Balder sat upon a velvet couch, thumbing through the fragile, yellowed pages of a laboratory record. The cover still bore the dust of centuries—the experimental notes that once documented the birth of the Adam.
To anyone else, it might have been the forbidden legacy of a mad scientist.
To Balder, it was proof of how limited mortals could be.
The former Demon Prince who led this project had used human science merely to breed vessels—soulless bodies meant to host the wandering spirits of the damned. His plan was to give the infernal dead flesh again, and raise an army of the condemned.
Balder found that laughable.
Such vision was small, pathetically small.
He leaned back, closing the file.
"Just as I thought," he murmured. "He never understood what he was creating."
In every culture, East and West alike, the essence of a person was said to be threefold—body, soul, and consciousness.
Humans possess all three.
The Adam had only two.
A body.
A mind.
But no soul.
That made him empty—a blank vessel that could be reshaped, rebuilt, even reborn endlessly. Organs replaced, limbs reconstructed, heart removed and reinstalled—he would still live.
To Balder, that was not a flaw.
It was potential.
What others saw as a failure, he saw as infinite possibility. A body that could host power from any source—angelic or demonic, holy or unholy.
A living, evolving weapon.
A knock at the door broke his thoughts.
"Enter."
A lesser demon crept inside, bowing deeply. "Your Excellency, as you commanded, the male Night-Wing Dragon has been denied food and water for three days."
Balder smiled faintly. "Good. Let's see how unbreakable their faith truly is."
The dungeon was dimly lit, damp, and silent.
Two crosses stood at its center, facing each other—one bound a pale, exhausted man; the other, a proud but restrained woman.
The male Night-Wing Dragon looked half-dead, his lips cracked, his body trembling from hunger and pain.
The female's condition was better; she had been spared such treatment, though the heavy chains bit into her arms.
As Balder entered, both lifted their heads. The male's gaze burned with hatred.
"Kill me, demon! The Night-Wing Dragons will never bow to you!"
Balder's smile didn't waver. "Your spirit still burns bright. Good. It means you haven't broken… not yet."
"Not yet?" The male spat blood. "You'll get nothing from me!"
Ignoring him, Balder turned toward the woman. Her eyes held no fear—only defiance.
"What do you want, Naberius?" she asked, voice low but steady.
"What do I want?" Balder chuckled softly. "Nothing much. Only to observe how faith bends… how conviction collapses when touched by despair."
He circled her like a shadow. "You two were different from the rest. Bound by vows, by purity, by faith. Yet I can see it—something forbidden connects you."
The woman's breath caught. The male struggled violently against his chains, fury surging through him.
Balder's tone softened, almost kind.
"Love, compassion, attachment… all so fragile. You swore to forsake such things, didn't you? Yet one emotion, and your sacred oaths crumble."
"Silence!" the male roared.
"Tell me," Balder said, lowering his voice, his words like venom, "what would you give to save her? Would you trade your wings? Your vows? Your soul?"
The male Night-Wing Dragon's body shook violently, his eyes bloodshot with rage and desperation.
"Don't you dare—!"
But Balder only smiled, his gaze sharp and cold. "You still don't understand, do you? It isn't pain that corrupts angels. It's choice."
He stepped closer, letting his presence smother the air between them. "One word from you, and all this ends. You only have to say it."
For a long moment, there was silence. The male Night-Wing Dragon's breath trembled. He looked at the woman—her calm, her faith, her quiet strength.
And then, slowly, that strength shattered.
"Stop…" His voice cracked. "Please, stop. I'll do it. I'll yield. Just don't—don't harm her."
The words hung heavy in the air.
Balder stopped, the faintest smile curling his lips. "Ah," he whispered, "there it is. The sound of wings breaking."
He turned away, satisfied. "Take them both back. They'll be… useful."
As his demons carried out the command, the word echoed softly through the chamber—
"Corruption."
Once.
Then again, whispering like a curse.
"Corruption."
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