‘Subject 666…?’
The words echoed inside Azriel’s mind, relentless, like a twisted refrain he couldn’t shake. He felt trapped, caged within his own body, unable to scream or even move, forced to simply watch through his eyes as the man in the white coat moved toward a metal tray on the side of the room.
Azriel’s gaze followed, though not by choice, as if some invisible force compelled his body to obey. He could feel the pain—throbbing, deep, a raw agony that pulsed through his limbs and filled him with dread. His face, his body… they ached in places he didn’t know could hurt.
But something else sent a chill down his spine. A mirror hung on the far wall, reflecting his image back at him.
What he saw twisted his stomach. His own face, or what was left of it, was nearly unrecognizable—mangled by deep, bloody gashes, swollen and scarred beyond recognition. A jagged cut ran from his brow to his cheek, a dark line through smeared blood. His red eyes, bloodshot and wild, were the only familiar things left, glinting through the grime and tangled black hair plastered to his forehead.
‘Is that… me?’
The thought flickered weakly in his mind, barely coherent, as horror gripped him. Before he could linger on the sight, the man’s chuckle broke through his haze of shock. His head turned involuntarily toward the man, who stood smiling with a detached, clinical amusement.
“You must have a lot of questions, right?”
Azriel wanted to scream, to demand answers, but his throat was paralyzed, his mouth sealed shut. He could only stare, helpless and silent.
The man shook his head, an eerie calmness in his expression.
“Still no words, hmm? We found you just like this. Your face… well, we could fix it, but healing potions don’t come cheap. Then again, your face might stay just as it is unless you’re… successful enough to earn one. A shame, really—your name, your identity, forgotten in time.”
Azriel’s chest tightened as the man scratched his disheveled black hair, his eyes glinting with something dark and perverse, as though he were relishing Azriel’s silent suffering. He paused, as if realizing something, then grinned—a slow, unsettling stretch of lips beneath his mask.
“Oh, I haven’t introduced myself, have I? You can call me Doctor. My real name’s Arthur, but… let’s stick with Doctor, shall we?”
His voice was sickeningly cheerful, every word dripping with a twisted sincerity.
“I think we’re going to get along well, Subject 666. After all… we’ll be together for a long, long time.”
A chill crept through Azriel’s body as he heard the doctor’s words.
Another shiver followed, rippling through him as he watched the doctor lift a syringe from a metal tray. A strange, transparent liquid leaked from the needle’s tip.
“I can’t have you going berserk, now, can I? Fifty grams of Elenium-5, daily. Should keep an awakened human like you manageable.”
‘Awakened…?’
No. It was wrong. Completely wrong. Azriel wasn’t awakened—he was an intermediate. He knew that. He wanted to scream it, to make the doctor understand, but no sound escaped his mouth.
And then he saw the doctor approaching with the syringe in hand.
Panic and horror surged through every part of him. Muffled screams escaped Azriel’s mouth, his lips barely parting.
‘No! No! Stay away! Dammit, stay away!’
The doctor paid him no mind, gripping Azriel’s tattered sleeve and tearing it off to reveal his injured right arm, crisscrossed with scars.
“We’ll need to get you some fresh clothes as well.”
The doctor murmured this almost to himself as he positioned the needle on Azriel’s arm. Azriel’s body began thrashing wildly, every fiber fighting.
‘Someone, help! Please! Please… help…!’
But no one came. The doctor pressed the syringe into his arm, the liquid seeping into his veins.
‘Someone… please… I… I feel sick… it hurts… make it stop…’
The effect was instant.
Azriel’s body stopped struggling. His eyes grew heavy, his thoughts clouded, slowing down, sinking under a haze.
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His eyes shut.
He drifted into sleep.
Except…
His mind didn’t.
‘It’s dark… I can’t move. Why is it so dark… and so cold? I want to leave… Mom, Dad… Lia…’
Only darkness remained, a cold, silent void that swallowed every sense.
Azriel could not hear.
Azriel could not speak.
Could not feel.
Could not see.
Could not move.
…He was alone.
He couldn’t begin to describe it; he was like a spirit adrift in some emptiness, stripped of body and time, floating and yet not.
It was nauseating, yet he had no stomach to twist in discomfort.
‘Why… why me? I don’t want this. I want to go home. What did I do to deserve this…? Is this… because I lied? Did they really die because of me…? Was it… me? Is this my punishment?’
“You aren’t being punished.”
‘…!’
If Azriel’s eyes could widen, they would have. Through the endless dark, a voice broke the silence.
