Deep underground, beneath layers of concrete, steel, and hidden secrets, stood a tall glass tube in the center of a dimly lit laboratory. Inside, a man floated quietly, suspended in thick, red-tinted liquid. His body was pale, covered in lean muscle and light scars—marks of a warrior's life. He hadn't moved in weeks. Maybe months. Maybe even longer.
Around him, researchers in white coats moved from one glowing screen to another. Some typed quickly. Others scribbled notes while watching numbers shift. But none of them looked at the man in the tube.
To them, he wasn't a person.
He was a tool.
A leftover weapon from another time.
A project.
In a nearby room separated by thick, reinforced glass, a few voices spoke quietly over the hum of machines.
"Subject X's cells are still regenerating—even after three months with no mana injection."
"Amazing. If we can copy this ability, the Red Ace Guild will out rank every faction in the southern region."
"He's not human. No normal man could survive what he did. This is evolution, gentlemen. And now, he belongs to us."
They sounded excited, but it was the cold excitement of scientists studying a lab rat. No warmth. No humanity.
And then—
His eyes opened.
Bubbles of air escaped his lips as his eyes focused sharply, slicing through the red liquid like ice.
"...Where am I?"
Outside the tube, the scientists kept talking, unaware he had woken up. His fingers twitched. Muscles tensed. His forehead wrinkled as he stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling, the harsh lights, the strange machines blinking with unknown symbols.
"...Why does my body feel so heavy?"
Every movement felt strange. His limbs were slow. His nerves dull. It felt like he was waking from a deep dream that had lasted far too long.
"What… happened?"
He tried to understand the voices outside. But the words were wrong—fast and harsh. Not a language he remembered.
And then—
It came back.
Flashes of blood. Screams. A man with red hair, laughing with sharp fangs bared. A battle.
"The Blood Cult… I was fighting the Blood Cult… those bastards…"
He lifted his hand and placed it against the glass. A quiet thud. Ripples spread where his palm touched.
"What is this… some kind of barrier?"
A faint crack formed under his hand.
THWACK.
The glass groaned. Tiny cracks spread out like a spiderweb.
"...This is it? This weak thing was supposed to hold me?"
Alarms blared suddenly. Red lights flashed.
Voices shouted in panic.
"He's moving!"
"That's impossible—he was clinically dead!"
"Something's wrong! Lock the chamber now!"
"Call the hunters! NOW!"
But he didn't understand them.
To him, it was just more cultist chanting. More lies. More tricks.
Then—
The glass shattered.
With a hiss of pressure, steam rushed out. He stepped forward as the liquid spilled onto the floor. His bare feet hit cold metal. His knees bent slightly under the weight of his strength. He moved like a wild beast waking from a cage.
Panic exploded.
"S-Send in the guild hunters!"
"Do not kill him! We need him alive!"
Too late.
He reached out and grabbed a scientist by the neck—so easily, like picking up a doll—and lifted him off the ground. The man kicked and struggled, choking.
"I'll crush you all before you start another damn ritual."
CRACK.
The man's neck snapped.
His body dropped.
Screams rang out.
Metal doors slammed open as heavily armed guild hunters rushed in. Some carried guns, others swords, axes, or glowing daggers. They surrounded him quickly, eyes filled with fear and tension.
"Don't let him move! Surround him!"
But no one attacked.
No one wanted to be first.
He stood still… then slowly smiled. The kind of smile that promised pain.
Then—he laughed.
A deep, twisted laugh that froze the room.
With just a flick of his hand, a shockwave blasted out of his body. The floor cracked. Hunters flew backward like broken toys, smashing into walls.
"W-What was that?!"
"He just—blew them away!"
"Get backup! Call in A-Ranks and above!"
More hunters came. Stronger. Faster. More deadly.
It didn't matter.
He moved through them like death itself. Bullets stopped in midair. Swords snapped on his skin. Bones shattered in his hands. He wasn't trying to defend himself.
He was erasing them.
One by one, they fell.
The air filled with smoke and blood.
And then, only one man was left—a scientist crawling backward across the floor, covered in blood and fear.
"W-Wait! Please! I have a family! I was just following orders! Don't kill me! Please!"
The man tilted his head. He couldn't understand a single word.
"Still chanting? Another spell?"
He walked forward.
THWACK.
Silence.
The body dropped. A red stain spread across the floor.
The lab, once filled with machines and voices, was now dead quiet. Smoke rose. The smell of blood and burning flesh lingered in the air.
He stood still, breathing slowly. Cold air turned his breath to mist.
No fear in his eyes.
No pity.
He glanced around the ruined lab, then whispered softly—
"...Now… where the hell am I?"
To be continued...