Chapter 9

The Nightmare

The group stood in front of the pulsating Harbinger Seed, its dark purple glow casting eerie shadows on their faces. The room was silent except for the occasional crackling of the Seed. Eclipsa stepped forward, her expression serious.

"We need to decide who enters the trial first," she said, her voice steady. "We can only send seven in initially. We need to gauge the nature of the trial. If Elara can enter and successfully complete it, that would be ideal. But until we know more, she'll stay out."

Ragnar nodded. "I'll stay out as well. I can't enter a level 1 trial anyway."

Finn adjusted his bow. "I'll stay too. I can provide cover if needed."

Kieran stepped forward. "I'll stay back and help navigate if things go wrong."

Lyra agreed. "I'll stay as well, ready to go in if needed."

Eclipsa looked at Altharus, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Altharus, you'll enter. We still don't know if we can fully trust you, but this will be a good test."

Altharus nodded, accepting the decision. He understood their caution.

Dariou, the last attacker, and the two archers stepped forward, ready to enter the Seed.

Thane, the other tank, adjusted his shield. "I'm ready."

The group felt a mix of anticipation and anxiety as they prepared to enter the Seed. They knew the risks but also understood the importance of their mission. Eclipsa led the way, followed by Altharus, Dariou, the two archers, and Thane.

As they stepped into the Harbinger Seed, a strange sensation washed over them. The environment around them shifted, the labyrinth's stone walls fading into a surreal, dreamlike landscape. Each member found themselves alone, isolated in their own trial.

-- Altharus's Trial --

Altharus suddenly found himself in a small, dimly lit room. The air was thick with the scent of mold and decay. Confused, he looked around as he just woke up from his nap. He then stood up and jumped down from his bed, feeling a familiar yet unsettling sense of deja vu. The door to his room creaked open, and he saw his parents step inside with two men. Although confused, he greeted his parents with a smile.

"Good morning, Mom, Dad."

They answered in unison, "Morning, Altharus." Their faces were etched with guilt and desperation.

He then asked curiously, "Who are these two uncles?"

His parents exchanged a look with the two men. His father's voice trembled as he spoke, "This is him. This is our son."

One of the men, his eyes cold and calculating, stepped forward and grabbed Altharus by the arm. The grip was rough, unyielding. Altharus looked up at his parents, confusion turning into fear.

"Mom? Dad? What's happening?"

His mother looked away, tears streaming down her face. His father took a deep breath, unable to meet Altharus's eyes. "We… we need the money," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Altharus felt a wave of anger and betrayal wash over him. The men started dragging him out of the room, his small body struggling against their iron grip. "No! Please, don't! Mom! Dad!" he screamed, reaching out for his parents, but they remained silent, their backs turned.

He was dragged outside to a waiting car, its engine idling softly. The men roughly shoved him into the back seat, slamming the door shut. As the car started moving, Altharus pressed his face against the window, watching his home fade into the distance. His heart pounded with a mixture of fear and confusion.

"Where are you taking me?" he demanded, his voice trembling.

One of the men glanced back at him, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "You're going to a new home," he said. "A place where you'll be useful."

The car ride was long and filled with silence, the only sound being the hum of the engine and the occasional murmur of the men in the front seats. Altharus's mind raced with thoughts of escape, but the doors were locked, and the men kept a watchful eye on him.

They arrived at a grimy warehouse on the outskirts of a city. The building loomed ominously, its windows broken and covered with grime. Altharus was pulled from the car and shoved inside, the door slamming shut behind him. The interior was dimly lit, filled with the sounds of muffled cries and the stench of blood.

He was thrown into a small, filthy room with several other children. The door locked behind him, sealing his fate. As Altharus was being led to his new "home" looked around, he noticed advanced surgical kits, computers, and various other equipment scattered around. Curtains divided different beds where other kids were being treated or experimented on.

Children of different ages were present, the youngest being as young as 1-2 years old and the oldest around 7 years old. The older kids had mostly emotionless expressions and seemed well-trained and obedient.

They arrived at an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of a city. The building was old and decrepit, its windows boarded up and its walls covered in graffiti. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of chemicals and decay. Curtains divided different areas, creating makeshift rooms filled with medical equipment and computers. The faint sounds of machinery and distant cries echoed through the building.

Altharus was led to a small, curtained-off area with a bed and some basic furniture. For the first few days, they didn't touch him at all, letting him adjust to the environment and only feeding him occasionally. Then the nightmare started. First, they brought him in for testing. Throughout the next week, Altharus underwent torturous experiments and tests conducted by the scientists of this place. They tested his bone development, muscle strength, brain functionality, resistance to pain, mental stability, morals, IQ, EQ, and more.

