Time moved in its own way inside the First Nest.
There was no rising sun to mark the beginning of a day. No crimson dusk fading into darkness. No night that was truly dark. There were only nearly imperceptible changes in the air, the sound of iron doors opening and closing, the footsteps of guards changing shifts, and the rhythm of their own breathing, slowly becoming the only measure of time.
For those trapped inside the nest, time was no longer a straight line that could be followed. It became a circle, spinning endlessly, pressing down on the mind bit by bit, until one forgot when they had last truly felt alive, rather than merely surviving.
One month had passed since Clive sealed two monster wills inside his consciousness.
And in that month, change crept like a disease. Quiet. Inevitable.
Within Clive's consciousness, there was no world.
There was no sky or ground. No vast space that could be called a battlefield. No direction or distance that could be measured.
There was only himself.
His consciousness was not a place, but a point. Dense. Compressed. Filled with memories colliding like shards of glass. The sound of blood rushing in his ears. The smell of iron clinging to his nose. Faces that no longer breathed, yet refused to leave.
Two monster wills were there.
The first was the newer will. Heavy and thick. Its presence was like a massive shadow always standing just behind Clive. It rarely attacked directly. It waited. It pressed from within, slipping into small decisions, pushing violent impulses whenever Clive was tired, whenever his mind weakened.
The second was smaller. More slippery. An older will that had not fully taken shape, yet was filled with cunning and fear. It moved quickly, brushing against Clive's thoughts like fingers feeling along a wall, searching for even the smallest crack.
Every time Clive closed his eyes and sank inward, both reacted immediately.
The larger one growled, not with sound, but with pressure. Its presence made Clive's breathing feel heavy, as if his chest were being pressed from the inside.
The smaller one whispered.
You cannot imprison us forever.
Clive did not answer.
He did not attack. He did not build anything. He did not try to crush or suppress them.
He remembered.
He remembered the narrow corridors filled with screams and the stench of death. He remembered the cold of the stone floor as blood flowed between his fingers. He remembered how every decision always came half a second too late. Half a second that separated life from death.
And he remembered one thing he could never forget.
Every time these monsters moved, the ones who paid the price were never them.
It was always someone else.
Clive's consciousness began to harden.
Not into a wall. Not into a prison.
It became a center.
You exist, Clive thought, and the thought was not a declaration, but an indisputable fact. You exist because I am still alive.
The smaller monster will moved quickly, trying to slip behind that thought, trying to twist its meaning, trying to create even the tiniest opening.
Clive turned directly toward it.
Not with anger. Not with fear.
But with the gaze of someone who had lost too much to negotiate.
You will not become me.
The pressure in that space changed.
It did not crush the smaller will. Instead, it pulled the surrounding space away, as if Clive's consciousness were shrinking inward, concentrating, pushing everything that was not him to the periphery.
The smaller monster will tried to resist. It mimicked Clive's voice. Mimicked Clive's logic. Mimicked Clive's doubts.
And failed.
Because Clive did not build his prison from willpower.
He built it from identity.
You are not me.
This time, the space between them changed. Not into a wall, but into a distance that could not be crossed. Every time the monster tried to approach, it felt a painful difference, like touching something that could not be touched, understanding something it could never possess.
The larger monster finally moved.
It did not whisper. It struck.
Its pressure came like a wave of pure violence, trying to tear apart the center of Clive's consciousness, trying to drown him in the simple, satisfying urge to kill.
And Clive let it in.
He did not resist. He did not fight.
He accepted it.
All that rage poured into him. All those impulses crashed into his memories. And Clive stood at the center of the storm, carrying it the way he had always carried everything.
I know this feeling, he thought. I lived with this even before you existed.
The storm weakened.
Not because it was defeated, but because it no longer found anything to dominate.
That was when Clive did something he had never done before.
He set a boundary.
Not just for the monsters.
But for himself.
I will use you, Clive thought. I will take your power. Your senses. Your instincts.
The smaller monster will stopped moving.
The larger monster will trembled.
But not at the cost of my mind. Not at the cost of my control. Not at the cost of other people.
The space around them changed.
Not into a cell.
But into a zone of silence. An area where the monster wills could exist, could sense, but could not act without permission. They were not chained. Not harmed.
They were positioned.
Like sharp tools placed on a table. Dangerous. Deadly. But not held.
If touched without reason, the tool would wound its own owner.
Clive opened his eyes in the real world with a ragged breath. Cold sweat soaked his back.
Inside his head, the two monster wills were still there.
But now, they were silent.
Not because they were afraid.
But because they understood.
This body was no longer a battlefield they could win.
For now.
*******
The change within Clive spread to the others.
Dilos was the first to follow.
He chose the same room where Clive had once absorbed his second core. A narrow space with a cold stone floor and walls that had absorbed far too much sweat and blood. The air there felt heavier, as if the room itself remembered what had happened within it.
Dilos sat cross legged in the corner. His back was straight. His hands rested on his knees. His face was calm, but his jaw was set in a way only Clive recognized as a sign of extreme concentration.
