The lab was cold.
Not just in temperature, but in presence. The kind of chill that clung to the walls, seeped into your bones, and whispered something awful behind every blinking light and hum of machinery. The walls were a sterile white, lined with blue panels that flickered under the artificial light—low, buzzing, sickly.
Liu Xian lay on a metal slab in the center of the room, strapped down by thick steel restraints at the wrists, ankles, and across his chest. He was unconscious, his face pale, jaw slack, black hair a messy curtain against his forehead. A faint beep came from the machine monitoring his vitals, and wires and tubes were stuck to his body—some leading to monitors, others sunk deep into his veins.
Three different scientists moved around him with practiced efficiency, wearing masks and lab coats too pristine to feel real. One, a tall, narrow-faced man with glasses perched at the edge of his nose, adjusted the clamp on Xian's arm and scribbled notes into his datapad.
"Blood oxygen levels holding. Mana fluctuation spikes again at random intervals," he muttered, mostly to himself.
"Begin neurological scan," a second scientist, a short woman with sharp eyes and tightly braided hair, said. She held a sleek device that looked like a hybrid of a headset and a halo. She set it over Liu Xian's head, and the machine began to whir to life.
The room filled with a low hum, then a glow of blue light as the scanner penetrated deep into the boy's brain. Images projected on a hovering screen beside them, showing pulses of mana surging in unnatural patterns.
"His neural pathways are almost… electric," she said. "The currents flowing through him—they're not just mana-infused. It's like his very cells generate energy."
"I'm not surprised. A human lightning rod," the third scientist, an older man with salt-and-pepper hair and eyes too hollow, sneered. "Just like the reports said. Uncontrolled and volatile. Dangerous."
The first scientist didn't respond. Instead, he moved over to a console, tapped a few buttons, and a long mechanical arm descended from the ceiling. At its end was a needle—thick, gleaming, and clearly designed for more than just blood extraction.
"We'll draw a core sample from the spinal fluid," he said.
"Wait," the woman frowned. "Isn't that—?"
"He won't feel it," the man interrupted. "He's unconscious."
"But it could cause irreparable damage—"
"Just do it," barked the third. "We have a window. And if what V79 said was true, we're sitting on a specimen more valuable than anything we've ever had in this lab."
The needle plunged into Liu Xian's lower back, a soft crunch as it pierced flesh and bone. Though unconscious, his body tensed violently, muscles contracting, a sharp, involuntary groan escaping his lips.
"Vitals spiking," the woman warned.
"Keep it steady—almost there."
The vial at the end of the machine began to fill with a shimmering fluid that sparked faintly. Mana-infused spinal matter. The sight of it made even the seasoned scientists pause.
"Incredible…"
Another machine powered up near his feet—this one analyzing the aura around his body. It scanned in bursts of color—flickering between angry reds, electric blues, and blinding white.
"His aura's fluctuating again. His subconscious is reacting."
"Keep him sedated."
"I already did, but the mana's pushing through the serum."
"Try the suppressor collar."
The third scientist stepped forward and snapped a thick metallic ring around Liu Xian's neck. It beeped, then hissed as it sealed.
For a few seconds, all the monitors around him flickered, then dimmed. His vitals leveled. The tension in his body eased. The room went eerily quiet, except for the slow, mechanical rhythm of the machines.
"Subject 46B," the first scientist murmured, watching Liu's face with almost clinical detachment. "We'll start the mana compatibility tests next."
Across the room, another machine hummed to life—this one loaded with volatile energy sources. Tubes of raw elemental mana: fire, wind, water, shadow. The goal was to expose him to each and observe the reaction, if any.
"He's not going to survive this," the woman whispered under her breath. "If he wakes up during—"
"He won't," the older man cut in coldly. "And if he does? We've got fifty more sedatives where that came from."
She didn't argue. Instead, she glanced at the boy, bound, vulnerable, twitching slightly in his restraints, and for just a second—one fleeting moment—there was pity in her eyes.
Then it vanished.
Because in this lab, pity was a liability.
They wheeled over the elemental tubes, connected wires to his chest, and loaded the first vial: fire mana.
"Begin with 0.1% infusion," said the man at the console.
The chamber filled with a faint red glow, and Liu Xian's body twitched again. A bead of sweat slid down his temple. His fingers curled, then uncurled.
The infusion continued.
And somewhere deep inside the boy, under layers of trauma, fear, and betrayal, something stirred.
Something not quite human.