They subjected him to numerous X-rays and bone scans to study his bone density and structure, determining the strength and growth rate of his bones. Bone stress tests followed, forcing him to perform high-impact activities to assess his bones' ability to withstand stress. They made him jump from heights, carry heavy weights, and run long distances under extreme conditions. In some cases, they deliberately inflicted minor fractures on his bones, monitoring the healing process to observe how quickly and effectively his body could repair itself.

Electromyography (EMG) was used to measure the electrical activity of his muscles during contractions. Electrodes were attached to his skin, sending small shocks to his muscles, causing them to contract and twitch. This helped the scientists analyze his muscle efficiency and strength. Strength tests were relentless, putting him through weightlifting, resistance exercises, and endurance runs to evaluate his muscle strength and stamina. They even performed muscle biopsies, extracting small samples of muscle tissue to study muscle fiber composition and potential for growth.

His brain was not spared from their scrutiny. They conducted MRI scans to examine his brain structure, looking for abnormalities that might indicate enhanced cognitive abilities. He was subjected to a series of cognitive tests, including memory recall, problem-solving tasks, pattern recognition, and reaction time assessments. Neurological examinations tested his brain's response to various stimuli, including pain, light, and sound, gauging his neural processing speed and adaptability.

Pain threshold tests were particularly brutal. Altharus was subjected to increasing levels of pain, from mild pinpricks to intense electric shocks, to measure his pain threshold and tolerance. They observed his reactions, noting how long he could endure the pain before breaking down. Isolation and sensory deprivation followed, placing him in dark, soundproof rooms for extended periods to test his mental stability and resilience to isolation. The silence was deafening, the darkness absolute, leaving him alone with his fears and thoughts.

The first few days of testing were a harrowing ordeal, pushing Altharus to his physical and mental limits. The scientists' cold, clinical detachment only added to his terror. Every day was a new nightmare, a new form of torture designed to break him down and analyze his potential.

After a week of relentless testing, the training phase began.

This phase was even worse than the experiments. The scientists now had a detailed understanding of his body's capabilities and designed a regimen to push him beyond his limits. The daily routine for the next three months was brutal, consisting of various forms of torture resistance training, body regeneration training, physical resilience, poison resistance, and body flexibility training. The goal was to break his body and rebuild it, making it stronger, more resilient.

Torture resistance training involved exposing him to various forms of pain, teaching him to endure and survive. They used electric shocks, burns, and physical beatings, pushing him to the brink of death and then allowing his body to recover, only to start the process again. Body regeneration training forced his body to heal from severe injuries, strengthening his natural healing processes.

Physical resilience training involved pushing his body to its physical limits and beyond. He was made to run until he collapsed, lift weights until his muscles tore, and endure extreme temperatures. Poison resistance training involved exposing him to various toxins and venoms in controlled doses, building his resistance to poisons. Body flexibility training forced his body into contorted positions, increasing his flexibility and endurance.

The final phase was the "empathy and sympathy removal process" (ESRP). The organization did not need emotions like compassion and empathy in their puppets. They split the children into groups, allowing them to bond, only to prepare them for the ESRP. In this phase, the children were put in a colosseum and forced to fight to the death. The arena was a hunger games-style colosseum, with twelve children in a circle and six weapons in the center. The fastest got the advantage, and the fight continued until only one was left standing. They had two hours to complete the fight; if they failed, all were disposed of.

Altharus stood among the twelve children, his heart pounding in his chest. The colosseum was cold and dark, the air thick with tension and fear. He scanned the faces of the other children, some familiar, others not. They all shared the same look of desperation and determination.

A loud buzzer sounded, signaling the start of the fight. The children hesitated for a split second before rushing toward the center, where the weapons lay. Altharus sprinted forward, his eyes locked on a dagger glinting in the dim light. He reached it just as another child, a boy slightly older than him, grabbed a spear.

Without hesitation, Altharus lunged at the boy, using his small size to his advantage. He ducked under the boy's swing and drove the dagger into his side. The boy gasped in pain, dropping the spear and falling to the ground. Altharus felt a pang of guilt but quickly pushed it aside. This was a fight for survival.

He turned to find another opponent, his senses on high alert. A girl with a makeshift club charged at him, her face twisted in anger. Altharus sidestepped her attack and slashed at her leg, causing her to stumble. He followed up with a quick strike to her chest, ending the fight swiftly.

The chaos around him was overwhelming. Children screamed and cried, the sound of metal clashing filling the air. Altharus moved with precision, avoiding larger groups and picking off isolated opponents. His training had honed his instincts, making him a formidable fighter despite his age.

