Within a dark room, five multicolored birthday candles were arranged on an imperfect circle of graphite, crooked lines drawn between them to form a pentagram on the moldy tiles of the kitchen floor. In the center of the pentagram, there was a stained plate with half a slice of moldy bread on it. Smoke rose up from the candles as they burned, their orange glow revealing a scrawny figure kneeling before the pentagram with his arms raised up in prayer.
“Please, please, please!” the scrawny figure shouted his plea into the ground with his head bowed, his body shaking. The cold tiles were pressed into his knees, but he ignored the sensation. “It doesn’t matter who you are, or what price I have to pay. All I want is an S-grade talent tomorrow!” He paused and gritted his teeth before continuing. “I mean, even A-grade is fine!” He bit his lower lip. “If you can’t do ‘S’ or ‘A’, I can settle for ‘B’ too.” After a short pause, a sigh escaped from the scrawny figure’s trembling mouth. “Please, I just want a talent that’ll change my life.”
A moment of silence passed.
Shadows flickered as Sam sighed, his breath causing the five flames to dance. Sam raised his head and stared at the white wisps rising from the candles; supposedly, spiritual beings could take shape using the smoke. Time passed, but no shape took form. A wry smile appeared on Sam’s cracked lips as he blinked at the re-used birthday candles and eraser-less pencil on the floor. He picked up the book of magic on the ground and glanced down at the open pages. Although the foundation and catalyst weren’t of the best quality, the fundamental steps he had taken to summon a spiritual being were still the same.
Sam flipped the page over and reviewed the contents of the spell before placing the book off to the side. He clasped his hands together once more and bowed his head. “Thank you for listening to my request. It says here I’m supposed to tell you to leave,” Sam said, “but if you’re sincere in helping me out, I honestly don’t mind if you stay around for a bit. If you don’t want to be non-toxic friends, then please leave; return to the realm from which you came.” He nodded his head before blowing out the candles and smudging the pencil marks on the kitchen tiles to break the imperfect circle drawn on the ground.
Sam climbed to his feet and scratched his head. Although he didn’t really believe the ritual—written in a book of magic he had bought for a hundred dollars—would work, he still had to try. After all, what if it did work? He’d be stupid to have passed on the chance; at least, that’s how the old saleswoman had convinced him to buy the book. Now, he was wondering whether or not he had been scammed.
A creaking sound caught Sam’s attention, and he raised his head. His eyes widened as the beams on the ceiling splintered as they buckled. With a tremendous crash, the roof of Sam’s house collapsed. All he could do was curl up into a ball and scream as the construction materials rained down on his back.
It took a while for the dust to settle. It took even longer for the top of the rubble pile to tremble. A piece of wood was knocked aside, and Sam’s grime-covered body wormed its way out of the destruction. Miraculously, he was unharmed, the bits and pieces of the roof having fallen in just the right ways to leave him a path out. A troubled expression appeared on Sam’s face as he took in his surroundings. It was going to be a long night.
***
The next day, Sam stepped out of the bus and squinted as the sunrays bore down from above, his exposed skin warming up. As he walked through the streets, people made a point to avoid him, stepping to the side as if they were afraid the soot and grime on Sam’s clothes and skin would jump onto their bodies if given the chance. Sam ignored their gazes, keeping his eyes on the sidewalk. Eventually, he wound up at his destination: a nondescript building with a metal fence that had more rust than paint on it. After confirming he was in the right place, Sam pushed open the gate and went up to the building’s door. He knocked, and a few seconds later, it creaked open, revealing a well-lit hall. There was no one on the other side.
Same gulped and walked over the door’s threshold. “Hello?” he asked as he took a few steps down the hall. The door creaked shut behind him, causing Sam to turn his head and stare for a few moments before turning back around. Despite the rusty fence and creaking door, the interior, thankfully, looked new with white paint and bright LED lights.
“Don’t be nervous, come in,” a voice said from behind the only door—other than the exit—within the hall.
Sam took in a deep breath, calming the butterflies flitting about in his stomach. The deep breath didn’t help much. Sam advanced forward and grabbed the doorknob. A burning sensation flashed along his fingertips, and he winced as he pulled his hand back. The door creaked open as Sam blew on his fingers, and he paused mid-inhale upon seeing a dozen people seated in desks inside the room. Most of them raised their heads to look at him, but once they saw how dirty he was, they turned their attentions elsewhere.
