Everything was prepared efficiently. After a brief order from Ethan, a squad of Vespers entered the laboratory and followed the protocol to prepare a new Blood Baptism tank.
Half an hour later, while Ethan supervised each step with a serious gaze, the ritual container was ready. The liquid inside, a thick mixture of blood and plants, bubbled slowly, releasing vapors that filled the environment with a metallic and acrid stench.
Ethan adjusted his glasses with an automatic motion. He turned to the Vespers expressionlessly.
"Bring in the first batch of prisoners."
On a nearby steel table lay various tools: forceps, scalpels, syringes, sealed tubes, and flasks. Ethan placed the briefcase on the table, opened it, and extracted the central tube, labeled Pan daemonium.
With meticulous precision and under the interface projected by AION, Ethan began to divide the contents. Each dose was measured with millimetric accuracy. Ten doses. It was the optimal amount, determined after the latest experiments.
When the procedure was complete, the laboratory door opened. Two Vespers dragged in three men, handcuffed and covered in dirt and dried blood. They were criminals from the eastern border: looters and murderers sentenced to execution.
Ethan nodded slightly. The soldiers pushed the first one—a man with a gaunt face and desperate eyes—directly toward the tank.
Ethan approached in silence, holding the syringe loaded with the first dose of Compound D.
His eyes showed no emotion.
Unmoved by the screams, Ethan slowly inserted the syringe into the prisoner's vein.
Compound D, like a dragon diving into the sea, entered the bloodstream. Advancing cell by cell, as if exploring the terrain. Its structure seemed to unfold microscopically, mapping tissues, recognizing patterns, marking routes as if searching for something specific.
The prisoner reacted instantly. He struggled, cursed violently, then begged between gasps. His muscles tensed like ropes under pressure. But the Vespers showed no reaction. Coldly, they strapped him to the metal frame and secured each strap, locking him inside the tank without a single word.
Ethan stepped back behind the safety line. At his side, the Hu brothers remained motionless like towers of black steel. Their bodies shielded Ethan, and the Maxim machine guns were already fixed, aimed at the subject.
The atmosphere grew tense.
The subject was in the tank.
The dose had been injected.
Only waiting remained.
Over Ethan's vision, AION projected a holographic interface with real-time biometric monitoring. Graphs, models, and statistics overlaid like layers. Every second was scanned, analyzed, and recorded.
And then, it began.
[ALERT: Nervous system activity spikes detected. Heart rate: 171 bpm... 186... 192. Body temperature: 40.8 °C... 40.9 °C... 41.1 °C...]
Ethan's expression did not change. The values were nearly identical to those recorded in previous tests.
"AION," he murmured, "organism status?"
[Rapid elevation of vital functions. The body is attempting to adapt to the exogenous agent through a mechanism of hypermetabolism and neurological overload. Standard reaction observed in human subjects: increased catecholamines, peripheral vascular dilation, and activation of the hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal axis.]
In simple terms, the body was in total survival mode. At the cellular level, it was a desperate battle to understand and accept a substance that should not exist in human beings.
The minutes crawled by. The subject's breathing remained erratic, chaotic. Each inhalation was a gasp. Each exhalation, a spasm.
His muscles throbbed, reorganizing in real time. Veins shifted like live wires under the skin, trembling with a will of their own.
Then, AION reported the change:
[Stage 2 of Blood Baptism: initiating.]
On Ethan's interface, a three-dimensional human figure began to light up. The graphs spiked, showing muscular and cellular activity beyond all norms. The tank, silent until then, began to stir.
The ritual liquid swirled around the subject. Red and black spirals spun with growing violence, closing in on him as if trying to devour him.
"AION," Ethan ordered. "Analysis."
[Compound D in partial symbiosis with ritual liquid.]
It was a process of biological rewriting. Each cell seemed to open to the energy of the ritual, accepting Compound D as the catalyst of an impossible transformation. The common human body, traditionally incompatible with Qi, now absorbed it with an inhuman hunger.
And the price was pain.
"AAAAHHHH... STOP IT! IT HURTS! AHHHH...!" screamed the subject, his voice breaking into heart-wrenching howls.
He arched in the tank as if trying to escape his own flesh. The skin trembled, veins throbbed to the rhythm of a war drum, eyes nearly popped from their sockets. It was as if he were burning from the inside.
But there was no mercy.
The Vespers watched without blinking. Ethan did not intervene either.
The ritual continued for endless minutes.
The subject writhed, trapped between pain and a savage transformation. His clenched jaw cracked loudly as he endured, barely conscious.
And then, it stopped.
The whirlpool ceased.
The ritual liquid was completely absorbed. The tank fell silent.
The subject's veins, still agitated, slowly calmed. His muscles, now visibly hypertrophied, seemed to contain an impossible strength for a human body.
As if his body understood the torture had ended, the subject let out a broken sigh…
…and fainted.
[Status: stabilized. Preliminary integration completed. Vital signs stable. The subject survived the baptism.]
AION's voice echoed.
It was all over.
Or at least, that was the theory. The next step was to determine whether the experiment had been a true breakthrough… or just another addition to the list of failures.
Ethan exhaled slowly, his expression firm but tense.
"Move him to the stretcher. In cuffs," Ethan ordered as he put on his gloves.
The Vespers obeyed without a word, executing the order with military precision.
As the leather of the gloves molded to his fingers, his mind could not remain silent.
As a modern man, someone who once lived under different ethical standards, with laws, rights, and limits, he could not fully ignore what he was doing.
It wasn't about the prisoners. Those men were condemned, and to him, they were nothing more than recycled waste with a useful purpose.
But something did unsettle him.
What he considered a failure—the total loss of rationality, the transformation of the subject into a savage beast—could be exactly what others sought.
What would happen if that knowledge fell into the wrong hands? If it landed in the claws of ambitious cultivators, power-hungry clans, or unscrupulous sects?
He could see it clearly: armies of obedient monsters, stripped of will, used as living weapons by the powerful. A new kind of slavery. A new kind of hell.
And yet, the other side of the coin was just as clear.
If he didn't do this, if he didn't find a way to turn data into defense, how many would die without a chance to resist?
Mortals lived at the mercy of those with greater power. They were expendable. Invisible.
In this world, strength dictated truth. The fist was the law. And if he wanted to change something, even the smallest part of that brutal logic… he would have to pay a price.
With his breathing steady, he stepped forward.
He approached the stretcher. The subject lay motionless, handcuffed, chest heaving from exhaustion. Ethan said nothing. He only watched. Waiting.