Arc IV: “Advent of Acier”
Chapter I: “The Syndicate”
Episode IV: “Ritual: The True Demon Race!”
KURO ENTERED THE DARK ROOM, hallway light splashing across the floor.
The air smelled like metal—sharp enough to sting.
“Ah, Kuro,” the Doctor said, glancing up from his workbench. “How’s the leg?”
Kuro looked past the Doctor, more interested in the man strapped down to the operating table.
“Oh, this? Interested in the experiment? I always knew you were one of the smarter ones. Come—take a look.”
Kuro stepped forward—then went pale as recognition hit.
“Oh, that’s right. You two used to be friends, weren’t you? Or do you think of him as a traitor now? Either way, it makes little difference to me.”
The Doctor continued fiddling with his gadgets and mixing chemicals.
“What are you… doing to him?”
The Doctor looked up slowly, turning to face Kuro. “Seems like you still care for him. Don’t worry, the fun is just beginning.”
He stood up, holding a large flask of purple fluid.
“This table has wheels, right…?” he whispered, “Or is it one of those hovering types?”
He leaned over to look under the table, little regard for whether he spilled his solution.
Kuro tugged his collar, sweating down his temple as he watched.
“Ah, here we go.” The Doctor clicked a button, and the operating table started floating. “Alright—let’s go. Push the specimen along.”
Kuro paused.
Then blinked.
He pushed the table out of the lab, following the Doctor.
After a short walk through the hallway, the Doctor led him to a large empty room.
Upon further inspection, Kuro noticed that there were red sigils bored into the floor, a strange metal contraption, needle-tipped tubes snaking from its frame, and the most unsettling thing—bodies lay at the center of each one.
“What is this?”
“This is a ritual I’ve been working on for a while now. It took some time, but with Acier’s resources, I was able to acquire quite interesting specimens. Take your friend there—Kai, for example.”
Kuro looked down at the operating table, listening to Kai’s muffled wheezing.
“He was one of Nami’s highest-priority revivals.”
“…Why?”
The Doctor smiled, his lips forming a crooked crescent. “Have you ever heard of Primordials, Kuro?”
“Primordials? No... What are they? And what do they have to do with this ominous ritual?”
“Primordials,” the Doctor said, savoring the word, “are the second-greatest lineage in the Cosmos.”
Kuro’s throat tightened. “Second...?”
“Faster. Stronger. Wiser than Mortals. Some have lived for millions of years—some have existed since the earliest age of creation. Their aether control makes Utopians look like toddlers.”
He lifted the flask slightly, as if to toast.
“Nigh-immortal. All-powerful. Terrible. Beautiful.”
Kuro left his mouth agape. “I-incredible…”
“Despite that, most Primordials are extinct now. As to how they died out, I’m not sure—but I do know that it’s difficult for them to procreate with lesser species. Their essence is too potent.”
He glanced at his holo-screen, verifying calculations.
“However, there were some lineages of Mortals that could reproduce with Primordials. That sparked the creation of new Mortal lineages, more powerful than others. Kaelithians, Caliekians, Elandarians, Bloo’Kins, Zerethians, Utopians… they all date back to the Second Cosmic War.”
The Doctor pointed to Kai. “Your friend there… is only half Dystopian. His other half… is from the lineage of Mortals closest to the Primordials—known by most as the Demon race—but their true lineage is Daimonblood. As with the Primordials, they’ve been almost completely wiped out.”
The Doctor waved his arm, presenting the specimens lying in the sigils. “Each of these six sigils was painted with the blood of Daimonbloods. And lying in each one is none other than a living, breathing Demon.”
“Sacrifices…” Kuro whispered under his breath, his eyes widening.
The Doctor’s smile curved even further. “Exactly. We’re going to turn your friend here into the King of Demons. Along with his Dystopian blood and my modifications, he’ll be quite the asset for Acier’s army.”
“Why are you doing this… to bring a dead man back to life just to be your lab rat—”
“Says the other dead man who’s still walking. Everyone here always seems to forget that I’m a scientist. At the end of the day, I couldn’t care less about this Syndicate, or what business it gets up to. As long as Acier continues to fund my research, I’ll continue to provide him with powerful soldiers. My serum and control collars were just the beginning. Soon, I’ll have completed it… my ultimate creation…”
Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!
Kuro tuned him out, lost in his own thoughts. For a split second, a small smile crept onto his face. I always knew Kai was special… he’s different. Unlike any other Dystopian I’ve met.
Still, he’s a traitor to Lord Apocalypse.
But is he a traitor to Master Kukito?
To me?
Kuro clenched his fist—tight enough to draw blood. Would I have done the same in his shoes? Would he… would he have been able to save Master Kukito if he were in mine?
He tapped his fist up to his forehead, gritting his teeth. Is the path of Apocalypse truly the right one?
The Doctor brought Kai to the center of the room, surrounded by the six sigils and their sacrifices. He placed the flask of purple solution on a desk next to the tubes.
