It was exhausting—especially since he kept losing consciousness every ti he woke up. Pain was the only way to fully rouse him; that had been Cyn’s idea.
But Xyrene opposed him.
"To what reality will he wake up?" she said coldly. "If I were in his place, I would prefer death over living like this. How is he supposed to accept himself? He had one form, and you turned him into sothing entirely different—into sothing grotesque. Soone who won’t even be able to look at himself. Every single day, he will relive that ntal state. Every day, he’ll imagine what he used to be."
"He’ll live without the inner courage to remove those bandages. He’ll live, and those bandages will live with him. All of his forr acquaintances will forget him. He won’t have the courage to et anyone like this. Worse still—even if he tried, they wouldn’t accept him. They wouldn’t recognize him. He is no longer just a disfigured body; he is a new person. A hideous one."
"It’s good that you possess cruelty, Cyn. It’s good that you have a heart of stone. But things like this go far beyond cruelty. Things like this strip you of your last shred of humanity. Ambition and cruelty will turn you into a tyrant—but even the cruelest tyrants know when to use rcy. rcy manifests in many forms. One of them is death."
"He will never recover from this state. It is impossible. All you have to do is kill him. Have rcy on him. That way, you’ll prove to that the person who shares my bed and gives warmth at night is not a demon."
Xyrene’s words struck deep into Cyn’s soul. They hit his identity—his reason for living, his very purpose. They interrogated his entire being, and that was what enraged him.
It wasn’t her words about him being her possession. Not her obsession with turning him into her servant. Not her desperate insistence on reminding him that she was his mistress and that his life belonged to her.
He could deal with those things. In fact, they were things that didn’t even require dealing with—because he simply didn’t care.
But now—
In a cold voice that made Xyrene feel sothing strange, Cyn spoke. There was resistance within her, yet that resistance was swallowed by a glacial calm that covered her entire being—like the stillness of the ocean at night.
"I’ve done far worse things. Things I do not regret—and never will. I can’t rember the last ti I showed rcy to anyone. I am honest with myself. This isn’t about whether I’m a demon in human form."
"The question that occupies my mind... is whether I was ever human to begin with."
Xyrene was stunned. She had never seen him like this.
She watched as a faint aura surrounded him—a radiant glow. Purple and blue flowers encircled his neck and face. She had seen this before—once or twice.
The crimson stems connecting the flowers were lined with thorns. They were breathtakingly beautiful... and painfully cruel to him.
His voice echoed in her ears.
"If I was human at so point in my life, then that is exactly why I ca here—because this is my objective. After all... my will is to be free."
"To be free from everything that is human."
Xyrene sensed the burning resolve, the determination, the unwavering obsession within his cold tone—as if he lived for that purpose alone.
She didn’t understand his upbringing in the wilds. She didn’t understand what had happened to him. Nor did she know whether he was psychologically fractured in so way.
Since the day he had been captured and brought here as a child, she had tried to break his will. She had had sex for the first ti in her life with a child no older than ten.
And now—after another ten years had passed—she still didn’t understand why he hadn’t broken.
She couldn’t comprehend how a child so young could endure such a brutal upbringing, harsh enough to forge such emotions, such a worldview, such indifference.
There were many things she didn’t understand. Many secrets surrounded him—secrets she couldn’t decipher, even now, despite his current brand.
But there were things she did understand.
He was nothing more than a tool to her. And she would use him however she wished—for any purpose.
More than that, she realized sothing in that mont.
She would no longer treat him as she had before.
With a fleeting smile, she said, "Very well, then. Take your ti. Do as you please. I’m tired of you."
She left.
Cyn watched Xyrene walk away, thinking only one thing:
Just get out of my sight.
After she was gone, Cyn returned to his unconscious companion. But he felt sothing—sothing different.
After Xyrene left, he sensed the presence of a third party in the laboratory, tugging at the threads of his emotions.
When he heard the voice, he felt relieved—yet puzzled.
He knew the owner of that voice.
Why now?
It was the voice of the Scar of Pride.
A voice echoed inside his mind:
"Yes. Cyn~ This is your truth. And now, you are beginning to reveal yourself to the world. Accept the ugliness that surrounds you—because you are a grotesque creature."
"They fear you because they do not understand you, Cyn."
"Look at yourself. Can’t you see it? These are your desires. The desires you feel—the ones that awaken your power. The desires that make you use ."
"You’ve done it before, but you don’t rember."
"Look at your reflection, Cyn. This is your true self."
Cyn stared at the tal floor, at the shards of glass and the water pooled there—at the countless reflections staring back at him.
Millions of versions of himself.
He rembered there was a mirror in the laboratory and went to look.
When he finally faced it, he froze.
Is this the ugliness the Scar was talking about?
Damn it—this was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
A unique kind of beauty—like a living, pulsating tattoo. Tattoo artists from his previous life would be utterly stunned by this.
Creating sothing like this was impossible. The precision. The srizing colors.
Cyn snapped out of it and addressed the Scar.
