Deep within the dungeon, the one who stood silently before the repulsive beast was Ravien.
He waited motionless before the Trash-Eater, his gaze never straying from the creature buried in the shadows.
He hadn't spoken in a long time.
Even Asogi was surprised; he wasn't used to seeing his father withdraw this much.
(POV: Ravien)
There's a stir in my mind.
Thoughts crashing into each other, but I don't want to touch any of them.
If I pull one out, the others might follow.
Silence is easiest.
And yet...
Jiho comes to mind.
Unbidden.
No meaning attached—he simply appears in my thoughts.
That timid look on his face...
Feels familiar to me.
I'd seen it during the war—in the eyes of the soldiers under my command.
Cautious, withdrawn.
As if I was their enemy.
But I protected them.
Every decision I made was to keep them alive.
I always walked ahead, I was the one held accountable.
And still... they kept their distance.
Now when I look at Jiho,
I see that same distance.
Why would you fear someone who protects you?
Isn't that strange?
You know they'd do anything to keep you alive, and yet you can't trust them.
I'm not a threat. I never was.
But for some, the unknown is more terrifying than the enemy.
Maybe that's the point.
If something has no clear boundaries, if you can't define it, you read it as a threat.
Maybe I've gotten used to that.
Not to being misunderstood—but to being unapproached.
For a long time, I was buried in my own thoughts.
Trapped in a suffocating, endless inner voice.
But eventually I got tired—thinking wasn't getting me anywhere.
It wasn't a solution, just a cycle.
Does it matter?
I don't think so.
I turned my head slightly.
I met Asogi's eyes. Dozens of them studied me.
"—Tell me, Asogi…" I said. My voice was low, but clear.
"Do you think I'm… frightening?"
As he asked the question, Ravien was drenched in blood from head to toe.
The left side of his face was smeared with deep crimson stains, reaching down to his jaw.
His clothes—especially his chest and sleeves—were soaked in blood; fresh and dried traces mingling together.
His expression was void of emotion; he stood in a cold, numb emptiness.
Asogi froze for a moment.
He didn't avert his gaze, but a flicker of intensity—mixed awe and tension—appeared in his pupils.
His body tensed slightly.
Then slowly, almost with his breath, he replied:
"No, Father...
How could someone like you be frightening?
You're... beyond what others can comprehend."
Then he closed his eyes—and all the eyes on his body retracted as he returned to human form.
His muscles twitched, skin shifting, reshaping into his previous state.
"Or is it…" he said, his voice softer this time,
"…did that human part get to your head again?
Is that why you've been lost in thought for so long, Father?"
Ravien's face twitched slightly.
The faintest trace of a smile appeared at the corner of his lips—then vanished.
He replied in a cold, plain tone:
"Asogi...
You really are an interesting one."
Without another word, Ravien lowered his head.
His hand went to his chest—gripping the blood-heavy collar of his garment.
In a single motion, he tore the fabric from his body; the sound echoed through the dungeon's decaying stone walls.
Lean but defined muscles came into view.
There wasn't a single mark on his skin—white as porcelain, carrying an almost unnatural purity.
A body that didn't shiver in the cold…
He stood with a peace that didn't seem his own.
He picked up a piece of the torn fabric.
As he wiped the coagulated blood from his face, his expression remained unchanged.
He balled up the blood-soaked cloth, then quietly dropped the crumpled rag before the Trash-Eater.
The creature didn't move at first.
But then, its centipede-like legs twitched; it crawled forward with long, segmented joints.
It sniffed at the fabric on the ground, then opened the circular, toothed maw at the back of its heel.
Between sharp, interlocked plates, a moist secretion shimmered.
That jawless, drooling opening let out a low rasp as it absorbed the metallic scent of blood.
Slowly, it began to draw the bloody rag in.
Its mouth, looking toothless but rough as sandpaper inside, scraped and dragged the cloth inward.
Strands hung from its jaws, mixed with saliva, spreading across the floor.
Then it convulsed—like a hiccup—and swallowed the rest in one gulp.
All that remained was a trace—a thin ring of bubbling spit on the blood-drenched stone.
Ravien turned toward the dark exit of the dungeon and began walking with heavy steps.
Behind him, the scent of blood and metal still lingered in the silence.
"Let's go, Asogi. We're done here. From now on, this place will be where only the trash ends up."
Asogi stared at the Trash-Eater for a few more seconds.
