The capsule sealed around him with a hiss that echoed inside the chamber. GR1m1 floated in the blue liquid, his limbs suspended, his skin stinging where the fluid touched open cuts. The alchemist had explained the purpose in short, clipped phrases. The liquid would close every wound externally and internally. It would erase the seams left by months of grafts. It would leave a body that looked untouched, as if none of the work had ever happened. Ready to be sold to the one who had invested the most to the project and later on the rest of investors. They were planning on replicating this very experiment over and over in a shorter time.

  GR1m1 couldn’t move inside the capsule. The liquid pressed against him from all sides. His breath came through a tube fixed to his mouth. The fluid seeped into every pore. The symbiote stirred under his skin, adjusting to the temperature, pulling the liquid inward where it found damaged tissue. The process didn’t hurt. It felt more like a slow tightening, as if the body were being wrapped from the inside.

  Time blurred on his side. The surrounding blue darkened, then lightened again. The capsule drained. Cold air hit his skin. His body felt lighter, as if the liquid had taken something with it. The alchemist’s assistants lifted him out and placed him on a table. His skin held no cuts inside anymore. But for no marks externally another session inside would be necessary. No signs of the months spent under blades and hooks whatsoever. But the trauma was still there…

  The alchemist didn’t speak to him. He only checked the joints, pressed along the ribs, and nodded once and looked back at his colleagues confirming their question and analysis on their side. Then he stepped aside to discuss other matters with the people around them.

  GR1m1 woke up again later. His wrists and ankles were strapped to the same table where the experiments had taken place. The leather dug into his skin when he tried to shift. The room smelled of old metal and dried herbs. Lamps burned low along the walls.

  Two figures stood near the far table. One was the headmaster. GR1m1 recognized the man’s posture, the way he held his hands behind his back. The other wore dark robes that hid most of his face. The stranger’s voice carried a smooth cadence, each word measured. GR1m1 couldn’t see his eyes clearly, but he caught the faint glint of something metallic with straps near the hood’s edge, which it seemed to be a mask of sorts.

  They spoke in low tones. GR1m1 caught fragments. Completion. Transfer. Authorization. The words didn’t form a clear meaning. The stranger lifted a cup from the table and drank. The headmaster poured another. Their conversation deepened, the rhythm shifting into something GR1m1 couldn’t follow. It sounded like a code. Not a language he didn’t know… something layered, something meant to hide meaning even from those who heard it.

  The stranger set his cup down and tapped the rim with a finger. “A remarkable piece of work,” he said. His voice carried across the room. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

  The headmaster inclined his head. “The process required adjustments. But the result speaks for itself.”

  GR1m1 stayed still. The straps held him in place. His new senses picked up the faint tremor in the stranger’s breath, the steady rhythm of the headmaster’s heartbeat, the soft scrape of cloth when either man shifted. The room felt smaller with those details pressing in.

  The stranger stepped closer. His boots made no sound on the stone floor. He stopped at the edge of the table and studied GR1m1 with a slow tilt of his head. The hood cast a shadow across his face, hiding everything but the line of his mouth.

  “So this is the final form,” he said.

  The headmaster joined him. “Fully stabilized. No external grafts left. The symbiote integrated every source.”

  The stranger nodded once. “Good. Then we should give it a name.”

  The headmaster raised an eyebrow. “You have one in mind?”

  The stranger didn’t hesitate. “Ahma af Skuggi.”

  The headmaster repeated the name under his breath, tasting the syllables. “Unusual. Does it carry meaning in your circles?”

  “It does,” the stranger said. “He will be the spirit of the shadows. The one who shapes them. The one who grows them.”

  The headmaster glanced at GR1m1’s restrained form. “A fitting title for something like this.”

  The stranger’s mouth curved slightly. “A title, yes. But a tool all the same. They’ll use him however they please. Play with him. Test him. Break him if needed. Who knows… It could be used as a great rag doll to test our skills with, by all the different clans. The last one we got from you proved useful but that's it… This one on the other hand is an improvement…”

  GR1m1 listened without moving. The straps held firm. The table felt cold beneath his back. The name settled in the air between them. Ahma af Skuggi. He didn’t know what it meant beyond the words spoken aloud. He only knew it belonged to him now, whether he wanted it or not.

  The stranger stepped back. The headmaster poured another drink. Their conversation shifted again, returning to the coded rhythm GR1m1 couldn’t follow.

  He lay there, silent, the new name echoing in his mind while the room filled with voices that weren’t meant for him.

  The headmaster stood near the table, hands clasped behind his back, voice steady as he spoke to the stranger. “His cognitive range sits near zero,” he said. “That gives us full control. Commands go in. He follows. Nothing more.”

