In a cold, tallic chamber—wide, breath turning instantly to fog—the air itself felt frozen still.
Steel refrigerators, glass capsules, modern devices stacked along every wall. It was a laboratory. A fully functional one.
Not as advanced as the technology he once had in his previous world, of course. But for Cyn, this lab was more than enough.
Everything had begun the mont he discovered sothing scientifically impossible in his old world—deep inside that cave, where he had found massive pools of liquid nitrogen, sitting there at an impossible temperature: minus two hundred degrees.
A scientific impossibility. Nitrogen was a gas; to liquefy it, you had to extract it and cool it artificially. Yet there it was, naturally ford.
So he built channels and pipes beneath the ground and through the walls, filling them all with liquid nitrogen. The heat from the room would transfer into the nitrogen, cooling the walls, the air, everything.
He still had to replace it regularly—it evaporated quickly—but he eventually managed to store it inside reinforced glass containers.
All of this... only to preserve certain samples and prevent corpses from decaying. To stop bacterial growth, to delay rot, to preserve flesh long enough for study.
And that was exactly what kept that lifeless corpse alive.
Tristan.
Who awakened with a scream inside a glass capsule.
Wrapped entirely in bandages, staring at Cyn ,with terror—pure, instinctive terror.
He had never seen a place like this before.
What was this? Where was he?
Glass walls, wires everywhere, sothing strapped to his mouth—feeding him air while water surrounded him from all sides.
While Tristan struggled to understand his surroundings, Cyn stood on the opposite side of the lab, gathering blood from his scar. After the last incident, he had figured out how to craft a blood mold capable of holding the effects of his scar’s blood—creating a blade from it.
Fortunately, he had slaves nearby whose blood he could use. He collected theirs into glass cups as well, adding a minuscule dose of his own scar blood. The result was a hardened blood mold—solid as stone.
If he could turn this into a weapon with the help of a smith, his strength would soar.
But for now, preserving his scar blood was the priority. Especially after what the Scar’s proud voice had told him last ti:
’The blood that leaks from the scar is temporary. Once you master the scar’s first phase, you’ll learn to stop it. The blood is precious—you understand that. That blood contains power you cannot yet grasp.’
He thought to himself:
’Xyrene said living scars hold a type of energy... Is that what the scar ans too? Is the power inside the blood itself?’
Cyn was imrsed in his work when he heard a sound.
He smiled and glanced back—Xyrene stood behind him.
He placed the last glass vial inside the steel refrigerator and turned to her as she stepped into the room.
Of course, his lab was located inside Xyrene’s personal wing of the palace. A secret passageway led from her study all the way here.
The royal wings once housed the wives of the previous king, before Esmond—the current king—moved to a newly built section.
And by coincidence, Xyrene’s wing—forrly the private royal suite—contained a forgotten secret door leading to a tunnel beneath the palace, stretching all the way to the sea cliffs.
An ergency escape route, long abandoned.
The sharp clicks of her heels echoed against the tal floor.
She approached Cyn and asked, "So?"
Cyn, wearing a white laboratory coat, leaned against the table and smiled at her.
"You seem very interested."
Xyrene’s voice was calm, expectant. "I have my own questions—questions that need answers. And I allowed you to bring him here even in that disgusting state."
Cyn raised a brow.
"What’s wrong with you? Aren’t we allies? No—aren’t we sothing more? My partner in cri? You’ve been acting strange with lately—specifically with —your attitu—"
Xyrene cut him off, tone cold as steel:
"Cut the crap. I am not your cri partner. You wish. And what kind of ’partners’ hide the fact they captured an enemy, tortured him past death, and then interrogated him behind each other’s backs? Well? Answer that."
Cyn stared at her silently.
And that silence was exactly what drove her insane at tis.
He was dangerously attractive—infuriatingly so. Sculpted muscles, carved features, and those lips...
The sa lips that had trailed over every inch of her body.
How could sothing so pleasurable speak so calmly, so coldly?
Yet sotis those lips uttered things that soothed her... and at other tis, they infuriated her.
He broke the silence with a cold mutter:
"No dick for you then?"
Her heels clicked sharply as she stepped closer.
Xyrene stood before him now—tall, but Cyn still towered over her.
Her hand slid down to his crotch, gripping him firmly. Her eyes lifted to et his, her other hand tracing his chest.
"I told you—no gas. I own you entirely. You are mine. And this little one is mine too. I decide when I take him or how. And technically, I outrank you. I decide what happens here, outside, and even in your precious Raven Bloodline Guild."
"So I expect you to be a good boy."
Xyrene pressed herself against him.
Cyn grabbed her from behind, lips locked with hers—deep, consuming.
She whispered against his mouth:
"If you understand that... then go. Your little friend woke up a while ago."
He let her go—only a thin string of saliva connecting them before snapping apart.
Their eyes locked for a brief mont.
Cyn smiled emptily.
"Okey then, Boss."
He walked toward Tristan’s capsule.
Xyrene started, "How are you going to get him ou—"
BAM!
With a single punch, Cyn shattered the capsule.
Water surged out as Tristan collapsed onto the tal floor.
The ground sloped slightly—water stread toward drainage holes.
Xyrene stared, stunned.
A clear sign he was still irritated by her earlier words.
Though truthfully—Cyn wasn’t thinking at all.
He grabbed Tristan violently.
"I did the impossible to bring you back to life. You WILL answer everything or—"
He stopped.
Tears...
Tristan’s tears dripped down his bandaged face.
Cyn scoffed.
"How cute."
Xyrene intervened, pulling him away.
"He just regained consciousness. Leave him! Before you kill him again!"
She dragged a chair over and helped Tristan sit.
Wrapped entirely in bandages, soaked, trembling—he felt like a stuffed cotton doll, uncomfortable and suffocated.
Sothing pricked him repeatedly beneath the bandages.
Irritated, he began removing them.
Xyrene noticed.
"What is he trying to do?"
But Cyn only watched with a quiet, expectant smile.
Tristan unraveled the bandages on his hand—finding cotton—then kept going.
Until he froze.
His flesh looked like strips of dried at.
No skin.
Fragnts of bone visible.
Only blood vessels, sinews, muscles, nerves barely holding the limb together.
Silence swallowed him whole.
This wasn’t a dream.
There was no pain—but it wasn’t a dream.
The nightmare he had seen... was real.
He was no longer human.
He was a monster.
His thoughts spiraled:
Mila... Karin... my daughter... my wi—wife...
Will they look at again?
How—how do I face them?
How will they recognize ?
I’m just... a monster now.
They’ll never accept .
Never.
How?
How do I even look at myself?
I... I’m a monster.
Disfigured.
No longer human.
My face... gone...
He lifted his head and t Cyn’s eyes.
He didn’t speak.
Just stared at the cold smile carved across the monster’s handso face.
The sa monster who had done this to him.
He was no longer sane.
His mind had cracked long ago.
Yet so small fragnt remained—kept alive by his scar.
But one glance at Cyn’s smile...
And the words began to echo again.
Burrowing deeper into his skull.
Finally—he felt it.
The aning of those words.
His pupils shrank, expanded, convulsed.
His eyes wide, fixed on the devil in front of him.
His bandaged head looked like that of a mummified pharaoh.
A scream tore through the steel walls—so sharp Xyrene staggered back.
Eyes wide open.
Screaming while staring at Cyn.
Staring at the devil.
And the devil smiled back.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!
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