The training was merciless.
Day after day, I was pushed to the edge of death—and then dragged back just enough to endure it all again. I struck stone walls until the bones in my hands shattered. They reset them, only to shatter them again. Each blow reshaped me. Each fracture rebuilt me.
They made me lift stones that weighed more than my own body, climb walls slick with blood, and walk barefoot across molten rock. I screamed silently through electric shocks that coursed through my spine. My muscles tore and reknit themselves again and again. The pain never stopped.
Food was scarce. One meal a day—barely edible, gray and tasteless, but enough to keep me alive. Just alive.
I would lie awake on the cold floor at night, staring into the darkness, wondering if this life held any meaning. Was I just a tool? A weapon? A slave molded by cruelty?
But then I remembered my father's final words:
"Never give up on life. It may be bitter in the beginning, but it may become better if you keep going."
So I endured.
Day after day.
Week after week.
Month after month.
Until something within me began to change.
My muscles grew denser, harder. My bones became like steel. My skin no longer burned. Pain became numbness. Hunger became routine. I stopped feeling things the way I used to. I forgot how to laugh. I forgot what sadness felt like. Even anger faded into something hollow. I wasn't a boy anymore. I wasn't even sure I was still human.
The only thoughts that echoed in my head were the orders of the instructors.
Obey. Survive. Obey. Survive.
I became something like a machine.
But one thing remained—one fragile thread that kept me tethered to my humanity:
My father's words.
Then, one day, everything shifted again.
A man entered the training yard. His presence was unlike the others—heavy, commanding. He wore a strange, reinforced suit, pulsing faintly with power.
He looked at me.
"You are ready for the test," he said.
No emotion. No praise. Just the next step.
He led me through a metallic corridor into a sealed chamber. The door closed behind me with a hiss. I was alone.
Darkness.
Pitch black.
Then, with a sudden mechanical hum, blinding white lights snapped on. Standing before me was a creature—a monstrous beast of metal and wires. It looked like a twisted fusion of a lion and a tank, covered in armor and sharpened steel.
A synthetic voice echoed through the chamber:
"Candidate Judas. Eliminate the target to pass the test. Beginning now."
Without warning, the beast roared to life. It charged.
Time slowed.
My instincts flared.
My mind went blank.
And for the first time in forever—
I felt something.
Rage.
Pure, raw fury surged through my veins. Not fear. Not hate. But a deep, primal rage.
I clenched my fist, summoning everything—every shred of strength, every ounce of pain and training that had been forced into me.
With a single step forward, I drove my punch into the charging beast.
CRACK!
The impact echoed through the room like thunder. The mechanized creature was lifted off the ground, sent flying across the chamber. It slammed into the wall with a deafening crash. Sparks flew. Metal groaned. The beast lay motionless.
Dead.
The voice returned.
"Candidate Judas: Test Passed."
I stood there, chest heaving, still breathing the fury that hadn't existed a minute before.
Then, the voice continued:
"Initiating Phase Two of the Training."
The floor beneath me shuddered—then vanished.
I dropped like a stone, swallowed by the dark, falling endlessly into the underground.
And thus began the next chapter of my transformation.