Mother's Love

Klaus smiled at the children, then continued walking through the lab. Like the last one, this place, too, had been filled with both humans and animals. It was quite deviant of Amelia to conduct such experiments.

"Again, huh? Dead, dead, and dead... How many failed experiments... Hmm... At least here, a few are alive."

He sighed and opened the tubes—but this time, he wasn't greeted by silent, frail children.

He was greeted by beasts.

Klaus watched as figures began closing the distance. Not just people... but animals, too. He didn't know what had caused such extreme mutations or what had driven them mad.

The humans had longer limbs, some with four or five eyes instead of the usual two. Their visages were hideous and beastlike.

To put it simply—they were mutated.

Meanwhile, the animals consisted of wolves, pigs, and monkeys.

The wolves were far more ferocious than their natural counterparts. They stood over two meters tall, some covered in fur as tough as steel, while others were hairless, with bulging veins and acid dripping from their gaping maws.

The monkeys were roughly the size of full-grown gorillas, but with razor-sharp claws and stingers in place of tails. Though they resembled monkeys in form, their bodies were sheathed in a chitinous exoskeleton, making them both bizarre and horrifying to behold.

The pigs, however, were perhaps the most disturbing of all. As large as the wolves, they had predator-like fangs, their bones visibly fused with raw, skinless flesh. No hide. No cover. Just meat and bone, grotesquely exposed.

Klaus stared at the pigs for a moment, then willed space itself to collapse where one of them stood. A vacuum formed, swallowing the creature whole. When the universe rebalanced and the void closed, all that remained was a splattered chunk of flesh.

The moment the other pigs saw it, they paused—then, rather than attacking Klaus, they turned on their fallen kin and began to devour it. The sight made Klaus's smile grow faintly wider, his fascination deepening.

Shaking his head, he manipulated the geometry of space to hold them in place—frozen mid-motion.

They were merely Awakened beasts. They didn't even have the instincts to avoid the regions of space he was actively manipulating.

Of course, Klaus wasn't yet powerful enough to control space all around him with perfect precision. He could influence it, yes—but his current essence output wasn't sufficient to govern the movement of countless objects in full three-dimensional space.

Staring at the frozen beasts and deformed humans, Klaus lingered for a moment, then sighed as the sharp crack of snapping bones echoed through the sterile air.

The creatures still stood upright, as if nothing had happened. But in truth, they were already dead—their necks broken in a single, precise moment. The only reason their bodies hadn't collapsed was because Klaus continued to hold them suspended in space.

He was about to release them… then hesitated.

His eyes flicked back to the children.

Now this was problematic.

Will they realize I killed them?

Maybe not. Maybe they wouldn't even care—they had likely seen more death than any child should. Still…

Eh, whatever. It's not like I'm wasting much essence keeping a bunch of corpses floating in place.

Smiling at them, Klaus continued walking, still holding their hands. The children glanced at the beasts curiously, though the slight widening of their eyes gave them away. It was clear they knew the creatures were dead—but surprisingly, they didn't seem too panicked about it.

Klaus let out a quiet sigh of relief. The last thing he wanted right now was to deal with crying kids.

As he mulled over the thought, the boy suddenly darted off on his own. Klaus blinked, caught off guard, and glanced at the girl. She followed after him, though at a calmer pace. More composed, maybe? He wasn't sure. She could've just been more awkward… or simply indifferent.

Klaus followed them with a shrug, wondering where they were headed. Just in case, he activated his Divine Eyes to scan the direction they ran in.

What a...

What he saw made his eyes widen in disbelief. In an instant, he appeared near the creature. Almost at the same moment, the boy arrived as well, followed closely by the girl.

A beast? No...

Klaus glanced between the children and the creature—no, it was clearly a wolf. Was it corrupted too? The awakened beasts he had killed earlier were all corrupted but this one… it wasn't.

How curious.

Then why was it leaking essence?

"Don't tell me... Was that stupid experiment actually a success? Seriously? The odds of that working were like one in ten million... And I'm looking at that one in ten million right now? Bloody hell... A Noble Creature?"

A real, living Noble Creature—artificially created?

No... maybe not. Animals can ascend just like people. It's just that the War God's realm isn't suitable for ascension. The creatures living there couldn't ascend, not because they lacked the potential, but because the realm itself limited them—even now, with the gates open and corrupted beasts pouring in like a tide...

