In Between Realms

The doors of the observation room burst open with a sharp clank, and twenty-three Veilers, clad in heavy combat gear, stormed into the chamber, their movements synchronized as they surrounded Seyfe. Each one was armed, their eyes trained on him, ready for any sign of resistance. The air crackled with the hum of energy as the Veilers' weapons powered up, their presence like a tidal wave of force. Their collective aura was overwhelming, like a physical weight pressing down on him.

Seyfe's body tensed, but his fury only grew stronger as he realized what was happening. The core inside him writhed, eager to lash out, but he fought it back, not wanting to let them control him. He glared at the approaching group, his gaze unwavering.

"You think you can contain me?" His voice was low, almost a growl, as he stepped forward, taking a defiant stance despite the overwhelming numbers. His arm, now fully healed, flexed as he prepared for whatever would come next.

The Veilers closed in, their hands snapping into place, ready to restrain him.

"We'll see how long your defiance lasts," one of them muttered, a slight sneer on his face.

But then, out of the group, a single figure stepped forward—a tall, commanding presence. The others parted, allowing this individual to walk slowly toward Seyfe. The commander's gaze was cold, calculating, as he eyed the boy with an unsettling calm.

"Seyfe," the commander's voice cut through the tension, as smooth as ice. "You are a significant anomaly. One that we will control. You've been given power you don't fully understand, but you will learn to respect it… or we will make you."

The commander's steps were slow, deliberate, as he sized up Seyfe. There was no fear in his expression, only a detached professionalism. His hands rested at his sides, but the faint glow from the veins of the Veilers' armor indicated that they were ready to activate their restraints if necessary.

"You've caused a lot of damage already. And for that, we have a special place for you." The commander's eyes gleamed with a dark satisfaction as he drew closer. "But you won't make it easy on us, will you?"

Seyfe's pulse quickened as the commander approached, but he held his ground, not willing to show any sign of weakness. His eyes flicked briefly to the Veilers holding him in place, then back to the commander.

"You're not going to break me," he said, voice steady, defiant. "You've already tried."

The commander stopped in front of him, their eyes locking. There was a moment of silence, heavy and charged. The rest of the Veilers waited, poised to strike, their fingers on the triggers of their weapons.

"We don't intend to break you, Seyfe," the commander said, his voice colder now. "We're going to reshape you. You will comply. Or you will suffer."

Seyfe's body was trembling, not from fear, but from the overwhelming sensation of power threatening to spiral out of his control. The Commander's words echoed in his mind, a chilling reminder of what he was about to face. He felt the Veilers move around him, their hands strong and sure as they worked quickly to restrain him. His limbs, which had only moments ago felt like they were filled with fire and defiance, now seemed heavy, sluggish—as if his own body was betraying him.

The feeling was worse than anything he'd endured before.

"No..." Seyfe whispered, his voice barely audible as his vision blurred and the sounds of the room began to warp. The Veilers, now strapping him down, were moving with efficiency, their motions synchronized with the cold precision of the military. The sharp press of the restraints around his arms, legs, and torso intensified the sense of helplessness that was slowly settling over him.

His body was fighting to retain some shred of freedom, but the weight of the core inside him, and the energy of the Veilers, was overwhelming. It felt as though the room itself was closing in, as the world outside grew distant.

"You can't... you won't..." His voice faltered, the defiance lingering in his chest as if it had nowhere to go. The threat of being molded, reshaped, stripped of everything he was—every part of him that had survived so far, everything that had kept him fighting—was becoming an unbearable weight.

His thoughts slowed, scattered fragments of memory slipping through his consciousness like a dream. The baby... the desert... the grotesque abomination... the hellish survival.

Then, slowly, painfully, it all began to fade. The edges of his vision blurred into a haze of white and gray as the restraints tightened one last time. The coldness around him pressed in, suffocating his thoughts, his breath... his will.

His last coherent thought before everything began to slip away was a whisper in the recesses of his mind: "I won't let you do this... I'll find a way out."

