"Please... don't kill ! I'm begging you!!!!"
The overwhelming flood of voices sent unbearable pain surging through his brain, as if countless needles were piercing into it.
His entire consciousness was dragged into a dark abyss—an endless swamp where the more he struggled, the deeper he sank.
The bubbles that had once scattered across the blood pool, each resembling a wailing human face, suddenly sward toward him the mont he entered.
Like a pack of starving wolves that had finally found prey, they relentlessly tore at his flesh.
He saw it with his own eyes—his arm, in just the blink of an eye, was reduced to a bloody ss by those screaming faces.
He could even see the intricate patterns of his exposed bones...
But as long as he remained subrged in the blood pool, the devoured flesh would regenerate instantly.
Over and over again, his body was torn apart, only to be rebuilt, then torn apart once more... an endless cycle with no escape.
The pain, however, never faded.
No amount of dismbernt could compare to this agony.
The tornt was boundless—he could feel it in every fiber of his being, as if every single cell in his body was screaming in protest.
Yet, amidst this ceaseless tornt, his body was undergoing a transformation, evolving toward so unknown new form of existence.
Before the experint could even conclude, Nord had already lost consciousness.
When he awoke again, he found himself in this prison cell—his right hand nailed to the wall, all his strength and magic sealed away by the iron nail.
Even the slightest movent sent waves of unbearable pain coursing through his body.
(The God-Creation Project... Just how long have you been planning this, Father?)
A few tears slipped from the corners of Nord's eyes.
The thought of his biological father's cold, indifferent figure as he left filled his heart with an icy numbness.
(Lia... What about Lia? Is she suffering the sa tornt as I am?)
The mont this thought surfaced in his mind, a shadow of fear lood over him.
(No... that can't be. She must be safe, she—)
Nord's thoughts suddenly ca to a halt.
(What... can I even do...? Right now, I can't even protect myself...)
His left hand, as if drained of all strength, fell heavily onto the cold prison floor once more.
------------------
(How long has it been? A month? Two months? I can't rember anymore.)
Inside the blood pool, Nord lay motionless, his unfocused eyes staring into nothingness as the wailing ghostly faces around him continued to tear at his flesh.
If this had happened before, he would have scread in agony from the unbearable pain of having his flesh devoured.
But now, he no longer even had the strength to scream.
(I guess... this counts as progress, doesn't it?)
A strange thought surfaced in his mind, followed by a bitter, mocking smile.
However, the excruciating pain contorted that smirk into sothing twisted and unnatural.
"It's about ti for the next phase."
A cold, emotionless voice reached Nord's ears.
He slowly lifted his head and saw the man standing at the edge of the blood pool—his father, Claude Rutherford, a middle-aged man with short, dark-gold hair.
Beside him stood Hughes, stroking his chin as if deep in thought.
Hearing Claude's words, Hughes nodded. "Indeed, the 'Perfect Vessel' is nearing completion, and the divine bloodline within him has begun to awaken. If he still proves incapable of withstanding the power of the 'Divine Core,' then we'll truly have to consider alternative thods."
"Failure is not an option," Claude stated coldly. "This is the result of three generations of relentless experints and trials. This generation has the finest divine bloodline, the most perfect forbidden artifact—there is no reason for failure."
Hughes chuckled softly but made no reply.
Instead, he shifted his gaze toward the other side of the room and addressed several individuals clad in identical attire. "It's ti. Take Subject No. 1 to the laboratory and begin preparations for Phase Two."
"Understood!"
At Hughes's command, the individuals near the blood pool activated several intricate magic sigils, lifting Nord from the pool.
They swiftly bound him in chains, secured him onto a stretcher, and carried him out of the room.
Throughout the entire process, Nord remained silent, his expression unchanged.
He simply stared at Claude with those lifeless, dead eyes.
By chance, Claude t Nord's gaze—and his body suddenly shuddered, ever so slightly.
The movent was subtle, barely noticeable, yet it did not escape the sharp eyes of Hughes, who was standing beside him.
"What's wrong, Clan Leader Claude? Are you feeling unwell?"
"No... it's nothing." Claude shook his head and closed his eyes.
(That gaze... why did it make my heart clench? It felt as if... as if I had been marked by Death itself. That look—it carried the very imprint of death.)
On the stretcher, Nord's fingers tightened ever so slightly.
His battered, bite-mark-covered body was rapidly healing as it absorbed the remnants of the blood pool's liquid clinging to his skin.
(Don't let find an opportunity... because one day, I will personally bury you. I will never forgive you. Pray while you still can—repent while you still have ti. Because soon... you won't even have that.)
For a brief mont, a dark, ominous haze flickered through Nord's pupils.
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