Chapter 7 — The Anchor
The next week?
It wasn't training.
It was execution.
Cynthia did not spar.
She dismantled him.
Heads torn clean off his shoulders.
Arms ripped from sockets.
Spine shattered.
Chest caved in.
Over.
And over.
And over again.
And every single time—
He regenerated.
Not seconds.
Not moments.
Instant.
Flesh weaving like liquid silver. Bone snapping back into place with a wet crack. Nerves reconnecting before pain could even settle.
And the terrifying part?
His regeneration was accelerating.
The Doctor confirmed it three days in.
"It's adapting. The more lethal the damage, the faster the response."
Commander said nothing.
Vice looked pale.
Cynthia just smiled.
Because he wasn't fighting back.
He was ordered not to.
"Endurance. Adaptation. Threshold expansion," Cynthia had stated flatly.
So she kept killing him.
And he kept coming back.
---
But that wasn't the worst part.
On day six—
He opened it.
The Third Eye.
Not accidentally.
Not triggered by stress.
He opened it willingly.
Five seconds.
Five.
The entire training chamber warped. Gravity distorted. Air pressure spiked. Cynthia—Cynthia—took one step back.
Five seconds felt like five eternities.
When it closed, he just blinked.
"Is that good?" he asked casually, wiping blood from his face.
Cynthia stared.
"…You're learning too fast."
---
The way they fought was strange.
She attacked with controlled brutality.
He talked.
Calm.
Detached.
Almost… curious.
"You're angry," he said once as she drove her fist through his ribcage.
"Don't analyze me."
"You vent when you're frustrated."
She decapitated him.
He regenerated mid-sentence.
"…You prefer controlled violence."
For the first time—
She hesitated.
He was not just adapting physically.
He was observing.
Learning.
Becoming.
---
Meanwhile—
Reina.
Late nights in the observation room turned into quiet conversations.
She would sit beside him in the dim light.
Sometimes she hugged him.
At first he froze.
Then… he allowed it.
One night he spoke softly.
"I feel hollow."
She tightened her grip.
"It's like my chest knows something should be there. But I can't… process it."
"…You mean emotions?"
He nodded slowly.
"You care for me. I know that logically. But I can't feel why."
Her heart cracked.
"Then I'll stay," she whispered. "Until you can."
He looked at her for a long time.
"…Why?"
"Because you're still you."
He didn't understand that answer.
But he didn't pull away.
---
Reina later reported this to Commander, Vice, and the Doctor.
They sighed.
Not out of annoyance.
Out of fear.
"She may be the only anchor stabilizing him," the Doctor said.
"If he loses emotional grounding," Vice muttered, "what exactly are we containing?"
Commander closed her eyes briefly.
"Continue."
That was the only order.
---
Elsewhere.
Far.
Beyond Earth.
On a dying planet bathed in celestial fire—
Seraphiel stood over a fallen body.
An angel.
Female.
Humanoid.
Rank 1.
Dead.
Its halo shattered.
Its wings torn.
Seraphiel wiped divine blood from her blade.
Cold.
Possessive.
"He is mine," she whispered.
Another female presence near her prince was unacceptable.
The cosmos trembled softly.
She looked toward Earth.
Toward him.
"My Prince… I will remove all threats."
And somewhere—
Without knowing why—
Kazuo felt a faint chill.
The end.....