Begin injection."
The command echoed through the lab.
Below the observation deck, the first girl lay strapped to a reinforced table. Tubes ran into her veins, machines humming softly around her.
A scientist lifted a vial—dark, metallic, glowing, almost alive.
Hiakitium.
He injected it.
For a moment…
Nothing.
Then—
Her body arched violently.
A wet, choking sound tore from her throat as blood suddenly forced its way out—her mouth, her nose, her eyes.
The monitors screamed.
Her veins darkened beneath her skin, spreading like cracks.
Then—
Silence.
Flatline.
No one spoke.
Above, the Savior watched. Cold and very unimpressed.
"Next."
The second girl was dragged in.
Smaller.
Shaking.
Eyes wide with terror.
"Proceed."
The needle went in.
Her body jerked instantly.
Violent tremors shook her frame, straps creaking under the force.
Her teeth clenched so hard a crack echoed faintly.
The monitors spiked—
Then stabilized.
The shaking slowed.
Then… stopped.
Silence.
The scientists froze.
"…Check response," the head scientist said, voice tight.
A subordinate approached cautiously, pulling out a syringe.
He drove it into her arm.
—or tried to.
Crack.
The needle bent.
No—
it didn't bend.
It shattered.
The scientist froze, staring at the broken metal in his hand.
Slowly… he looked up.
To the observation deck.
The Savior stood there, eyes fixed on the girl.
Then—
He smiled.
A small, controlled expression.
He gave a single nod.
"Continue."
Time blurred.
One after another.
Injection.
Screams.
Failure.
Death.
Occasionally—
Survival.
By the end of the day, the lab had gone quiet again.
Too quiet.
High above, the Savior stood before a large screen.
Seven feeds.
Seven rooms.
Seven girls.
Each one sitting.
Watching.
Alive.
Behind him, the head scientist stood, exhausted but unable to hide the tremor in his voice.
"…What do we call them?"
The Savior didn't answer immediately.
His eyes moved across the screens.
Seven survivors.
Out of twelve vials.
Out of tens of thousands.
"They are not burdened by emotion," he said at last. "They will remain pure… their entire lives."
A pause.
"Call them… Saints."
Silence filled the room.
Then—
A smile spread slowly across his face.
"After twenty-three years… and almost thirty thousand girls…"
His voice dropped, almost reverent.
"I finally have what I have always wanted."
He turned slightly.
"I am ahead now."
The scientist lowered his head.
"Yes, sir."
"Ensure nothing happens to them," the Savior continued. "Begin their training immediately."
His gaze returned to the screens.
"And make sure they understand… everything they are."
Then, without looking away, he spoke.
"The rest."
A scientist beside him straightened immediately. "Sir?"
The Savior's gaze didn't move.
"The remaining subjects."
A brief pause.
"…Do not waste them."
The scientist hesitated slightly. "Sir, without Hiakitium, the results will be—"
"Imperfect," the Savior finished calmly.
Silence.
He finally turned, his eyes cold and certain.
"Perfection is not required."
The scientist lowered his head.
"Understood."
The Savior began to walk slowly across the room.
"Use what remains of the formula. Strip it down if you must. Enhance their strength, their speed, their endurance."
He paused.
"Make them… twice what a normal human is."
The scientist nodded quickly, already thinking through the process.
"Yes, sir. That is achievable."
The Savior's expression didn't change.
"Do not pursue invulnerability," he continued. "Without Hiakitium, it is impossible."
"Yes, sir."
"Focus on durability. Stability. Obedience."
The word lingered.
"Understood."
The Savior stopped, turning slightly back toward the screens.
"They will not be special," he said. "They will not be rare."
His eyes shifted from one Saint to another.
"They will be many."
The scientist felt a slight chill.
"…An army."
A faint smile touched the Savior's lips.
"Yes."
He stepped closer to the main screen.
"An army strong enough to crush the weak… yet expendable enough to lose."
A pause.
