I spent the night practicing with my finger, directing the worms beneath my skin to twitch and dance to my will. By morning, I could make them ripple across my knuckles in a small wave. Not exactly world-shattering power, but it was something. A tiny victory in a cell designed to make me feel powerless.

  The suppression collar hummed against my throat, a constant reminder of my new status. Sacred. Prisoner. Monster.

  The cell door scraped open. Hazel stood in the doorway, flanked by two guards in full tactical gear. Their helmets concealed their faces, but their posture screamed tension. They were afraid of me. That was new.

  "Time for your assessment," Hazel said. Her voice was clipped, professional. "The committee needs to determine your... placement."

  "You mean which hellhole to throw me into," I replied.

  "Essentially." No pretense. No sugar-coating. I almost appreciated that about her.

  She motioned for me to stand, then cuffed my hands behind my back.

  The guards positioned themselves on either side of me.

  I got the message and started walking.

  The hallway outside my cell stretched longer than I expected, lined with identical doors. I counted twenty before we reached the elevator. Other prisoners watched through small windows as we passed. Some looked human. Others... less so.

  "Where exactly are we?" I asked.

  They didn’t respond.

  The elevator descended with a lurch. My stomach dropped with it.

  "Impressive that something this size stays hidden."

  Hazel's mouth twitched. "Who said it's hidden? Citizens know it exists. They just don't care. Sacred criminals are worse than regular criminals in public opinion."

  The elevator stopped. The doors opened to reveal a corridor of polished stone, markedly different from the utilitarian concrete above.

  "This way," Hazel said, leading me down the hall. "They used to just throw fresh Sacred into pits with beasts to see what they could do. We've refined the process somewhat."

  "How civilized," I muttered.

  We stopped at a massive door carved from a single slab of some dark material. Not metal, not stone—something that seemed to absorb the surrounding light. The symbols etched into its surface pulsed with the same energy as the collar.

  The door swung open silently despite its apparent weight. Inside was a circular room perhaps thirty meters across. The floor was bare stone, stained dark in places. The walls rose to a domed ceiling studded with observation windows. People moved behind the glass, watching.

  In the center of the room stood a metal post with restraints.

  "Secure him," Hazel ordered the guards.

  They marched me to the post and locked my cuffs to it, positioning me to face a portion of the wall that appeared different from the rest—a large metal gate.

  Hazel approached a control panel near the wall. "Fischer, you are being assessed for placement in one of our Infinite Reaches facilities. This test will determine whether you're suited for the Shattered Front or the Grinding Flats."

  I spat on the floor.

  "We're going to reduce your suppression collar to thirty percent. This will allow limited access to your Origin abilities while maintaining proper safety protocols."

  I felt the collar's pressure ease immediately.

  The worms beneath my skin surged in response, suddenly more active, more aware. I could feel them throughout my body now, millions of them, waiting.

  "This isn't an opportunity to escape. The observation deck is filled with Sacred who will put you down if necessary."

  A loud buzzer sounded. The metal gate in the wall began to rise.

  "First assessment: baseline combat against Grade 5 monsters," Hazel announced, stepping back toward a door in the wall. "Survive for five minutes."

  She exited through the door, which sealed behind her. I heard her voice over the speakers: "Beginning in three... two... one..."

  From the darkness beyond the gate, I heard scratching. Then growling. Then movement.

  The first creature that emerged was oddly similar to the beasts I'd fought within my trial. Its skin hung in gray folds, its limbs elongated and ending in curved claws. Its mouth stretched wide, filled with needle teeth. It sniffed the air, then fixed its gaze on me.

  Two more followed, flanking it. Then another three. Six in total.

  Mikkel had taught us over breakfast one day.

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  The memory made me want to vomit.

  The lead Ghoul charged, moving faster than something so decrepit had any right to. The others followed, spreading out to surround me.

  The worms writhed eagerly beneath my skin, responding to my spike of adrenaline.

  Nothing happened.

  The lead Ghoul leapt, claws extended toward my face. I ducked, the restraints giving me just enough slack to avoid the swipe. Its claws scraped against the metal post with a sound like nails on chalkboard.

  "Thirty percent suppression is still suppression," Hazel's voice came over the speakers. "You need to push harder. Your life depends on it."

  The Ghouls circled, more cautious now but still advancing.

  One darted in from my left, slashing at my side. I couldn't dodge this one completely. Its claws raked across my ribs, tearing through my prison jumpsuit and into my soft flesh.

  Pain lanced through me, hot and sharp. But something else happened too—the worms at the wound site reacted, hardening my skin just after impact, limiting the damage.

  I focused again, this time on the pain, using it as a focal point. I visualized the worms extending from my arms, forming blades.

  My skin split along my forearms as white, writhing masses pushed through. They solidified into crude blades extending about eight inches from each wrist. These werent the elegant weapons I had crafted during the trial, but they were functional.

  The Ghouls hesitated, sensing the change. I took advantage of their pause, swinging my arms wide to force them back.

  They regrouped and attacked as one, coming from multiple angles. I slashed at the nearest one, my blade cutting through its shoulder. The wound didn't bleed—instead, the flesh around it began to blacken and decay rapidly, the worms seemingly consuming it from inside.

