Ashes Of the Führer

"Interesting..." Otto murmured, the echo of his voice bouncing softly against the cold stone walls of the underground cellar.

Torches flickered in their iron sconces, casting a low, orange glow over the iron examination table at the center of the room. Upon it lay the beast — restrained by thick iron shackles clamped tightly around its wrists, ankles, and neck. Even unconscious, it radiated menace. Its skin was pale and taut, muscles twitching slightly beneath the surface, as if dreaming of violence.

Otto stepped closer, his breath faintly visible in the cold air. He wore a long leather apron over his tunic, gloves up to his elbows, and round-lensed spectacles that glinted as he leaned over the creature's open jaw.

"It seems this thing has eaten many humans," he muttered, peering into the beast's maw with a hooked probe. "The teeth... look here—" he tapped one sharply, producing a dry clink "—fractured from bone. And there—" he used a pair of tongs to pluck a scrap of dark fabric from between the molars, "—that's cloth. Human clothing, wedged deep."

Behind him stood several aides, their leather shoes planted on the damp stone floor, the walls around them lined with chains, tools, and shelves of potions. One of them — a young woman with reddish-brown hair tied in a bun — stepped forward slowly, careful not to make noise.

"How long will it stay asleep, Mister Otto?" she asked, glancing nervously at the creature's chest as it rose and fell, slow but deliberate.

Otto straightened his posture, pulling off one glove. "It's been a few days since it was captured. With a potion that strong? I'd say a day more, perhaps two. It depends on how it processes toxins. But we won't take chances — the chains are forged iron, reinforced, and locked deep into the table. It's not going anywhere."

"Phew." Claire exhaled. "I really don't want to die by that thing."

"Yeah. Who would?" another aide muttered, tightening the wrist shackle just a bit more.

Otto turned toward Claire and handed her a folded document, the wax seal still warm. "Anyway, Claire, I need you to deliver this report to the Führer immediately. He needs to see my early findings — though I'll know more once we begin the internal examination. There's something… strange about it. Too symmetrical. Too refined. As if it was made, not born."

Claire furrowed her brow. "Do you know why the Führer wanted it captured alive?"

Otto glanced back at the creature, eyes narrowing. "No. And that bothers me. He's a calculating man — doesn't waste resources on curiosities. If he wants it intact, there's a reason."

"Maybe he just thinks it's cool?" she suggested with a small, uneasy smile.

He chuckled once, dryly. "No. That's not like him."

She hesitated, then spoke again. "Mr. Otto?"

"Yes?"

"Should I head out now?"

Otto blinked. "Oh — yes, of course. Sorry, I got lost in thought. Carry on."

Claire gave a sharp nod, tucked the sealed note into her satchel, and turned to leave. Her shoes echoed across the stone floor as she ascended the narrow staircase toward the cellar's iron door.

The moment she was gone, Otto turned back toward the table. The beast remained motionless. But the air still felt thick — tense — like the calm before a storm.

He placed a hand on the table's edge, staring down at the restrained creature.

"What are you?" he whispered.