By the third day, Nero had stopped trying to resist.

By the fifth day, he had stopped hoping it would end.

Hy the seventh day, he had stopped thinking about anything at all and his mind had been reduced to a blank slate that simply existed from one moment to the next.

The only thing he found solace in, was the reading of the runes within the Book of Mephistopheles. And even that was hard to do sometimes as his mind was quite often scrambled and in disarray from all the procedures.

But despite the suffering, despite the way his body and mind were being systematically broken down and rebuilt, Nero began to notice something strange.

The stump where his left arm had been severed was changing.

At first, it was just itchy, a constant irritation that he couldn't scratch because there was nothing there to scratch. But over the days, the sensation shifted, becoming a dull ache that spread through the entire stump, pulsing in time with his heartbeat and pulse.

Nero stared at it in the darkness of his cell, watching the way the skin at the end seemed to be stretching, pulling, as though something underneath was trying to push through.

It maybe it was just his imagination. The other day, he had seen three rats dancing in the corner.

Nero's brows furrowed, 'Maybe that wasn't my imagination...'

Regardless, he still couldn't trust what he saw.

He closed his eyes and let his mind speak into the ether of the nothingness around him,

'Oracle, what's happening to my arm?' he asked, even the voice in his mind hoarse and weak.

{The procedures are designed to stimulate regeneration. The elixirs and potions being injected into the Heretic contain concentrated growth factors derived from high-grade Abominations. They are forcing the body to rebuild and encourage rapid cell growth whilst providing the necessary elements those cells will need for the rapid regeneration}.

Nero grimaced. Ordinarily, his body could regenerate lost limbs with the help of the Divine Elixir and Essence Pills. Those usually took at most a day to work completely. And they didn't usually come with such... extravagant procedures.

'That seems rather... inefficient.'

{With sorcery, indeed. And it is not recommended.}

Nero raised a brow, "Why not?"

{Growing or regenerating living flesh with sorcery runs a very steep risk of creating something entirely different from what was intended. Sorcery is difficult to predict when it comes to matters involving living matter. The runes must be perfectly aligned, the Ein Sof flow precisely controlled, and even then, mutations are common. If they had tried to grow the Heretic a new arm with pure magic, the chances of the arm turning out to be a horrible eldritch abominable growth that consumes the Heretic and then the rest of the city of Liedenstorm would be disturbingly high}.

Nero stared into the void for a long moment, processing that information.

"I wish I hadn't asked," he muttered.

Nero opened his eyes back in the cell. He looked down at the stump again, watching the way the skin continued to stretch and pulse, and tried not to think about what the Oracle had said.

Exhaustion pulled at him, and for once, the pain had dulled enough that he thought he might actually be able to sleep. He closed his eyes and let himself drift, his consciousness fading into merciful darkness.

When he woke, something felt different.

Nero pushed himself up with his right arm, intending to shift his position against the wall, but the movement felt odd. Balanced in a way it hadn't been in weeks.

He froze.

Slowly, carefully, he looked down at his body.

Where the stump had been, where emptiness and pain had lived for so long, there was now an arm.

It was pale, almost white, the skin smooth and unblemished, completely free of scars or marks. The fingers were long and slender, the nails perfectly formed, the joints moving smoothly when he flexed them.

Nero stared at it, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing.

For a moment, joy flooded through him, pure and overwhelming. He had his arm back.

"What in the Seven Hells..."

He was finally whole again. Joy blossomed in his chest.

Then the joy died.

Something was wrong. He didn't know what, couldn't put his finger on it exactly.

He closed his eyes and reached for the Oracle again.

'Oracle, should the procedures work this quickly?' he asked.

{No. The Heretic's regenerative capabilities are now quite beyond that of a regular person's. Normally, the procedure would have continued for three more weeks before true progress could be seen. However, the Heretic's body completed that in just over a week}.

Nero's blood ran cold.

Three weeks compressed into one. That wasn't normal, was it?

No, that was highly abnormal, certainly not falling in the realm of what one would expect of a normal person.

Then he heard it.

Footsteps in the corridor once again. The familiar sound of steel sabatons against stone, growing louder and louder.

They were coming for him.

For a brief, desperate moment, Nero considered cutting the arm off to hide the evidence. But he knew it would be pointless. After all, what would be the point?

The light from the corridor reached the gate of his cell, spilling through the bars, and Nero saw the two Templars appear in the opening.

They froze only for the briefest of moments.

Then they stepped forward, opening the gate and entering the cell.

They grabbed him by the arms, both arms now, and hauled him right to his feet, routinely wrapping the chains around his wrists and ankles.

They didn't speak as usual, but Nero could feel a changed in the way they handled him.

However, it was hard to know if it was just in his mind or not.

They dragged him out of the cell and down the corridor. This time however, they didn't take him to the procedure room.

They took him somewhere else...

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