Morning never truly dawned in "Shadow Citadel." Instead, it began with a funerary silence, shattered by Igor's voice summoning us to the "Slaughter Chamber" at the base of the dungeon. The stone tables there were encrusted with dried gore, and in the center, a magic circle pulsed with a sickly, necrotic purple hue.
The three of us stood there—Number (01), (02), and (03). Our bodies were no older than seven, yet our eyes bore the ancient exhaustion of the dead.
"Number (03) is suffering from 'Magic Circuit Structural Failure'..." Igor said coldy, wiping the blade of his bone dagger. "The Mana of Annihilation within her is pure, but her heart is too weak to pump this poison any longer. Keeping her alive is a waste of resources."
I looked at (03). The girl was utterly silent. She didn't cry or beg; her gray eyes stared into the void with a terrifying stillness, as if she had realized long ago that she was merely a "failed draft" destined to be shredded.
Suddenly, with a blurring speed I couldn't track, Igor thrust his mutated hand into (03)'s chest.
She didn't scream. Only a muffled sound, like the tearing of wet parchment, escaped her lips. With unspeakable cruelty, Igor ripped the beating heart from between her ribs. The heart did not die instantly; it continued to throb violently, saturated with concentrated gray mana that made the very air around it tremble.
(03)'s corpse slumped to the floor like a broken wooden marionette—soulless and silent.
"Take it," Igor said, offering me the warm heart dripping with black blood. "Devour the 'Essence of Ruin.' Make it part of your draft, or I shall let the earth drink your blood as it has drunk hers."
I recoiled, my stomach churning. The metallic tang of blood mixed with the stench of corrupted magic made me retch a bitter bile onto the stone floor. Whatever remained of my humanity screamed in protest against this loathsome sight.
But Igor granted no mercy. He gripped my jaw with a force that nearly shattered my facial bones, forcing my mouth open.
"Eat!" he roared, a voice that shook the very foundations of the cellar. "In this world, you are either the eater or the eaten. There is no room for 'Editors' who fear blood!"
He shoved the pulsating heart into my throat. I felt its slimy texture and acrid sting fill my mouth. I swallowed it against my will, gagging on the mass of flesh that, only seconds ago, had been the life-throb of my comrade.
The moment the heart settled in my stomach, the explosion occurred.
It wasn't a mere power surge; it was a "tsunami" of gray mana that erupted from my gut into every cell of my body. It felt as though hundreds of white-hot needles were piercing through my veins.
"AAAAAUGH!"
I collapsed, writhing in an unprecedented agony. I felt (03)'s mana violently "re-editing" my magical structure. The "Parasite" within me devoured her heart greedily, causing my power to swell terrifyingly. But the price was the tearing of my muscles and the rotting of my bones from within, only to be reconstructed to withstand this new strength.
Beside me, (02) stood frozen, his face as pale as plaster, eyes wide with the horror of the scene. He looked at me with pure terror—not as a peer, but as a monster taking shape before his eyes. He had seen the fate of (03) and witnessed my forced savagery; he realized in that moment that "Batch 666" was no longer a place for humans.
Amidst the internal cacophony of breaking bones and flowing corruption, I felt Igor's cold, petrified hand encircle my neck.
He hoisted me up with one hand as if I were a feather, until my bloodshot eyes were level with his hollow sockets.
"Hmm... marvelous results," Igor muttered, inspecting my pupils. "Your mana circuits have expanded to accommodate the 'Energy.' You have finally become a vessel worthy of training."
Igor released his grip suddenly, tossing me onto the cold stone floor like a blood-stained rag. I couldn't move; my body was still spasming under the weight of the shock, and my mind was desperately trying to "delete" the pain so I wouldn't descend into madness.
Igor turned slowly toward Number (02), who was still paralyzed, staring at the bloodstain (03) had left on the floor. The boy was trembling so violently his teeth chattered, his shirt soaked in cold sweat.
"What is the matter, (02)?" Igor asked in a tone dripping with lethal mockery. "Does the sight of birth frighten you? (01) passed the first stage quickly—I didn't even need to train him to overcome it. He possessed a 'good vessel'."
He leaned toward (02) until his long shadow completely swallowed the small boy.
"Now, since (01) needs some time to digest his companion..." Igor slammed his bone staff into the ground and added in a raspy growl: "Let us begin your training. I shall see if your heart holds the same value, or if I must feed you to (01) tomorrow to increase his strength."
From my place on the ground, one eye forced open with great effort, I saw the sheer, unadulterated terror in (02)'s eyes. There was no camaraderie. There was no mercy. In that dark room, the final line of our childhood had been written.