Grave of the Exiles

"Nihilism—the philosophy of nothing. Some might call me suicidal for holding such radical beliefs, but it's different for me, doctor. You see, this philosophy numbs the pain I feel every day, this burning sensation... A curse bestowed upon me from above." The bandaged man glanced at the doctor while reaching for a piece of fruit. "Ivan, would you mind?"

The helper immediately grabbed the fruit and handed it to the frail man. Slowly, the man removed the wrappings covering his mouth, revealing scars and burns on his face as he took a small bite.

"Doctor, may I ask how long you've been searching for a cure?"

The doctor, uncomfortable with the tense atmosphere, hesitated before replying, "Uhm... 28 years?"

The frail man's eyes narrowed in disappointment. "29 years, doctor. 29 years. I expected better from you."

The doctor stammered, "Well, General Mitsuragi, we've sent the best doctors throughout Japan. As the head researcher, I can assure you my team is dedicated and working tirelessly to find a cure for you."

Shishio, unsatisfied with the answer, removed the wrappings from his left arm and reached for his intricately designed cane, its surface appearing as if it were thawed ice. He slowly approached the doctor, sitting beside him before asking, "I just wasted 49 seconds sitting down next to you. Now, doctor, tell me—what are the symptoms of my disease?"

The doctor, now visibly sweating, nervously replied, "Well, Pyrophia isn't caused by contamination; it occurs naturally when a child is born, often leading to the mother's death. The recorded symptoms include a rapid increase in blood pressure, frail bones, muscle atrophy, nausea, an accelerated pulse, a significant decrease in coordination, and lastly, fourth-degree burns."

Shishio softly rubbed his right arm before removing the bandages covering his crimson eyes and hair. He glared at the doctor. "Very well, doctor. As expected from the head researcher."

He chuckled darkly before gripping the doctor's mouth with his burning hand. The doctor's muffled screams were drowned out as Shishio's heat choked him, the intensity in his eyes as fiery as his touch.

"I heard you've been stealing funds from the laboratory, doctor... I'm utterly disappointed." He released the doctor's mouth, causing him to cough up blood violently. Shishio calmly rewrapped his left arm, snapping his fingers. "Ivanovich, send this thief to Eden."

The doctor, now panicking, screamed, "Wait, no, you can't be serious!"

Ivanovich, brandishing a syringe, stared coldly at the doctor. "He is serious," he replied. Before the doctor could react, Shishio slammed his frosty cane against the doctor's temple, knocking him unconscious.

Shishio yelled, "Toshiro, get down here and help us out!"

Moments later, light footsteps approached the door, followed by a gentle knock. Shishio sighed. "I almost forgot... Ivanovich, open the door for the little man."

Ivanovich opened the door, revealing a small child, no older than seven or eight, holding a 50 caliber pistol.

"What's wrong, Shishi?" Toshiro asked innocently.

"Perfect timing—you brought a gun. Now, can you point it at this rat while we drag him to the van?"

Toshiro, without hesitation, aimed at the doctor's ankles and shot both of them.

"Now we don't have to worry about him escaping."

Ivanovich and Shishio stared blankly at Toshiro. Out of sheer muscle memory, they replied, "Good thinking."

Despite his small frame, Toshiro struggled to drag the doctor's body down the stairs, tossing him at the bottom. Ivanovich patted Toshiro's head and handed him a protein bar from his pocket.

"Leave it to me now," he said, grabbing the body and carrying it outside the mansion before loading it into the van.

The doctor groaned, regaining consciousness in complete darkness. His body shivered as he realized he was naked. Panic surged as he scanned his surroundings, his eyes widening in terror. Large tubes surrounded him, filled with people of various ages and genders, all strapped unconscious within the glass enclosures.

"W-where am I—" Before he could finish, Ivanovich kicked him into a large tube.

"Whoops, my foot slipped. Have a fun time, doctor. It's a shame you'll miss the birth of your child."

The doctor screamed as he plummeted down the bottomless tube, only to be caught by automated machines. Realizing what was about to happen, dread paralyzed him. He watched in horror as a needle plunged into his arm, injecting a mysterious substance. His vision blurred, and as the world spiraled, he began hearing agonized cries from the depths below, voices chanting, "When will he return? We were promised eternal peace! Why are we fated to burn?"

In that moment, the doctor was cursed—or perhaps blessed. He could now see everything, everywhere, at any time. Yet, he was reduced to nothing more than a lowly martyr, waiting in endless agony for the one who would either save him—or deliver him to death