In his lap, a blue green core pulsed slowly. The light it emitted was unstable, like liquid energy constantly shifting, slick and difficult to grasp.
"Are you sure?" Clive asked from the doorway.
Dilos opened his eyes. His gaze was brief, direct, without hesitation.
He nodded.
There were no additional words. No explanation.
Clive did not enter. He simply sat outside, leaning against the wall, closing his eyes, allowing his senses to remain fully open.
When Dilos absorbed the core, the change was felt immediately.
Not an explosion. Not a surge.
But a subtle shift, like an undersea current suddenly changing direction.
Within Dilos's consciousness, there was no frontal battle.
The first monster within him was a survival creature. Strong. Rigid. Accustomed to crushing everything with raw physical force.
The second was fast and restless. Filled with impulse. Constantly moving, trying to stab into gaps before defenses could fully form.
Dilos did not fight them.
He built a labyrinth.
His conscious space transformed into endlessly branching paths. Every time one of the monster wills tried to approach the center of control, it was looped back to the beginning. Shadows of Dilos himself appeared at every intersection, silent, watching.
Exhaustion became the prison.
And boundaries began to form.
When the door opened again, Dilos was breathing hard, but his eyes were clear.
"It worked," he said quietly.
Clive could feel it. The energy within Dilos was now layered. Structured.
And the change did not stop there.
*******
Two weeks later, it was Zorilla's turn.
Where Dilos chose illusion and patience, Zorilla chose honest confrontation.
The first monster within him was a pattern reader. Patient. Intelligent. Waiting for openings.
The second was a destroyer. Brutal. Filled with the urge to tear and break.
Within his consciousness, Zorilla stood in an empty space.
He built a fortress.
The walls of his will rose tall, thick, without gaps. Every attack struck and rebounded, making his will grow harder with each impact.
There was no deception. No game.
Only endurance.
When he opened his eyes, his hands were clenched.
"They will not get out," he said.
Ted and Dorde followed almost simultaneously.
Ted built a multilayered locking system. Precise. Efficient.
Dorde created the illusion of distance. The monster wills ran, but never arrived.
Within two months, five of them had changed.
They were no longer merely survivors.
They were beginning to become a unit.
And in the middle of all that, there was one who remained behind.
Glenn.
He always sat in the same corner during every meditation session. A slightly darker corner, where torchlight never fell directly on his face. His back rested against the cold stone wall, knees drawn to his chest, hands loosely clasped as if trying to bind something unseen.
His eyes were closed.
But there was no calm there.
His brows were deeply furrowed, forming lines that never fully faded. His breathing did not flow like the others. He drew it in too quickly, held it too long, then released it as if afraid that if he breathed too deeply, something would come out with the air.
Clive watched him from a distance.
He did not need to fully open his senses to know that Glenn's mind was in disarray. The pressure around him felt irregular, like colliding waves. Not because two monster wills were fighting for dominance. But because one human will kept trying to run from itself.
"He's still hearing that voice," Dilos whispered, standing beside Clive.
Clive did not answer immediately.
He watched Glenn longer, noting the subtle tremor in Glenn's hands whenever a meditation session lasted more than a few minutes.
"Not just a voice," Clive finally said. "It's memory. It's guilt."
Dilos nodded slowly. He understood.
And there was one name they never spoke aloud.
Mola.
The name was like an open wound in Glenn's mind. Not bleeding, but always felt. Never healing, only covered by a thin layer of function and routine.
Every time Glenn closed his eyes, what appeared was not a monster will.
What appeared were the faces of the dead.
Dean and Reis.
And then, always last.
Mola.
Uninjured. Unhurried. Standing in the middle of the chaos like someone observing the result of an experiment. His smile was thin, very gentle, as if what had happened was not a tragedy, but something deeply enjoyable.
In Glenn's mind, Mola did not shout.
He whispered.
"You could join them," he said softly, as if offering a way out. "You're already halfway there."
Glenn tried to cover his ears, but the voice did not come from outside.
Or.
"You could join me, join my family, become my personal servant," the voice continued.
Every time the voice appeared, Glenn's chest tightened. Not from fear of death. But because a part of him understood the logic behind the offer.
And that made him nauseous.
He opened his eyes suddenly, drawing in a long, trembling breath. His gaze was empty for a moment, as if he had forgotten where he was. It took several seconds before the world returned to its narrow, cold shape.
He looked at the others.
Clive with his calm yet vigilant posture, as if always ready to restrain something unseen. Dilos standing like an axis, stable, barely moving yet always present. Zorilla sitting with his body leaning forward, like a wall prepared to absorb impact.
They were all moving forward.
And he remained here.
Glenn lowered his head, his fingers slowly curling into fists.
He knew what was holding him back.
Not fear of failure.
Not lack of strength.
But a question he could never answer.
If he became stronger, if he absorbed a second core, if he learned to imprison monster wills like the others…
Would those faces stop appearing.
Or would they become clearer.
In the corner of the room, Clive finally turned away.
Not because he did not care.
But because he knew there were battles that could not be won with strength, strategy, or willpower.
And Glenn was still trapped inside one.
Alone.