The Anomaly's Path

Author’s Note:

This Chapter contains darker themes — experimentation, body horror, and child death. Nothing overly graphic, but consider yourself warned.

Thanks for reading.

_

While the village of Wayford prepared for the Festival of Echoes.

People hung lanterns from every post and doorframe. Children ran between the legs of adults, carrying bundles of flowers and sticks of incense.

The smell of roasting meat drifted from every kitchen, and the sound of off-key singing came from the tavern where the men were already drunk even though the sun had not fully set.

They were unaware about the shadow creeping toward them.

No one knew that somewhere out there, in the dark between the trees, monsters with human faces were getting ready to paint the village red.

_

In the high spires of the Imperial Capital, the air was thick with the scent of expensive incense and the quiet rustle of silk.

Within the Hall of Records, a group of Imperial Investigators stood before a long, mahogany table laden with recovered journals and jagged shards of glass that still hummed with a sickly, artificial mana.

Emperor Aurelius stood at the head of the table, his hands clasped behind his back. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered, with grey streaking his dark hair and a face that had seen too many wars. His eyes were sharp, cold, and tired.

Behind him stood General Aldric, his military advisor—a scarred veteran with a missing ear and a reputation for brutal efficiency.

”Report,” the Emperor said.

A scout knelt at the edge of the table, his armor scratched and stained with dried blood. He looked like he had not slept in days.

”Your Majesty,” the scout said, his voice hoarse, while pointed at the glass shards. ”These are mana-infused containment vessels. They were used to store... remains. Human remains. Dozens of them.”

The room went quiet.

He reached into his pack and pulled out a torn piece of cloth—a child’s shirt, stained with old blood. He laid it on the table.

”Our scouts discovered a hidden facility in the eastern hills. It was abandoned when we arrived, but the signs were clear. They were experimenting on children. Slaves, orphans, war refugees. Anyone who would not be missed.”

”...”

”There were cages,” the scout continued, his voice dropping. ”Dozens of them. Empty. But the blood... there was so much blood. And the notes we found mentioned something...”

He slid a parchment across the table. The paper was yellowed and stained with something dark. The writing on it was frantic and cramped, the letters pressed so close together that they were almost impossible to read.

”The notes we recovered aren’t about magic,” he said. ”They’re about vessels—the human body. Specifically, how to force open mana circuits that were never meant to be opened.”

He paused, swallowing hard.

”They are trying to build something, Your Majesty. An army of artificial ranks. They are treating human souls like clay and molding them into weapons.”

The Emperor’s eyes darkened. ”...Who was behind it?”

”We do not know for certain, Your Majesty. But one of the notes had a name. Doctor Voss.”

General Aldric’s face went pale. ”The Royal Physician? The one who disappeared years ago?”

”Yes,” the scout said. ”He was conducting experiments.”

The Emperor turned to the map, his eyes tracing the red pins that marked the monster wave.

”Send the Royal Knights,” the Emperor said. ”Scout the eastern territories. Find this facility. Find Voss and find out what he is planning.”

”Your Majesty,” General Aldric said, ”the monster wave—”

”Is connected,” the Emperor cut him off. ”They are not attacking randomly. They are clearing a path. Buying time. Something is coming, Aldric. And we need to know what.”

The General nodded. ”I will dispatch the knights immediately.”

The Emperor turned to the map, his eyes scanning the eastern hills. ”You will send Seraphina and Cassian. They are young, but both possess exceptional power. If anyone can find Voss, it is them.”

General Aldric raised an eyebrow but he nodded.

The Emperor looked at the map one last time. His eyes lingered on the eastern hills, on the red pins, on the torn shirt stained with a child’s blood.

”...Doctor Voss,” he said quietly.

The name hung in the air like a curse.

_

[Place — Unknown]

Deep beneath the earth, where the sun never reached, the location was impossible to map. It was a place where the sun never reached, buried deep beneath the crust of the earth where the air tasted of copper and rot.

A single torch flickered on the stone wall, casting dim light across a chamber that looked more like a butcher’s shop than a laboratory.

Tables were covered in bloodstained tools. Jars lined the shelves, their contents floating in murky liquid—organs, fingers, things that should not be named.

The screams were the only clock.

A young girl lay strapped down on a table. She could not have been more than twelve. Her chest was open—not by a surgeon’s blade, but by jagged clamps that held her ribs apart, exposing a pulsing, frantic mana core.

Her eyes were wide, tears streaming down her cheeks, but no sound came from her mouth.

Doctor Voss stood over her.

He wasn’t the fat, bumbling man one might expect of a coward.

