Although Wally had succeeded in forming his soul on the very first attempt, no matter how many times we replicated his circuit formations—no matter how precise we were—Prototype-Pixie remained lifeless.
No spark. No pulse. No soul.
"Sigh… That's the one hundred and twenty-fifth explosion," I muttered, stepping away from the humanoid figure sprawled across the table, its chest plate still smoldering from the failed activation attempt. "At this rate, we're going to run out of time… and materials."
Thin trails of smoke curled into the air above Prototype-Pixie's body, which lay in fragments—again. The silver-lined alloy, once pristine, was now cracked and blackened in places from repeated overloads.
Moriarty had long since surrendered his part in the project.
"I'm not becoming a father again—not when I'm still seventeen," he had said. And with that, he disappeared into our mind realm.
Which meant the burden now fell squarely on me.
I adjusted the neural calibrator, brushing away the scorched remnants of the last core, while Wally sat perched on my shoulder. He chirped quietly from time to time, occasionally handing me tools or stabilizers with his spindly arms. A helpful assistant, even if he didn't quite understand what he was helping with.
"How did you form your soul on the first try?" I asked, glancing sideways at him.
Wally blinked, tilting his head. "Soul?" he echoed, voice light and childlike.
I let out another sigh and leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temples.
"Never mind... What am I doing asking a newborn something like that?"
For a few moments, I just sat there in silence, letting the tension bleed out of my fingers. The lab around me buzzed softly—machines humming, energy cores cycling—but none of it filled the silence left by repeated failure.
Then, quietly, I stood again.
Back to work.
Hours slipped by unnoticed. I had become so absorbed in my work that I didn't even realize the sun had risen.
It was already time for the first class of the next day.
Thankfully, the room's AI had an inbuilt alarm system, which chimed exactly on schedule. Its calm, mechanical voice echoed softly through the lab, reminding me to vacate the room.
"The first class for today starts within half an hour," it said.
I didn't hesitate.
A faint green glow flickered in my eyes as I activated my ability—and in an instant, the world froze. Time itself came to a standstill. The hum of machines silenced, motes of dust froze mid-air, and the flickering light from the overhead lumina strips became static beams.
I stretched, taking my time. Changed clothes. Gathered my things. Took a long breath.
Then, with a simple blink, I deactivated the ability.
The world resumed its rhythm as if nothing had ever paused.
I stepped out.
Today's first class was scheduled to be held in the biology lab. Our teacher had promised something... special. A hands-on demonstration with the corpses of various types of metahumans, viewed up close and unfiltered.
The biology lab itself was massive, easily dwarfing our classrooms. It spanned over thirty miles in length and width, a sprawling space of sterile white flooring and softly glowing blue panels. Towering equipment lined the walls, humming softly. Even the ceiling shimmered with thin containment grids.
It was filled with tech we couldn't even imagine finding in Earth's most advanced hospitals. Devices that could analyze genetic memory, extract soul fragments, and perform surgeries on alien tissue without touching it physically.
The energy and mana density in the lab was deliberately low, suppressed by hidden dampening fields. After all, when you're dismembering the corpse of a metahuman, or worse, an alien lifeform, any lingering volatile energy could cause... unfortunate accidents.
A dense, oppressive wave of deathly aura hung over the entire room like a shroud. It seeped into the air—cold, heavy, unwelcoming—and pressed down on the lungs of every student present.
Several began to shift uncomfortably. Others clutched their arms or subtly stepped back from the examination tables. Beads of sweat formed. A few whispered to each other in hushed, uneasy tones.
It was understandable.
For most of them, this was likely their first encounter with such an atmosphere—the raw, lingering essence of death.
But for someone like me…
I had been around Ryuk far too long. I'd dissected more corpses than I cared to admit, surrounded by the chilling void of lifeless energy. This? This was practically home.
"They weak, Father?" Wally asked innocently, his luminous eyes flicking from one trembling student to the next.
"No," I replied softly, glancing at the boy perched on my shoulder. "It's just that… this environment is foreign to them. Give it time, and they'll adjust."
He tilted his head in understanding, though his expression remained faintly puzzled.
