I flexed my fingers.
Something moved under the skin. Black tendrils, squirming with hunger. They had a mind of their own and that mind was thinking about violence.
...Huh.
The stab wounds? Were gone. The blood that had pooled beneath me like a sad little lake of failure? Was reabsorbed, every single drop slurped back into my body. My new body said "waste not, want not" and meant that shit personally.
I stood up.
The cage that had held Marcus…held me now, I guess, it creaked as I pushed against the bars. They bent like aluminum foil. I snickered at the cheap ass craftsmanship, the headmaster really skimped on the prisoner containment budget.
I looked down at my limbs and did a mental check.
Legs? Functional. Arms? Functional. Overwhelming sense of power coursing through every fiber of my being as if I'd just chugged seventeen energy drinks and absorbed a god? Check.
This was an entirely new feeling.
My old body had been athelitic, dare I say at the peak of human fitness, but it was like comparing a reliable Honda Civic that got me from point A to point B without complaints.To this, a goddamn fighter jet wrapped in the skin of a malnourished fifteen-year-old.
…
While I was busy glazing myself.
The goons were staring. The phone guy's device hung limp in his hand, screen still glowing, completely forgotten. His face had gone through all five stages of grief and landed somewhere between "denial" and "oh fuck." He looked like he'd witnessed Sukuna get folded by a kindergartener, his entire worldview had just shattered.
Knife guy had stopped mid-wipe, blade frozen against his already bloody rag. His brain was buffering harder than Jogo trying to comprehend why he wasn't the strongest. You could practically see the spinning wheel of death behind his eyes.
"You were dead," Phone guy finally managed. His voice cracked on the last word. "I checked, you had no pulse, why aren't you fucking dead!" he pointed a stun gun at me.
I tilted my neck. Crack. Then the other side. Crack.
God, that felt good. It felt like I was popping bubble wrap, but the bubble wrap was my spine.
"And Gojo was sealed forever," I said, rolling my shoulders. "Shit changes."
Confusion filled their faces, they didn't get the reference. Uncultured swines.
They probably never watched a single anime in their pathetic lives and here they were, working for a trafficking ring that groomed children for auction, and they couldn't even be bothered to consume quality media.
Disgusting on multiple levels.
The fear in their eyes though? Chef's kiss. That primal, gut-deep terror of prey realizing they'd been standing next to a predator this whole time. They had no idea what they were looking at. But neither did I, honestly. I wasn't too familiar with the prototype games and the Blacklight virus didn't exactly come with a how to guide.
But oh well, I would figure it out eventually.
Unlike these two frauds, I was built different. I'd figure it out, probably through violence and trial and error.
Heavy emphasis on the error being theirs.
I took a step forward.
They took a step back.
Good instincts, but terrible execution.
The thing about running is you need to turn around first. And the thing about turning around is you need time to do it. And the thing about time?
I wasn't planning on giving them any.
The tendrils beneath my skin pulsed in agreement. It was ready to say hello in the most violent way possible.
But first a quick snack.
My hand shot out toward the metal cage beside me. The moment my fingers made contact, the Blacklight virus started doing its thing. The iron bars didn't bend or break they dissolved and were absorbed into my palm.
Oh, that's cool. That's very cool.
My arm rippled and reformed.
Where there had been a malnourished teenager's limb, there was now a blade, sleek and black ready to harvest some organs.
Heh.
The Phone guy's eyes went wide at the sight . His mouth opened probably to scream or beg and possibly to ask what the actual fuck was happening.
He didn't get the chance.
I hurled myself at him.
One moment I was by the cage, the next I was in front of him, my blade arm buried elbow deep in his chest.
The Blacklight virus really said "built different" and meant it.
Phone guy looked down at the arm piercing his torso. Then back up at me. His expression was funny it was confused and betrayed as if I owed him something.
"Nothing personal," I said, but that was a lie. It was extremely personal. "Actually, scratch that it is personal."
I consumed him.
I ate him on a cellular level. The tendrils erupted from my arm, burrowing into his flesh, breaking him down into raw biomass and memories and everything that had ever made him him.
It took about three seconds.
Where phone guy had stood, there was now nothing. Not even a stain just me standing there, slightly taller and stronger as well as full of memories that weren't mine.
