The room was different from the procedure room, smaller and a bit less oppressive, with stone walls that weren't quite as high and a single chair bolted to the floor in the center.

The atmosphere and ambience were also not as oppressive, giving off a rather calm, but interrogative feeling.

The Templars shoved Nero into the room and locked the restraints around his wrists and ankles, before stepping back to stand behind the door.

Nero sat there in silence, his heart pounding in his chest and his newly regrown arm resting against the cold metal of the chair's armrest. He could feel the weight of it quite intimately for some reason as the nerves in the arm were still quite sensitive.

The way it moved when he flexed his fingers, the slightest pull of the muscles and tendons...

The very power contained in his fists.

He frowned.

He felt like if he tried hard enough, he could snap the metal restraints quite easily.

However, he knew better than to do that.

If he did, he would simply be pushed down and forced back into a new set of shackles.

He finally managed to suppress his overwhelming desire for freedom just as the door opened and several of the steel-masked figures entered, moving with an eerie, almost mechanical precision.

The same as always. They arranged themselves in a circle around him, their masks silent and expressionless, only managing to reflect the harsh light.

Nero braced himself for the needles, skin grafts, and pain with his eyelids squeezed together, and his fists balled up.

Oh, the treacherous pain!

However, after waiting for a few seconds, Nero slowly opened his eyes.

Nothing happened.

Then he realized that the room he was currently in, was devoid of those sterilized equipment.

In fact, it was almost completely bare, save for the chain and a few runes he sighted at the corners and on the door.

The masked figures just stood there watching him, their empty gazes, or the lack there of deeply disturbing.

Then, for the first time ever, one of them spoke.

"The process is complete."

The voice was calm, clinical and devoid of much of anything.

Nero would have labeled it emotionless if not for the subtle snarky bite behind the words.

The figure reached up and removed his mask, revealing a face that was entirely unremarkable.

He had no scars nor any distinguishing features.

Just a plain face with eyes that held no particular expression.

Another figure removed his mask as well, revealing another unremarkable face.

"That might be the fastest ever seen," the second one said, his tone carrying a hint of curiosity.

"How truly remarkable."

The first one shook his head slightly and turned his attention to Nero.

"Welcome to the Facility of the Hands of Herod, a small branch of the Verdant Ash Sea tied to the Crimson Crucible Order. We treat the broken, heal the soulless, and patch up the damned gears of war that fuel this empire."

"Up to propaganda again I see, Methan," one of the other steel-faced men said as he removed his mask, revealing dark skin with deep dark eyes and short dark hair.

He turned his attention to Nero and shook his head slightly, a faint smile touching his lips.

"You did good surviving this long, kid." He paused for a moment as the other figures around the room removed their masks as well, revealing a collection of men, all with relatively unremarkable faces and bland expressions.

"Not many make it through the first week without turning into soulless shells completely. I am pleasantly surprised."

Nero stared at them, his mind still struggling to process the sudden shift in atmosphere. These weren't the silent, cruel and mechanical figures from the procedure room.

These were people. Well, kind of.

At least they felt like actual people, with voices and expressions and—

"Are you... all Templars as well?" Nero asked, his voice hoarse and uncertain.

The dark-skinned man raised an eyebrow, then chuckled.

"Well, I guess you could call us that, although the image of the Templars in your mind must be rather different from what we are, isn't it?"

Nero said nothing to that.

Of course it was different. After all, the only Templars he had ever seen were the Crimson Warriors of the Crimson Crucible.

He took a step closer, his expression becoming more serious.

"Not all Templars fight for humanity with swords, spears and shields."

Then he stopped directly in front of Nero, holding a sheet of parchment in his hand.

"A report has been sent to the Commander. You are lucky you were found by him and brought to us. Any other division would have sought to study the wonders and mysteries of your body piece by piece as your parts are picked apart and—"

He stopped, cleared his throat, then continued.

"Still, your treatment doesn't end here, Nero."

He paused for a moment, his dark eyes studying Nero's face.

"I believe you have already been cleared, and with a direct recommendation from the Commander, I doubt it would be necessary for you to take the Templar trials. However, even if you do have to, it wouldn't be a problem since you are still of age."

He leaned back slightly, the faint smile returning to his face, wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes.

"The Commander has made his wish clear— to see you transform into someone worthy of being a Templar before the time for the trial arrives. The trials from now on will be a bit different due to the change in current circumstances, but as you are, you will not survive. However, the choice still lies in your hands, Nero. And so, I propose to you a question— will you cooperate with us and allow our knives reshape your being?"

Nero's mind reeled.

Cooperate? Allow them to continue? After everything they had already done to him, after the pain and the nightmares and the worm still coiled in his stomach, they wanted him to agree to more?

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