Abnormality In Type-Moon: Madness Of Animeverse

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When he opened his eyes again, Roy found himself in a vast yet dark underground chamber, where shadows clung to every corner, casting an oppressive, eerie atmosphere.

His gaze swept across the room, taking in rows upon rows of massive glass tanks. Within each tank floated the form of a "person" being grown from nothing, each with almost identical features. Male or female, they were all strikingly similar, with snow-white hair and placid expressions, suspended in a green, translucent fluid that shimmered like some alien amniotic sac. Their eyes were shut, and they slumbered peacefully, oblivious to the occasional bubbles that rose around them.

Roy stood amongst these tanks, his face expressionless, silent.

Suddenly, the door to the chamber creaked open, and two young men entered, pacing among the tanks with the casual disdain of shoppers picking vegetables, eyes filled with disdain, disapproval, and indifference.

After a few minutes, they settled on one of the tanks, swiftly manipulating the controls to release the "person" within.

The figure slowly opened its eyes for the first time, staring out in confused wonder at the strange world around it, like a newborn seeing light. Without a word, the young men lifted him out and took him away.

The chamber fell silent again.

The others in the tanks continued to sleep, oblivious to everything happening outside.

Days passed.

The two youths returned to the chamber, selected another tank, and repeated the same process, carrying the figure out.

Time and again, the tanks emptied one by one, only to be refilled as new "people" emerged from nothing within days.

Then, one day.

In an unassuming tank tucked in a corner, a figure's brow suddenly twitched as if struggling against something, and then slowly opened his eyes.

Unlike the others, who were blank and unaware, this one's eyes showed a hint of something more—a trace of bewilderment, as if he were questioning why he was there.

Instinctively, he tried to move, thrashing against the confines of the tank, but his mouth only filled with the thick, translucent fluid.

The disturbance caught someone's attention. Moments later, the two young men rushed in, extracting him from the tank with a mixture of shock and curiosity.

As they spoke to one another in hushed voices, the figure tried to lift a hand, but he was far too weak. Even breathing felt like his lungs were on fire. His ears and eyes, as if not fully formed, struggled to make out any sounds or details.

After a short discussion, the men made up their minds and carried him towards the exit.

"No! You can't take him there!"

Roy watched from the sidelines, helpless. He wanted to intervene, to shout, to stop them. But his voice fell silent in the empty air, not even reaching his own ears.

It was as if he were a mere observer, forced to witness a past event play out like a hollow hologram, powerless to alter anything.

The scene shifted.

Before him now was an elderly man wrapped in bandages, clad in tattered armor.

"Ainzbern's homunculus technology is certainly remarkable," the old man mused aloud. "Every so often, one of them develops self-awareness while still in the 'womb.' These rare cases often carry unique gifts. Looks like he's one of them."

"Handle him with care; he's a valuable test subject."

The two youths nodded in understanding, transferring him to a laboratory.

From that moment on, he entered a living hell.

"Handle with care" did not mean any sort of kindness or respect. It merely meant preserving his body in peak condition. They made sure he was fed, prevented him from getting sick, and forced him to consume minimal sustenance, even when his underdeveloped stomach ached or he had no appetite. Refusal was not an option. And when he was deemed ready, he was strapped to a gurney and wheeled into the lab.

Roy's expression grew darker as he watched, a fierce malice gleaming in his eyes.

The experiments began with sensory tests.

They tested his sight, his hearing, his taste—and, of course, his pain.

Blades sliced into his skin, cutting through muscle and even piercing bone, just to ensure his nervous system functioned like a normal human's.

He screamed on the operating table, his cries falling on deaf ears, ignored by the researchers who observed him with sick delight.

Once they confirmed that his sensory responses were intact, they moved on to studying his anatomy. They probed his organs, compared his tissues to other homunculi and normal humans, and investigated the origins of his unique traits.

First, they stripped his skin, then sliced away his muscles, drilled into his bones, and, finally, carved into his organs. Each new experiment brought a fresh level of agony.

They had countless ways to keep him alive, ensuring he endured every moment of pain.

From the moment he left that chamber filled with tanks, he'd realized he was trapped in a nightmare. He pretended to be compliant, adopting a stoic demeanor, barely speaking, and following orders without question, hoping that, if he seemed like just another homunculus, they might ignore him.

But the day they cut through his flesh, shattering his bones, his restraint snapped.

"It hurts! Stop, please stop!"

"Don't hurt me anymore! I'm just like you, a person with feelings! Don't you have any conscience at all?!"

The researchers merely exchanged pleased smiles as he pleaded on the table.

Even his capacity for fear and suffering was intact.

Such an ideal subject deserved even more intensive testing.

"Conscience, you say?"

The armored old man approached him, his voice thick with scorn.

"No one has a stronger sense of duty than we do. We are on a sacred mission to save this world from itself. We will purge every curse and restore humanity to the peace it once knew. Our purpose is grand, noble!"

"In the pursuit of salvation, sacrifices must be made. You, too, will be a stepping stone toward saving the world! And that is an honor for you, one future generations will remember in their vague acknowledgments as 'benefiting from the experiments conducted on an unnamed homunculus.'"

"Consider yourself fortunate to be a subject of worth, unlike those who were discarded after only a few days of study."

The old man, aiming to intimidate him further, led him to the disposal pit.

There lay the bodies of countless homunculi, twisted and broken. Some still showed faint signs of life, weakly struggling despite the lack of aid or hope, abandoned as if already dead.

Among the remains lay real human children, some as young as four or five, lying silently in the pit, their breaths forever stilled.

He knelt down, paralyzed.

Even dying was not an option for him.

The magi could hypnotize him with ease, stripping him of all autonomy. Even the desire for death was beyond his reach, leaving him as little more than a puppet, kept alive only to suffer.

Thus began the days without end, an endless cycle of torment. Time became meaningless as he endured every agony inflicted upon him.

Finally, when the experiments hit a roadblock, the magi had new plans.

One day, he awoke in complete darkness, his face wrapped in bandages.

His eyes had been gouged out.

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