And then, like a flicker in the dark, his consciousness faded into nothingness.

Seyfe's body stirred slowly, the hum of the stasis chamber around him the first thing he became aware of. His limbs still felt heavy, like they belonged to someone else, and the ache of the restraints lingered in his mind as his consciousness slowly began to return. The feeling was strange—his mind foggy, clouded, like waking from a long, disorienting dream.

His breath was shallow, and his eyes fluttered open, the bright, sterile light of the room assaulting his senses. For a moment, he was disoriented, unsure of where he was. But then, he saw the shadow standing in front of him, and everything snapped back into place.

The same commander—the one who had spoken to him with that cold, calculating gaze—was standing right in front of him, watching him intently. His expression was unreadable, his posture rigid. The room around them was quiet, save for the soft whir of machinery, the steady pulse of the stasis chamber still working to heal Seyfe's battered body.

Seyfe felt a strange wave of both dread and anger rise up within him, as if the world around him was pressing down, suffocating him. The commander's eyes were locked onto him, a quiet intensity in the air between them.

The commander spoke first, his voice calm but firm, like a man who had already seen far too much.

"You're awake," the commander said, his words cutting through the silence with eerie finality. "It seems the procedure was successful after all."

Seyfe's chest tightened. The cold realization hit him like a punch to the gut. He was still here. Still trapped.

His throat tightened as he tried to speak, his voice rough from being dormant for so long. "What have you done to me?" The words came out strained, the weight of them hanging heavy in the room.

The commander's gaze didn't waver. "What we had to." His eyes flickered over Seyfe's body, noting the signs of the procedure, the changes that had taken place. "You are a… unique case, Seyfe. We had to ensure the integration of the Weaver Core was successful, and it was. But there's more to you than that now. Much more."

Seyfe's heart rate spiked at the words. His hand twitched involuntarily, feeling the runes inside him pulse, a reminder of the strange power now coursing through his veins. He remembered the pain, the procedures—the feeling of his own body being manipulated like an object.

He clenched his fists. "You think you can control me?" His voice was low, a deadly calm taking over as his eyes locked onto the commander's.

The commander's lips curled into the smallest of smirks, an almost imperceptible sign of amusement. "Control? No. I don't need to control you, Seyfe. I just need to make sure you understand your place. And for you, that place will be serving a purpose far greater than you could ever imagine."

Seyfe's eyes narrowed, his pulse quickening. The words stung, but he was done being a pawn. He wasn't going to be anyone's tool.

He shifted slightly in the chamber, trying to test his strength, but his body still felt heavy, restrained by the lingering effects of the procedure.

"And if I don't?" he asked, his voice steady now, even as the anger continued to bubble beneath the surface. "What happens if I don't play along with your little plan?"

The commander's gaze never faltered. He seemed unphased, like he'd heard this threat before, like he had all the time in the world to deal with it.

"Then you will learn the true meaning of survival, Seyfe. And you will understand why resistance is futile." The commander took a step closer, his presence more imposing now. "But don't worry. We'll give you time to understand your role. After all, we don't expect miracles overnight."

The room seemed to grow colder as his words sank in, and Seyfe could feel his pulse quicken, his anger rising once again. But this time, it wasn't fear that fueled him—it was defiance. He wasn't going to be their experiment, their weapon.

"I'm not your weapon," Seyfe said, his voice growing firmer with each word. "And I won't be anyone's tool. Not yours, not anyone's."

The commander stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before he finally nodded, as though Seyfe's words had confirmed something for him. A small, almost imperceptible shift in his demeanor—acknowledgment, perhaps. But nothing more.

"We'll see."

With that, the commander turned, signaling for the Veilers to step forward. "Take him to the next phase of the procedure. We'll continue testing, but make sure he remains stable."

As the Veilers began to move, Seyfe couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't just about the tests anymore. Something had changed within him. The core inside him was more than just an experiment—it was a ticking time bomb. And as much as they thought they could control him, Seyfe knew the truth now.