The Second Memory (3)

The days in the facility blurred into weeks, then months, then years.

Veneri lost track of how long he had been there. Time was meaningless in the sterile, windowless hell he called home. The experiments were relentless, each one designed to push his body, his mind, and his immortality to their limits.

He stopped counting the number of times he "died." Instead, he focused on enduring, on surviving, on remembering Greshina's promise that this was all for a purpose.

_____

The experiments grew crueler over the decades as the scientists sought to uncover every secret his body held.

"How much can he regenerate after complete organ failure?"

"Let's see if partial neural dissection slows his recovery rate."

"What about simultaneous poison and asphyxiation? Can he process toxins faster than oxygen deprivation kills him?"

The lead scientist, the same woman who had overseen his torment since the beginning, seemed to relish each test. Her cold smile was the last thing he saw before every session began, and her detached notes were the first thing he heard when he awoke in the recovery chamber.

Over time, his body became a map of scars, some fading entirely while others left faint traces, reminders of wounds that should have killed him a thousand times over. The regeneration was rapid but never painless. He felt every cell knit back together, every nerve scream back to life.

But his suffering bore fruit. Well, to the world and not him.

Reports filtered into the facility of miraculous medical advancements derived from the research conducted on him. Diseases that had plagued humanity for centuries were eradicated.

Revolutionary treatments for cancer, degenerative disorders and even genetic defects were developed using the knowledge gleaned from his endless torment.

And yet, Vastarael was never told this directly. He overheard it in hushed conversations between the scientists.

"Another breakthrough with the tissue samples. Global distribution starts next month."

"They're calling it the Age of Renewal."

"Can you imagine? This facility is single-handedly saving the world. Well, him really."

He listened in silence, a hollow ache in his chest. He wasn't saving the world. He was just a tool they were using to do it. And yet, it gave him a sliver of solace to know his suffering wasn't entirely in vain.

'So this is why Greshina wanted me to stay for this long. I can't really blame her.'

The strange phenomenon Greshina had warned him about about spread across the globe. No one aged, neither physically nor mentally. Children remained children, the elderly stayed in their twilight years and adults like Greshina and the scientists around him remained frozen in their prime.

At first, the world celebrated.

Eternal youth was seen as a gift, a miracle. But as the years dragged on, the euphoria waned. Societies began to fracture, economies stagnated, and entire industries collapsed. The inability to grow, to change, or to evolve cast a shadow over humanity's future.

And then the dystopian society was born.

Greshina was the one leading the largest faction on Earth and... she didn't do much according to the conversations he heard. She was just a beacon of power.

But when she reacted to betrayals and conspiracies, she was so brutal that it made Veneri's torturer feel like a novice to her.

Vastarael could only imagine what the outside world had become. Here in the facility, life was stagnant too. The scientists grew more obsessive, their experiments increasingly desperate. They saw him not as a person but as a solution to the world's unnatural stasis.

By the time the sixtieth year arrived, Veneri no longer knew how old he was.

It could have been decades, centuries, or millennia as far as he was concerned. Day and night were irrelevant in this place and no one cared to tell him the date.

He sat in his recovery chamber, staring at the cold, white ceiling. His body ached from the latest round of tests but he barely noticed the pain anymore. It was just part of him now, as natural as breathing. He was srull as young as he was, I just seventeen years old because of his immortality.

Then, something changed.

The facility's alarms blared to life, a piercing sound that shook him from his daze. The lights flickered and for the first time in sixty years, he heard panic in the voices of the scientists.

"What's happening?"

"Are they here already?"

"We're under attack!"

Vastarael leaned forward, his heart pounding. Could it be? Had Greshina kept her promise?

The lead scientist stormed into his chamber, her usually composed demeanor shattered.

"Stay put," she snapped, her voice tight with fear. "We're handling it."

He smirked, leaning back against the cold metal wall.

