"I see. Thank you, Captain Damien..." The voice that echoed from the darkness was deep and stern, carrying a calm menace that sent a chill down Giona's spine.
One by one, the countless pairs of crimson eyes began to close, vanishing back into the abyss. After a moment, only the original pair was left, glowing ominously.
The oppressive silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the rhythmic, almost hypnotic sound of approaching footsteps. Each step echoed off the stone walls, the sound growing louder, sharper.
The two men holding Giona now trembled visibly, their hands sweating and squeezing her arms as fear crept into their movements.
To think the person approaching was enough to instill terror even in those who served him—yet perfectly understandable when the person that emerged from the darkness was Matchi Tehew.
He stepped into view, his presence commanding and suffocating all at once. Adorned in a black hooded cloak lined with shimmering gold, he moved with an air of regal authority. His crimson eyes gleamed from beneath the dark bangs of his meticulously combed black hair, his gaze piercing through the shadows the hood cast on his face. Around his neck hung an embroidered necklace, set with a black jewel that seemed to pulse, like a heart beating with dark energy.
Matchi’s cold, calculating eyes settled on Giona, and the men who had brought her immediately stiffened. The mere sight of him was enough to quell any thought of disobedience or hesitation.
Despite his almost perfect appearance, his presence alone was an unspoken reminder of the cruelty that lay beneath the surface—the power he wielded over everyone before him.
Matchi Tehew's eyes then narrowed as he noticed Giona's inflamed, bruised nose. The calm, subtle smile that had rested on his face faded almost in an instant. His gaze flicked to Captain Damien, his voice chillingly measured as he asked, "What happened to her nose?"
Without a moment’s hesitation, Damien gestured toward the man standing on Giona's left. "He got a little too rough with her, Director Tehew." he said with pleasure, smiling as if he had just thrown a defenseless zebra to a pack of lions.
The man in question immediately paled, his panic rising as he stammered, "Sh-she wouldn't stop thrashing... I didn’t—!"
Before he could finish, Matchi Tehew raised his hand, signaling for silence, his calm smile returning. "I understand," he said, voice dripping with faux warmth, "you're dismissed..."
Confusion and fear flickered across the man's face. He stood, unsure whether to feel relieved or terrified. The slyness in Matchi’s tone left him unsettled, his gut screaming that something was wrong.
With sweat beading down his forehead, he forced himself to obey, turning slowly, then dashing down the hallway, hoping to escape whatever cruel fate awaited.
Matchi Tehew’s smile widened, showing his teeth slightly. "Guess he's smarter than I thought," he remarked, his hand raising into the air, poised to snap his fingers. At the same time, a pair of crimson eyes appeared in the shadows behind him.
"However, you should have let me finish. You're dismissed…" he continued, his voice almost playful now. He then snapped his fingers. "Permanently."
The snap sent a ripple through the air, and the crimson eyes launched themselves from the darkness like a blur of blackness. The shadowy creature surged past Captain Damien, Giona, and the other cloaked man, who stood frozen in terror.
The man fleeing down the hallway had only a moment to register the growing roar behind him before the creature was upon him. His scream echoed down the stone corridor, but it was short-lived, cut off by the sickening sound of limbs being torn apart, bones snapping like dry branches, and wet splotches of blood painting the hallway.
The man's voice became distorted, gurgling with horror and pain, until the only sound left was the grotesque noise of the monster feasting.
Matchi Tehew chuckled softly, the sound disturbingly casual amidst the horrific scene that had just unfolded. "Good job, Captain Damien," he said with a grin. Then, with a dismissive wave of his hand, he added. "You two are free to go. Leave the girl here."
Captain Damien and the other man complied without question. The man holding Giona dropped her to the cold ground.
Giona winced as she landed, her body too weak to protest. She looked up at Matchi Tehew, her heart pounding in her chest.
