"MOM! MAAAAAAAH!" Elian screamed from the back of the truck, trapped among guns and the black sniper case.
"Kid…" one of the "soldiers" growled—the same one who had ripped him from his mother's arms moments earlier. "Shut the fuck up," he said, before smashing the butt of his rifle against the boy's head.
The hit landed hard. Elian froze. It was the first time anyone had struck him with real intent to hurt. This pain wasn't like a scraped knee or a fall during play—it burned, deep and raw. Something warm trickled down his temple. His own blood. He stayed quiet, paralyzed.
"Don't damage the merchandise," said the driver without looking back. "You know how he gets when the goods show up bruised."
Elian didn't answer. He cried silently until his body ran out of tears—until exhaustion and pain pulled him into a restless sleep. He didn't know how long had passed before he was jolted awake by a shove that threw him out of the truck.
Fortress of S — Location Unknown, Level -5.November 10, Year 389 A.G.C.
"Wake up, brat. Move," barked the squad leader—the same man who had buried his mother beneath pillars of earth.
"Y-y-yes…" Elian stammered, stumbling forward.
They herded him toward a line of children—dozens of them, maybe hundreds. None older than fourteen. Some barely seven. One by one, they were forced into gray jumpsuits. Those who resisted were shot. Problem solved. Each child was then handed a number.
Elian received 1317. The last in line.
They were marched down a dark corridor lit by faint electric torches until they reached an abandoned theater. Rows upon rows of empty seats faced a massive stage. The children were forced to sit. Some cried. Some trembled. None dared speak. The silence was suffocating.
Then, laughter erupted beneath the stage.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Welcome to hell, you filthy little creatures!" The voice was young, sharp, almost sing-song.
From a rising platform emerged a man no older than twenty-three. Black, messy hair. A white lab coat. And a smile that cut across his face like a knife.
"Allow me to introduce myself, you little bastards," he said theatrically. "My name is S, and I'll be your caretaker… until you die." His grin widened. "Which, statistically speaking, should happen within the next two or three years."
The children stared in frozen horror.
"You're here because you were chosen," he continued, spreading his arms. "Chosen to become perfect soldiers. Chosen to have a chance… to be like me."
He leaned forward toward the front row. The nearest children recoiled at the sight of his eyes—cold, hollow, completely devoid of humanity.
"W-w-why us?" a boy asked timidly from the back.
S burst out laughing."Why? HAHAHAHAHA! That's like asking why the hell we exist, idiot!" he jeered. "You weren't chosen for anything special… You just had the bad luck of being kidnapped!" He paced slowly, savoring the taste of fear in the air.
Elian barely listened. His thoughts were far away. He wanted his mother—her laughter, her arms, her scolding voice. He wanted this nightmare to end. But the metallic stench of the room and the muffled sobs of other children reminded him that this was no dream.
"There's no bedtime here," S continued. "Do whatever the hell you want. But if you're not up by dawn for training, you'll either die… or spend twelve hours locked in a cage with rabid dogs while carrying a hundred kilos in each hand."
He smiled, savoring the panic.
"The exercises are easy," he added, adopting a mocking tone as if speaking to toddlers. "Run with fifty kilos on each arm over dirt, nails, and tacks… climb smooth walls without a rope… hold your breath ten meters underwater for an hour. Every time you succeed, the next round doubles. Oh! And puzzles—lots of puzzles—questions so impossible they'd make even the smartest D'Alessio cry! HAHAHAHA!"
Suddenly, he vanished. No one saw him move. His voice echoed from everywhere at once:"And if you survive… you'll face my final test. We'll see if you can withstand my power."
Silence returned—thick and absolute.
Soldiers began marching the children into a corridor behind the stage. There, a sprawling underground laboratory stretched into the dark: steel floors, flickering lights, the smell of metal and chemicals. Each child was assigned a numbered cell. A metal cot. A bowl for waste. Nothing else.
Elian was shoved into his. He didn't resist. Didn't cry. He simply walked in and sat on the bed, staring at nothing. Everything he had loved was gone—stolen in a single night.
Moments later, someone knocked on the bars with a cheerful rhythm, like tapping on a friend's door.
"Hellooo, little buddy," sang a familiar voice. It was S.
He entered, grinning with that same deranged delight. His eyes locked on Elian's hollow stare.
"I noticed something… odd about you," he said, crouching. "Every single brat in this hole has something—Elyth channels, energy flow, potential—but you…" He leaned closer. "You're just a pile of shit with nothing. HAHAHAHA!"
Elian didn't reply. Not out of courage, but because there were no words left in him.
"…Okay," he muttered softly, eyes empty.
S watched him for a few seconds, then smiled wider."You're interesting, kid. I think I've just found my favorite toy. Subject 1317…" His tone was almost cheerful.
He left the cell humming, satisfied. He had found what he was looking for—a child with no Elyth, no spark, no light. An empty vessel. Perfect. Within hours, he ordered the kidnappings to stop. He felt that this boy alone could endure his power.
Elian stared at the metallic ceiling above him. He didn't cry. Didn't speak. Didn't dream.
He only waited.
Hell would begin at dawn.