Hortensia

Hortensia observed the blazing ruins with casual nonchalance. The remnants of the smoldering flames continued to shriek in the background. They burned, eating away at the wooden structures with murderous glee. She furrowed her nostrils—slightly irked at the nauseating smoke suffocating the area.

She heard rumors that the abandoned lumbermill in Lower Dannan had been seized by a group of miscreants some time ago. Confirming it firsthand allowed her to archive one of the many thoughts that occasionally gnawed in the back of her subconscious.

How unfortunate, she mused as she glanced at the pile of ashen corpses littered along the ruins. Judging by their sizes, they must have been children.

Despite the hellish scene before her eyes, Hortensia’s gaze remained unperturbed. Not a single ounce of horror or disgust—not even a reaction could be seen across her indifferent face.

For her, observing this tragedy was just the hallmark of another day of work. A small part of her job.

Another part of her job was punishing misbehavior.

Hortensia lowered her gaze. The source of the conflagrations around her was lying flat on the ground, bathing in a pool of his own blood. A crimson line had been drawn across his neck, severing the head from the rest of his body. Despite being dead, the skin of the Exalted’s corpse continued to radiate a faint azure blue.

It was a visual symptom of Overclocking—a phenomenon where an Exalted goes mad due to excessive exposure to mana.

Insanity, delusions, and a compulsion towards extreme violence were common side effects. An Exalted that was Overclocked could no longer be considered human. Due to their capacity for destruction and a complete loss of rationality, they were classified as natural disasters that must be swiftly eliminated.

Failure to do so led to the carnage before her eyes. Hortensia felt a tinge of regret. If she had been faster to respond, then perhaps—

Footsteps.

The crunch of rubble being trampled and kicked aside echoed behind her. Hortensia tilted her head back. It was a young man dressed in all black. His face blemished by ash. His teeth clenched, rattling as if he was barely able to hold his composure. On the ground in front of him were three unconscious bodies.

“Van, what’s this?”

“Survivors,” Van replied, before shaking his head, “Surviving, rather. Two of them appear to be in critical condition. I’m not sure if they’ll live.”

Amidst the three, there was a young girl encased in soot. Beside her was a tall male, roughly in his mid-teens. His body was almost entirely black, covered in third-degree burns—his face unrecognizable. The last person was a younger male. Coagulated blood drenched his lower half. His legs and joints appeared to be mutilated from blunt trauma.

“And?” Hortensia asked, “What are you planning to do with these three?”

Van flinched, flabbergasted by the question, “H-Huh?! Save them, of course! Surely, we have to do something to help—”

“Van,” she cut him off. Her eyes were unbearably cold. “Your job as an agent of Steiger is not to save the lives of orphaned miscreants. There are much better uses of your time.”

“Director!” he protested.

“Root out corruption. Eliminate Desperados. Maintain the status quo. The three mandates of Steiger,” she said sternly, “It’s only for those three reasons why you’re allowed to stand before me.”

Van grimaced. His hands had balled into fists, shaking with indignation as he was backed into a corner. Hortensia smirked, slightly awed by the young man’s earnestness.

“Give me a compelling reason why we should save these orphans,” she offered him an out.

“Do we need a reason to help those in need?” he hissed.

“Yes. Steiger isn’t a charity. It’s an organization with limited personnel, limited resources, and limited time. It does not make decisions or take actions that produce no value. And so, tell me,” Hortensia demanded, “what's the value in saving these orphans?”

Van’s answer, however, went beyond her expectations.

“…Article 5, Passage 4 of the Ardair Code of Laws,” Van began to recite, “The rights of children are upheld by their membership to a registered household. In other words—”

Van’s eyes darkened with resentment. “—orphans have no rights.” His voice trembled as he spat out those disgusting words. With great difficulty, he beckoned towards the three lying on the ground. “By law, they are not even considered human. They can be treated like livestock. You can do whatever you please with them. No matter how nefarious, how disgusting, how evil your actions are. Not even the King himself can protest. That is their value.”

Hortensia stared at Van in stunned silence. This kid…

Finally, she burst into laughter. Her joyous cackles echoed over the burning remnants of the ruined compound.

