Daedren’s footsteps echoed through the cold halls of Prometheus as he followed the Apothecary toward the Apothecarion. The towering walls of the fortress monastery felt like they were closing in on him, the weight of the stone and metal pressing down with each step. His heart pounded in his chest, the realization that today would mark the beginning of his transformation coursing through him with every beat. This was the moment he had been preparing for, yet there was no escaping the fear that clung to his thoughts like a shadow.

They reached the door to the operating room, and it slid open with a hiss, revealing a sterile, brightly lit chamber. The walls were lined with machines that hummed softly, their purpose unknown to Daedren but their presence intimidating. In the center of the room stood a single surgical table, its cold, metal surface gleaming under the harsh lights. Surrounding the table were figures clad in white, their faces hidden behind masks, their hands busy preparing tools for the procedure that would soon begin.

“Lie down, Neophyte Daedren,” the Apothecary instructed, his voice calm but firm.

Daedren nodded, his throat dry, and stepped toward the table. The cool air brushed against his skin as he removed the top part of his tunic, exposing his chest. He climbed onto the table and lay flat on his back, the cold metal sending a shiver up his spine. The white-clad surgeons moved around him, positioning restraints over his arms and legs, locking him in place. Though he had been told what to expect, the sight of the restraints made his pulse quicken.

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Time had a strange way of stretching and distorting inside the operating chamber of Prometheus. As Daedren lay on the cold surgical table, his body restrained and exposed under the harsh lights, it felt as though hours had already passed since he had first entered the Apothecarion. The low hum of machinery, the sterile scent of antiseptic, and the soft murmurs of the medics filled the room, creating a surreal atmosphere that left Daedren with only his thoughts and the growing tension in his chest.

The Apothecary stood over him, his expression hidden behind his helm, but his voice steady and sure. “Daedren, you will undergo three critical implantations today. This will be a long process, but you must remain awake and conscious for much of it. Your body needs to respond naturally. We will administer femoral block / high thoracic epidural anesthesia, but you will stay awake, so you must endure.”

The word endure echoed in Daedren’s mind, becoming a mantra he clung to as the medics gathered around him. His heart thudded in his chest, the only thing familiar in a world that was about to become entirely foreign. Every beat felt amplified as if it were the last sound he might hear before the silence of oblivion.

The Apothecary signaled the beginning of the procedure. Daedren’s body tensed as he felt the cold swipe of antiseptic against his bare chest. The cool sensation was brief, quickly replaced by the sharp sting of the scalpel as it made the first incision. The pain hit him like a wave, a hot, searing line of fire across his flesh as the medics worked to open his chest cavity. The cut wasn’t deep yet, just a superficial layer, but Daedren could feel every movement.

Minutes passed, each one crawling slowly as the medics sliced through layers of muscle and tissue. Daedren gritted his teeth, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts as he fought to keep his composure. The pain was intense, but manageable, for now. But this was only the beginning.

When the medics reached his chest cavity, the pain escalated, sharp and unrelenting. It was as if his entire torso had been ripped open. Every nerve screamed, his body instinctively wanting to curl in on itself, but the restraints held him firm. His fingers curled into fists, nails digging into his palms as he forced himself to stay conscious, his breath now shallow and rapid.

“Secondary Heart implantation will commence,” the Apothecary announced. His voice was calm, almost reverent, as he prepared the small organ.

Daedren’s vision blurred as the medics lowered the Secondary Heart into his chest cavity. The organ was small, but its presence was profound. He could feel it, an alien weight nestled next to his original heart, cold and lifeless for now. The medics worked swiftly to connect it to his circulatory system, threading veins and arteries to fuse it with his body.

Each connection felt like being stabbed with white-hot needles. Daedren’s vision darkened at the edges as the pain rolled over him, threatening to pull him under. He focused on his breathing, every inhale and exhale a deliberate, conscious effort to stay present. Time slowed, each second dragging out as the surgeons carefully linked the Secondary Heart to his original.

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Once the connections were complete, the Secondary Heart began to beat, slowly at first, then in sync with Daedren’s natural rhythm. The sensation was strange, almost disorienting. He could feel the two hearts working together, pumping blood through his body with more power than ever before. It was as if a second pulse had been added to his very essence, a deeper, more resonant rhythm that made him feel both stronger and more vulnerable.

Hours seemed to pass, though it could have been minutes. Daedren lay there, his body fighting to adjust to the new organ. The pain had dulled slightly, but it was still there, a constant, throbbing reminder of what had just been done to him.