As the fight wore on, the number of combatants dwindled. Altharus found himself facing a boy named Jarin, someone he had bonded with during the training. Jarin's eyes were filled with fear and sadness as they circled each other.

"We don't have to do this," Jarin pleaded, his voice trembling. "We can find a way out together."

Altharus's grip tightened on the dagger. He knew there was no way out. The only way to survive was to win. "I'm sorry, Jarin," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

Jarin lunged at him, and Altharus reacted instinctively. He parried the attack and countered with a swift strike to Jarin's chest. The boy fell to the ground, gasping for breath. Altharus knelt beside him, tears streaming down his face.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice barely audible. Jarin's eyes slowly closed, his body going limp.

The arena fell silent. Altharus stood, his body trembling with exhaustion and grief. He was the last one standing. The finality of it all hit him like a wave, threatening to drown him in despair. But he couldn't afford to break down. Not yet.

The overseers entered the arena, their faces emotionless. They dragged the bodies away and led Altharus out, his mind numb from the trauma. The fight had taken everything from him, leaving him hollow and broken.

The final part of his training was an assassination assignment. Altharus, now hardened by months of relentless torture and rigorous training, was given his first real mission. The organization's member, a cold and calculating man named Viktor, briefed him on the details.

"You will eliminate a target," Viktor said, his voice devoid of emotion. "A minor government official who has been causing us trouble. This is your chance to prove your worth."

Altharus nodded, his face a mask of determination. The training had stripped him of most of his fear and hesitation. He was ready to do whatever it took to survive and perhaps find a way out of this nightmare.

The target lived in a modest apartment in a bustling city. Altharus and Viktor arrived at night, the city lights casting eerie shadows on the buildings. They made their way to the apartment, slipping past security with practiced ease. Viktor led Altharus to the target's door, giving him one last piece of advice.

"Be quick and efficient. Make no noise. And remember, I'm watching."

Altharus took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. He picked the lock with the tools he had been given, slipping into the apartment like a shadow. The target was in the living room, sitting at a desk and working on some papers, oblivious to the danger lurking just outside his door.

Moving with the stealth and precision drilled into him, Altharus approached the target from behind. His heart pounded in his chest, but his hands were steady. He drew the knife Viktor had given him, the blade glinting in the dim light.

In one swift, fluid motion, Altharus wrapped his arm around the target's neck, covering his mouth to stifle any cries for help. He then plunged the knife into the man's chest, aiming for the heart. The target struggled for a moment, his eyes wide with shock and fear, but the fight quickly left his body. Altharus held him until he was sure the man was dead, then gently lowered his head on the work table he was sitting at.

He stood over the body, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. This was the first life he had taken outside of the training grounds. The reality of it was different, heavier. But he couldn't afford to dwell on it. Not yet.

As he turned to leave, he saw Viktor standing in the doorway, a cold smile on his lips. "Well done," Viktor said. "You handled that perfectly. One day you might just reach the rank of a spiders leg." He added.

Altharus nodded, trying to suppress the revulsion he felt. Viktor's praise was hollow, a reminder of the twisted world he was now part of. But as Viktor turned to lead the way out, Altharus noticed something. Viktor's guard was down. For the first time, he saw an opportunity.

His mind raced. This could be his only chance to escape. Summoning every ounce of courage and strength he had left, Altharus made his move. He lunged at Viktor, the knife still clutched in his hand. Viktor, caught off guard, tried to react, but Altharus was faster.

The knife found its mark, plunging into Viktor's throat. Viktor's eyes widened in shock and pain, a gurgling sound escaping his lips as blood poured from the wound. Altharus twisted the knife, ensuring the kill, then stepped back as Viktor collapsed to the floor.

For a moment, Altharus stood there, breathing heavily, his heart pounding. He had done it. He had killed his overseer. But he couldn't afford to waste time celebrating. He needed to get out of there, fast.

He quickly searched Viktor's body, taking anything useful—keys, money, leaving any device that could potentially be tracked like his phone. Then he slipped out of the apartment, moving through the shadows like a ghost. The city was still alive with activity, but Altharus navigated the streets with the skill of someone who had spent months training for this moment.

He found a safe place to hide for the night, using the map to plan his next move. He knew the organization would come after him, but he was determined to stay one step ahead. As he sat in the darkness, planning his escape, he felt a strange mix of fear and hope.

For the first time in months, he had a chance at freedom. And he was willing to do whatever it took to seize it.

He then found himself a spot to spend the night, he fell asleep moments after laying down due the exhaustion and due going trough all the he went trough in the past few months.