The Warden's Office.
Devon held his breath. The room was immensely vast, defying his expectations of a submarine prison. It sat at the very pinnacle of The Monolith, soaring far above the surface of the sea.
The wall before him was no mere partition, but a colossal panoramic window stretching from the floor to the high, vaulted ceiling.
And the view... was as terrifying as it was majestic.
Outside, the eternal storm Nocturnus was raging. The pitch-black sky was cleaved by violet lightning strikes every few seconds, illuminating ocean waves rolling as high as skyscrapers. Rain hammered against the thick glass with brutal violence, yet in here, silence reigned. Only the muffled rumble of thunder could be heard.
The lightning served as the room's primary light source, casting long, dramatic shadows.
In the center of the room, backing the storm window, seated behind a desk of polished black coral, was Leviara.
Her figure was far more intimidating than any rumor suggested. She was tall, even while seated. Her body was clad in natural armor resembling bone and hard, dark blue shell. Her "hair" was a cascade of flowing water defying gravity, glowing whenever lightning struck behind her. Her face was dark and featureless, save for two slits of eyes shining a bright cyan, staring sharply at Devon.
"Approach," she commanded. Her voice wasn't loud, yet it resonated within Devon's chest, rivaling the thunder outside.
Devon walked closer. He tried to keep his posture relaxed, though his danger instincts were screaming. He sat in the single metal chair before Leviara's desk without being invited.
Leviara was not angered. She merely observed. Her hands—which from the elbow down were pure, turbulent water shaped into liquid claws—moved slowly across the desk, flipping through Devon's file.
"Prisoner 7734. Devon," Leviara began, her eyes never leaving the paper. "A report from the Analysis Bureau hit my desk ten minutes ago."
She lifted her face, staring at Devon. The lightning behind her silhouetted her like a wrathful sea goddess.
"You are human. Biologically, you are just an ordinary human. No mana core. No magic circuits. No signs of chimeric biological experiments like your cellmate."
Leviara set the paper down. The room's atmosphere grew heavier.
"But the report states you regenerated from total death this morning. And you survived a two-ton impact this afternoon without permanent fractures."
Devon shrugged, feigning innocence. "I drank a lot of high-calcium milk as a kid, Warden. My bones are strong."
"Do not toy with me," Leviara cut in flatly. "Humans cannot do that. Even the best healing mages need time to regrow organs. You... did it instantly, without mana."
Silence stretched.
"Why?" asked Leviara.
Devon opened his mouth, about to spout another ridiculous excuse. "Actually, when I was little, a meteor fel—"
SWOSH!
No warning. No threatening movement. Just a blue flash too fast for the eye to track.
"ARGHHH!"
Devon screamed. A pure, instinctual scream of visceral pain.
He looked down. Both his hands—right at the wrists—were gone. Severed cleanly.
Fresh blood sprayed violently from the stumps of his arms, splattering onto Leviara's expensive coral desk, staining his own file. His severed hands lay on the floor, fingers still twitching in spasms.
Leviara didn't even stand. Her right hand, made of liquid water, was now a thin, razor-sharp blade, dripping with Devon's blood mixed with the water of her body.
"It hurts, doesn't it?" Leviara asked coldly, without sadistic emotion, just clinical observation. "That is a very human response. You cry. You scream. Your pupils constrict from shock."
Devon gasped for air, his face deathly pale. Tears of pain streamed from the corners of his eyes. He bit his lower lip until it bled to stifle the next scream.
"Bastard..." hissed Devon, pressing his stumps against his chest.
And then, the process began.
Slowly. Agonizingly slowly.
From the gaping wounds, white bone began to elongate like accelerated plant shoots. Red muscle fibers knitted themselves around the bone, forming complex hand anatomy. Blue veins crept out, followed by a thin layer of yellow fat, and finally, pale skin covered it all.
In five torturous minutes, both of Devon's hands grew back. Perfect. Without a scar.
Devon stared at his new hands, breath still ragged, cold sweat drenching his body. He wiped the lingering tears from his cheeks with the newly grown hands.
"What was that for...?" Devon asked hoarsely, staring at Leviara with a gaze that had lost its pretense. "Are you insane?"
"A test," Leviara answered casually, the water in her hand returning to the shape of a normal hand. "I simply wanted to see it for myself. You feel pain, yet your body refuses to be damaged. You are a paradox, Devon."
Leviara leaned back in her large chair, turning her back to the storm growing madder outside. "Now, answer me honestly. Why can you do that? And what are those fake wings on your head for? You aren't a cosplayer."
Devon took a deep breath, normalizing his heart rate. Phantom pain still throbbed in his wrists. He realized one thing: silly lies wouldn't work. Physical resistance was also impossible; this woman could slice his neck as fast as she severed his hands.
