As I stared at the still-ajar door, heart pounding in my chest, a figure crossed the threshold with calm—almost ceremonial—steps.
It was a man with a peculiar appearance. His brown hair was unkempt, tied in dirty strands that fell over a partially hidden face. A deep scar marked the right side of his face, stretching from cheek to forehead, shamelessly slicing through his eye. He wore rough robes, made of raw fabric, embroidered with twisted symbols resembling roots. Over his shoulders, layers upon layers of old clothes hung heavy, as if burdened by decades of dust and silence.
Thin chains dangled from arms wrapped in aged linen, and a necklace made of tiny bones rested against his neck. On his hands, feet, and face, black veins bulged beneath pale skin, pulsing subtly—as if something alive crawled beneath the surface.
When he noticed all the children were awake, he gave us a wide, unnatural smile. Yellowed teeth, some crooked like claws.
"Welcome, little ones!" he said, his voice strangely warm, in stark contrast to his disturbing appearance. "My name is Alex, and I'll be your guide within our glorious sect: The Seed of Perfection."
Hearing that, I stared in disbelief and thought,
Of course. A cult with a flowery name and a torture chamber. Perfect.
He paused dramatically, locking eyes with each of us, a sick enthusiasm gleaming in his gaze.
"I know many of you are confused, maybe frightened... But know this—you have been chosen for something grand. An experiment that will grant you strength, power... and make you transcend the limits of flesh and death."
Seed of Perfection? What the fuck is that? Sounds like the title of a lunatic gardener's book. And we're the disposable pots.
The silence that followed lasted only a few seconds before collapsing into a storm of panic.
"WHERE ARE WE?!" shouted one of the older kids.
"WHAT DID YOU DO TO US?!"
"I WANT TO GO HOME!"
"YOU MANIAC! LET US OUT!"
Screams. Cries. Despair.
I just watched from the corner, the cold taste of fear sliding down my throat, as the voices layered into a chorus of agony.
A girl—couldn't have been more than fourteen—picked up a stone from the floor and, with a trembling hand, hurled it at the man.
That's when everything changed.
The smile vanished. His expression twisted into something monstrous, like a mask cracking open. His eyes shimmered with pure malice, and a dark aura with greenish hues erupted from his body, spreading through the chamber like a living fog.
The pressure fell on us like an invisible weight.
My knees buckled. I saw other children gasping, some collapsing, crying in silence. It was as if the air had been flooded with an ancient, suffocating poison.
Shit... what is this? It's crushing me from the inside.
"Silence, insolent worms."
Alex's voice was now icy, sharp as glass.
"You have no idea the gift you've received. Complain? You should be on your knees, grateful for the honor of being part of this."
As he spoke, he walked over to a kneeling child, crouched beside him, and whispered:
"This pain? It's just the beginning. You'll thank me for it, my little sprout."
This bastard is a full-blown psychopath...
He kept us under that pressure for a few more seconds—which felt like hours—before retracting his aura with the same calm he had arrived with.
And then… he smiled again.
"Stand up," he said with forced sweetness. "Follow me, children… The true path is just beginning~."
The children hesitated for a moment, but fear was stronger. One by one, they began to follow the man. I waited. Let several of them pass before I moved.
The terror still throbbed in my chest, but alongside it, a spark of rationality fought to stay alive. I needed to understand where the hell I was... and what the hell was going on.
Reincarnating, fine... But into the body of a child? In a place that feels like a living nightmare? If I was going to be reborn, couldn't I have been a noble? Or at least in a normal house, with decent food? I sighed quietly.
If this is an experiment, I'm the rat. And the cheese is rotting.
I followed the group last, trying to stay as discreet as possible. The corridor we walked down was narrow and damp. The stone walls were old, covered in moss and thick roots that seemed to pulse in places, as if they were alive.
There was mold in the air—the kind of stench that clings to your nose and twists your stomach.
The only light came from torches set into the walls, their flames burning greenish, casting flickering, twisted shadows that crawled along the ground. As we walked, we passed rusted iron doors. Some slightly ajar, leaking muffled sounds of groans, growls, and... things I couldn't describe. The kind of sounds that seemed to come from throats that had forgotten how to be human.
I tried to stay calm, control my breathing, not let the panic take over.
After a few minutes, Alex stopped in front of a double door, larger than the others, made of dark wood reinforced with metal strips. He turned to us with that same repugnant smile.
"Form five groups of ten. Line up."
His voice was smooth as silk... and cold as the stone beneath our feet.
The children obeyed silently, eyes wide, bodies trembling. I, of course, made sure to stay in the last group. I needed to observe. I needed to understand.
Alex pointed to the first group and said:
"Enter."
The doors opened slowly with a dry creak. The ten children crossed into the darkness...
And then came the screams.
At first, just muffled noises. Whimpers, pleas. Then came the howls—of pain, of pure despair, of animal terror. The kind of screams that seem to rip the throat from the inside. Sounds that no longer seemed human.
The door closed slowly behind them, sealing the horror inside. And we, the ones left, remained in the hallway's silence.
A silence that hurt.
Minutes passed. Or maybe hours. Time seemed to drip in the wrong direction there, distorted by every new scream echoing behind the dark wood. My stomach twisted at each scream, each wet noise that sounded like flesh being torn.
A child from my group began to cry softly. Another bit his fist until it bled, trying not to scream too.
It's a slaughter line. Each step, closer to the knife.
When the screams finally stopped, there was no relief. Only the weight of a silence heavier than any sound. The doors opened again with that same dry creak… and the survivors emerged.
What was left of them, at least.
Seven children returned. Three were missing.
The ones who came out... were not the same. A limping girl, ankle swollen and purple. A boy shaking so much he looked ready to collapse. Their eyes... were empty. Like deep wells where something had been thrown and never came back. One had peed himself, a dark stain trailing down his leg—but no one laughed. No one said a word. There was no room for mockery in that place.
And then, the second group was called.
The screams returned. A pattern: silence, doors opening, children entering, doors closing… and the sound of pain. Those who returned—if they returned—came out as shadows of themselves. A boy from the second group stumbled out vomiting blood, his mouth twitching nonstop. A girl had lost clumps of hair, her scalp wounded, as if something had tried to pull it out from within.
Each return was worse than the last. Each new group disappearing behind those doors dragged more fragments of our sanity with them.
The third group entered. A child tried to resist, kicking and clinging to the stone wall, nails digging into the rock until they broke. She was dragged away by a silent acolyte who appeared from nowhere. His eyes were as empty as a puppet's. Within seconds, her screams echoed from the other side.
By then, the smell in the corridor had changed. There was something metallic in the air. The sour stench of urine, sweat, and fear.
The fourth group was called.
One tried to run—a small, wide-eyed girl. She made it three steps. That's all. Before she was crushed by an invisible force. The sound was wet, grotesque. Her body became a pile of twisted flesh. No warning. No chance.
The message was clear: there was no escape.
Even so... something inside me refused to die out.
Some survived. Wounded, yes. But alive.
And then, at last, it was our turn.
The doors opened once more.
And the horror, patient, awaited us on the other side.
Some kids ahead of me hesitated, crying softly. I let them go first, keeping my face neutral. But inside... all I could think was:
If this is the start of my new life... then I have to survive. No matter what's in there. I have to come out alive.