The world was peaceful. Or at least, that was what everyone believed.
Beyond the surface of ordinary life, hidden from the public eye, existed beings neither human nor demon—creatures with unique abilities, feared and misunderstood. They had walked the earth for centuries, living in the shadows while humanity turned a blind eye to their existence. Some blended in, appearing as normal people. Others had forms too distinct to hide, forcing them into secrecy.
But in a world that sought to control everything, secretsneverstayedhiddenforlong.
They were hunted. Captured. Studied.
And in a place with no name, deep underground where no sunlight reached, thesecreatureswerekept.
A lab. Sterile. Artificial. The hum of machines filled the air, drowning out the distant, muffled noises of creatures locked away in containment cells.
Inside each cell, a different kind of prisoner. Some humanoid, others twisted, monstrous. All of them were young—stolen from wherever they had been hiding. Their existence was a mystery. Their abilities, a puzzle to be solved.
Some had faces. Others did not.
A cell near the entrance held a humanoid with jagged teeth and eyes too black, too deep, watching through the glass with silent hunger. Another housed a formless, liquid entity that twitched and shifted, desperately trying to mimic the scientists who passed by.
Further down, a girl sat motionless in her cell. At least, she looked like a girl—until her head twisted unnaturally, bones snapping back into its place as if deciding on a new shape.
One creature clung to the ceiling, itstranslucentskinrevealingorganspulsingbeneathlikejelly. Another cowered in the corner, no bigger than a child, butitsshadowstretchedunnaturallyacrossthewalls,movingwhen it shouldn't.
Each cell held something different. Some screamed. Others simply stared. None of them belonged here.
And at the farthest end of the lab, separate from the rest, sat it.
Amassofflesh, writhingandshifting, its form unstable, muscles coiling over themselves like something still in the process of becoming.
At its center, a single,unblinkingeye.
No records. No past. Noexplanation.
Even in this place, where the strange was routine, it unsettled them. The scientists didn't know if it was a mutation, a parasite, or something else entirely. Noskeleton, nodefinedstructure—justshiftingmass, respondingtotheirtestswitheeriestillness.
It never fought. Never reacted to pain.
But it watched.
Andthatalonewasenoughtoputthemonedge.
Two men stood near the containment cell, their voices low.
"It'sbeenactingstrange," the scientist murmured.
The doctor, flipping through test results, barely looked up. "Define 'strange.'"
"It'stoostill."
The doctor sighed. "You'reoverthinking."
"AmI?" The scientist's eyes didn't leave the glass. "Theothersfight.Theyresist. Thisonejust…waits."
A pause. The doctor finally glanced at the creature.
It didn't move. But its eye was open.
Watchingthem.
"And?" The doctor's voice was impatient.
"And I think it's aware."
A scoff. "Awareness doesn't mean intelligence ."
"Maybe not."The scientist hesitated. "But it blinks."
The doctor said nothing for a moment. Then he shook his head.
"Feelingsdon'tbelonginresearch.Keeprunningtests."
Untilthenextday.
The creature did nothing.
No movement. No reaction to stimuli.
Unresponsive.
The doctor frowned. It never fought. Never resisted. Now, itwastoostill.
He stepped closer. Tappedtheglass.
Nothing.
A deeper frown. He sighed, unlocking the secondary seal.
"Alright,let'ssee—"
He didn't finish.
Themassmoved.
Fast.
A tendril shot forward, slammingagainsttheglass. Cracks split across the surface like lightning. The doctor barely had time to react before the containment alarm blared.
Redlights. Sirens. Chaos.
Theglassshattered.
The creature lunged.
The doctor screamed as fleshwrappedaroundhim, tightening, consuming. His skin withered, his body shrinking into the shifting mass, absorbed into it. His last breath was a choked gurgle before he was gone.
Hislastthought?Hisownreflection.
Distorted. Shifting.
Afacebeingrebuiltintosomething…nothim.
The other creatures didn'twastetheirchance.
Cells burst open. Some torethroughguards, others foughteachother. The lab became a warzone—gunfire, screams, bloodsplatteredacrosssterilewalls.
Thecreature—no longer just a mass—was in the middle of it all.
It had a form now. Thedoctor'sstolenface. But it was wrong.
The limbs were toolong. The skin stretched tootight. It wasn't fully formed yet.
A guard fired. Theimpactsentitstumblingback.
Pain. A first.
It wasn't used to this—it hadn't been anything before. It didn't understand damage, onlythatitsbodyfeltweakernow.
More shots.
Itran. But not well. It moved like a newbornanimal, limbs struggling to find balance. It should have been faster. It wasn't.
Another shot tore through its shoulder. It snarled—not in anger, not in fear. Just reacting.
Then came the fire.
A burst of flames roared to life, consuming the air around it. Pain. Real pain. The creature screeched, thrashing wildly. Instinct took over. The only way to survive was to kill.
It lunged—wrong.
Too slow. Too unbalanced. A bullet tore through its shoulder, knocking it sideways. Pain. A new thing. A thing it didn't like.
It stumbled, legs struggling to move right. The next shot should have hit, but its body twisted without thinking—just enough to avoid it.
That worked.
Another shot came. It flinched, moved—not perfectly, but better. It was learning.
The fire came next. That was worse. That was wrong. Instinct screamed—move, kill, survive.
So it did.
Then—a glimpse of something.
A light a hope of exit.
Heran.
Stumbling, shifting, his stolen form barely holding together as he climbed the stairs—higher, higher—until suddenly, the world changed.
The doors burst open, and hestaggeredintoacorridor.
White walls. Bright lights. Voices.
Not the lab.
His feet dragged against polished floors. People stared.
Somewhereelse.
Somewherenew.
The scent of antiseptic was familiar, but the air was different—less controlled, more alive.
A hospital. A real one.
He stood there, frozen.
The weight of the unknown pressed down on him. For the first time, he hesitated.
Patients in hospital gowns stared. Nurses gasped.
A nurse froze mid-step, eyes wide. A patient in a wheelchair gasped, gripping the armrest.
Someone screamed
Blood. His arms were coated in it, the red staining his stolen flesh.
Then—footsteps.
Shouts.
They were coming.
Hisbodymoved before he could think. He shoved past people, running, searching—his instincts screaming at him to hide.
Then, adoor.
He pushed inside.
Quiet. Dim lights. Machines hummingsoftly.
And there, in a crib, lay a newbornbaby.
Small. Frail. Barelybreathing.
The scent of antiseptic filled the air, but beneath it—something else. Something faint. Something familiar.
Something stirred inside him. Not a memory. Not exactly. But an echo.
It stared.
No—not stared. It barely had the strength to open its eyes.
But hefeltit. Felt something.
Outside, the noises grew louder.
Shouting. Footsteps.
His body swayed. It wasn't just pain now. It was exhaustion. Fading.
But hedidn'tmove.
Didn't run.
Didn't fight.
He just stood there, staringatthebaby, as the doorhandlebegantoturn.