“Good thing I already harvested his blood.” He picked up a crimson-colored glass jar and poured its contents into the etched grooves in the floor. Like a river, red liquid flowed around Kai, filling in the sigil’s patterns.
“Now, this part is a bit primitive, so I’d like you to take care of it for me.” The Doctor handed Kuro a small blade. “Go around the circle and slit their throats. Make sure you cut deep.”
Kuro obeyed, the world still a blur to him as thoughts swirled around his mind.
As blood splatters stained his hands, the same thought rang in his head repeatedly. Is this really the way to move forward—to break free from this never-ending cycle?
Eventually, Kuro reached the last sacrifice. He looked down at his hands—numb despite the warm blood coating them. He reached toward the body, hand shaking. His breath hitched.
He paused—
He saw his reflection in the blade. Mixed colors of crimson were painted on his face. The skin under his eyes was tender. His other hand touched his cheek, as if he wasn’t used to being in his own skin. Tinnitus rang in his ears—like something had cracked and fallen out of place inside him.
“What are you waiting for, Kuro? Hurry up and continue before you interfere with the ritual.”
Those words cut through the deafening silence.
Kuro looked up at the Doctor. Then he took a breath and gripped the blade tighter. After completing the last sacrifice, he took a step back from the circle.
Streams of blood flowed from each sigil toward the center, bleeding into Kai’s sigil.
Arcs of red energy—unlike any aether Kuro had seen—towered overhead, reaching from each sacrifice onto Kai’s frame.
The energy felt older—like a pressure that scraped the bones instead of the skin.
Kai struggled against the flow—another fit of muffled screams ringing out like a requiem for his dead brethren.
The screams climbed—then snapped.
The red arcs convulsed, tightening like chains. For a moment, the air itself seemed to bend toward him, dragged into the ritual’s hunger.
Then—
Silence.
Kai’s body went limp on the floating table. The blood rivers in the sigils slowed, thinning into trembling veins that crawled back into the grooves.
The Doctor leaned in, eyes shining with a feverish satisfaction. He placed two fingers against Kai’s throat, as if checking for a pulse out of habit.
“Hah…” A breathy laugh slipped from him. “Still alive.”
Kuro couldn’t move. His hands were slick—warm—foreign. He stared at the blade as if it belonged to someone else.
The Doctor straightened and exhaled like an artist stepping back from his canvas. He opened his arms toward the ritual circle.
“And now,” he whispered, voice almost reverent, “a Devil is born.”
His smile widened.
“A devil among demons.”
Kuro’s stomach twisted.
Kai’s eyelids fluttered beneath swollen bruises. His pupils shifted—unsteady, searching—as if his body had returned before his mind remembered how to breathe.
The Doctor clicked his tongue. “Not finished.”
He turned toward Kuro and flicked his gaze down the corridor. “Bring him back. The next step requires… conditioning.”
Kuro’s jaw tightened. “Conditioning?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t understand,” the Doctor said lightly. “You’ve been conditioned since the day you decided a throne was worth your spine.”
Kuro flinched—more from the truth than the insult.
Together, they guided the table out of the ritual chamber.
The sigils behind them dimmed, the blood drying black in the grooves like old ink.
[Later – The Doctor’s Lab]
The lights were lower here—deliberately. The room wasn’t meant to comfort. It was meant to erase.
Kai was strapped upright in a reinforced table now, wrists pinned, ankles locked. Extra restraints cinched across his chest and throat because the Doctor clearly expected him to break something once he woke.
Kuro stood near the doorway, arms heavy at his sides.
Kai’s breathing was shallow. Ragged. His head lolled forward as if sleep had become a punishment.
The Doctor rolled a cart closer. On it sat the flask of purple fluid, a set of syringes, and a small canister marked with a symbol Kuro recognized from Cataline’s Arts.
Pink.
Mist.
Kuro’s gaze sharpened. “That’s…”
The Doctor’s grin flickered. “I harvested Cataline’s mist. A lovely reagent.”
“You’d go as far as to use her Art?”
“Don’t be dramatic,” he said, fitting a tube into the canister. “It’s not just her Art anymore. It’s a material now. A Chemical.”
He leaned closer to Kuro, voice dropping.
“Memories are just pathways. Pathways can be burned.”
Kuro’s fists tightened.
The Doctor adjusted the chair’s armatures—metal claws that hovered near Kai’s temples without touching. “The ritual forced a Daimonblood resonance through his body. Now I’ll carve the shape of the mind that will wield it.”
He tapped the switch.
A hum filled the room. Low. Nauseating.
Kai’s eyelids snapped open.
His amber eyes burned—then trembled. A split second of recognition flickered across his face, like a dying ember.
“K…uro…?” The word didn’t come out—only a hoarse vibration against the mouthpiece.
Kuro took a step forward before he could stop himself.
The Doctor shoved a palm into Kuro’s chest, stopping him with casual force. “Ah-ah. Not yet.”