To a stranger, his almost unnaturally calm expression might have seemed kind, even gentle. But Giona knew better. Behind those crimson eyes and that subtle, perfect smile was a deep well of cruelty and malevolence that terrified her to her core. Cry, beg, scream, she knew all of it was useless, as it just fueled his sadism even more.
Their gazes locked, and as she stared into his eyes, something terrifying began to happen. Matchi Tehew's face—his calm, composed face—began to glitch. One moment, he appeared as he always did, composed and human.
But then, in an instant, his features would shift, becoming something far more monstrous. His smooth skin turned gray and cracked, and his eyes burned with a hellish intensity. Then, just as quickly, his face would return to normal, the demonic visage disappearing like a fleeting nightmare.
As Matchi Tehew lowered his hand toward her, reaching for her with the same deceptive calmness, Giona felt the last shred of hope leave her. She lowered her head and closed her eyes, sobs shaking her small frame.
She knew what was coming. The torturous pain, the experiments, the darkness that had swallowed her whole before. She could never forget it.
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But, nothing happened. Seconds, then entire minutes passed consisting of Giona sitting still and whimpering helplessly, awaiting what was to come—only for her to feel nothing.
Slowly, her whimpers subsided and a sliver of hope knocked on her heart, leading her eyes to open and investigate.
Giona winced as a blinding light stared back at her. Her eyes, squinting against the harsh light, turned away instinctively, her cheek pressing into something cold and hard—steel.
Her mind swirled with confusion, since the last thing she remembered was being on the ground. Now though, she was lying down.
But before her thoughts could settle, panic took hold as she realized her wrists and ankles were bound, strapped down by reinforced leather. She pulled, but the restraints held her in place, trapping her on the metal surface.
Then, it hit her like a wave of dread. She was back on that table.
Her heart raced in terror as the memories rushed back—the experiments, the agony, the helplessness. Her breathing quickened, muffled against a gag tied cruelly around her mouth like some animal.
She tried to scream, but only a faint, stifled sound escaped, absorbed by the cloth that restrained her voice just as much as the straps restrained her body.
And then, she heard him.
"So, you're finally awake. That's good." Matchi Tehew’s voice, calm and composed, drifted over to her, chilling her to the core. She couldn’t see him, but his words confirmed everything—the nightmare was real. "For this experiment, I need you conscious."
She writhed within the restraints, trying to scream louder, the gag digging painfully into her skin as she thrashed. The cold table beneath her felt like an extension of her prison, and no matter how much she struggled, her limbs wouldn’t budge.
Footsteps echoed around her as Matchi approached, the sound unnervingly casual, as if he were strolling through a garden rather than walking toward her with his sickening purpose. Giona’s vision blurred as tears welled up in her eyes, her mind overwhelmed by the situation.
"I’ll have to be quick with this one, though," Matchi said, slipping a glove over his right hand with a snap that made Giona flinch, "it’s going to be quite painful."
His voice was almost friendly, as if he were discussing something mundane. That tone, the one he used as if she were nothing more than a broken toy, cut deeper than anything else.
A shadow fell over her as he loomed closer, blocking the light overhead. Her breath hitched in terror. She could see the glint of the syringe in his hand, the point gleaming in the harsh light.
"Just try your best to stay conscious, for me?" Matchi’s voice carried a cruel amusement, his smile hidden but palpable. He raised the syringe, the needle poised to pierce her flesh.
Seeing the syringe, Giona’s panic exploded into full-blown terror. Tears burst forth, flowing down her cheeks in uncontrollable streams, her entire body trembling under the weight of her despair. She tried to turn her head away, but there was nowhere to escape the horrifying reality closing in on her.
Matchi’s voice dripped with mockery as he noticed her tears. "Awww, don't cry." he cooed, rubbing her cheek with his cold, gloved fingers. "You should be happy, Giona. You'll be the reason for humanity’s next evolution. Be proud."
His touch, icy and indifferent, sent a shudder down Giona’s spine, making her pull away as much as she could. However, she couldn’t escape his icy grip, even now—a bitter reminder of just how helpless she was before him.
