"By touching a part of Divinity and mixing it with science, humanity doesn't know what path they tread on." – Ex-Head of the Gene Ascension Alliance
Through the tinted glass of the ICU, Dr. Nathan's dark blue eyes narrowed, and a faint hint of surprise flickered across his otherwise emotionless face. The child lying before him was still, but Nathan could feel the presence—subtle, unnerving, almost alive—radiating from him. He adjusted his black-trimmed glasses, the steel rims catching the harsh fluorescent lights overhead. Yes… this was the risk he had taken, the one step beyond the boundaries of morality, beyond protocol. The organization never dared this…
The female doctors worked swiftly, their gloved hands moving over the child with precision, cleaning the blood, checking vitals. Yet even under the harsh ICU lighting, the boy's gaze seemed unnatural. His eyes, one black and one white, opened briefly, piercing the sterile atmosphere with an intensity far beyond human.
Dr. Nathan's thoughts ran cold and calculated: The child is alive… fully awakened even at birth. The Prenatal Divine Surge… this is higher than I anticipated. Just as the old records suggested about one of the Pillars… but stronger.
The nurses' voices trembled. "Ma'am… his pulse—he's stable, but look at the mother!"
Mary's body, still twitching faintly under sedatives, had begun to fail. Monitors blared as alarms rang, red lights reflecting in her wide, fearful eyes. Dr. Nathan didn't move from his observation spot; instead, he watched with a clinical detachment, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.
One of the doctors' gloved hands shook as she whispered to her partner, "Her body… it's decaying. Look! Her cells—her tissue—it's breaking down… this isn't normal labor…"
The second doctor's face went pale. "We… we need to intervene. If we don't act now, we'll lose them both."
Dr. Nathan's dark voice echoed in his own mind. They don't understand. Sacrifice is inevitable. This is the only way to create a weapon capable of surviving the Aberrents. Mary's life is… collateral. The greater good demands it.
The chaos of the ICU—the beeping monitors, the hissing oxygen tanks, the clatter of medical equipment—seemed distant to him, as if it were a stage for his carefully orchestrated experiment. Mary's final movements were frantic, almost deliberate, as though some hidden force within her body was resisting the constraints of the mortal realm.
The child stirred again, a subtle movement at first, then more pronounced. His tiny hands clenched and unclenched, twitching with an energy that made the hair on the back of the nurses' necks stand. The black-and-white gaze swept across the room, as though calculating, assessing, already aware of everything around him.
A circular object hovered faintly above his head—a halo, incomplete, fractured at the edges. The youngest doctor froze. "A… a halo?" she whispered in terror.
Dr. Nathan's lips curled slightly. Finally… the fusion is complete. The divine and the beast… now intertwined.
Mary gasped, a soft whimper escaping as her last breath left her. The monitors flatlined. One of the doctors gasped aloud, but Nathan's focus remained solely on the child. He is perfect. The weapon humanity has long sought. One day, he may rival the Pillars themselves.
His mind wandered to the legends, the histories carefully recorded by the old scientists. Unlike the supposed Pillar who annihilated his creators at ten… I will control this one. I will not allow chaos… not yet. He must grow under my guidance. But the power… it is undeniable.
The child let out a small, almost deliberate cry, piercing the sterile air. It was not just sound—it was a statement, an assertion of presence. Dr. Nathan adjusted his glasses again, his dark smile widening. Yes… the perfect weapon… born today. Born to change everything.
Behind the glass, the female doctors glanced at one another, eyes wide with both fear and awe. The boy's presence was overwhelming, unnatural, yet undeniably human—at least in appearance. Yet each heartbeat, each flicker of his gaze, spoke of something far beyond comprehension.
Dr. Nathan stepped closer to the glass, studying every detail: the subtle twitch in his fingers, the way his eyes scanned the room, the faint curl of a smile forming on his lips, though his features were still infantile. This child… this boy… he will redefine power. He will walk the line between divine and abomination, and the world will never see him coming.
A low, almost inaudible whisper escaped Nathan's lips, meant only for himself: "Welcome… Calythar."
And as the name fell into the sterile air of the ICU, the boy's one black eye flickered toward him, almost knowingly. The stage had been set. Humanity, and all it held dear, would never be the same again.