His name was Hideki. Thirty-four years old, he had gambling debts and two kids he never visited. Exposed to this line of work by his bummy cousin.
Pathetic backstory, I give it a 4/10.
I turned to knife guy.
He'd dropped his blade which wasn't gonna earn any mercy from me, soon after a puddle fored underneath him, apparently he had also pissed himself.
Heh. Loser.
"Your turn," I said, and smiled with too many teeth. "But don't worry. I'll take my time with you."
After all, I had a promise to keep.
Marcus wanted them to suffer.
And I was nothing if not a man of my word.
…
Knife guy, Hideki's memories told me his name was Ren he stumbled backwards, his legs giving out beneath him. He hit the concrete hard, scrambling away on his ass
similar to a crab.
"W-wait," he stammered. "Wait, please, I was just following orders-"
Ah. The Nuremberg defense, a classic.
"Funny," I said, taking a slow step forward. "That's what most of them said."
My blade arm rippled, reforming back into something resembling a normal limb. I couldn't have him dying too fast, that would defeat the purpose.
Besides, Marcus's memories were loud right now. Screaming, actually. Every cut this man had inflicted and every moment of agony he'd caused with that serrated knife, I felt it. The pain was bouncing around in my skull, demanding acknowledgment.
Demanding reciprocity.
"You know," I said, crouching down to his level, "I inherited some memories when I woke up in this body. Kid named Marcus. You might remember him, you spent about an hour carving into him like he was Christmas ham."
Ren's face went pale. Paler than it already was, which was impressive.
"I-I didn't want to..the headmaster made me!"
"The headmaster made you." I tilted my head. "Did the headmaster also make you check your phone between cuts? Did he make you yawn while a child begged for his life?"
Silence.
"Yeah," I said. "That's what I thought."
I picked up his fallen knife and examined it, still bloody and warm.
"Here's the thing, Ren." I tested the edge against my thumb."I'm new to this whole 'eldritch virus' thing. You know? figuring out the bells and whistles. But I'm pretty sure I can keep you alive for a very long time while I experiment."
His bladder had already emptied, but somehow he found more, impressive hydration my little Ren. I think it deserved a praise and and a prize.
"P-please"
"Marcus said please too." I smiled. "Didn't help him much, did it?"
I won't bore you with the details.
Okay, that's a lie. I'll bore you with some details.
The Blacklight virus, as it turned out, had some fascinating applications. I could extend tendrils into his body without killing him, threading through muscle and nerve like the world's worst acupuncture session. I could even keep him conscious when his body desperately wanted to pass out. I could regenerate the parts I damaged, just so I could damage them again.
Ren screamed a lot, begged a lot, offered me money, information, his firstborn child.
I declined all three.
By the end, he wasn't really Ren anymore. Just a collection of trauma responses wrapped in meat, twitching every time I moved. That last part gave me happiness.
Then I consumed him too.
His memories were somehow even more pathetic than Hideki's. He was a deadbeat dad, dropped out of high school, and fell into the yakuza adjacent life because he thought it would make him cool.
It did not make him cool.
2/10 backstory, would not recommend.
…
I stood in the basement, two men heavier, biomass-wise and significantly more informed. Their memories painted a picture I didn't like.
The orphanage wasn't a standalone operation. It was one of many, connected to a network that spanned the country. Children filtered through, sorted by "value," and shipped to buyers who paid premium prices for... specific qualities.
And at the center of this particular web, sitting in his office like a bloated spider?
The headmaster.
And at the center of this particular web, sitting in his office like a bloated spider?
The headmaster.
The sick fuck dreamed of retirement. A comfortable life funded by the flesh he'd sold, the children he'd broken, the innocence he'd devoured. He probably had a villa picked out somewhere warm, maybe a beach house, sipping cocktails while his "products" rotted in basements across the country.
Cute dream, wrong timeline.
A laugh escaped melow at first, then building, echoing through the basement cavity and bouncing off the walls. The caged children flinched at the sound. Couldn't blame them. It wasn't exactly a sane laugh.
Don't worry, old man. I'll make sure you retire tonight.
Permanently.
I rolled my shoulders, felt the biomass settle into place, and looked toward the tunnel he'd disappeared into.
The headmaster wanted to play farmer? Wanted to raise little lambs for slaughter?
Congratulations.
He'd finally raised something that bites back.
Time to pay the old man a visit.