He was thin, gaunt, with pale skin stretched tight over sharp bones. His hair was thin and greasy, plastered to his scalp. His eyes were sunken, dark, and hungry. His hands were long and pale, the fingers stained with old blood that never seemed to wash off.

His hair was a disheveled mess of greasy grey, and his eyes were bloodshot, dancing with a manic light.

He was beautiful once, perhaps.

But years of forbidden experiments and demonic deals had carved something ugly into his face.

”Shh! Hold still, little miracle,” Voss hissed, his fingers dripping with a dark, oily fluid. ”The transition is the most beautiful part. The pain will end soon.”

He poured the fluid directly into the girl’s open chest.

The scream that followed was a wet, gargling sound that tore through the chamber until it ended in a sudden, sickening snap. The girl’s body went limp, her mana core flickering out like a guttering candle.

Voss stared at her for a long moment. He poked her arm with a metal rod. Nothing.

”Tch. Fuck. Another failure,” Voss spat, tossing his tools into a basin of bloody water. ”Weak. All of them are so weak. When will my dream finally breathe? When will the Perfect Vessel stand?”

He wiped his hands on a rag that was already stiff with dried gore. He began to pace the room.

He stopped in front of a massive, bubbling vat at the back of the lab. Inside the glass was a nightmare.

It wasn’t a person, and it wasn’t a beast.

It was a ’Mass’—a fused, pulsing lump of flesh and limbs, half-alive and half-dead. Faces occasionally pressed against the inside of the glass, mouths opening in silent, eternal shrieks, eyes rolling back in agony.

”Don’t you think,” Voss said, pressing his palm against the glass, ”that if you two had not interfered, I would have succeeded by now?”

The mass of flesh shuddered. A mouth opened. A sound came out—a wet, gurgling moan.

”You were so righteous,” Voss continued, his voice dripping with contempt. ”So noble. You thought you could stop me. You thought you could save those children.”

He laughed, a dry, rasping sound. ”And now look at you. You are my greatest achievement. My masterpiece. You will live forever like this. Together. Always.”

He turned away from the tank and walked toward a desk covered in papers and notes.

”If only you had not caught me,” he muttered, shuffling through the papers. ”If only you had not alerted the authorities, I would still be in my laboratory. I would still have my resources and my subjects.”

Suddenly, the temperature in the room dropped.

A chill swept through the room. The torches flickered and died, replaced by a thick, swirling mist that smelled of old graves.

”Your obsession with the past is showing its age, Voss.”

A woman stepped out of the mist. She moved with a predatory grace, her dark hair falling past her shoulders like a waterfall of ink. Her deep purple eyes, like bruises on ripe fruit, glowed with an ancient, terrifying pressure.

”Miss Morana,” Voss bowed, though his eyes remained on his work. ”...I assume you have more than just insults for me?”

”I have good news,” she said, a cruel, ethereal smile touching her lips. ”Kael and the others have found the person we are looking for. We received information about a soul user—one with the ability to knit life itself back together. A perfect battery for your experiments.”

Voss froze. ”A Soul Healer? Are you certain?”

”Yes.” Morana walked toward him, her hips swaying. ”We got information from a man in a small village. He sold the information for a few coins. Pathetic, really. He did not even ask what we wanted with the girl.”

Voss’s eyes narrowed. ”You are sure?”

”Kael is already on his way to confirm. But the source was... reliable.”

Voss leaned back against his desk. ”And the Empire? They are getting closer. Their knights are searching for me.”

Morana waved a hand dismissively. ”Let them search. They will not find us. And even if they do...” She smiled, and her teeth were too sharp. ”I am not fully healed, but I am strong enough to deal with a few knights.”

She paused.

”Besides, the monster wave will keep them busy. By the time they realize what is happening, we will already have what we came for.”

Voss nodded slowly. ”Who is the person?”

She reached into her robes and pulled out a small, blood-stained portrait, handing it to Voss. ”This is the target.”

Voss took the portrait. His bloodshot eyes widened. A high, wheezing laugh bubbled up from his throat. ”Keke... Hahaha! Oh, this is poetic! This is peak irony!”

He turned back to the Mass in the vat, thrusting the portrait against the glass so the agonized faces inside could see it.

”Do you see this? Do you see her?” he shrieked with laughter. ”The person I’ve been searching for... the key to my Perfect Vessel... she was linked to you all along!”

He leaned in close to the glass, his grin split wide and terrifying.

”You know her, don’t you?”

He threw the portrait down into a puddle of the dead girl’s blood as he walked away to prepare his tools. The paper fluttered, landing face-up.

On the bottom right corner, written in a neat, childish hand, was the name:

Mia Rayner

The faces in the vat surged against the glass, a muffled, collective scream echoing through the dark as the light in the lab faded to black.