"Then what is this?"
The Scar replied:
"PHASE II — CYANIC THORNS.
This is the second phase. It allows you to transform into sothing grotesque—or, as you said, sothing beautiful. A form of overwhelming power."
"I can’t tell you what you’re capable of. You must discover that yourself. But not here. Not in this place."
"You would destroy it."
"You haven’t even mastered Phase One yet. This is not the ti to play with this phase—especially not this one."
Cyn asked, "Is this what I used during my fight with that old man?"
"Yes," the Scar answered. "That was the third ti you used it."
Cyn was shocked.
The third ti?
How had he not felt it? How had he not noticed?
The Scar answered his unspoken questions.
"The second ti was when you overdosed and died in that other laboratory. You destroyed it using this phase."
"As for the first ti—you used it on that bed, when you awakened the Scar for the first ti. Technically, I activated the phase to reinforce your body so it could endure it."
"But it wasn’t necessary—because that woman was helping you with her own power."
Cyn was overwheld.
He had missed too much.
Xyrene had known about this phase from the very beginning—and never told him.
She had helped him with her own energy?
Did Xyrene possess power herself? Had she been relying on him all this ti?
He asked, "So what exactly can this phase do?"
The Scar hesitated, then said:
"Since you desire knowledge this much, I suppose I can show you a little. But listen carefully."
"Give control. Do not act."
Cyn didn’t understand.
What did it an—to give control? Could the Scar take over his body?
The Scar heard his thoughts clearly.
"Not like that. Do not resist. That is all I ask."
"If you feel sothing coming—do not fight it. Let the energy flow with minimal resistance."
"Otherwise, the problem will beco yours to deal with. And we don’t want that."
"The entire place would be destroyed—and worse, you’d be in very serious trouble."
Cyn understood.
No resistance.
"I can do that."
Pain overwheld him.
He felt sothing alive moving inside him.
Ahhh—what is this?! Is there a snake inside my body?! Damn it—aaagh!
The Scar’s voice echoed again:
"Do not resist. From now on, let the pain take over."
Cyn closed his eyes, breathing slowly, forcing himself into calm.
He felt movent within him—especially within the crimson stems.
Then—
Drip.
A crimson drop fell from those red stems. They began to bleed—several drops, like blood, dripping to the floor.
Just like every other ti his Scar bled.
And then—it stopped.
Everything stopped.
Cyn didn’t understand what had happened.
The Scar spoke again.
"We’re done. You’ll have many questions—but look at the ground."
Cyn looked down.
At the place where the blood had fallen.
His eyes widened.
From nothing—a tentacle was forming.
It grew rapidly.
Tentacles bearing the sa traits as his Scar—purple and blue flowers blooming along them. The crimson stems pulsed with life.
What stunned him the most were the blue flowers.
Scientifically, they should not exist.
In his previous world, blue flowers had only been artificially engineered—because no natural blue pignt exists in petals.
Cyn plucked one of the blue flowers and brought it to his nose.
The sll repulsed him.
Rotting blood.
Yet—it was beautiful.
The flower blood fully, then detonated in a small explosion—releasing faint rays and shimring magical dust before fading away.
The Scar spoke again:
"This is all I can show you for now."
"When you lost control against that person, there were dozens—hundreds—of tentacles erging from the ground, tearing their way toward your enemy."
"Stronger. Larger."
"You didn’t use the flowers then. It’s fortunate you didn’t."
"Otherwise, those two would have died."
A pause.
"And you would have died with them."
"You would have destroyed the entire place."
Cyn was shaken.
So this is Phase Two...
Massive tentacles for offense and defense.
Exploding flowers.
A power this dangerous was nearly impossible to control.
But—
If he mastered it...
If he understood it—
No one would be able to stand in his way.
And this was only Phase Two.
But he knew things were never that simple.
The Scar dragged him back to reality.
"Do not dream too much."
"You haven’t even mastered Phase One. You’ve used parts of it—but without awareness."
"And don’t let shatter your expectations—you are not invincible, even if you control Phase Two."
"There are individuals who can sever you—and your tentacles—from hundreds of ters away."
"Fortunately, you won’t encounter such people for now."
"You already have, in fact—but no one senses danger from you yet."
"So there’s no need for caution at the mont."
"But once you reach Phase Five..."
"You will beco a target for everyone."
"You will be hunted—anywhere on this cursed land."
"But don’t worry."
"No one knows whether you’ll ever reach that stage."
"But if you do—"
The Scar’s voice stopped.
The laboratory grew colder—far colder than before.
It felt as if the Scar’s voice alone pierced reality and tampered with its laws.
Then, the Scar of Pride spoke:
"When that ti cos, the ones who must be cautious... will not be us."
"It will be them."
"I will help you reach what you desire."
"When that ti arrives—
you will beco the predator."
"And they will beco prey."
"People will erge who worship you—who scream and chant your na."
"You will beco a god in their eyes."
"They shall proclaim you as..."
THE LORD OF THE FLIES!
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