"Handling it? Sounds like you're losing. Remember when we first met? I told you that the facility couldn't last."

Her glare was sharp enough to cut glass but she said nothing as she rushed out.

Moments later, the power went out completely. The room plunged into darkness, save for the dim emergency lights that cast eerie shadows across the sterile walls. Vastarael felt a strange calm settle over him.

He stood up, stretching his stiff limbs. The air was thick with tension but for the first time in decades, he felt something other than despair.

"They're here."

Sixty years of torment, of pain, of isolation, it was all about to end. One way or another, he would finally be free.

Vastarael sat in silence as the sounds of destruction echoed throughout the facility. The humming of plasm weapons crackled in the distance, followed by the deafening roar of explosions.

The screams of scientists pleading for mercy cut through the chaos but those cries were swiftly silenced, replaced by the mechanical march of soldiers tearing through the halls.

The ground beneath him shook violently and he leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. He wasn't sure how long it had been—hours, perhaps—since the attack began. The once-sterile environment around him was now filled with the reverberation of vengeance.

Hours later, the reinforced doors of his chamber burst open with a deafening crash, the steel crumpling inward as if struck by a titan's fist.

Smoke billowed into the room and through it, Vastarael saw figures emerge. Armed men clad in sleek, black armor bearing the insignia of Greshina Emberforge's empire. Their helmets were angular, their visors glowing with an eerie red light.

The leader of the squad, a tall man with a commanding presence, stepped forward. His voice was firm but respectful.

"Master Veneri?"

'Wait a second. Master? What the fuck?'

He stood slowly, his gaze sharp as he took them in.

"That's me. And you are?"

"We're under orders from Empress Emberforge to extract you immediately," the man said, lowering his weapon slightly. "You're to be brought to her at once."

Vastarael's expression softened with disbelief.

"She… actually did it?"

The soldier nodded.

"Yes, sir. The timeline has been restored, and the world will survive. She's waiting for you."

For a moment, relief washed over him. After sixty years of torment, the thought of freedom—and the knowledge that Greshina was alive and victorious—was almost too much to process. But that relief was short-lived as a darker emotion bubbled to the surface.

"Fine. I'll go. But first, I have one condition. I want every scientist in this facility captured. Every single one of them."

The squad leader hesitated, his helmet tilting slightly.

"Sir?"

"You heard me. Every person who touched me, who made me suffer, who turned me into a tool for their experiments, I want them alive. It's time for payback."

The room grew silent except for the distant rumble of combat outside. Finally, the captain sighed, lowering his weapon completely.

"Our leader anticipated this. She's already issued orders to detain all personnel in the facility. A separate chamber has been prepared for their… processing. But... the lady needs you."

"Oh. Well, lead the way."

The soldiers formed a protective formation around him as they led him out of the chamber. The white hallways were now a battlefield. Bodies of scientists and guards littered the floor, blood pooling beneath shattered equipment. The air smelled of burnt metal and ash and the walls were scorched from gunfire and explosions.

The men moved swiftly, their boots echoing against the metallic floors. As they walked, Vastarael caught glimpses of containment chambers like his own, their glass panels shattered. Subjects like him—some barely alive, others long dead—were either being freed or left behind.

He felt nothing for them. His empathy had been burned away long ago, leaving only a cold resolve for revenge.

"Sixty years," Vastarael muttered under his breath. "It's been sixty years of hell."

The captain glanced at him briefly.

"And it ends today, sir. Empress Emberforge made sure of that."

As they neared the exit, the sounds of battle grew quieter, replaced by the distant hum of an aircraft's engines. Vastarael could feel the cold night air seeping through the cracks in the facility's outer walls.

He glanced at the captain.

"Tell me one thing. Is she… really okay?"

The soldier gave a small nod.

"She's fine, sir. She kept her promise."

For the first time in decades, Vastarael felt a genuine smile tug at his lips.

"Then let's not keep her waiting."