Was this it?

Had they brought him here to die?

Then, without warning, the room exploded into light.

Nero cried out, his eyes slamming shut against the sudden brightness.

Pain lanced through his skull.

He tried to cover his face but the chains anchored his arms down, forcing him to endure the assault.

When he finally managed to crack his eyes open, squinting against the glare, he saw them.

Several figures stood in the room, arranged in a circle around him. They wore fitted dark clothes that covered every inch of their bodies, and steel masks over their faces, featureless and smooth, reflecting the harsh light like mirrors. They said nothing and made no sound, standing there watching him with those blank, expressionless faces.

Nero tried to speak but his throat was too dry. He did manage a raspy croak, but that took all he had.

He realized he was no longer on the floor. At some point, while the room had been dark, they must have moved him. He was strapped to a stone bed in the room now, thick Blacksteel restraints across his chest, waist, and legs, iron manacles on his wrist and both ankles. He could barely move his head, but the rest of his body was completely immobilized.

Panic flickered in his chest as his heart began to beat erratically. He was too exhausted to feel real fear though. All he could do was lie there and watch as the masked figures approached.

One of them held a tray. On it were several thick iron needles, each one perhaps six inches long, with hollow cores and strange runes carved into the metal. Just the sight of it filled him with panic.

The figure selected one, held it up to the light, then without hesitation, drove it into Nero's upper arm.

Nero winced at the pain— a sharp sting followed by a dull ache. It hurt, but he had endured worse.

Then the figure pressed something on the needle and liquid fire poured into his veins.

Nero's eyes widened as agony exploded through his body, racing along every nerve, clinging to every fiber of his being. It was not pain like a blade or a burn or a broken bone. It was something far worse wicked and scourging, as though his very cells were being torn apart and rebuilt in the same instant.

He tried to scream but his throat seized, the sound dying before it could escape. His vision blurred, darkness creeping in from the edges, and then he was gone, his consciousness fleeing into merciful oblivion.

Then he woke up immediately.

The pain dragged him back, refusing to let him escape. His body convulsed against the restraints, muscles spasming uncontrollably, and then he was unconscious again.

He woke up again.

This happened three more times, his mind fragmenting under the assault, unable to hold onto awareness for more than a few seconds before the pain overwhelmed him. But on the fourth time, something changed. His body stopped allowing him to faint, forcing him to remain awake and endure it all with full consciousness.

Nero's body trembled violently, foam gathering at the corners of his mouth, his remaining hand clenched into a fist so tight his nails drew blood from his palm. The masked figures moved around him with mechanical precision, inserting more needles, injecting more of the burning liquid and adjusting restraints while noting down things in parchment out of his view.

In his daze, as the agony continued to tear through him, Nero tried to understand what was happening.

Why were they doing this? What were they injecting into him?

His eyes took on a deep golden glow, as he heard the voice of the Divine Will speak to him,

{The Heretic is being forced to undergo genetic modifications. These modifications are initiated through the use of special potions and elixirs. They fundamentally change and force mutations and evolution in both man and beast. They are extremely dangerous arts, taught to humans by the Fallen Grigori during their reign}.

Genetic modifications? Forced evolution?

What in the Seven Hells?!

Just when he thought that was bad, the Oracle continued,

{However, it will bode well for the Heretic to prepare his heart, as the worst of it has not begun}.

Nero felt fear grip him like a cold vice as the pain became so great once more, he slipped into darkness once again.

Only this time, it was a bit different...

***

A small house, filled with a familiar warmth, wooden beams and a stone hearth. Two figures sat at the table across from him.

They were smiling.

Both of them, their faces peaceful and content as they looked down at him.

Nero's chest tightened. The warmth was so much, it brought tears to his eyes even as his lips trembled.

He had not seen them in so long. But here they were, just as he remembered them, like they had not changed even a day.

"Mother," he tried to say, but no sound came out.

His father looked up, his weathered face crinkling into a grin. "Eat, boy. You need your strength."

His mother nodded, her eyes warm. "Come, sit with us."

Nero tried to move, tried to reach out to them, but his body would not respond. He could only watch as they continued their meal, talking quietly to each other, their voices soft and familiar.

Then the image twisted.

The house was gone and the warmth vanished.

Nero stood in a field of grey ash, the sky above him dark and roiling with storm clouds. At his feet were two bodies, headless and torn open, their organs missing, their flesh picked clean in places.

Grey Crows swarmed over them, dozens of them, their greyish feathers slick with blood, their dagger-toothed bills tearing into the corpses with wet, tearing sounds. They shrieked as they fed, their cries echoing across the desolate landscape.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

Nero felt his own heart beating out of his chest.

He tried to scream but the sound would not come.

He tried to run but his legs were frozen.

All he could do was stand there and watch as the Crows devoured what remained of his parents, their beaks ripping away flesh, their talons scraping against bone.

***

Nero stood in a field of stone, stretching endlessly in all directions.

Right before him was... something.

The thing was made of faces. Hundreds of them, maybe thousands, all fused together into a writhing mass of screaming metal. Each face was twisted in agony, mouths open wide, eyes bulging, teeth grinding. They cried out in unison, a cacophony of tortured voices that filled the plains, off the moss covered stones, growing louder and louder until Nero thought his skull would split.

The creature crawled closer, its body undulating, faces sliding over one another, mouths opening and closing, iron tongues lolling, eyes rolling in their sockets. It reached toward him with limbs made of more faces, fingers that were lips and noses and ears all melted together.

Nero tried to back away but his body would not move. The thing crawled closer, closer, its screaming growing deafening, and then...

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