Veil of Corruption

Jaden's eyes widened with fear as he looked at Orion, but the alarm quickly faded as realization set in, and he grew calm.

'Why was I so alarmed...'

Before he could finish the thought, Orion spoke again.

"Locking that buffer zone is necessary. I've seen the supply corps—deprived not only of warm food from the vending machines but also stripped of their electronic devices. Being in a secluded place with no means of communication is incredibly harsh on them."

Jaden was filled with emotion and spoke with passionate conviction.

"Yes, that's what makes it even more important. I've already instructed them to build the lock. Honestly, the maintenance bay people are lazy, and their locksmith, Muller, is incredibly annoying. He was ready to leave the buffer zone unsecured just because nothing had happened there for years. The man has no contingency plans."

Orion grinned at the comment and began to speak once more.

"That's good, Jaden. That's what a good officer does."

Jaden felt a strange unease, as though something was off in that sentence, but he couldn't quite figure out what. He brushed the thought aside, and soon he even forgot why he was in a dark, empty room. There was no one else there with him.

'What am I doing here? Come on, Jaden, get a grip. It's alright—you still have a chance to save Malo...'

....

Behind the monitor of her screen, a woman observed Seth's every move. He was teaching a child about fractures; it was their theory class today.

"This freak is manipulative to the core, not even sparing a kid. Lies upon lies."

Although Seth was assigned as a handler, another person was appointed as an observer. Captain Silia simply didn't trust Seth—he gave off bad vibes. Therefore, Lieutenant Emily Miller was assigned to report directly to the captain.

Lieutenant Emily Miller stood just above average height, her posture a rigid sculpture of trained composure—shoulders squared, chin level, steps silent yet precise. Her hair, jet black and without gloss, was gathered into a low ponytail that moved only slightly with her movements, more a formality than a style. Against the pallor of her skin, a light constellation of freckles bridged her nose and cheeks, subtle, almost out of place on such a disciplined face.

Her eyes were a dulled green-grey, like the sea before a storm—still, unreadable, yet faintly alert, like a sensor tuned to pick up even the most imperceptible shift. They rarely blinked more than necessary.

She had a long neck and narrow shoulders that gave her silhouette a strange contradiction—elegant in build, but stripped of ornament. Her uniform fit without crease or slack: a charcoal-grey coat with a high collar stiffened like a wall, and regulation stripes that broke the monotony at the cuffs. Her body was lean—endurance-honed rather than strong—built for long hours, cold corridors, and the weight of constant vigilance.

Her hands, uncovered, were practical things. Nails cut to the quick. Skin dry, with paper cuts healing beneath the knuckles. There was no softness to her fingers, no rings, no vanity.

Her face was composed with near-austere simplicity—no trace of color, no piercings or distractions. It was the kind of face that might be mistaken for cold until you noticed the quiet pressure in her jaw, a subtle, ever-present tightness that suggested her thoughts moved fast and sharp behind the still mask.

"What happens when I expend all my Aether?" Malo asked curiously.

"Normally, you would feel weak, maybe lose consciousness, and in extreme cases, you could die," Seth said in his usual tone.

Malo pondered upon hearing that.

"Anyway, let me teach you how to circulate Aether. First, you have to concentrate power in your heart and create a Womb of Distortion, which is essentially an encirclement of distortion around your body. The more space it covers, the more Aether is consumed, so keep it close to your body. Then, use your mind to control its changes. For your ability, inversion, you need to imagine an inversion process. It's better if you figure it out yourself."

"The theory behind it is that the will to change comes from your mind, the condition that allows this will to manifest into the physical realm is the Womb of Distortion, and the unknown power source that controls chaos and creates reality comes from your core, which is your heart."

"That's the shorter version," Seth said with a smile.

