Failed regeneration

Day 72.

Raven had started to believe he could endure everything.

That pain was merely a rough companion.

That regeneration made him immortal.

That suffering was a path to power.

But Level Space always had a way of mocking such beliefs.

And that mockery came in the form of laughter—echoing from a blood-soaked hallway that suddenly tore itself open behind the walls of Level 83.

Raven froze. That laugh… it was familiar.

Not a voice, but a trauma wrapped in sound.

He turned—and there he was.

A002N. The Scary Clown.

But different.

His costume soaked in blood.

His mask no longer shifting with emotion—just cracked.

He held something. Not a knife. Not a weapon.

A human head. Still alive. Laughing with him.

"Raven," he said, his voice low and heavy—like the final note of a funeral hymn.

"You thought… you could run from the stage?"

Raven readied himself. But his body… slow.

The once-rapid regeneration faltered. Flesh refused to close. Bones didn't align.

The Clown laughed.

"Funny! You thought that was a gift? No, Raven. It's a curse. And now—it's time to pay!"

He lunged.

One second later, Raven was flung across the room, his abdomen split wide open. His insides sprawled across the floor.

"AAARGHHH—!"

Raven screamed, a sound he himself didn't recognize.

His body tried to heal. It failed.

His blood turned black. The symbol on his arm dimmed.

Regeneration… stalled.

The Clown crawled toward him like a spider, his face melting into sludge.

"Listen closely, Raven. You think you're strong? You think you can survive? I don't want you dead. I want you to explode from the inside."

A knife burst from the Clown's spine.

Raven howled—

It pierced organs already shredded, stabbed nerves not yet grown. He rolled, tried to escape—but his fingers were twisted and broken.

The Clown grabbed his face.

"Come on, kid. Laugh with me—OR I'LL RIP OUT YOUR VOICE!"

And Raven laughed.

But it wasn't joy.

It was broken. A sound born from a soul collapsing.

Day Two of Torture Began.

The Clown hung Raven upside-down,

drove needles into his spine,

pumped freezing liquid in—then scalding heat. Over and over.

Each time Raven died, he was shocked back to life.

But his body was never whole again.

Regeneration failed to restore the skin on his face.

His teeth never grew back.

His vision began to fade.

And in his head… voices began to whisper.

"Why are you still alive?"

"This is your fault."

"Everything is your fault."

"You're not Raven."

Day Three.

Raven screamed.

"STOP! I… I… I…"

He couldn't finish.

He had forgotten who he was.

The Clown crouched beside him, staring.

"What was that? Who are you? Tell me. I'm curious."

Raven just stared at the floor, eyes hollow.

Then whispered:

"I… am no one…"

The Clown smiled.

"Good. Now you understand your role in this story."

Day Four.

The Clown began erasing Raven's identity—literally.

He tore off each fingernail.

Burned the name Raven from his clothes.

New wounds no longer triggered regeneration.

Even pain… was now too vast for tears.

Raven bit his own tongue—but didn't die.

He stabbed himself in the chest—but could not escape life.

The Clown pressed his face to Raven's ear.

"You know, the first time I saw you… I saw possibility.

But now…"

He grinned.

"You're just… a broken thing."

But as the Clown raised his blade for the final strike, the room trembled.

Blood on the floor began to boil.

The air thickened—heavy like judgment.

The Clown looked around, hesitant.

"…Did you hear that?" he whispered.

It wasn't a sound from Level Space.

It came from within Raven.

From the last flicker of soul that hadn't been shattered.

There was… rage.

And it didn't belong to Raven.

But to something awakening through the suffering.

The Clown stepped back.

"I… I know this presence…"

Raven opened his eyes.

Not round. Not human.

Just cracks glowing red, like magma.

He didn't speak.

But his body began to hiss.

His temperature surged—not from fever, but transformation.

Flesh dissolved. Bones melted.

But this wasn't regeneration.

This wasn't recovery.

It was rewriting.

The Clown backed away.

"You're not Raven anymore…"

Raven looked at him.

Skinless face.

But in his eyes—one message:

"I'm still here. But not to be saved."

The Clown chuckled, but it wavered with fear.

"…Alright. This time—I'll retreat.

But you'll come looking for me eventually… when the pain returns.

And when you need me… I'll be laughing."

And he vanished.

Leaving Raven behind.

Soaked in blood.

Bones shattered.

Identity erased.

But among all that...

Something new had awakened.

A conscious, pure hatred.

And it stared at the sky of Level Space—

Not as a victim.

But as a being born from suffering—

To spread suffering.