  GR1m1 lay strapped to the table, wrists and ankles bound. The leather pressed into his skin. He watched the two men through the new eyes the alchemist had given him before getting him in the cylinder to heal fully. The werewolf eyes, its capabilities fully healed were extraordinary, he could follow and see things no other creature would be capable of. Their movements carried small details he couldn’t ignore now. The stranger’s breath came slow. The headmaster’s fingers twitched once behind his back.

  The stranger tilted his head. “And if it frees itself?”

  The headmaster didn’t hesitate. “Impossible. The collar we will be implementing, located in his neck area will burn through the spine if he resists. His will would need to surpass the tools capability itself to damage his skin itself. Nothing we’ve made has ever come close. As we introduced his system to the vampire organs we gave him the weaknesses of a vampire so he is susceptible to fire damage and magic… So he must likely die before he is even able to get it off.”

  The stranger gave a short nod of trust. “Then we’re finished.”

  He turned and walked toward the door. More figures dressed like him waited by the lab's door as if they were body guards. Their steps made no sound. GR1m1 tracked each heartbeat as they passed. None of them looked at him. They followed the stranger into the corridor and vanished.

  Hours passed. Lamps burned low. The room cooled. GR1m1 stayed awake, the new senses refusing to settle. Every shift of air brushed against his skin. Every distant footstep reached him.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  One of the alchemists returned alone. He carried a small metal case. “Time to mark the product,” he said.

  He opened the case and lifted a thin rune plate. The metal glowed faintly. He pressed it against GR1m1’s neck. The heat spread under the skin. The symbiote stirred but didn’t resist. The alchemist watched the glow fade, then nodded once.

  Another alchemist entered next after the last one went to inform the headmaster. The headmaster ordered for GR1m1 to be moved. They unstrapped him and dragged him into another room. The air inside smelled of dust and old magic. Shelves lined the walls, filled with collars, chains, and tools.

  The alchemist rummaged through a drawer. Metal clinked. “Where is it,” he muttered. He pulled out a collar etched with runes and carried it to the table.

  GR1m1 sat on the edge, wrists still chained. His senses sharpened again. The alchemist’s pulse quickened. His breath carried a sour note. The man wasn’t afraid. He was excited…

  “That couldn't be good… something had to be wrong with this guy's mind…” said Gr1m1 to himself…

  He closed the collar around GR1m1’s neck. The seal clicked. A faint vibration ran through the metal. The alchemist stepped back and grinned.

  “Let’s see how well you follow orders.”

  He grabbed the chain attached to GR1m1’s right arm and yanked it. “Hit yourself.”

  GR1m1’s arm jerked upward. His hand struck his cheek. The impact stung. The alchemist laughed under his breath.

  “Again.”

  The arm moved. Another strike. The collar hummed. The chain tightened.

  “Slap harder.”

  GR1m1’s palm hit his face with more force. The alchemist leaned closer, eyes bright.

  A deep boom rolled through the base. Dust drifted from the ceiling. The floor trembled. Tools rattled on the shelves. The alchemist froze for a moment, then turned toward the door.

  That small shift gave GR1m1 space.

  The symbiote reacted first. His knuckles split open. Bone pushed through the skin… new claws shaped from orc and ogre marrow. The movement felt clean, as if the body had been waiting for the chance.

  The alchemist turned back toward him.

  GR1m1 drove the claws forward.

  The bone pierced the man’s skull. The alchemist’s body went slack. His head dropped against GR1m1’s shoulder before sliding to the floor. Blood pooled under him, dark and thick.

  GR1m1 pulled his hand free. The claws retracted with a slow scrape under the skin. He stood from the table. His legs shook once, then steadied. He reached for the shackles and unfastened them one by one. The metal clattered to the floor.

  He walked to the alchemist’s body, using the table for balance. His breath came steady. His new senses tracked the fading heartbeat until it stopped.

  He crouched, pulled the man’s clothes free, and dressed slowly. The fabric felt rough against his skin. The collar hummed once, then quieted.

  GR1m1 stepped toward the door. Before leaving, he looked back at the body on the floor.

  “Try to pick your brain now,” he said.

  Then he walked out.

  GR1m1 moved through the corridor with slow, deliberate steps. The walls carried every sound to him. Boots scraping. Metal clattering. Shouts layered over each other. The alchemists weren’t giving orders anymore. Their voices held a frantic edge, each one pushing the next toward some unseen exit.

  He listened harder. Words slipped through the stone. Order of the Light. Purge. Heretics. The phrases repeated in different mouths, each one sharper than the last. Someone mentioned spies. Someone else cursed the breach. Another voice said the old gods had been the final mistake.

  GR1m1 didn’t know what any of that meant. He only knew the alchemists’ voices thinned out. One by one they vanished. No footsteps. No breath. Nothing.

  He stepped over a fallen guard. The man’s armor carried a fresh dent across the chest. GR1m1’s claws slid out again. The movement tore at the skin between his knuckles. The bone pushed through with a slow scrape. He drove the claws into the next guard’s throat. The body dropped. GR1m1 pulled the bone back in. The flesh closed around it with a dull sting.