Giona closed her eyes as her overwhelmed thoughts naturally went to the single thing that could bring even an ounce of hope—Dama.
She could almost imagine his warmth, gentle presence, and smile dripping with compassion. It all was the complete opposite to Matchi Tehew’s coldness, menacing presence, and fake smile, masking a darkness that would make even a demon shiver.
The more she thought about it, the more it served as a bitter reminder of her current nightmare. In one last attempt at holding onto salvation, she whimpered softly, "Dama... Please, help me..."
But then, something unexpected happened. Amid her desperate plea, a voice cut through the oppressive fear—it was Dama's voice.
"Giona! Where are you?"
Her eyes shot open in shock. The bright light, the cold table, Matchi’s sinister form—they were gone. She blinked just as fast as her racing heart.
She was no longer in that nightmarish laboratory. Instead, she found something far more sinister—an iron door looming in front of her, its surface marred with bloodied scratch marks.
Giona’s trembling fingers reached out, brushing against the cold, metallic surface of the door and recognized it instantly—it was the door to her cell, the same door that had kept her confined in darkness for so long.
Yet, what was far more disturbing was the bloodied scratch marks. She realized they were her own, made in a time when desperation had driven her to near insanity, clawing at the door for any chance of escape.
She was back in the very cell where it all began.
The realization hit her like a punch to the gut, causing her legs to give way as she collapsed to her knees. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her heart beating with terror.
The hope she had briefly felt began to fade, replaced by a cold emptiness that gnawed at her very soul. She could barely feel the ground beneath her anymore, her entire being consumed by the weight of helplessness.
However, unbeknownst to even Giona, shadowy tendrils began to writhe up from the ground, creeping toward her like hungry predators drawn to her despair.
They slithered closer, curling around her legs, and though she didn’t consciously notice them at first, a strange sense of coldness began to wrap around her heart, sinking deeper with every breath she took, as if she was being dragged down into her own sea of despair.
The more she succumbed to her hopelessness, the more the tendrils grew, feeding on the darkness within her. As they crept closer, a peculiar sensation washed over her—something familiar, something friendly, yet at the same time, something wrong.
An image began to flicker in the corners of her mind. At first, it was the face of a blank, featureless figure, oozing a thick, black liquid, akin to the black substance she found herself running on earlier. With each successive flicker, each glitch, the face began to take on a more defined shape.
Eventually, it took the face of a little girl, her face. Only, it wasn’t truly hers. The eyes were gaping white voids, the mouth a yawning abyss. The reflection grinned, a smile that twisted and stretched, its dark essence reaching out to pull her in with promises laced with hellish intentions.
As the face became more and more like hers, Giona found herself smiling too, mirroring the eerie grin. Her mind, hazy and distant, began to surrender to something dark, something other, but still familiar, like a long lost friend. Something like this has happened before.
She felt herself slipping away, like last time, falling deeper into the void inside her own mind and allowing the tendrils to claim her. If she had learned anything from her childhood, it was the fact it’s easier to give in than to fight.
But just as Giona teetered on the brink of losing herself, she heard Dama’s voice again, “Giona, please, answer me! Nina, you too!” he cried out, his words growing more desperate.
The smile froze on Giona’s face, and her eyes widened. The shadowy tendrils recoiled, slithering back as her mind jolted back. Her chest heaved as she gasped and coughed, the dark grip over her heart loosening. "Dama...?" she whispered, the sound of his voice bringing her back from the abyss.
“Yes, it’s me! Where are you!?” Dama’s voice cried out in response.
Giona shot up from the cold floor at the confirmation. Ignoring why Dama was even here, the sound of his voice alone was like a beacon of light, igniting a spark within her.
Summoning every ounce of strength she had left, she pressed herself up against the door, her voice cracking as she screamed his name. "Dama! Dama, I'm here!"
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Next: (Chapter 59) Dama and Giona