But what if you poured essence directly into an animal's soul? Let them form a soul core... let them devour soul shards and absorb the essence?

There's no guarantee it would work. Just a slim chance.

And now… I'm staring at that chance.

But while that fact alone was amazing, Klaus was focused on something else entirely.

The wolf had thick, black fur—sleek and lustrous like silk. And she was clearly a she, a female with bright, intelligent blue eyes. She was even larger than the corrupted wolves he had killed earlier—easily the size of Van—and just as fierce, even as she lay slumped against the wall.

But what caught his attention next made his expression darken.

She was pregnant.

And from the looks of it, she wouldn't survive much longer. Her body was covered in deep cuts and bruises, signs of injuries inflicted by weapons—whips, clubs, maybe more. There were puncture marks too, suggesting sedatives and tranquilizers had been used. Likely to keep her docile. Keep her from resisting. Keep her from protecting.

Klaus glanced at the children. They were sitting beside the wounded wolf without fear, silently watching over her.

The wolf didn't even try to fight him. Not because she couldn't—though she was clearly too weak—but because she wouldn't. She knew that resisting would only put her unborn cubs at risk.

And in that choice, Klaus saw something both tragic and... strangely beautiful.

Smiling softly, Klaus ran his fingers through the wolf's thick fur, his touch gentle. He spoke to the children, even though he doubted they'd reply.

"Do you know her?" he asked quietly. "My mom loved wolves too... And my teacher—he was quite literally a wolf. A very big one, made of light. Mischievous, a trickster… always playing games."

The children didn't respond. They simply sat beside the wolf, stroking her fur just like Klaus.

Well, he expected as much.

Sighing, he leaned back for a moment—then cursed bitterly. In his hands, sparks danced and took shape, forming a delicate white sword—thin and clear, like a shard of mirrored glass.

That finally got a reaction from the children. Their eyes widened in fear as they rushed to shield the wolf with their small bodies.

Klaus stared at them blankly, a bitter thought crossing his mind. Why do these kids think they can stop me...? He clenched his jaw. Bloody hell... It's not like I want to do this...

"Listen," he said quietly, "if I don't do this, she'll die for nothing. There would be no meaning to her death. Life and death are meaningless on their own—it's us who give them meaning."

He paused, voice tightening. "She's in unrecoverable distress. Labor's stopped…"

His strained smile faltered as the boy's eyes filled with tears. Klaus gently pushed them aside.

"I can still feel movement in her womb. So... close your eyes."

He took a deep breath. There was no guarantee the wolf or her cubs would survive. It was all up to luck.

Just when I need Isaac... he thought bitterly. That bastard could twist misfortune into fortune. But no use thinking about it now.

Klaus gave the wolf a nod—even if he didn't know whether she understood him or not—then lowered himself, Leviathan gleaming in his hand.

Just as he was about to begin, a flicker of movement caught his senses from behind. At first, he was ready to ignore it, thinking it was nothing… but then he felt it. The same essence signature the boy had leaked earlier. His head snapped around.

A bolt of white light was already hurtling toward him.

In a flash, Klaus folded the space around himself, layering it like a shield. The air cracked with thunder as the bolt struck. Electricity sparked across his field, lighting the room in a harsh glow.

"What are you, Thor now?" Klaus muttered, brushing off the last sparks with a grimace. "You're missing a hammer, kiddo."

He sighed, raising a hand. "Well, sorry... but it's time to sleep."

With a flick of his fingers, he activated [Is & Is Not], weaving illusion and truth until they were indistinguishable. The children dropped to the ground, eyes wide and dazed, their minds slipping into the reality Klaus offered.

They reached out with trembling hands, petting empty air—soft murmurs escaping their lips as if the wolf were still there.

Klaus stood frozen for a moment, something heavy settling in his chest.

Isn't this the point of this ability? he thought. Reality gave them nothing but cruelty. The least I can offer… is a beautiful lie.

"Let's start now..."

He muttered, and began.

With steady hands, Klaus made a careful incision down the middle of the abdomen, the blade gliding with deliberate slowness. He was precise—never cutting too deep.

The wolf growled, her blue eyes wide, fixed on him. Klaus continued stroking her fur gently, a silent reassurance, even as he worked.

Layer by layer, he went through skin, fat, and muscle until he reached the uterus. His focus was unshakable—he didn't check if the wolf was still alive, not really. That wasn't the priority now.

