Emerging from the most desolate depths of his psyche, the figure breached containment at the Rscp Foundation site. Encased in an intricate maze of security measures—blinding lights, shifting corridors, and anesthetic gas flooding the air—he moved with eerie ease, navigating the chaos like an old friend. The door to his chamber, forged from steel thick enough to withstand a nuclear blast, proved a futile barrier to his will.
Surrounded by the crumbling illusion of order, he chuckled to himself—quiet, cruel.
Everyone at the facility feared him. But not for the reasons they believed.
He was never their prisoner. Never shackled, never subdued—only resting, waiting. Containment was a lie. The Foundation could drug his flesh, suppress his awareness, but his mind… his mind was a fortress they would never breach.
Time was his ally. And with the luxury of a "later," there was no urgency for now.
Like all sentient beings, boredom found him from time to time. Most might have picked up a hobby. But for him—with eyes glowing like cinders from hell—boredom demanded something darker. Something cruel. Something final.
Killing wasn't even the highlight. No, that was the dullest part.
The screams. The begging. The trembling apologies. Shattered bones and split lips. Tear-soaked cheeks. The wide-eyed realization that hope had betrayed them, and death would come not as mercy—but as design. He lived for that moment of surrender, the collapse of the soul.
If what he did could be called living.
He cracked his neck, lips curling into a grin twisted by malice. Was he salivating already? The anticipation thrilled him.
"W-we don't want any trouble," one of them stammered, desperation strangling every word.
Funny. They were the ones who started this game.
"Please… we've learned our lesson. Let us go. We swear, it won't happen again."
As if promises could rewrite what had already been etched in blood.
He, the Monster. The so-called Devil. He hadn't even begun.
Just as he stepped forward, something distant caught his ear—a wailing siren, perhaps, or hurried footsteps echoing down the corridor. His gaze flicked sideways for a breath too long.
They ran.
The cowards bolted without a word, scattering like roaches. By the time his eyes snapped back, they were gone. Their fear trailed behind them like a foul scent.
Cowards.
Not even a fight. Not even a scream worth remembering. He clenched his jaw. How many victims did it take before agony became background noise?
Even the finest wine turns bitter with time.
He blinked—and the mask cracked.
Kiel staggered. The wooden plank in his hand slipped and hit the pavement with a dull clack. A flicker of panic swept across his face, his breath hitching. The alley was still, shadows stretching like silent spectators.
From the corner, a small figure trembled. The Kaiju. Younger. Weaker. The knife in his hands wavered, both blades and boy shaking in unison.
The child's eyes widened at Kiel's sudden shift.
Recognition stirred. Something old, fragile—an echo of innocence. A time when the world had been simpler, before nightmares wore his face.
The scent of fear was thick—metallic, sharp, undeniable. He could feel the child's panic pressing against his senses, each heartbeat a desperate signal: run.
And for the first time in a long while, Kiel felt something... foreign.
Is that how I look to them?
To him?
He looked down. Crimson stained his hands in patches. He studied them, confused but expressionless.
The younger Kaiju didn't move. Not even a breath.
The blue aura that had once burned bright around Kiel now ebbed away, like smoke dissolving into fog. The tension in his body slackened. He blinked slowly, grounding himself.
But his vision swam. He stumbled, catching himself against the damp, cracked bricks. His head bowed low. Each breath sent needles of pain through his ribs. Inside, it felt like something had turned hollow. Like the void was eating at him from within.
What's… happening to me?
Nausea surged. His breaths came ragged. Before he could understand it, the world tilted. Pain tore through his skull, and the alley spun out of control.
Then darkness. No resistance.
He collapsed like a marionette whose strings had been severed.
From the shadows, the younger Kaiju took his chance. Silent. Swift. Gone.
Kiel didn't chase.
Ah, now you see, he thought bitterly, the weight of isolation pressing down on him. This is why I don't bother with other people.
He lifted his head, his eyes unfocused.
What am I doing here? What was I even hoping for?
And with that last, lonely thought, the world went dark.