CHAPTER 65 – THE DEPTHS OF BLOOD
The chamber reeked of iron and antiseptic, thick with the tang of life being drained. It was the smell of control and cruelty, sharp enough to sting the back of the throat. Tubes twisted across the room like a nest of serpents, piercing limbs, torsos, and torsos again, drawing crimson through veins threaded like living wires. Machines hummed faintly, pulsing in rhythm with the blood pumping ceaselessly through the network of tubes.
Leylin stepped closer, his boots silent against the polished metal floor, eyes sweeping the room with a predator's patience. Every line of machinery, every suspended figure, every subtle twitch of a tube spoke to him. Every pulse whispered a secret of the experiments, of the lives being consumed for something beyond comprehension.
At the center, suspended unnaturally in a lattice of wires and glass, was Elira. She was stretched taut across the apparatus, veins threaded into the tubes like a living symphony of extraction. Her chest rose and fell faintly, almost imperceptibly. Her face was pale, half-lidded eyes unfocused, hair damp and plastered to her forehead. Her body convulsed slightly with each pump of blood, each pulse of the machinery drawing more from her than she could possibly give. She didn't register his presence. Not yet.
The woman in crisp white approached with a clipboard, her steps measured, precise, surgical in their calmness. "Mr. Coronel," she said, voice even, almost clinical. "Finally. We've been waiting for you. Permission to proceed?"
Leylin's gaze never left the network of tubes. "Extraction?" His voice was soft, almost intimate, the kind of tone one might use when speaking to a sleeping child. It carried no urgency, no panic, only cold amusement.
"Yes," the woman said, misreading his silence as assent. "The boss..Crimson Six,has directed us to extract her vital blood and bone marrow from her spine and heart. The host will cease, but the vital components will be preserved. You may give the order to begin."
Leylin's eyes narrowed, sharp slits cutting through the haze of the chamber. He didn't respond. The woman smiled faintly, taking his silence as confirmation. She gestured to the attendants, who moved like a tide of white through the room, instruments ready, minds focused on efficiency.
Leylin took a slow step forward, measured. His voice, barely above a whisper, cut through the mechanical hum: "I'm sorry, little one. I'm sorry it reached you too."
The sound of six thuds echoed almost simultaneously. The secretary and five attendants collapsed, necks snapped back, dead before they understood what had happened. Leylin's hand brushed the pod gently, Gluttony Core pulsing faintly in his chest, like a satisfied predator savoring its kill.
"I'll come back for you," he murmured, voice steady, almost casual. "But for now… I have something urgent."
He moved down the corridor, every step precise, silent. The few guards that crossed his path never saw him coming. One by one, absorbed into Gluttony, their bodies nothing more than matter consumed. No fear, no chaos beyond the silence of inevitability. To Leylin, they were merely obstacles.
At the corridor's end, a door loomed, sealed by a bloodprint lock. No ordinary hand could open it. It required Crimson Six's personnel blood. Leylin smiled faintly, almost amused. From his pocket, he produced a golden key.. the same key retrieved long ago during the snake expedition.placing the key into the lock,he twisted... The lock yielded with a soft click.
Beyond the doors stretched the unthinkable. Hospital beds, rows upon rows, stretching into infinity. Pods suspended human figures in liquid, veins connected to tubes feeding them, draining them, controlling them. The rhythm of pumping blood filled the silence, almost musical, almost hypnotic.
And each one bore the unmistakable resemblance of Leylin himself. Hundreds, thousands, mirrored reflections of his own form, suspended in varying states of consciousness and extraction. The sheer scale of replication, of manipulation, made the stomach churn, even in him. Yet he remained calm, eyes narrowing, pupils sharp, measuring, calculating.
He stepped closer, careful. Each pod seemed to watch him, a mirror of potential and past selves, of the countless experiments he could never have imagined. The Gluttony Core thrummed in his chest, low and hungry, sensing the immensity of life and matter around him. A subtle growl rumbled, and Leylin's lips curved in a cold, amused smile.
"Interesting," he muttered, voice low, fatherly, almost gentle in its tone. "So many… yet none your fault." His hand brushed over one pod absentmindedly, as if reassuring it, though it was merely flesh and glass. The Core pulsed in response, absorbing subtle energy from the ambient life-force, yet restrained, as if it understood patience.
Leylin's gaze swept the horizon of pods again. The ones closer to the center seemed different. Vitality stronger. Energy traces unique. And at the very heart, he thought he could sense… something. Not a being, not yet. Just a pulse that made his blood thrum differently, his senses sharpen.
He paused for a moment, letting his eyes travel over each figure. The mechanical hum of tubes, the occasional hiss of a pump, the faint flicker of lights, all became a backdrop to the realization settling in his chest: Crimson Six had prepared more than an army of clones. She had prepared a reflection of him. Of all that he was, all that he could be. And it was… unnerving.
Yet he did not flinch. Did not step back. Did not falter. He adjusted his stance slightly, shoulders relaxed, as if observing children at play. "So meticulous," he said quietly, almost to himself, amusement threading through the cold edge of his voice. "So… confident."
Gluttony rumbled faintly, a vibration through his chest. Leylin's hand brushed lightly against his own ribs. "Patience," he said, the word carrying both amusement and command. "Not all of you will be eaten today."
And so ...he said
"Let's have a little feast now shall we"