Kuro’s breath caught. “He’s not your—”
“Lab rat?” the Doctor finished, amused. “He’s much more than that.”
He reached for the canister and twisted the valve.
Pink mist hissed out in a thin ribbon, drifting toward Kai’s face like a lover’s breath.
Kai’s eyes widened.
His body jerked against the restraints.
The Doctor’s voice softened—almost kind. “Easy. This part is important.”
The mist entered the mask.
Kai convulsed.
[Inside Kai’s mind]
Darkness.
Not empty—heavy.
Then—
A flash of motion. A corridor. Smoke. Shouting. A child’s scream.
Akira—small—stumbling.
Raida’s voice—strained but steady.
Protect him.
Kai’s hands were bloodied. Not from enemies—his own knuckles split from fighting too long.
Another flash.
Grimm’s shadow. A beam tearing through stone. The scent of scorched air.
Kai’s body moved on instinct—shielding, intercepting, breaking.
Protect him.
A memory like a blade: Raida’s final look.
Not fear.
Faith.
Then the darkness cracked again—
And the mist seeped through.
It didn’t overwrite at first.
It twisted.
Raida’s voice echoed—warped—distant.
Protect him.
But the meaning bent under pressure. The memory bled into something else.
Images stitched together, wrong.
Akira’s face—overlaid with flames.
Akira’s hands—painted in the blood of Dystopians.
Akira’s eyes—cold, judging, condemning.
Kai tried to pull away, but the mist followed like chains.
The Doctor’s voice threaded through the dream—quiet, persistent, everywhere.
“You died for him.”
A pulse of agony.
“You bled for him.”
Another.
“And what did he do?”
The dream shifted.
A silhouette walking away.
A hero leaving bodies behind.
A champion praised while Dystopians starved.
Kai’s breath hitched.
No—this isn’t—
The mist thickened.
Akira’s voice—false—whispered into his ear:
You’re tainted.
The word struck deeper than any blade.
Kai’s vision flared white.
[Back in the lab]
Kai’s entire body thrashed. Restraints screamed. Metal groaned.
The Doctor watched with rapt attention, like he was listening to music.
Kuro couldn’t take it.
He stepped up, grabbing Kai by the hair, yanking his head up.
Kai’s eyes were wild. Tears had leaked down his cheeks without him realizing.
Kuro’s voice shook. “Fight it.”
The Doctor’s gaze snapped to Kuro—annoyed.
“Ah,” he said, amused again. “Perfect.”
He tossed something to Kuro.
A small baton—dense, black metal.
Kuro caught it on reflex.
The Doctor gestured toward Kai like a stage director. “Do it.”
Kuro’s chest tightened. “What?”
“Break him,” the Doctor said plainly. “Not the body. The refusal.”
Kuro’s hand trembled around the baton.
Kai’s eyes locked on him—pleading, confused, furious—everything at once.
Kuro’s eyes met his—recognition flickering like a dying star.
The Doctor leaned in, voice a whisper. “If he clings to the old bonds, the new power will tear him apart. You want him to live?”
Kuro swallowed.
Forgive me, he thought, and hated himself for needing to mean it.
Then he struck.
Once.
Twice.
Enough to rattle Kai’s jaw and snap his head sideways—enough to teach the body that resistance meant pain.
Kai’s muffled scream cut through the room.
The Doctor adjusted the mist valve.
“Good,” he murmured. “Now we replace the bond.”
Kuro hit him again—harder—because stopping would mean thinking.
[A moment later]
The Doctor set the baton down himself, satisfied with the damage.
He picked up the purple solution and drew it into a thick syringe.
“This,” he said, almost lovingly, “is the upgrade.”
Kuro’s voice was hoarse. “An altered doping serum? What does it do?”
The Doctor’s smile sharpened. “It makes the Daimonblood in his veins… behave.”
He plunged the needle into Kai’s arm.
Kai arched, veins darkening beneath his skin—thin lines branching like cracks in glass.
The Doctor watched the spread with hungry focus.
“Now,” he said, stepping back, “we see if the Devil wakes up.”
Kai’s breathing slowed.
His trembling eased.
For a moment, it almost looked like peace.
Then—
Kai’s head lifted.
His amber eyes opened fully.
And the light inside them wasn’t confused anymore.
It was focused.
Kuro’s blood ran cold.
Kai stared at the Doctor.
Then—past him.
Toward the wall.
Toward nothing.
As if he was looking at someone who wasn’t there.
His mouthpiece muffled the words, but Kuro saw his lips form them anyway.
“…A…ki…ra…”
The Doctor chuckled softly.
“Yes,” he whispered. “There it is.”
[Next Time on Lyte of Utopia]: “The King of the Universe”
[Yield Levels]:
Doctor: 1
Kuro: 5z
Kai: 2z
- Dark Heart Amp (Base): 5z
- DHA + Satanic Ritual (Base): 11z