His body moved like it had done this a thousand times. Effortless. Precise. As if the woman's skin beneath him was a landscape he'd memorized blindfolded.
Soft moans. Scratches. Whispers too quiet to tell—flirting or warning?
She laughed gently, a mix of shyness and intoxication. Drunk on feeling. Drunk on him. Drunk on herself.
And the man only smiled. Not wide. Not warm. He looked, for a second, like a lover. Then, for another, like a demon. Depending on where the light hit his face.
"Mm… you're good at this," she whispered, breathless.
He didn't answer. He dipped lower, kissing her neck like he was memorizing her pulse. Not out of affection. Not out of desire. But because... he wanted to know when that pulse would stop.
His hand swept gently along her spine. Then paused at the base of her skull. Then tightened, fingers in her hair.
Too gentle to be rough. Too firm to be soft. "Oh…" She didn't notice. That in this moment, she was being recorded. Catalogued. Chewed slowly into his memory—not as a keepsake, but as a part. A piece. A seed.
Through the window, their reflection was blurred. Only silhouettes. But if you looked closely, the man's outline wasn't entirely human. Too narrow at the base. Too soft around the edges. And his eyes... were hollow.
Hollow like a mirror. Hollow like a crack.
"Tell me," he murmured into her ear, "do you believe in soulmates?" She giggled.
And he looked at their reflection in the glass.
It shimmered slightly. And behind the reflection—if only for a blink—two hands pressed from the inside.
He smiled. Not out of love. But because he was merging. Not with a body. But with a pattern. She would fall asleep after this. He would leave before morning.
As always. But tonight, he didn't just take her body. He left something behind. A fragment. A whisper.
The room fell silent again. The screen was dead. The slashes of red and the echo of torn flesh still hung in their heads, but no one dared to talk about it. Yet…
"Who was that?" one of the kids whispered, eyes wide like he'd just watched a horror film. "Was she… one of us?"
"If she is, I don't wanna be on her team," another muttered—half joking, half genuinely freaked out. "She just charged in like that. That's not a kid."
Kael leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, smile not quite relaxed. Not because he was shocked. But because he knew exactly who that was.
That was her? he had muttered earlier.
Now, his smile was the kind people wore when holding the most expensive secret in the room.
Solen noticed his expression from the side. "You know her?" Kael didn't answer. Just shrugged. And as usual…
The sound of glossy shoes echoed again. "Ugh, you're all so noisy. Like a bunch of market brats."
Lucienne stepped into the room like she'd been invited to be the center of attention.
Her pink hair flowed elegantly, her dress far too clean for a place like this. But what really grated was her tone—like she was sitting on a throne, not the grimy floor of a psychopath-riddled facility.
"If you didn't realize," she said, twirling a lock of hair, "that was obviously… a future elite."
"Elite force?" one kid repeated.
Lucienne nodded slowly, like a kindergarten teacher explaining shapes to a wall. "Anyone who can face off against… that kind of thing, and win? Clearly not trash like you."
Kael narrowed his eyes. "You talk like you're not one of us."
"I'm not." Lucienne gave a small smile and pointed at herself. "I'm above all this. You could call me… the future leader, maybe?"
"…Yeah, sure."
"…Tch."
"…What a clown."
Three kids replied at once. The rest just scoffed or glared at her like they were ready to throw a shoe. Lucienne didn't flinch. Not one bit. She just swung her legs like she was waiting for afternoon tea.
"I'm certain… when she finally steps into this room," she said, eyes drifting to the dark screen above, "everything will change. And all of you will be picked off, one by one."
Kael grinned. "If you're hoping she'll be your savior, you're gonna be disappointed." Lucienne turned to him, eyebrow raised. "Why?"
Kael replied in a near-whisper. "Because she likes to eat the self-righteous ones first." Silence—a soft giggle from the corner of the room. And luckily, the screen hadn't lit back up. Yet.
It took less than an hour after the screen went dark— and Lucienne already had two followers.
Not friends. Not teammates. Followers.
"I shall call you... Noir." Lucienne pointed at a tall, skinny boy with dull eyes and under-eye circles that looked like they'd been scorched by cigarette burns. He said nothing, just kept his head down. His right hand was tied behind his back—by his own doing. Said it helped him "not forget something."
Noir—definitely not his real name—never objected. He just… nodded. And stood precisely three steps behind Lucienne, always, like a doormat-shadow that couldn't peel itself away.
And the other one—
"Lumière!" Lucienne gently patted the head of a smaller boy—blond curls all messy, eyes pink and swollen like he'd cried too often to count.
He carried a small bag. What was inside? No one knew. But he clung to it like it was his lifeline. And he was always, always at Lucienne's side. Like a personal assistant.
Like a living doll.
"Lumière will bring me a blanket when I'm sleepy," Lucienne announced, "and Noir will guard the palace doors." She said it with the grace of someone who already owned a marble tower on a mountaintop.
Kael just watched from afar, one eyebrow raised, mouth half-open. "Does she know we're locked in a chicken coop, not a castle?"
Solen muttered beside him, "Pretty sure her brain got roasted when she was five."
Other kids had started paying attention too.
Some looked amused. Some... intrigued. The rest? Disgusted, but lowkey curious about how long this little empire would last before crumbling.
Noir—the so-called right hand—had eyes that didn't blink. Face that didn't twitch. But whenever Lucienne moved, he shifted too. Like he'd been trained. Like he literally couldn't not follow.
Someone flicked his shoulder. No reaction.
"Insane," Kael murmured, gulping down half-spoiled water from a cracked bottle.
"He's not a follower. He's a victim."
And Lumière? His breathing was too fast.