He opened the uterus slowly, revealing fluid-filled sacs nestled within, each holding a tiny life.

With utmost care, he removed the cubs one by one, breaking the sacs and clearing the amniotic fluid from their noses and mouths. His hands were soaked in the warm, viscous fluid.

To most, it would be revolting. But Klaus had long since grown numb to what others called "disgusting." This was just another necessity.

He stared at the cubs. There were only three… but only one had survived.

A boy, huh?

Klaus quickly grabbed a cloth and began rubbing the tiny creature vigorously to stimulate its lungs. Then, with a thought, he willed Leviathan to ignite with a gentle, steady flame—just enough warmth to keep the newborn alive. Hypothermia could kill something this small in seconds.

Sweat trickled down his forehead. He wasn't a veterinarian. Not even close. He wasn't experienced in this sort of thing either. All he could do was thank the [Wisdom of Uriel]. That attribute filled his mind with endless, often useless information—until moments like this, when "useless" suddenly became invaluable.

With a breath, he let his consciousness slip into his mental space—a vast, seemingly infinite library built from memory, knowledge, and experience, carefully organized over time with Miseria's help.

He willed the knowledge he had accessed back to its rightful place. Order must be maintained even in place full of chaos.

Order and chaos... My aspect legacy...

He opened his eyes — back to reality — and stared at the wolf.

Her eyes were almost closed now, but her gaze wasn't on him anymore. It lingered on the cub.

Her breathing was ragged, shallow, exhausted. She would die in a few minutes. The only thing keeping her alive was the fact that she was an Awakened Tyrant... It was bizarre to see such a creature here, in the realm of war — but it existed.

He sighed.

At that moment, he noticed something. The children were no longer under illusion.

Oh?

Yeah... I lost focus and released my ability.

Klaus blinked, fingers pressed against his temples.

The children sat in silence.

But they weren't calm — only pretending. Their eyes were raw, red from crying, and the traces of tears still clung like fading wounds.

Klaus lingered for a moment, then gently ruffled their heads.

"It's fine... Don't cry about it. It's just how life is."

He paused, watching them in silence. Then he glanced at the wolf.

She was calm, even relieved — one of her children had lived.

But as her eyes settled on the two who would never breathe, a tear slipped down from her eye, mourning the lives that never truly began.

Klaus grimaced, cradling the wolf's head. Then he looked into her eyes — amethyst met blue.

He took a deep breath and tightened his grip around her neck, pausing, searching her face for something. Anything beyond sorrow and resignation.

But there was nothing left now — not even grief.

Only acceptance.

She was no mindless beast — but an Awakened Tyrant, noble and wise.

Untouched by corruption, graced by the flame of desire.

Gritting his teeth, Klaus shut his eyes.

Then — the sharp snap of bone.

The wolf exhaled her final breath. Her gaze, half-lidded, turned dull and lifeless as she went still in his arms.

She looked almost peaceful now.

As if, at last, she'd found rest.

Not in life — but in death.

From the hell that had once been living.

Klaus watched the children in silence.

The indifference that once masked their faces had faded, replaced by something deeper.

Not joy. Not innocence.

But grief — raw and quiet.

And a kind of understanding far too old for their years.

"It's beautiful, isn't it? A mother's love... so unconditional, pure, and full of light... Go on, say goodbye."

Klaus whispered, then gently let go of the wolf, lowering her onto the cold ground. He stood up and stepped back, giving the children a moment with her. They clung to her fur, hugging her silently.

They weren't so young as to not understand.

Her belly was cut open.

Her death had been inevitable.

All Klaus had given her was a quick, painless end —

Mercy, not cruelty.

This is the mercy of shadows...

How is it that I understand death more deeply than the one who inherited the power of the Shadow God?

He stood behind them, watching the children cry in silence.

It was a bizarre sight — almost unreal.

A wolf the size of a van, savage in appearance and terrifying to behold…

Yet there she lay, wrapped in the arms of children who clung to her as if she'd been the kindest soul they had ever known.

Perhaps, in this cold and forgotten place, the only kindness those children had ever known didn't come from man.

It came from a beast.

And that says everything.

"A beast can never be as cruel as a human being... not so artistically, not so picturesquely cruel."

He muttered coldly, his eyes glowing with that same disturbing, hollow light — pure amethyst, dead and clear.