Sam glanced to the side where a plump woman was seated behind a large desk. For some reason, he had expected a shady, talent-granting agency to be more like a doctor’s office, but it felt more like a classroom: the desks and chairs were arranged in neat columns and rows, and there were turned-over papers in front of the people present.
“Take one, fill it out,” the woman at the front of the room said, holding a packet of papers out towards Sam. “Sign everything. If you don’t like any of the clauses, you can leave; no one will care. When you’re done, be quiet and wait for the boss to arrive.”
“Thank you,” Sam said as he grabbed the packet.
The woman smiled at Sam. “Also, if you have any questions, please, keep them to yourself. Everything’s spelled out for you, and I’m not here to compensate for a lack of reading comprehension.”
Sam awkwardly smiled back at the woman as he took a stepped away and headed to an empty seat. There, he filled out the papers, signing and initialing everything without reading more than necessary. It didn’t matter what disadvantageous clauses were in there; as a talentless person, the contract was his only shot at obtaining a better future. Sam placed the pages down and observed his fellow talentless peers. They were of a similar age as him, which was to be expected; after all, if one’s talent didn’t emerge before they turned eighteen, they officially gained the title of talentless when they became an adult.
The door swung open, and a woman with blonde hair appeared. Her irises were pure black, and her pupils were red, vertical slits. In her hand, there was a metal suitcase. She looked at the plump woman manning the desk at the front. “Is this everyone?”
The plump woman glanced down at her desk where there was a paper with a list of names on it. “There should be one more.”
“They’re late,” the woman said and looked at the group of seated talentless people. “Follow me.”
Sam looked around as his talentless peers climbed to their feet. He stood up as well, letting everyone go ahead before following them out of the room.
The woman with demonic-looking eyes entered the hall and waved her hand, causing the empty wall across from her to flicker, revealing a set of sliding doors that automatically opened. Cold air rushed out from within, causing goosebumps to rise on Sam’s arms and legs. With long strides, the blonde-haired woman entered the passage, and the group of talentless followed after her. They arrived at a room with a large glass window showing the interior. Through it, Sam saw a chair that looked like it belonged in a dental office.
The woman turned around and looked at the group of talentless. “Who’s first?”
The talentless exchanged glances with each other. After a bit, one person raised his hand.
“Go in,” the blonde woman said, gesturing with her head. The doors to the room slid open, and three people, wearing masks and dressed in scrubs, appeared, their bodies previously obscured from the window’s view.
The talentless volunteer took in a deep breath before approaching the three masked individuals. They led him to the chair, and the door slid closed behind him. Sam stood on his tiptoes to get a better view of what was happening; since he was at the back of the group and wasn’t particularly tall, he needed the extra height to see.
The three masked people strapped the volunteer to the dental chair, binding his neck, wrists, ankles, and waist with metal chains. One of the masked individuals opened up a package on the small table beside the dental chair, revealing a blender, a massive syringe, and a crystalline object. The masked person placed the crystalline object within the blender, added a clear liquid, and blended the contents until it became a fine slurry. Then, the masked person opened the back of the syringe and poured the contents of the blender into the massive vial.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Sam gulped as he stared at the syringe approaching the bound volunteer. The needle looked like it could extract the bone marrow from an elephant. It was no wonder why the talentless person had to be tied down; any normal person would run away from a foot-long needle. Judging by the sweat beading on the volunteer’s forehead, it was clear he was a normal person. His mouth opened in a silent scream—thanks to the soundproof glass window—as the masked person plunged the syringe into the center of the volunteer’s chest.
The group of talentless gulped as they watched the process. Veins bulged on the volunteer’s neck as his face, neck, and exposed skin flushed red. His skin wriggled as if worms were crawling throughout his body, and he jerked against the chains holding him down as his muscles spasmed. Despite the volunteer’s thrashing, the masked person held the syringe steady, pumping the concoction into the bound volunteer at a constant rate. Eventually, there was nothing left in the cylinder, and the needle was removed from the volunteer’s body, but he continued to spasm and twitch with his eyes rolled up, showing only the whites of his eyes.
“Is that how it’s supposed to go?” one of the talentless asked, his pale face turning to look at the woman with demonic eyes.
“Yes,” the woman said. She looked inside the room through the window. “Considering he’s still alive, I’d say this operation went very well.”