His eyes kept darting around like they were hunting for somewhere safe to hide. But his hand stayed locked in Lucienne's, like a doll scared of being chewed up by a dog.
Lucienne lifted her chin, smiling at all the kids now watching her.
"One by one, you'll understand. This world only has two kinds of people... those who kneel, and those who sit on the throne."
Kael scoffed. "Yeah. Until someone rips that throne out from under your royal ass."
Click.
The cage door creaked open, old iron dragging like broken teeth. Every kid turned their head.
And the one who entered... wasn't a staff member. Not an instructor. And definitely not a savior.
It was a child. A girl. Long black hair hanging down like a mop in a slaughterhouse. Soaked in blood. Barefoot, one shoe missing—lost somewhere in whatever hell she'd crawled out of. Her clothes were torn, shredded, like she'd been dragged by a starving beast—or worse, won against one.
But the scariest part? She was silent. Not in a mysterious way. Not because of trauma. Not out of fear.
Just... casual silence. Like she'd just gotten back from the bathroom. And the blood?Clearly not hers. Because the way she walked—Too steady. Too calm. Too... alive.
Kael pupils narrowing.
"Oh. So you're actually alive." Solen rose beside him, voice low. "That's her... the one from the screen?"
Rivea stopped in the dead center of the room. Every other kid fell quiet. The screen that had just shown a performance now felt like a prelude—and the actress? Had arrived. Blood-soaked. Scriptless.
Some children stepped back. One or two raised their hands on instinct—something primal in their gut saying: Don't go near her.
And Lucienne? Lucienne... smiled.
"How beautiful, darling," she cooed, her voice sweet and sharp like glass. She walked forward like a queen greeting her returning war hero. "Who would've thought such savagery could live in a body this small?
You must be... terribly lonely in there."
Rivea turned her head, slowly. Her eyes dull—like Lucienne wasn't even worth the effort of being annoyed.
Lucienne laughed softly, spinning once in front of her. "You don't have to be alone, you know? I could give you a place.
You could kneel beneath my throne. Let me protect you from all the monsters out there."
Kael slid over to Solen, grinning sideways. "How many seconds before she gets choked?"
Solen shrugged. "Three. Two…"
Lucienne never got to touch Rivea's shoulder. Because suddenly, her hand rose. Long, black claws extended from her fingers.
Dried blood dripped from cracks in the skin along her arm. And a slow, crunching sound echoed from her back—like bones cracking just to smile.
Lucienne froze. Still smiling, but her pupils shrank to pinpoints. Rivea leaned in—just a breath away. Her breath was warm, metallic.
Low. Flat. Corrosive. "I'm not the one who needs protection, fake princess."
"Oh my god..." Kael finally walked over. His steps were light, casual, but there was a strange flicker of emotion behind his grin.
"You're really alive? Like... for real-real?"
Rivea just glanced at him. "Were you hoping I'd end up canned meat?"
Kael laughed. Not because it was funny—because it relieved something. Solen stepped in too, looking just as relieved, though way less dramatic than Kael.
"I thought you got disqualified."
"So did I," Rivea murmured, nudging a bloodstain on the floor with her toe. "But I guess they like surprises."
Kael poked her shoulder with two fingers. "Did you know? They made us watch you. On a big-ass screen. Like a movie. So romantic, seriously."
Rivea just snorted. "Maybe I'd care if they served popcorn."
The mood started to shift. Whispers.
Glances. Taps on the floor—nervous habits kicking in. The girl who was supposedly disqualified… had returned. And not just returned—She came back smelling like corpses.
"Did she... kill that experiment creature?"
"Alone?"
"How much time did they even give her?"
Kael, still standing next to Rivea, answered loud and clear, "Two hours."
Someone muttered, "Two hours to kill that thing? Makes sense." Kael continued, a grin playing with awe and disbelief, "The thing is... she only needed five minutes."
"Five?"
"Seriously. She spent five minutes killing it. Then just sat in the corner waiting. Like she was bored."
"...shit."
Rivea rolled her neck. A quiet crack echoed from her spine. "It was too... talkative," she said flatly. "I hate the sound of crying."
Lucienne, from the far end of the room, jotted something down in a small notebook. Her eyes glittered with sweet, silent spite—But for now, she stayed quiet.
Ting.
A digital chime echoed from above. The screen flickered to life, red letters slowly carved across it like wounds on flesh:
NEXT INSTRUCTION:
SIMULATION 2 — GROUP FORMATION.
TOTAL PARTICIPANTS: 30.
FORMAT: 6 TEAMS. 5 MEMBERS EACH.
CHOOSE YOUR TEAM. CHOOSE YOUR LEADER.
TIME LIMIT: 10 MINUTES.
STRATEGIC ERRORS WILL BE PUNISHED. AND YES, WE PUNISH ERRORS.
Ting.
The screen went dark. Silence hung for two seconds. Then chaos.
"Join my team!"
"We'll make our own, I'm strong!"
"Who's gonna lead?"
"Don't team with her—she's insane!"
Kids moved fast. Aggressively. They weren't just choosing teammates—They were choosing who not to kill later.
Rivea looked at Kael. "You can still think straight after all that?" Kael grinned, hand already landing on Solen's shoulder.
"Of course, babe. The trio's back." He raised his hand, pointing to the two most important people in this mess.
"My team: Riv, Solen, me. The last two? We'll lure 'em in. If they're dumb, we drop 'em." Rivea laughed—low, cracked. "Finally... a game I actually like."
And in the corner of the room, behind the silent hum of hidden cameras—Someone was watching. Taking notes.
Three kids. Three beasts no one could ever tame.