It amazed me how much Wally had changed since forming his soul.
His voice had gained weight. His expressions had grown more nuanced.
Can he be called a living being now? I wondered quietly.
A machine that could ask, feel, learn…
He wasn't just a tool anymore. He was evolving.
Our brief exchange didn't go unnoticed. A few students turned their heads, curious. No one challenged me, though—especially after hearing my calm explanation.
But the confusion was evident.
Their eyes weren't on me.
They were searching for the voice that had spoken first.
The childlike one.
Instead of asking Wally to lower his voice, I opted for a more efficient solution: I connected him directly to my neural network, granting him a telepathic link to my mind.
This way, he could speak to me silently—ask all the questions he wanted—without disturbing anyone else.
I probably should've done this earlier. But after spending hours trying and failing to awaken Prototype-Pixie, it had completely slipped my mind.
"Ah, it seems everyone arrived earlier than me today," came a clear voice from the entrance.
We turned.
Dr. Rose stepped into the lab, her white coat flowing slightly behind her. Without missing a beat, she opened her Codex. A sleek silver holographic interface appeared in front of her as tapped the air with a gloved finger.
A low hum reverberated through the floor.
In the center of the room, a blue capsule shimmered into existence. It let out a hiss of vapor as the locking mechanisms disengaged, then slowly slid open with a soft mechanical whirr.
Inside lay a corpse—perfectly preserved, yet grotesque in its incompleteness.
Its entire front layer had been neatly removed, exposing the middle musculature and internal structures. There was no skin, no protective layer of bone. Even the skeleton had been extracted, leaving behind only soft tissue and organ systems suspended in clear, viscous fluid.
Judging from the build, it was once a male metahuman.
The sight hit the room like a shockwave.
Several students reeled back instinctively. A few clutched their mouths, visibly trying to hold back nausea. The smell was sterile—filtered by dozens of air purifiers—but the sight alone was enough to turn stomachs.
Still, no one let their disgust show.
Not outwardly.
Especially not after hearing a childlike voice earlier. Weakness now would only draw attention—and questions.
"What you're looking at right now is the corpse of an unclassified-type metahuman, codenamed Boneless," Dr. Rose announced as she approached the capsule.
Her posture was composed—her lower arms clasped neatly behind her back while her upper arms were folded across her chest, a stance that conveyed both control and formality.
"As you can see, his heart underwent a mutation during his awakening," she continued, gesturing toward the exposed inner cavity. "This alteration granted him the ability to dissolve his skeletal structure and shift into any non-solid form—liquid, gas, even semi-opaque plasma."
She paused as a few students leaned in with queasy curiosity.
"Of course, while the transformation sounds impressive, the ability itself is categorized as low-tier due to severe drawbacks. His lack of structural integrity made him ineffective in combat. He couldn't shapeshift like higher-tier morphers—no mimicry, no camouflage. However—" she turned to make eye contact with the class "—his regenerative speed made him a nightmare to capture."
A flick of her hand projected a holographic report above the corpse: a glowing map dotted with destruction zones.
"In terms of power, he was classified as a City-Level threat, placing him solidly in the C-rank bracket."
A hand went up among the students.
"Is he the one who destroyed a fleet in the Eastern Seas recently?" a voice asked from the back.
Dr. Rose nodded.
"Yes. He operated alone, under the illusion that his ability and regeneration made him untouchable. He engaged in piracy for several months… until the day he landed near one of the Western Archipelago Islands."
She let the statement hang for a second longer than necessary.
"He was captured within the hour—by a Hunter."
A subtle shift in her tone caught my attention. Cold professionalism—interrupted by something else.
A flicker in her eyes. The barest hitch in her voice.
Fear.
She wasn't afraid of the corpse. Or of Boneless's abilities.
She was afraid of the one who killed him.
Hunters. I thought. Is she afraid of them?
I studied her more carefully now.
Even someone like her—composed, confident, possibly augmented—was unsettled by the mention of that title.
Looks like Tommy might prove very useful if I ever have to deal with her...
Fear, after all, is one of the sharpest weapons...