A chill ran down Sam’s spine. He didn’t think the woman was joking; after all, human experimentation with artificial talents was illegal because of the risks involved to the subjects. Of course, knowing that, Sam had chosen to sign up anyway despite the risks. He’d rather be dead than live the rest of his life as a talentless.
“Alright,” the woman said as the doors to the room opened. The masked men undid the bindings around the volunteer; like a limp noodle, he slid down the chair and collapsed onto the floor in a heap. The masked men dragged him to the side of the room where they opened a chute and pushed his body through. The woman with demonic eyes nodded before looking at the group of talentless. “Next.”
“I, I think I left the stove on,” one of the talentless said and backed away from the group. He turned around, but a second later, red threads wrapped around his body; the silk-like filaments were coming out of the demonic-eyed woman’s fingertips. The talentless’ eyes widened as he struggled to free himself. “What is this stuff!? Blood!?”
The blonde-haired woman didn’t answer as she bent her arm and tugged, causing the bound talentless to fly towards her. “You signed the contract,” she said as the talentless tumbled along the floor, stopping before her feet. “It’s too late to leave.” A faint smile appeared on her lips as the talentless stared up at her with his face as pale as snow. “Unless you think you can escape.”
Sam gulped as the demonic-eyed woman gestured broadly with her arm. The bound talentless was thrown into the room, landing near the dental chair where the three masked individuals were readjusting the bindings loosened by the previous volunteer’s struggling.
“Don’t be nervous,” the demonic-eyed woman said, speaking towards the group of talentless. “Your chances of dying increases the more anxious you are. Think of the pain as something you have to endure to obtain a talent. In return for a bit of suffering, you’ll be granted a new life, one where you actually matter.”
Sam glanced through the window at the unwilling talentless. He was shaking his head and wriggling his body as the three masked men placed him in the dental chair and bound his limbs with black chains. Thanks to the soundproofing, Sam couldn’t hear what the man was saying, but it was easy to understand what the talentless wanted; he wanted the masked individuals to keep the gigantic needle away.
A furrow appeared on Sam’s brow as he watched the masked individuals blend and prepare the next concoction. If the rate of failure was higher the more anxious someone was, didn’t that mean the talentless strapped to the chair stood no chance? Rivulets of sweat poured down from the bound man’s forehead as his lips flapped repeatedly. Sam had never tried to lip-read before, but he found it was easy to understand what the talentless was saying: please, I’m begging you; please, let me go; please.
Without mercy, the massive needle of the syringe was jabbed into the pleading man’s chest, and his eyes bulged wide as he let out a silent scream. The masked individual holding the syringe applied constant pressure, injecting the concoction into the unwilling talentless’ flesh. The man’s body spasmed a few times, but unlike the first talentless to go through the process, the man’s actions ceased as if he were a puppet that had its strings cut.
The masked individuals glanced at each other, and without bothering to inject the rest of the concoction, the injector removed the syringe and shook their head. As the masked people undid the chains around the unmoving man’s limbs, the doors slid open once more. Sam stared at the unconscious—probably dead—talentless as his body was taken to a corner of the room where a large, metal grate was located. One of the masked individuals opened the grate, and the man’s body was tossed into the dark interior, causing a small puff of ash and soot to fly out. The grate closed with a slamming sound, and the group of talentless flinched as the metallic echo washed over them. Evidently, Sam wasn’t the only one who had been staring.
“Who’s next?” the demonic-eyed woman said, her red, slip pupils scanning the group. Everyone remained still. “Since no one’s volunteering, I’ll just have to pick.”
Sam’s eyes widened as red threads circled around his body. He cleared his throat and half-walked, half-jogged to the woman. Even if he was talentless, he still had a little bit of pride; he didn’t want to be thrown into the room like a ragdoll. “I-I’ll go,” he said as he stopped in front of blonde-haired woman. She wasn’t taller than him, but Sam had the impression the woman was towering over him, her eyes like those of a snake’s locked onto its prey.
“Good,” the woman said, the loose red threads around Sam’s body receding back into her fingertips. “Since you’re brave, I’ll give you a bonus.” She leaned over and projected her voice into the room, “Give him a boss’ core.”
The masked individuals exchanged glances with each other, and one of them nodded as he went to the side of the room and rummaged through a cabinet. Sam’s mouth was dry, but he had the urge to swallow as he walked past the sliding doors. They closed behind him without making a sound.