Malo nodded and focused his energy on his heart, trying to regulate his Aether. It felt like molten lava coursing through his veins, altering every pathway it touched. The pain was unbearable, and Malo teetered on the edge of unconsciousness. Seth couldn't help him this time; it was a trial Malo had to face alone. Barely able to breathe, clinging to consciousness, he channeled his Aether into his heart and began constructing the Womb. This demanded far more control than simply focusing on his heart. Despite the overwhelming pain and exhaustion, Malo persevered and successfully created a Womb of Distortion. The most challenging part was yet to come—using his ability. He decided to rely on the same image he had once used to prevent his transformation into a monster but reverse it to embrace the transformation while keeping his sanity intact by countering the mind corruption. It was an immense challenge, not only using his ability deliberately for the first time but maintaining precise control to use it a second time. It was a reckless decision, yet undeniably impressive. The trauma and fear lingered in his mind—he was still haunted by the memory of being forcibly injected with Aether and his terrifying transformation into a monster. But he wanted to grow stronger and regain the control he lost during his transformation; he sought to conquer the monster within him, both figuratively and literally.

'I can do it, and I will do it both for me and everyone.' 

Malo began imagining the process of his transformation—his vision turning red—and tried to keep it normal. He was doing his best not to lose control, but the pain kept intensifying with each passing second. Reversing the pain was an option, but it would require immense control to use this ability for a third time. His vision blurred red as he fought to maintain his composure, forcing his body to transform into a monster. It was the worst possible time for multitasking, with his life hanging by a thread.

Slowly, his body started morphing into a monster. Seth watched Malo intently, his expression serious, and gestured to the hidden camera not to intervene.

"This guy… what the hell is he teaching the kid? … The kid is holding onto his mind. Strong kid."

Hair clung to his sweat-slick face as his muscles seized, bulging, writhing with things beneath the skin. His breathing was sharp, but uneven — each inhale sounding less like a man and more like a creature testing its lungs for the first time.

His right arm twisted violently at the elbow.Bones jutted out, forming jagged, thorned ridges that punched through the skin like a crown of thorns meant for a shoulder. Veins turned black, swelling and writhing as his blood remembered older, crueler patterns.

One leg spasmed, thickening grotesquely. The thigh swelled, sinew snapping and reforming. His fingers dragged against the ground — nails now hooked talons, curling into the concrete, leaving gouges with every twitch. The skin on his left arm was gone entirely, replaced with a gnarled, obsidian shell, like the carapace of some abyssal insect. It pulsed faintly, alive, twitching to its own rhythm.

His torso heaved as the ribs stretched outward, distorting, threatening to burst from within. Yet his chest remained intact—barely—a battlefield where flesh refused to surrender. Each breath was a war cry and a prayer.

From his back rose jagged growths — not wings, not armor — but remnants of something trying to form, unfinished and twitching like embryonic limbs.

And yet… Malo remained kneeling.

His head hung low, black strands of hair masking half a face. The other half showed him — still him — eye clenched, jaw trembling, blood running from his nose like ink. But the eye that opened glowed faintly red, not with rage… but with restraint.

He whispered. To no one.To himself.

"Not yet."

The beast within snarled.But Malo stayed still.

The last breath he took as a man came quietly—a shallow exhale, tremulous and shuddering. Then, silence.

A different breath followed—not air, but fire, drawn inward from the world around him. A pressure rippled outward, making the ground crater beneath his feet.

His hunched form straightened. Bones fused, not haphazardly this time, but with purpose—every joint locking like blackened iron into a sovereign shape. The spines along his back no longer twitched in chaos. They rose, curved, and settled into a crown of void-forged bone, jagged yet regal, like a halo carved from the remains of gods.

Flames bled from him—not of heat, but pure rage wrapped in will, deep red and ancient, licking along his body like memories burning.

His chest, once a battlefield of broken ribs and searing tendons, now glowed with a molten red light, as if his very soul had been branded by something primal and forbidden. Armor-like flesh enveloped his limbs, folding and unfurling like living shadow, ridged and bladed, carved with forgotten glyphs—not written by hand, but etched by suffering.

His arms crossed in front of his chest—a gesture of stillness, not surrender. The claws now sleek and blackened like obsidian rested gently over each other. Behind him, an aura like boiling ash spread slowly, the sky cracking in its presence.

His face was no longer a face.It was a mask of ancient dread. Crimson fissures shone between the slits, and beneath the crown, two burning eyes gleamed with unnatural composure—eyes that had seen beyond the veil and not wept.

There was no scream this time. No resistance.Only stillness.And in that stillness… power.

Malo had not been devoured by the monster.

He conquered it.