He couldn’t see. He couldn’t tell where it came from. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
And if he could glare, he would have—right then, in that instant, a fierce hatred flaring within him. He knew that voice too well, a voice he despised to his very core.
It was his own.
‘You… you can hear my thoughts?’
Despite his anger, he forced himself to stay calm, asking slowly in his mind.
The voice answered.
“Of course. Have you forgotten? I am you.”
‘Where am I?’
It was the only question he could think of.
He had no clue where he was, only that he felt trapped in a body he couldn’t control, forced to see and feel everything it experienced.
The more he thought about his situation—and about the doctor—the stronger his dread grew, a desperate need to escape rising within him.
The voice drifted, soft and echoing, as if from everywhere.
“I told you, didn’t I? We’re revisiting your memories…”
‘My memories? But why can’t I remember any of this—!’
A sudden, chilling thought struck him.
And the voice chuckled, amused.
“You’re catching on. Yes, these are your memories. The ones that disappeared after you left [White Haven]. If you’re still in doubt, check your status—that should clear things up.”
Azriel didn’t hesitate.
‘Status.’
Though he couldn’t see, in the next instant, a status window appeared before his mind’s eye.
—————————-
Status Screen:
—————————-
[Name]:
Azriel Crimson
[Age]:
14
[Gender]:
Male
[Titles]:
None
—————————-
[Mana Core Rank]:
Awakened
[Mana Core Grade]:
Grade 3
[Mana Core Level]:
1
—————————-
[Affinities]:
-Lightning
-Ice
[Unique Skill]:
Spectral Shift
[Sword Arts]:
None
—————————-
[Soul Weapons]:
Void Eater
[Soul Armor]:
None
—————————-
Azriel felt a cold shock settle over him as he took in the details of the status window. If his eyes could widen, they would have in disbelief.
‘Fourteen years old… and awakened. These… these are my memories. And [Spectral Shift]… my [Unique Skill], from before it changed under the God of Death’s blessing…’
[Spectral Shift]: Upon activation, the user becomes untouchable, allowing physical attacks, projectiles, and magical effects to phase harmlessly through them for 15 seconds. Observers see a faint, ghostly figure—present yet impossibly out of reach. When the skill ends, the user fully returns to reality, vulnerable once more.
Reading the description, he knew for certain. It was his skill, his past self.
‘This is insane…’
The voice laughed lightly.
“That’s our life, yeah. Insane.”
A chill crept over Azriel as he heard the voice. He despised this… other self, yet knew that this twisted reflection held knowledge—answers he might desperately need.
In his mind, Azriel’s questions spilled out, a deluge:
‘Why am I here, in this world? Is this even a book? That doctor said he found me outside… in the Void Realm. How did I get there? Am I still in the Void Realm? How did I end up in [White Haven], and what about that last memory, watching my father fight… and then Europe?’
Silence followed, stretching taut until he could feel his own heartbeat thrumming in the emptiness.
The stillness almost drove him mad—until the voice finally responded, steady and grim.
“Why else… it was pity. And no, this world isn’t just a book. It never was. Right now, you’re still in the Void Realm, trapped in one of Neo Genesis’s labs for… experiments. You’re one of those experiments. They found you after a pack of Void creatures attacked you. You fought them off but collapsed near the Asura Mountains. In a twisted way, Neo Genesis saved your life.”
‘Neo Genesis…’
The words tasted bitter.
The voice continued, “As for [White Haven]… and meeting Nol… I sent you there.”
Azriel’s mind reeled, struggling to comprehend. The idea that this voice could control him in such a way was almost too much to grasp. But even stranger was how the voice softened—became almost tender—at the mention of Nol’s name.
This monster, with barely a shred of humanity, seemed to care. Deeply.
“You’ll learn how you got back to Europe soon enough.”
‘What do you mean by that?’
Azriel demanded, tension thrumming through him.
The voice laughed, a hollow sound that resonated in the empty space, cutting him to the bone.
“Now that you believe, let’s begin, shall we?”
‘Begin? With what..?’
The status screen helped ground him somewhat, bringing a sliver of clarity. Even though he saw nothing, he could feel that the voice was grinning, a cold amusement seeping from every word.
“For you to remember every single detail.”
The voice grew dark and low, its tone laced with a chilling seriousness that made Azriel shiver, even without a body.
“If you break, everything will have been for nothing. All of this will be wasted. So don’t… lose your mind, Azriel.”
Then, softer—almost pleading, with a hint of desperation.
“So please… live.”