"Deployable in numbers. Effective in small-scale operations. Invisible when necessary."
The scientist nodded, more confident now.
"We can produce them in the thousands over time."
"Good."
The Savior's voice dropped slightly.
"They will serve beneath the Saints."
His gaze hardened.
"They will obey without question."
A brief silence.
Then the scientist asked carefully,
"…What shall we call them, sir?"
The Savior didn't hesitate.
"Heralds."
The word settled heavily in the air.
"Messengers of power," he continued.
"The voice before judgment."
He turned back to the screens one last time.
"Let the world face them first…"
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"…before it ever sees a Saint."
5 Years later
The doors opened in silence.
The Savior stepped into the training wing, his presence alone enough to make every instructor straighten.
Behind him, the head scientist followed quietly, tablet in hand.
They said nothing.
They didn't need to.
The first room echoed with the sound of impact.
Bodies moved—fast, precise, controlled.
Two girls clashed in the center.
No wasted motion.
No hesitation.
A strike—blocked.
A counter—redirected.
A sweep—
One hit the ground hard.
Before she could recover, the other's hand stopped just short of her throat.
Stillness.
"Again," the instructor ordered.
They reset instantly.
The Savior watched, expression unchanged.
"Strength?" he asked.
"Two times baseline," the scientist replied.
"But more importantly—control."
A punch was thrown.
The air cracked.
Gunshots rang out in perfect rhythm.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Targets dropped one after another.
Headshots.
Center mass.
Moving targets.
A girl turned, firing without looking—
Hit.
Another reloaded mid-motion, never breaking her stance.
"Neural acceleration allows near-instant targeting," the scientist said. "They don't aim… they calculate."
A target was released behind one of them.
She fired before it fully rose.
Dead center.
A large room filled with screens and maps.
Simulations played out in real time.
Cities, Buildings, Movement patterns.
One girl stood before a digital battlefield, issuing commands.
"Divide into three units. Cut off escape routes. Pressure from the north."
Her voice was calm.
Cold.
Dots on the screen moved instantly.
Targets eliminated.
"Decision-making under pressure," the scientist explained. "No hesitation. No
emotional interference."
The Savior watched the screen clear.
Efficient.
Mirrors lined the walls.
Clothing racks filled the space.
The same girls—unrecognizable.
One walked like a civilian.
Another like a servant.
Another like someone afraid.
Posture. Expression. Breathing.
All controlled.
A girl looked into a mirror—
Then changed her entire demeanor in seconds.
From nothing…
To someone real.
Voices filled the room.
Different tones. Different accents.
A girl spoke fluently—
Then switched languages mid-sentence.
Again.
Again.
No pause.
"No need for translators," the scientist added. "They adapt quickly. Retention is near perfect."
One of them repeated a sentence after hearing it once.
Flawless.
A mannequin stood in the center.
Marked with precise points.
A girl stepped forward.
Tap.
The dummy's arm dropped.
Tap.
Leg collapsed.
Tap—
The head tilted unnaturally.
"Minimal force," the instructor said.
"Maximum effect."
The Savior's eyes lingered.
Efficiency over brutality.
The environment changed.
Cold.
Then heat.
Then darkness.
A girl moved through it all.
No hesitation.
She found water.
Built shelter.
Set traps.
Adapted.
"They can survive anywhere," the scientist said. "Urban or wild."
The girl didn't stop moving.
Didn't slow down.
A final room.
Quiet.
Precise.
A girl stitched a wound with steady hands.
Another reset a broken limb.
Another injected something—
Perfect dosage.
"They are not just weapons," the scientist said. "They sustain themselves. And each other."
The Savior watched in silence.
Final Moment
They stopped at the end of the corridor.
All the rooms behind them.
All the progress.
All the control.
"Do they understand what they are?" the Savior asked.
The scientist nodded.
"Yes, sir."
A pause.
"Good."
The Savior turned slightly, his voice calm but absolute.
"Then they are ready to serve."