“Is this your idea of saving them, Van? To treat them like a livestock?” Hortensia wiped away the tears from her laughter. Van’s words gave her an idea. “Very well. I’ll humor your request,” she said as her eyes lit up with a dangerous glint, “Just don’t complain about your decision later.”

“I won’t,” Van snapped.

“Really? I wonder,” Hortensia mused, “After it’s all said and done, will they thank you or resent you for forcing them to live?”

Van crouched down to cradle the unconscious children. “It doesn’t matter to me. Both sentiments are fine," he said, staring at their damaged bodies, "Just as long as they live.”

***

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

EMIL

He remembered the first time he heard news of his parents’ passing.

It was a bright, sunny day. A gentle breeze caressed his face. He was in the patio, surrounded by the fresh fragrance of roses, lost in another leather-bound book found in his father’s study. And then suddenly, there was a commotion.

At first, Emil was annoyed at the cacophony disturbing his reading. But as footsteps thundered towards him, he glanced up. The head butler was staring at him with a pained expression. His mouth clenched. His eyes narrowed, trembling at the edges.

Emil instantly knew it was about his parents.

His mother and father were merchants, and they immersed themselves in their work. As a result, Emil was often left alone on the family estate during their business trips. He passed the time lost in books, learning about the world, fantasizing stories of great heroes—oblivious to the concept of loneliness. At a young age, his head was already crammed with a treasure trove of knowledge.

But there was nothing in those books that could have prepared him to receive this news.

***

The distant memory passed.

Emil found himself staring at darkness. He tried to pry his eyes open, but his body remained unresponsive. He couldn’t discern whether he was blindfolded or had lost the use of his eyes. A dull, floating sensation enveloped his body. It was disorienting, foreign, as if he was a phantom trapped in another’s vessel.

Gradually, his mind began to clear. He could feel the hard surface protruding beneath the arch of his back. His limbs had been stretched outwards. He tried to move them. There was a bit resistance—something had bound his wrist and ankles.

Then, voices.

They sounded disembodied, shrouded in harsh whispers and faint murmurs. He didn’t realize it until he strained to make out their words, but his ears were ringing. The faint, high-pitch hum in the background was annoyingly persistent.

“…Are you sure, Director?”

“Yes. Certain.”

Two distinct voices spoke in his vicinity. One was wrapped in uncertainty. The other, cold and callous.

“But this is untested! Even if it’s legal, the ethics of it—”

“He’s fated to die at this point, no?”

“…Yes.”

“Then proceed. You’re just doing your best to save a child’s life.”

The words perplexed him. A child’s life. It took a few seconds for Emil to understand.

…Me?

The question flicked a switch in his head. Memories suddenly poured in. The darkness in his field of view turned nauseatingly bright.

Red, brilliant flames raged in his surroundings. The inferno spread violently throughout the compound, swallowing up everything in its path. The safe haven—the home that he had worked so hard to build crumbled to ashes in an instant.

Emil remembered being helpless on the ground. His body scorched by the Exalted’s flames. His legs destroyed from falling off the sentry tower. Raz and the other children running towards him, oblivious. The Exalted behind him shrieking like a ravenous monster. And then his friends—

Screaming.

Oh right.

Everyone’s dead.

The next thing he heard was people yelling into his ears.

“He’s convulsing!”

“Hold him down!”

“Hurry up and administer the aid, dammit!”

Something sharp stabbed into the side of his neck. Emil felt a throbbing pain as the weight holding down his body intensified. Suddenly, his mind felt heavy. The frantic voices in the background gradually dimmed—subdued, until he could no longer hear them any longer.

***

He woke up to an unfamiliar ceiling.

Emil shot up in a panic. Cold sweat drenched his back. His chest heaved as he twisted his head around to make sense of his surroundings. He was in a narrow room. The faint stench of antiseptics permeated the air. There were white candle lights above him, flickering, radiating an odd clandestine feel.

On the desk beside him was a cup filled with water. Suddenly aware of his thirst, Emil reached for it, throwing caution to the wind. He drank greedily, indulging in the relief from his parched throat. The water helped clear his mind.