“Have a seat,” one of the masked individuals said, gesturing towards the chair. There was a glossy sheen on it; Sam suspected it was due to the sweat the previous two talentless had left behind. He ignored the unsanitary conditions and sat down. One masked person approached and bound his body to the chair. “It seems like Wendy likes you. There’s only one boss’ core left in this batch, and she’s letting you have it.”
An awkward smile appeared on Sam’s lips. “I’m not quite sure what that means,” he said as footsteps came from behind him. The masked individual who had gone to the cabinet returned with a red crystal shaped like an asymmetric flame. “Is that a boss’ core?”
“Yes,” the masked individual said as he placed the core into the blender, adding the clear liquid. It wasn’t water. Sam hadn’t been able to smell it before, but now, he was sure from the hairspray-like stench it gave off that it’d make him sick if he drank it. “The stronger the monster the core belonged to, the better the talent you’ll unlock; at least, that’s our working hypothesis.”
Sam swallowed hard as the core and liquid were blended together into a fine slurry. “Does a higher-quality core decrease my chance of dying?”
“Other way around,” the masked individual standing off to the side said. “But you’ll be fine. Wendy has good eyes. If she thinks you can handle absorbing a boss’ core, then you can handle it.”
Sam took in a deep breath through his nose as the needle of the giant syringe was swabbed with alcohol wipes. Evidently, the syringe was reusable. He wouldn’t get a blood-borne illness, would he? Strange thoughts filled his mind to distract him during what could be the final few minutes of his life.
“Anything you’d like to say before we start?” the masked person filling the syringe asked. “They could be your last words.”
Sam took in a deep breath and narrowed his eyes. “I, I’m going to survive, and I’m going to obtain a kick-ass talent,” he said. Words were powerful. Some people believed the spoken word could manifest a result simply by being said. At least, that’s what he learned from the hundred-dollar book of magic he had bought from the completely legitimate saleswoman.
“Remember that,” the masked person said as he readied the syringe. Without ceremony, he stabbed it into Sam’s chest and pushed, injecting the red slurry into Sam’s chest cavity.
Sam’s eyes widened, and he gasped as his lungs were figuratively set ablaze. Jolts of electricity surged through his limbs as the burning sensation spread all at once. His muscles cramped, causing his body to contort and wriggle, but the chains binding him held him in place. He wanted to scream, but there was no air in his lungs; it felt like a fat panda was sitting on his chest, compressing his ribcage to the point of shattering. Sam gritted his teeth and clenched his hands. His toes curled as his chest heaved up and down against his will. An orange hue crept into the edges of his sight, his field of vision shrinking with every passing moment.
“He’s not going to make it.”
“Slap him.”
Sam’s vision jerked to the side as pain assaulted his cheek. It was like an itch compared to the burning sensation flooding his whole body, but it was enough to jolt him back to reality—a reality of nausea and pain.
“Wow, it worked.”
Sam couldn’t find the strength within himself to curse at the nonchalant masked individuals. He glanced down at the syringe still connected to his chest by the needle and immediately wished he hadn’t. There was still half the concoction left inside the tube. Sam closed his eyes and clenched his hands even harder, digging his nails into his palm, drawing blood. There was a trick someone had told him about enduring pain: if he hurt himself elsewhere, the new pain would distract him from the old pain. It didn’t work. On top of the burning pain he was feeling, his palms stung now too.
Eventually, the pain subsided, and Sam’s body relaxed as the needle was extracted from his chest. He sank into the chair like a potato, completely devoid of strength. His sweat soaked through his clothes, causing grimy smears to appear on the chair he was sitting on, but at the moment, he really didn’t care about the feelings of the people who’d be using the chair after him.
“I know you’re tired, but there’re still people waiting to obtain talents as well,” one of the masked individuals said as he undid the bindings around Sam’s body. When the chains were undone, the three masked men worked together to lift Sam and carry him to the wall where there was a square door with a handle on it. Sam’s eyes widened as the metal door creaked opened thanks to one of the masked individuals, and Sam didn’t have the chance to say a word of protest before he was thrown into the darkness of what resembled a garbage chute. The metal door slammed shut behind him as he slid down like a ragdoll but not before a familiar voice came from outside the chute.
“Next.”