The room was too clean.
Too quiet.
It pissed people off after a while.
Five years of staring at the same white walls, the same glowing runes, the same thing sitting behind reinforced glass—
Yeah. It got to you.
"…He still hasn't reacted?"
A man rubbed his eyes, clearly running on fumes and bad decisions.
"Nope," another replied, flipping through a hovering report. "No response to pain, hunger, temperature—hell, I'm pretty sure you could stab him again and he wouldn't even blink."
"…We already did that."
"Yeah. Right."
A pause.
"…Still didn't blink."
Behind the glass, Azriah sat exactly where he always did.
Same posture.
Same empty stare.
Golden eyes that looked like they should mean something—
But didn't.
"…Creepy little bastard," someone muttered.
No one disagreed.
"Alright, focus," the senior researcher snapped. "Report."
A younger one straightened up.
"Right—so, we ran the tests again. Same result. He can't use mana."
"Not even a trickle?"
"Not a damn thing."
"…Divinity?"
"Nothing there either."
That got a few annoyed clicks of the tongue.
"Which makes zero fucking sense," someone said, leaning forward. "Have you seen his circuits?"
"Oh, we've seen them," another replied. "That shit's not normal."
The senior nodded.
"Not normal?" he scoffed lightly. "Try impossible."
He flicked his hand and a projection lit up.
"Those mana circuits are flawless. Not 'gifted.' Not 'rare.' I'm talking—never-seen-before, shouldn't-exist kind of flawless."
"…And he can't use any of it."
"Exactly."
Silence.
The bad kind.
"…So what the hell is he?" someone asked quietly.
The senior didn't hesitate.
"A container."
"…You mean a vessel?" the younger one asked.
"Call it whatever you want. Point is—there's nothing inside driving it."
Another researcher shifted uncomfortably.
"There's also the curse."
That word again.
Always that word.
"…Say it properly," the senior said.
The man swallowed.
"He's from Gehenna. That's not up for debate anymore. And whatever came with him… it's suppressing his ego."
"…Ego," someone repeated.
"Yeah. You know—basic shit. Sense of self. Will. Identity."
He gestured toward the glass.
"He doesn't have it."
"…Or it's locked?" someone added.
A pause.
"…Locked," the senior said. "But badly."
They looked at him.
"What do you mean 'badly'?"
"The seal that brought him here—it wasn't meant to break like that," he explained. "Something forced it open early."
Faint images flickered—chains, wings, broken runes.
"His body made it through," the senior continued.
"But the rest of him?"
A beat.
"…Didn't."
"…So he's basically a body with no driver," the younger one said.
"Yeah," someone muttered. "A very expensive, very dangerous corpse."
"…Then fix it," another researcher said suddenly.
The room went quiet.
The senior looked at him.
"That's exactly what we're going to do."
"…How?"
The answer came instantly.
"We give him one."
"…Give him what?"
"A soul."
That didn't sit right.
At all.
"…You mean like… a human soul?" someone asked.
The senior gave him a look.
"Do you seriously think a human soul would survive in that?"
He pointed at Azriah.
"…Fair point."
"No," the senior continued.
"If we're doing this, we do it properly."
A pause.
Then—
"We use a fallen god."
"…You've lost your damn mind."
"That's not just illegal—that's—"
"That's suicide."
"Yeah? Then leave," the senior snapped. "Because I'm not wasting another five years poking a corpse that won't even scream."
That shut them up.
He turned back to the glass.
"For five years, we've cut him open, burned him, drained him—"
The younger researcher flinched.
"And every single time…"
"…He heals," someone finished quietly.
"Yeah," the senior said. "He fucking heals."
Another voice spoke up, hesitant.
"…Not always cleanly."
Everyone went still.
"…The incident."
Yeah.
That one.
"Second year," someone muttered. "Heart study."
"We pushed too far," another added. "His heart stopped."
"…Three seconds."
"And then—"
"…Those things showed up."
The room felt colder just remembering it.
"Black hands," the younger one whispered. "Came out of nowhere…"
"Grabbed Helmin."
"And Vara."
"…And the rest."
"…Didn't even leave bodies."
Silence.
Thick. Ugly.
The senior exhaled slowly.
"When his body hits a certain limit… something answers."
"Defense mechanism?"
"…No."
A pause.
"…It's feeding."
Nobody liked that answer.
"…So if we screw this up," someone said carefully, "those things come back?"
The senior didn't sugarcoat it.
"Oh, they'll come back."
"…And you still want to go through with this?"
He smiled faintly.
A little too calm.
"Of course I do."
He looked at Azriah again.
"Because if this works…"
His voice dropped.
"…we're not just fixing him."
"We're making something that shouldn't exist."
Silence.
No one argued anymore.
Not because they agreed.
But because some part of them…
Wanted to see it.
Behind the glass, Azriah didn't move.
Didn't react.
Didn't breathe any differently.
But—
For the briefest second—
His finger twitched.
No one saw it.
And that was probably for the best.