What’s going on?

Where am I?

The events in the compound flashed in his head. His heart raced, but he shook off the terrifying memories. Not yet. He vaguely remembered disembodied voices surrounding him. The room was empty, however. His recollections ended there.

“…Hello?” he reluctantly called out. Someone must have brought him here from the compound.

“Anyone there?”

Silence.

I should investigate. He stepped off the bed. Something gnawed at the back of his mind.

Wait a minute.

He glanced down. His leg, which had been mangled beyond recovery from the fall, had been healed back to normal. But more than that, the lower half of his torso was covered in patches of discolored skin. Stitches marked the boundaries of the mismatched skin tones, making his body resemble patchwork.

What the hell happened to my body?

“Emil Engel.”

A disembodied voice suddenly echoed in the air. Emil spun around, startled. But there was no one else in the room with him.

“Son of the owners of the Engel Merchant Company. Now an orphan.” The voice belonged to a woman. Cold, callous, devoid of compassion. As he regained his composure, Emil realized the voice was reverberating near the ceiling.

“I have two children with me. One is a tall male in his mid-teens. Another is a young girl with a plain face. I found them where I found you. I presume you know who they are?”

Raz and Mia!

“Yes! I-I think so!” Emil screamed, desperate. The knowledge that he might not be the only survivor gave him hope. “Are they alive?!”

“For now.”

The room suddenly shook. Emil leapt back in horror. Something massive slammed against the walls.

“If you want them to survive, then show me your worth,” the voice said, dripping with ominous intent.

“Worth? What do you mean?” Emil stammered. The walls shook again. He swore he heard a low growl on the other side.

“H-Hey!” Silence. Whoever spoke to him was no longer interested in responding.

Crunch!

The wall caved in. The wooden structure was torn apart. A hideous beast, towering over six feet tall on all fours, stomped into the room. Emil froze. His instincts screamed. The beast growled, grunting in a deep bellow. Its snout quivered. The pair of bloodshot eyes zeroed in on him, gleaming with desire.

The beast suddenly charged. It rushed in on all fours as it threw itself at Emil. Its jaws opened, monstrous fangs bared, dripping with spittle. Emil watched as its shadow loomed close.

Death beckoned.

He dove to the left. The beast’s front claws narrowly grazed the side of his legs, carving a long crimson line down along his shins. Emil clenched his teeth. The burning pain was agonizing. He glanced down—blood cascaded down his leg as parts of his skin and flesh were ripped off by the scratch.

There was nowhere to run.

I have to kill it.

Heat suddenly radiated from his chest. It was uncomfortable, like a sealed cauldron on the verge of boiling, begging to explode. The beast spun around, screeching in delight at the scent of blood. Emil felt the heat intensify. He grabbed his chest. The discomfort grew unbearable, his body temperature continued to rise as if responding to his violent thoughts. His fingers and legs began to convulse—his body rapidly descending out of his control.

The beast lunged.

“Ahhhhh!” Emil screamed.

Energy crackled in his vicinity. The air snapped with a distinctive pop, before everything suddenly flashed into a maelstrom of flames. Emil winced, curled up in panic—memories of the compound’s destruction still fresh in his mind. It took the stench of burnt flesh for him to look up.

The charred remains of the beast stood in front of him, a ghastly sight as its melting flesh peeled off its boned carcass. The entire room was set ablaze. Flames danced ravenously as it fed on the building material. The sight was heart-wrenchingly familiar.

“Well done. You might be of some use,” the woman’s voice suddenly echoed once more.

“What do you mean?” Emil asked, confused by the vague words. Alarmed, he stared at his hands. Wisps of flames flickered in his palms. He pulled his hands back, startled. The flames, however, followed his movements. They felt hot, but not as scalding as expected.

I did this?

His healed leg. The patchwork of skin littered across his torso. The conversation he overheard between the two disembodied voices.

“N-No. Wait…”

Scenes of the compound collapsing flashed in his head. His friends burned to ash. The Exalted squealed in delight at the destruction.

He connected the dots. The realization sunk in.

Emil screamed in horror, “What have you done to me?!”

He had become the monster that he feared.