  He kept moving. The pain didn’t slow him. It felt like part of the motion now… bone out, bone in, skin tearing, skin sealing.

  He reached another lab. The door hung open. Shelves lined the walls, filled with clothes, tools, and containers. He stepped inside and scanned the room. He needed something to cover himself. Something that would make him look like one of the victims the Order might spare.

  Footsteps echoed down the hall. More than one set. Heavy… Coordinated... GR1m1 moved quickly, searching the shelves. His hand brushed against a cylinder half-filled with a thick substance. The surface of the slime rippled when he touched the glass.

  He leaned closer. The slime shifted toward him. Not random movement… direct, following the line of his hand. He lifted his fingers. The slime rose inside the cylinder, matching the motion. His blood dripped from the burns on his neck and the raw skin between his knuckles. The slime reacted to that too. It pressed against the glass, drawn to the scent.

  GR1m1 remembered the symbiote captured in the glass. The way it had followed his arm before merging. This one moved the same way. Maybe stronger… more aggressively…

  He wiped the blood from his neck with the back of his hand. The slime surged upward, pressing harder against the glass. The footsteps in the hall grew louder. Voices followed… Orders... The sound of metal being drawn.

  GR1m1 reached for the latch on the cylinder. His fingers trembled once. Not from hesitation… His body is still adjusting to the new bones. He pulled the latch fast…

  The glass door broke open… The slime launched forward…

  It hit his face with a wet slap. The substance spread across his skin, entering from his neck, forcing itself into his mouth, his nose, his eyes. Heat flared across his skull. Not surface heat… deep, reaching bone. His vision went white. His hands clawed at the air. His knees buckled. He dropped to the floor.

  The slime burrowed into him. His skin dissolved under it. Not peeled… dissolved. His nerves fired up healing incredibly fast in every direction. His jaw locked. A sound tore from his throat, raw and loud enough to bounce off the walls, before his own voice was dissolved and remade anew.

  The Order heard it…

  Boots pounded toward the lab…

  GR1m1 pressed his palms against the floor. The slime kept working. His face rebuilt itself cell by cell. The skin tightened. The bone shifted. His vision returned in fragments. The color of his skin changed as the slime settled… yellowish, uneven at first, then smoothing out.

  He gasped for air. The new face felt strange, as if it didn’t belong to him yet. His fingers brushed the skin. It held firm.

  The footsteps stopped outside the door… GR1m1 pushed himself upright…

  The Order knew exactly where he was now…

  The slime settled across his skin in a thin layer that cooled as it hardened. GR1m1 touched his cheek with the back of his hand. The surface felt smooth, unfamiliar. His jawline had shifted. His nose carried a sharper angle. The face staring back at him from the reflection in a cracked metal tray wasn’t his. It matched the stranger in the dark robes… from his dream. He found that both people had similar clothing in this moment of change… the one who had spoken with the headmaster and the stranger in the visions that left him clueless. The slime had taken that shape without hesitation, as if it had memorized the features the moment GR1m1 saw them.

  He didn’t have time to study it. Boots thundered down the hall. Metal scraped against shields. Voices barked orders. The door burst open.

  Knights in white-plated armor flooded the room. Their helmets carried narrow slits. Their tabards bore a sun-shaped emblem. They raised their weapons but didn’t strike. One of them stepped forward, sword angled toward the floor.

  “Identify yourself.”

  GR1m1 kept his hands still. His breath came uneven. The slime mask tightened across his jaw. The knights scanned him from head to toe. Their eyes lingered on the burns around his neck and the torn skin between his knuckles. The new face hid the rest.

  Another knight approached. “Name… Affiliation… Now...”

  GR1m1 opened his mouth. The words scraped out before he could think. “Ahma af Skuggi.”

  The knights exchanged glances. The name carried weight for them. Not recognition… or expectation. They waited for more.

  GR1m1 swallowed. His throat burned. “Skuggi,” he said again, shorter this time. “Prisoner. These bastards kept me here.”

  The nearest knight stepped closer. His armor creaked. “How long.”

  GR1m1’s breath hitched. “Too long.”

  The room tilted. His legs weakened. The slime mask tightened again, reacting to the strain. The knights didn’t move to catch him. They watched, waiting to see if he would collapse or attack.

  GR1m1 tried to speak again. The words didn’t form. His vision dimmed at the edges. The floor rose toward him.

  He hit the ground hard.

  The last thing he heard was a knight muttering something about trials, purification, and the god they served.

  Then everything went dark.

  “???????? ??? ???????... ?????? ???? ?? ???????? ?? ?????? ?? ??? ?? ?????????...”

  “Monsters are mirrors... showing only the darkness we refuse to see in ourselves...”

  How was it??