But the procedure wasn’t over.

The medics moved quickly, their hands steady as they prepared for the implantation of the Biscopea. Daedren felt the cool steel of the instruments press against his flesh again, and the agony reignited as the incision in his chest was widened further to accommodate the new implant.

The Biscopea was small and spherical, but Daedren knew its significance. It was the organ that would turn him into a true warrior, capable of immense strength and endurance. The surgeons placed it into his chest cavity, just above the Secondary Heart.

The pain from the Biscopea’s insertion was different. It wasn’t as sharp or immediate as the Secondary Heart. Instead, it felt like a slow-burning fire, spreading from his chest outward into his muscles. The surgeons began the intricate task of connecting the Biscopea to his circulatory system, linking it with his blood and the newly installed Secondary Heart. Daedren’s whole body throbbed with the sensation of the Biscopea’s influence as it began to work, releasing its hormonal payload into his bloodstream.

His muscles twitched and spasmed involuntarily as the Biscopea activated. Every fiber of his being felt stretched, as though his body was preparing itself for something beyond its current limits. The fire in his body grew with every passing second, spreading down his arms, across his chest, and into his legs.

Daedren clenched his jaw against the pain, his body shaking as it struggled to process the new organ. Time seemed to crawl, each minute an eternity of fire and agony. The Biscopea wasn’t just enhancing his muscles, it was rewriting them, shaping them into something stronger, something more resilient.

It felt like hours before the surgeons finally sealed the incision in his chest, their hands moving with the precision of artisans. The pain didn’t stop when the wound was closed. Daedren’s chest ached as if it were on fire, and every breath sent a sharp pain shooting through his ribs. His body was trying to adjust, but it was far from done.

The room was silent for what felt like an age, only the soft hum of machines filling the space as the medics prepared for the final procedure.

“The Ossmodula implantation will now begin,” the Apothecary intoned, his voice low but firm. “This organ will reshape your skeletal structure, strengthening your bones and accelerating your growth.”

Daedren’s mind swirled with fatigue and pain, but he forced himself to remain conscious. The Ossmodula was the most terrifying of the implants, its purpose to alter his very bones, to make him stronger, taller, more durable. The medics tilted his head back slightly, exposing the base of his skull, where the Ossmodula would be implanted near his pituitary gland.

Daedren felt the cold touch of the blade against his neck as the medics made the incision. The pain flared again, sharper this time as they worked to access the base of his skull. Every movement felt magnified, as though his entire body were being pulled apart. His vision blurred, but he clung to consciousness, his mind focusing on the steady rhythm of his two hearts.

The Ossmodula was placed carefully, its connection to his endocrine system crucial to its function. The surgeons' hands moved with surgical precision, integrating the organ with his pituitary gland. As the Ossmodula activated, Daedren felt a strange pressure in his body, as though it was beginning to stretch and shift beneath his skin.

The sensation was unlike anything he had ever experienced. His body felt heavy, as if it was being filled with molten metal, slowly expanding and hardening. His rib cage, in particular, throbbed with a deep, pulsating pain as the Ossmodula already began the slow process of fusing it into a solid, interlaced mass of bone. The growth would be gradual, taking years to complete, but the transformation had already begun.

Minutes turned into hours as Daedren lay on the table, his body wracked with pain, his mind struggling to stay conscious. The surgeons worked tirelessly, closing the incision at the base of his skull and ensuring that the Ossmodula was functioning as intended.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the procedure was complete.

Daedren lay there, his body drenched in sweat, his muscles trembling with exhaustion. The pain was still there, raw and unrelenting, but beneath it, he could feel the beginnings of something new. His heart... his hearts, beat in unison, pumping blood and oxygen through his body with more power than ever before. His muscles twitched, growing stronger with every second, and his bones throbbed with the pressure of their impending growth.

The Apothecary stepped forward, his voice calm and steady. “You have endured, Neophyte Daedren. The first phase of your transformation is complete. Your body will now begin the long process of becoming something more.”

The medics removed the restraints, and Daedren was gently lifted from the table. His legs wobbled beneath him, but he managed to stand, his body heavy with the weight of the new organs. His chest ached with every breath, but he could feel the strength building within him, slow but undeniable.

They led him to the recovery chamber, where he collapsed onto a simple cot. His mind swirled with exhaustion, but he could feel the changes taking hold. His muscles burned, his bones ached, but through the pain, there was a sense of purpose. He was no longer just Daedren, the boy from Nocturne.

As sleep overtook him, Daedren’s last conscious thought was of the journey still ahead.