Chapter 56: Nando’s Experiment

Today was a special day for Nando. The anticipation had been building for weeks, and now, after countless hours of preparation, he was finally ready. He moved swiftly up the spiral stairs toward his room, his heart pounding in his chest. The glances from other recruits felt sharper than usual, but Nando knew the attention wasn’t really directed at him. It was because he had been associated with Abel and Sena, whose reputations had grown steadily, casting a long shadow over everyone in their circle. Still, he ignored the stares. Today wasn’t about them. Today was about him.

Reaching his door, Nando pushed it open and slipped inside. He exhaled deeply, feeling the weight of what was about to happen. His room was cramped—far smaller than he would have liked for an experiment of this magnitude. The device, a knockoff of Fiendfinger’s ancient experiment, dominated the space. Tubes coiled like snakes across the floor, and jars filled with strange, viscous liquids lined the shelves, some glowing faintly. The centerpiece, though, was a large jar sitting on his desk, containing a dark brown liquid. Suspended inside was the decayed hand of a Tombwalker—a grotesque, withered limb with long, bony fingers.

Nando had been working on this for months, pouring all of his time and resources into it. Every contribution point he earned had gone toward gathering materials or researching the ancient methods Fiendfinger had once used. But Nando, ever the clever strategist, hadn’t merely replicated the experiment. He had altered it, modified the formula, made it his own. It wasn’t just about absorbing the magical properties of the hand. No, Nando had a far more ambitious goal.

He paced around the room, checking the tubes and the strange liquids one last time, making sure everything was in order. His heart raced with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. The knowledge his family had passed down was invaluable, dark and ancient as it was. With this experiment, he wasn’t just going to absorb the power of the hand; he was aiming to take a portion of the Tombwalker’s essence itself. If this worked, he would no longer just be a regular recruit. He would be something more—something feared.

He told his friends earlier that day not to visit him, brushing off their concern with a smile. He didn’t want them here for this. Not because he was afraid of failing, but because he needed to do it alone. This was his path, his strategy for elevating himself in the Tower.

Taking a deep breath, Nando lay down on his bed, which he had modified to serve as the platform for the experiment. It wasn’t as grand as Fiendfinger’s original chair, but it would serve its purpose. He methodically began attaching the tubes to his body, feeling a sense of unease settle over him. A few stray thoughts flickered in his mind—questions, doubts, warnings. But he quickly pushed them aside. This was his moment.

The tubes, connected to the jar containing the Tombwalker’s hand, pulsed faintly, a sickly glow emanating from the liquid. Nando began to chant, his voice low and rhythmic, the ancient words wrapping around the room like a dark incantation. As he spoke, the sound in the room seemed to disappear, as though his words were absorbing the very air. The light dimmed, and soon, the room was pitch black, except for the ominous glow from the jar.

Suddenly, the hand in the jar convulsed violently, its withered fingers twitching as if trying to escape. The light within the jar intensified, and Nando could feel the energy radiating from it. The liquid inside the jar began to swirl, then it surged through the tubes, rushing toward him in a brilliant display of light and shadow. It was both beautiful and terrifying.

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As the energy reached him, Nando felt it invade his body. A sharp, searing pain coursed through him, and his muscles tensed as the power of the Tombwalker flooded his veins. Black veins spread across his skin, writhing like snakes as they etched themselves deeper into his flesh. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay calm. He had expected pain, but this... this was almost unbearable.

But Nando was no ordinary recruit. His mind, sharp and calculating, remained focused even through the agony. He wasn’t just absorbing power—he was adapting it, controlling it, shaping it into something that would give him an edge in the Tower. As the power surged through him, he could feel his body changing, mutating in subtle ways. His mind raced with visions, memories not his own, fragments of the Tombwalker’s existence.

He couldn’t help but laugh—a soft, almost manic sound that echoed through the dark room. Not because he was losing control, but because he was so close. He could feel the power, the potential. He knew this would change everything. He had always played the game smarter than the others, and now, he would have the strength to match his intellect.

Outside the room, Marcella, the Tower’s ever-watchful librarian, paused in her duties. A strange current of mana had rippled through the Tower, and her sharp instincts immediately caught the disturbance. She frowned, her thoughts drifting back to Abel’s room, which he had accidentally destroyed during his transformation. She also recalled the strange case of Gato, whose transformation had left him with feathers that could be used as deadly projectiles. The current batch of recruits was unlike any she had seen before. Their potential—and their danger—seemed to grow with each passing day.

Marcella made her way up the tower, her heart heavy with curiosity and concern. The mana she sensed now was vile, almost corrupted, unlike anything she had felt from the other recruits. She reached Nando’s door and paused, her hand hovering just over the entrance to his room. The door itself trembled slightly, and she could feel the vile aura emanating from within.

Back in the room, Nando lay still, the black veins throbbing across his skin as the final waves of power settled into him. His body felt... different. Stronger, but also strange. The connection to the Tombwalker, however faint, had left its mark. He had taken not just its power, but part of its essence. His experiment had succeeded—he could feel it in every fiber of his being.

But as the last of the energy flowed through him, a strange calm washed over Nando. His manic laughter died down, replaced by the cold, calculating mind that had always guided him. The power was his, and he would use it, but he knew that this was only the beginning. The Tower was full of rivals, and now, he was ready for them.

Marcella’s hand finally touched the door, and she hesitated for a moment before slowly pushing it open. The sight inside made her breath catch. Nando lay on the bed, his body marked with black veins that were almost hidden under the robe, but the aura of corruption lingered in the air. The room was still, but the damage had been done noticing some black veins on his neck and ending near his chin.

"Nando?" she asked cautiously, stepping inside.

Nando turned his head slowly, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. "Marcella," he said softly, his voice calm. "I wasn’t expecting company."

Marcella narrowed her eyes, studying him carefully. There was something different about him—something dark and dangerous. But she kept her voice even. "What have you done?"

Nando’s smile widened slightly, his eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief and determination. "I’ve simply leveled the playing field."

Marcella remained silent, her gaze never leaving his. She could feel the shift in him, the corruption that clung to him like a second skin. This batch of recruits... they were dangerous indeed