After placing the tube in the jar, he twisted a knot which was previously placed to stop the flow of liquid from the tube.
The tube then continued the flow of liquid. He went back to study the heads and body parts previously placed in the transparent boxes and found them shrinking rapidly.
After over 20 minutes, the previously large and disgusting abomination parts were now nothing more than dry husks.
He then retrieved and gathered all the dried husks into another box prepared by him for their disposal.
He began to observe the jar and noticed how it has increased by a quarter.
He sinks his arm into the liquid which rapidly clung to his arm, the his arm started bulging grotesquely as terrifying dark veined rune patterns began forming.
Once all the darkness was absorbed by his arm into his body, he felt noticeably stronger.
What was left on the jar was a light green liquid, not even one third of the jar.
He has a secret he hasn't and didn't want to share with anyone.
He has the ability to absorb inkforce. The terrifying energy that everyone hates and fears has now become his source of empowerment. But he doesn't dare to absorb it outside to prevent anyone from knowing. Instead, he absorbs it through a complicated process with the use of abominations which he gets from the group while deceiving them that it was for experiments.
Well, but not all if it was all a lie though. He takes an empty injection tube from the table then proceeds to draw what was left in the jar(light green liquid) into it.
He managed to get 6 injection tubes full before the liquid ran out.
He looks at the green liquid which he named strengthening serums.
This was the reason the group complied to his use of the abominations for research. Although these were the first results of the research since back then, they were still results nonetheless.
He carefully packaged the injections then proceeded to take them out of the room towards the group because he's already tested the potency of these strengthening serums, but they just don't seem to work on him, only the inkforce provides some kind of strengthening somewhat.
The mechanical vehicle moved again.
Its massive wheels crushed corrupted ground beneath them, grinding bone, metal, and blackened soil into indistinguishable fragments.
The world outside remained the same endless wasteland—twisted structures, collapsed cities frozen in decay, and an atmosphere thick with distorted energy that shimmered faintly like invisible radiation.
Inside the vehicle, however, everything had gone quiet.
The chaos from moments earlier had faded, leaving behind only exhaustion.
Brant sat heavily against one of the interior walls, his massive frame slumped, blood still slowly dripping from his shattered hand. The crimson armor he had formed earlier had already dissolved, falling back into liquid and reabsorbing into his body, leaving exposed flesh behind—flesh that was cracked, twisted, and barely holding together.
His breathing was heavy.
Not from pain.
From frustration.
Veronica knelt in front of him.
Her expression still stoic but a little unfocused.
Her thin fingers hovered over Brant's ruined hand, where bones protruded at unnatural angles and Ink-dark veins pulsed beneath torn skin. The wound was already changing. The scattered polluted inkforce in the air had begun its work—worming its way into the exposed tissue, attempting to rewrite it into something else.
It had been less than thirty minutes.
And already, the corrosion had started.
Veronica exhaled slowly.
Then she placed her palm against Brant's broken hand.
The metal around them responded.
Discarded mechanical components—old armor plates, broken pistons, cracked gears—began to vibrate. They trembled, then lifted into the air as if gravity had forgotten them. Slowly, they drifted toward Veronica's body.
The moment they touched her skin, they dissolved.
Not melted.
Not shattered.
They were unmade.
Their physical structure broke down into glowing streams of pale energy that flowed directly into Brant's wound through Veronica's hand.
Brant's bones began to move.
Crack.
Shift.
Reform.
Flesh regenerated in layers, knitting together with disturbing speed. Torn muscle rewound itself. Shattered fingers straightened, growing back as if time itself had reversed its decision.
Brant clenched his jaw.
Pain shot through his body—but he didn't scream.
He had learned long ago that pain was simply another form of will tempering.
Within seconds, his hand was whole again.
Perfect.
As if it had never been destroyed.
Veronica withdrew her hand slowly, her breathing slightly heavier now. The discarded metal around them was gone—nothing left but empty space and faint glowing residue in the air.
She stood up without a word.
Brant flexed his fingers.
Then he laughed softly.
"…Good as new," he muttered.
But his eyes weren't smiling.
Across the vehicle, Marco didn't look at any of them.
He had already turned away.
He sat deeper within the mechanical core of the vehicle, surrounded by moving parts, humming engines, and rotating constructs that responded to his presence. Mechanical limbs retracted back into storage compartments across his body, folding neatly into place as if ashamed of having existed.
Marco's face was tight.
Irritated.
But beneath that irritation was something else.
Something heavier.
Every time he used his power, it reminded him.
The pain.
The moment his heart had stopped being his.
The moment he realized survival did not mean salvation.
If he were given the choice again…
To go through the painful process of his entire being ripped apart and then reconstructed one more time,
Or live as a weak, ordinary man in a dying world.
He would choose weakness.
But he didn't say any of this.
He never did.
Marco believed this kind of power was just like the meager salary paid to construction worker in some poor countries after a year of working themselves to death. No, he believed it way more cruller.
Brant stood up and moved back into the storage compartment and retrieved a mutated fruit.
It was dark red.
Oversized.
Roughly the size of two oranges fused together.
Its surface pulsed faintly with unstable energy.
Brant hesitated.
He took a bite.
Chewed slowly.
His mind drifted.
What if Marco hadn't been there?
What if he had faced the predator alone?
He replayed the scenario in his head.
He believed he could have won.
If there was enough blood.
His blood.
The enemy's blood.
Anyone's blood.
But that was the problem.
His power only worked on fresh blood.
Once it left the body for too long…
It became useless.
A terrible weakness.
One he has never gotten used to.
He swallowed the fruit.
And felt something cold settle in his chest.
If Marco hadn't been there…
If there was no blood…
That predator would have killed him.
Brant looked away.
Then thought of Steven.
Steven would have won.
Eventually.
Dark energy was everywhere.
Unlike blood.
Unlike flesh.
Steven could always draw more.
Which meant Steven had more potential than him.
That thought unsettled Brant more than the injury ever had.
Because the abominations were still getting stronger.
The Ink was still spreading.
And no matter how powerful they became…
The world was becoming something worse.