Devon slowly raised his face. He no longer wore the pathetic look or the goofy expression. He surveyed the room with his heterochromatic eyes—one red, one black.
No cameras. No recording devices. Just the two of them and the storm beyond the glass.
Devon's posture changed. His shoulders relaxed, yet stood straight. The aura around him shifted. No longer a frightened teenage inmate, but someone accustomed to sitting on a throne far higher than this Warden's chair.
He didn't answer Leviara's question about regeneration. Instead, he stared directly into Leviara's glowing cyan eyes.
"This room..." Devon began, his voice calm, deep, and analytical. "Too high. Too isolated. You deliberately chose a room facing the storm, not the calm seabed."
Devon smirked faintly, a smile not befitting a subordinate.
"You are bored, Leviara."
Leviara's eyes narrowed. "What did you say?"
"You are a powerful water elemental entity. Perhaps one of the strongest in this ocean. But you are trapped here," Devon continued, ignoring the danger. He leaned forward, placing his new hands on the desk still stained with his own blood.
"Babysitting naughty children. Handling bureaucracy. Signing death warrants. You are rotting in this routine, Warden. Just like the prisoners you guard. You stare at that storm because you crave chaos, not order."
"You are very bold, Human," Leviara's voice dropped low, the water around her beginning to churn. "I could throw you out that window right now. Drown you in the middle of the storm. Your regeneration won't be much use if your lungs are constantly filled with high-pressure saltwater."
"Sure. You could," Devon didn't blink. "You have the authority. You have the power."
He paused, letting a flash of lightning illuminate both their faces.
"But you won't."
"Oh? And why won't I?"
"Because I am the only interesting thing to happen in this place in the last decade," Devon said confidently. "I am an anomaly. A riddle. Throwing me into the sea would be like throwing away a mystery book you haven't finished reading just because the cover is strange."
Devon pointed to the wings on his head. "You asked about these? Consider them... a forgotten crown. Remnants of a past unrecorded in your history books."
"And my regeneration?" Devon looked at his hands. "That isn't magic. It is refusal. My body refuses to end here. Just like you, Leviara. Your soul refuses to be satisfied with just being a watchdog for the surface government."
Leviara fell silent. Her gaze pierced through Devon, searching for fear, searching for lies. But she found only a strange calm and... understanding.
Devon's words hit a nerve. Leviara was bored. She did feel stifled. And this young man, who had just lost his hands and grown them back, had the guts to psychoanalyze her.
"You have a way with words," Leviara said finally, her tone softening slightly, though remaining cold. "Very manipulative."
"That is a compliment in my world," Devon retorted.
Leviara tapped her liquid fingers on the desk. "You're right, Devon. Discarding you would be... a waste. Your biological data is too valuable. And your existence is entertaining enough."
She straightened up, her full authority returning.
"Listen closely, Prisoner 7734. I am making an executive decision."
Leviara pointed at Devon with her index finger.
"I will not report your anomalous abilities to Command Center on the surface. I will not send you to the surgical labs to be dissected alive by mad scientists."
Devon smiled faintly. "A wise decision."
"BUT," Leviara's voice hardened. "Do not misunderstand. This is not protection. I will not interfere with your life here. If other guards want to beat you, I won't stop them. If other inmates want to kill you, go ahead and survive on your own. If you cause major trouble that threatens the stability of my prison... I will personally slice you into a thousand pieces and ensure you never grow back."
"Fair," Devon answered briefly. "I don't need a babysitter. I just need room to breathe."
"Good. Now get out of my office before I change my mind and turn you into an aquarium decoration."
Devon stood up. He cleaned a bit of blood from the desk with his sleeve—an ironic act of politeness—then bowed slightly, the forced respect of a noble.
"Thank you for the 'test', Warden. The skin on these new hands is much smoother."
Devon turned and walked toward the door. His steps were no longer hesitant.
As the metal door opened, the bright corridor light illuminated his silhouette. Devon paused at the threshold, not looking back. He straightened his jumpsuit collar, correcting his back that had been hunched from pain.
Behind him, Leviara watched, her curiosity deepening.
Devon stepped out.
The door closed behind him with a heavy THUD.
In the silent corridor, Devon exhaled a long breath. He lifted both new hands, clenching and unclenching them. He was alive. He had managed to manipulate one of the strongest creatures in this ocean using only a sweet tongue and cold observation.
He swept his hair back with his fingers, a faint smirk etched on his face.
"One pawn secured," he whispered to the shadows of the corridor. "Now... let's conquer the board."
He walked away, his steps echoing like the ticking of a doomsday clock, as if he were no longer a restrained prisoner, but a king inspecting his dirty new palace.