  The Ghoul shrieked and retreated, its arm hanging useless.

  Two more lunged at me simultaneously.

  I caught one with a blade, but the other slammed into my chest, knocking me back against the post. Its face was inches from mine, jaws snapping. Its breath smelled like a slaughterhouse in summer.

  I headbutted it, feeling my forehead split on impact. But as blood ran down my face, worms emerged from the wound, swarming over the Ghoul's face. It screeched and clawed at itself, trying to remove them as they burrowed into its eye sockets.

  The remaining Ghouls backed away, suddenly wary.

  I took advantage of the respite to concentrate on my restraints. Could the worms help me there? I directed them toward my cuffed wrists, feeling them squeeze between metal and skin, probing for weakness.

  "Don't," Hazel's voice warned. "That's an immediate fail."

  I redirected the worms. No point giving them an excuse to kill me before I had a chance to escape properly.

  The Ghoul pack was down to four now. One disabled, one writhing on the ground as worms consumed its brain. They circled more cautiously.

  "Increase difficulty," someone said over the speakers. "Add the Cockatrice."

  A smaller gate opened in the wall. From it emerged what looked like a giant fucking rooster from hell—feathered body, reptilian tail, and eyes that glowed with fiery red light.

  The Cockatrice strutted forward, head bobbing. The Ghouls gave it wide berth, apparently familiar with its abilities.

  I kept my eyes on its chest, avoiding direct eye contact. The worm-blades on my arms extended further, responding to my heightened stress.

  The Cockatrice charged suddenly, wings flapping. It opened its beak, and I could see a greenish mist gathering. I held my breath and ducked as it sprayed a cone of petrifying breath where my head had been.

  The mist hit the metal post instead, which immediately developed a stone-like crust. I slashed at the Cockatrice's legs as it passed, catching one with my blade. The worms spread from the cut, burrowing under the beast's feathers.

  The creature squawked in pain and tried to take flight, but its injured leg wouldn't support it properly. It tumbled, crashing into one of the circling Ghouls.

  I lunged as far as my restraints allowed, driving both worm-blades into the tangled creatures. The worms surged forward, spreading through both bodies simultaneously.

  The Cockatrice thrashed on the ground as worms consumed it from within, its petrifying breath discharging randomly. One of the Ghouls was caught in it, freezing mid-step.

  "That's enough for baseline combat," Hazel announced. "Terminating test phase one."

  Gas hissed from vents in the floor.

  The remaining Ghouls collapsed almost immediately. The worms consuming the fallen creatures retreated back to me, slithering up my legs and burrowing into my skin.

  The sensation was disturbing—like having a thousand tiny mouths licking my flesh, each bringing back impressions of what they'd consumed. I could taste the rot of the Ghouls, the strange electric flavor of the Cockatrice. Knowledge transferred through consumption.

  I understood them now, on some fundamental level. How they moved, how they attacked, their strengths and weaknesses. The worms had learned by eating, and now I knew what they knew.

  "Starting phase two," Hazel announced as the gas cleared. "Stress response and defensive capabilities."

  What followed was two hours of increasingly sadistic tests.

  They released creatures specifically chosen to test different aspects of my abilities.

  With each encounter, I learned more about what I could do.

  The worms responded to threats by adapting—hardening into armor, extending into weapons, even forming primitive shields. When I was injured, they accelerated healing by consuming damaged tissue and replacing it.

  By the end, I was covered in wounds that were already half-healed, my prison jumpsuit in tatters, and my body trembling from exhaustion. But I was alive.

  "Final Phase," the clinical voice announced.

  This was the worst part.

  They didn't bother with creatures for this.

  Instead, they simply activated the restraint post itself, which turned out to be designed specifically for torture. Electric currents, controlled burns, even mechanical spikes that drove into my body in bursts.

  I screamed until my voice gave out.

  The worms tried to protect me, forming armor beneath my skin, but the post seemed designed to counter such defenses. When the worms hardened my flesh, the electricity increased. When they tried to form external shields, focused heat melted them away.

  Through the haze of pain, I heard discussions about my impressive resilience and adaptive defense mechanisms.

  When it finally ended, I hung limp in the restraints, barely conscious. The worms had retreated deep into my body, exhausted or hiding from further torment.

  Hazel approached, tablet in hand. "Assessment complete," she said, not quite meeting my eyes. "The committee has reviewed your performance."

  I couldn't even lift my head to look at her.

  "Origin classification: Vermis Incarnate. Combat capability: Above average for fresh emergence. Tactical awareness: High. Recommended placement: Shattered Front."

  "You'll be processed for transfer immediately," Hazel continued.

  The guards released me from the post. I collapsed to the floor, muscles spasming from the aftereffects of the torture. They had to drag me out.

  Processing was a blur. Medical examination. They injected a kill switch into the base of my skull to replace the collar. Issued me minimal equipment—clothes designed to withstand dimensional travel.

  Throughout it all, I drifted in and out of consciousness. The worms were still there, but subdued, recovering like I was.