The elevator hummed with a dull, mechanical rhythm as it sank deeper into the earth.
Each meter seemed to drag the air down with it, pressing heavily against the two armed guards inside.
They stood beside each other — one tall and broad-shouldered, his protective gear stretched across his chest; the other shorter, wirier, and restless, fingers drumming against his rifle as if it might sing him a song of comfort.
"Unbelievable," the taller one muttered, breaking the thick silence. "Of all the days to get rostered, it had to be today. My daughter is taking part Anastasis test today — her one chance, and I'm stuck down here."
The shorter guard, his expression flat and unimpressed, let out a sharp exhale. "Cry me a river, Harlon. I was supposed to be on vacation. Two months of built-up vacation, and they still drag me in for this."
"Vacation?" Harlon snapped. "Don't even start. My daughter's ceremony is a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Yours is just you lying drunk on a beach somewhere."
"Maybe," the other shot back, his lips curling into something between a sneer and a smirk. "But at least my lineage has a better chance than yours. You really think she'll pass?"
"Be serious, man. You know the odds of kids of non-Arisen lineage transcending are basically zero."
The words struck like a slap. Harlon's hand twitched toward his holster, more instinct than intention, but the glare he gave was sharp enough to kill on its own. "Watch it, Krell," he growled. "That's my family you're talking about."
Krell shrugged, unbothered. "I'm just saying the truth. Better you face disappointment now than when she fails to awaken. You know how it goes — not all stories are worth writing."
Harlon's jaw tightened as he cursed back. "You don't get to talk about worth. Not when you've been rotting here with me for over five years."
The insult hung in the air like static before Krell barked a harsh laugh. "Oh, we're throwing stones now, huh? At least I've made peace with what I am. You still cling to hope like it's a shield."
The elevator walls reflected their voices — cold steel echoing heat. The hum grew louder, almost impatient, as though it wished to drown them both out.
Then, abruptly, a third voice cut through — smooth, feminine, and calm as frost.
"Enough, both of you. Keep your minds steady and remember where you're going."
Silence fell instantly. The guards froze, their tempers cooling as if the air itself had thinned.
Krell rubbed the back of his neck. "Tch. Yeah, right. Like we could forget."
His tone softened, just a fraction. "It's not like we're arguing for fun. We're just—coping."
Harlon gave a low, humorless chuckle. "Coping, huh? Sure. You know he's my best buddy, right? Just a bit of ribbing before we die."
The woman's voice let out a quiet groan through the comms. "You're exaggerating. The mortality risk is minimal — only 0.01 percent."
"Besides, the subject's sedated. The higher-ups made sure of it."
Both men laughed, their voices hollow in the enclosed space.
"Don't try to trick us, Lianne," Krell said, his grin tight. "We all know what's down there. Every guard does. You can stop pretending."
"Yeah," Harlon added. "We knew what we signed up for. Doesn't mean we're any happier about it."
The voice went silent for a long moment before sighing softly. "Then at least remain calm. The higher-ups are watching."
Neither man replied. They only nodded faintly, and the sound of the descending elevator filled the void once more — the mechanical hymn of inevitability.
When the elevator finally stopped, a faint chime echoed.
The doors parted with a hiss, spilling pale light into the confined space. Beyond lay a long, sterile corridor of white walls so clean they seemed to glow, stretching toward a single, imposing black door at the end.
Krell adjusted his rifle strap and muttered, "Always hated this place. Smells like bleach and fear."
Harlon gave a humorless chuckle as they stepped out. "Both cover the stench of regret."
Their boots struck the polished floor with slow, synchronized thuds — a march of men walking into a story they would never tell.
"Hey," Harlon murmured after a while, "you think the rumors are true?"
Krell didn't look at him. "Not completely. But every rumor starts somewhere. And if there wasn't a grain of truth, they wouldn't have locked this thing up alone."
"Still doesn't make sense," Harlon said. "There are plenty of subjects worse than this one. LO-99 — the plasma manipulator. MM-8 — that freak that morphs into whatever it eats. Hell, even I-666 and its damn creatures. But this one? All it says is 'Unknown.' That's it. No abilities, no explanation, nothing."
Krell gave a short snort. "We don't make the designations. We just follow them and the orders they come with."
They reached the black door. The surface was smooth, metallic, absorbing light rather than reflecting it. Both men placed their hands upon it.
A shimmer spread across the surface — a translucent veil of pale blue light as a system interface bloomed into existence.
LEVEL 10 GUARD STATUSES CONFIRMED.
STAND READY, GUARD 0721.
STAND READY, GUARD 0722.
They lowered their hands as another line of text scrolled across the glowing surface.
REQUESTING ACCESS FROM ADMINISTRATORS...