His eyes narrowed slightly, his head tilted up—just enough to look down on it.
It was a wordless declaration of superiority.
Then he turned and followed Ravien.
He walked quietly; his footsteps made almost no sound against the stone floor.
They ascended the stairs.
The dungeon was left behind.
The corridor stretched ahead, walls damp, the air cool.
With each step Ravien took, dried flakes of blood fell from his boots.
Neither of them said a word along the way.
When they reached the upper floor, they passed through a stone corridor lined with windows.
As Ravien walked, he glanced outside for a moment.
The sky looked different than usual.
The clouds were multicolored, but not vivid.
Some were pale, almost colorless; others seemed to carry a half-finished sunset.
The colors weren't stable—they shifted slowly, changed, never settling into clarity.
Ravien turned his gaze away and kept walking.
Asogi followed a few steps behind.
---
(POV: Ravien)
I finally reached my study.
I let myself fall into one of the chairs; the creak of the leather joined the exhaustion of the day.
"Shhhh…" I sighed.
"Today was exhausting. The experiments drained almost all of my capacity."
My capacity—it hasn't changed since the day I arrived in this world.
No increase at all.
I have to wait for hours for it to fully replenish.
The more it drops, the more my body resists.
I get sleepy.
Hunger gnaws at my stomach.
I opened my eyes and looked at Asogi, standing silently across from me.
"—Tell me, Asogi," I said, tilting my head slightly,
"Why don't you sleep? Or need to eat at all?"
Asogi lowered his head, thinking for a moment.
Then he spoke, his voice that of someone still trying to make sense of what they were saying:
"Well, Father...
Actually, I constantly regenerate myself from the inside.
To suppress the need to sleep, I alter small parts of my body—slowly, steadily… imperceptibly.
But I still need the thing you call capacity.
I can last a long time using the energy I've stored from the guards I've consumed."
As I listened, my eyes narrowed slightly.
I was staring at the ceiling.
"—And," I said softly,
"What happens when it runs out?"
A flicker of hesitation appeared in Asogi's eyes.
As if an invisible question mark had drawn itself between his brows.
"I don't know, Father," he said finally.
"But if I don't push my body to change too much… I think I could go for two weeks without sleeping or eating.
But what happens after that… I really don't know."
Ravien took a deep breath after hearing Asogi's words.
"I want to ask more," he murmured, "but… the sleep is creeping in. I need to rest until my capacity recovers."
He leaned back in the chair, letting his head fall back as his eyelids slowly lowered.
Relaxation was just a breath away.
A quiet silence settled.
Asogi looked like he wanted to speak, but when Ravien's breathing became steady, he fell silent.
He turned his gaze to his father.
Ravien was already asleep.
His breathing was slow, rhythmic.
His face was calm—expressionless, but not tense.
He was inside the sleep now.
Asogi didn't move for several minutes, simply watching.
Then a small movement began within him.
It started in his neck—a subtle tension.
Then it spread to his shoulders, and from there to his back.
It wasn't like muscle movement.
It was deeper, something different.
Something was shifting inside.
His skin paled. His shoulders rose. The vertebrae along his spine shifted.
A dry, brittle sound came from within.
His hair began to darken and grow from the roots.
It was irregular.
Strands fell across his shoulders, some stuck to his back.
The shape of the hair now resembled Ravien's.
His face began to change.
The structure of his jaw shifted back and forth.
His cheekbones widened, then narrowed.
One of his eyes slipped lower, then corrected itself shortly after.
His nose and lips morphed continuously.
His arms lengthened.
His fingers cracked. Curled, stretched.
His nails thickened and grew, then retracted.
None of it was quite in place.
The skin on his back moved.
When it swelled, it looked like he was breathing.
Ravien's expression appeared on his face for a brief second.
Then it vanished.
What remained was a familiar, but incomplete face.
Eventually, the transformation stopped.
His breath steadied.
Now, he looked a lot like Ravien.
But not exactly.
There were subtle, nearly invisible differences—in his face, his posture, his gaze.
He didn't look in a mirror.
But it was as if he already knew how he appeared.
He spoke to himself:
"I look more like Father now…
But he… he has to be unique.
That's why I can't make myself a copy of him."
Slowly, he turned back toward the chair.
Ravien was still asleep.
There was a tired but peaceful look on his face.
Asogi took a few steps back.
He leaned against the wall.
His body was still shifting slightly in places—but it was gentler now.
And without looking away,
He continued to watch.