ACCESS GRANTED.
SUBJECT PROFILE WILL BE PROVIDED AFTER SECOND AUTHENTICATION.
The light flickered out. In its place, glowing runes etched themselves across the metal — arcane symbols twisting and reforming until a single eye opened within them.
It blinked once, releasing a narrow beam of light that scanned both men from head to toe. The sensation was sharp and cold, like standing under a dissecting gaze.
When it was done, the eye dissolved into mist, and the screen returned.
MAGICAL AUTHENTICATION CLEARED.
Krell forced a laugh that barely concealed his nerves. "Can't believe they actually combined magic and tech just to keep this thing locked. We're really screwed, huh?"
Harlon let out a dry chuckle. "If they went that far, it's because they're scared."
The screen pulsed again.
SUBJECT PROFILE
DESIGNATION: X–0
DANGER LEVEL: X(Special Danger)
AGE: 17
GENDER: MALE
RACE: UNKNOWN
CLASS: ANOMALY
ANOMALY ABILITY: UNKNOWN
MENTAL STATE: UNKNOWN
PHYSICAL STATE: CRITICAL, SEDATED
RESTRICTIONS:— NO ACCESS TO AIR.
— NO ACCESS TO WATER
— NO ACCESS TO FOOD.
— NO ACCESS TO HEARING.
— NO ACCESS TO SIGHT.
TAP HERE FOR MORE...
The list continued — dozens of prohibitions, each more suffocating than the last.
The two men stood frozen, the silence between them thick and uneasy.
"How…" Harlon whispered. "How the hell is X–0 still alive?"
Krell didn't answer.
How could he?
Both men saw the same understanding in each other's eyes — that this subject wasn't just dangerous.
It was wrong.
The comm crackled again, Lianne's voice now strained. "You may proceed inside to collect Anomaly X–0."
The lock clicked, heavy and deliberate.
The door began to open, releasing a slow exhale of frigid air from the darkness beyond.
Both men tightened their grips on their weapons and stepped forward.
The door opened with the hiss of a tomb unsealing.
Cold, sterile air spilled out, tinged with iron and rot. The light from the corridor stretched across the floor, an ivory blade cutting into the dark, revealing just enough to terrify.
Harlon and Krell stepped forward, their boots echoing in the hollow space. Every sound was too loud — the creak of leather, the hum of the systems above, their own uneasy breaths.
The room was vast and nearly lightless, its corners swallowed by black. The only thing visible in that first moment was it — the figure in the center, shackled and still.
Anomaly X-0
At first glance, it resembled a young boy. But that illusion shattered the longer they looked.
He was little more than a carcass sculpted into the shape of suffering.
His body was so thin that the faint light clung to the ridges of bone as if afraid to touch him. The ribs jutted out like the bars of a cage, pale against the grime that coated his skin.
Tendons and ligaments quivered faintly where they hadn't already been pierced by long, spike-like rods that pinned him to the floor in a grotesque mimicry of crucifixion.
Chains wound around those spikes, anchoring him in ways that defied both mercy and logic. Each link pulsed with a faint, eerie shimmer — a mixture of technological seals and faintly breathing runes that looked almost alive.
His skin, where it still clung to him, was a ruin. Scars — deep, chaotic, and deliberate — crisscrossed his limbs, chest, and throat.
Some were symbols, others patterns, all of them whispering of long, methodical torment.
And then there was the collar.
A thick, metallic ring encircled his neck, engraved with sigils that seemed to hum under their gaze. It wasn't just tight; it was strangling.
The veins beneath it bulged faintly, a pulsing bruise of life that refused to extinguish.
His head was completely wrapped in heavy black cloth, layers upon layers of it, sealed so tight that no air, no sound, no light could slip through.
Over the cloth, iron clamps held everything in place, giving the shape of his head a wrongness that made Harlon's stomach turn.
And impaled straight through the figure's torso — just between the ribs — was a single, massive spike.
It entered from the front and jutted out his back like a spear of judgment. Dried blood had pooled beneath him, turned almost black with age.
For a long, terrible moment, neither man spoke. The hum of the machinery, the faint drip of fluid from some unseen pipe, and the ghostly rhythm of their own hearts were the only sounds.
Harlon's mouth went dry. His words came out as a rasp. "Krell… we're dead men."
Krell didn't respond immediately. He stared, transfixed, his face pale beneath his visor. "We've seen things in this place," he murmured finally.
"Things that crawl out of the dark and make you doubt what's real. But this…" He swallowed hard.
"This is something else."
Harlon's voice cracked into a low laugh, the sound hollow. "Level Ten guards. Top of the damn chain. We've seen LO-99 rip metal apart with its mind. We've seen I-666 spawn nightmares from its own shadow. And this—" He gestured helplessly toward the chained body.
"This thing's worse. They had to torture it into silence just to keep it restrained."
Their eyes drifted downward.
Beneath the figure's feet, etched into the floor, was a massive circle of runes — intricate, symmetrical, and old. It pulsed with faint green light, veins of energy slithering across the smooth white floor.
The center glowed with a color that wasn't quite green or blue — something that hurt to look at too long.
Neither could guess what the circle did, but both could feel it. The way the air around it shimmered, the way the world seemed to bend toward it, like gravity itself was afraid.
Then they looked up.
Mounted high along the ceiling were dozens — no, scores — of machine-controlled rifles. Each one was aimed directly at the chained figure below, the barrels glinting faintly in the dim light.
Krell cursed under his breath. "By the Abyss… they've set the entire room to kill him if he so much as breathes wrong."
"And they want us to move him?" Harlon asked, incredulous. "This'll make POS-02 look like a bloody picnic."
The comms crackled in. Lianne's voice again — steady, but quieter now. "Step into the runic circle. It will handle the containment for you."
Both men stared at each other, helmets reflecting the pale light.
Krell snorted. "Oh, sure. Just step inside the cursed circle drawn under the starved abomination. Easy."
Harlon managed a grim smile. "After this, I'm quitting. No more of this shit."
"Same."
Still, duty won out over fear.
Together, they stepped across the invisible threshold and into the circle.
The moment their boots touched the runes, the symbols flared to life, washing the room in an otherworldly green glow.
There was a sound — like glass cracking under pressure. Then another. The spikes that impaled the figure began to pulse with the same green light, each restriction glowing in a chain reaction that rippled across the room. The chains tightened once, then loosened. The seals flared and dimmed.
Then — flash.
The world turned white.
A roar of energy drowned their senses, swallowing sound and sight alike. The two men flinched, covering their visors, hearts hammering.
"Shit!" Harlon shouted. "This is it — we're dead! I just wanted to see my baby girl's face one last time—"
And then, as suddenly as it began, the light faded.
The silence that followed was heavier than before.
When their eyes adjusted, they saw him.
The figure still knelt in the center of the circle — but the spikes, the chains, the collar, all the restraints were gone.
Only one thing remained: a smooth, metal mask that covered his entire head, molded to the shape of a human skull.
Green runes crawled across his flesh like living veins, etching down his arms, his chest, his back — countless symbols, shifting and pulsing like fireflies trapped under skin.
The two guards stood frozen, unsure whether to breathe.
The comms crackled again."Check your palms," her voice instructed.
They hesitated, then looked down.
Glowing on each of their palms was a rune identical to those covering the figure — an intricate sigil that pulsed in rhythm with his.
"These will synchronize with the anomaly," the voice explained. "He will move when you order. You are now authorized to escort Anomaly X-0 to the Grand Chamber."
Krell stared at the mark, his tone hushed. "In my five years, I've never seen anything like this."
Harlon nodded faintly, eyes still fixed on X-0. "Neither have I."
"Alright," Krell said, forcing a nervous laugh. "Let's get going, huh?"
The rune on his palm flared. The runes on X-0's body responded instantly, glowing brighter.
With a sharp, mechanical motion, X-0 stood.
The movement was rigid, unnatural — bones cracking faintly beneath the strain, like a puppet strung on invisible wires.
Both guards stumbled back, instinctively raising their rifles, but the figure didn't attack.
It merely stood there, waiting.
Krell exhaled shakily. "He's… under control. The runes. They're directing him."
"Good." Harlon's voice was little more than a whisper. "Let's move before that changes."
They began their slow walk back to the elevator, the sound of their boots mixing with their beating hearts as the anomaly was several steps behind them.
The air felt colder now, heavier.
Even though X-0 made no sound, his presence was a storm pressing at their backs.
To fill the silence, Krell forced a strained chuckle. "So, what do you think the higher-ups need him for?"
Harlon's answer came without hesitation. "It's obvious."
Krell frowned. "Obvious? You're pale as death, man. What aren't you saying?"
Harlon glanced sideways at him. "Didn't you read his profile?"
"Yeah — seventeen years old. So what?"
Harlon's voice was barely audible when he replied. "Think about what day it is."
Krell froze mid-step. His eyes widened behind his visor. "No… You don't mean—"
"It 100% is," Harlon said grimly.
Krell turned toward the silent, rune-covered figure walking just behind them.
"Anomaly X-0," Harlon murmured, his voice trembling, "is about to undergo the Anastasis test."
And in that sterile, humming corridor, realization took root — cold, slow, and merciless.
The thing they escorted wasn't just dangerous right now.
There was a chance it was about to get way worse.