Chapter Forty-Five: My Friend Xiaoyu

“Xiaoyu, have you seen my hand?”
“No, I can’t see it,” he replied, forcing back his tears.
A thick wall separated them, yet Blackfeather still waved his hand with all his might, but Xiaoyu remained unable to see it.
“Xiaoyu, reach your hand out.”
Xiaoyu obeyed.
Soon, Blackfeather felt a small, tender hand in his own—soft and delicate. He grasped it firmly, holding it tightly in his palm.
“Xiaoyu, from now on, we’re friends!”
“I’m so scared… I’m so scared…” Xiaoyu murmured.
“Don’t be afraid. The two of us—we’ll survive, we’ll get out of here. We both have to hold on, and I will too…”
From that day forward, the two of them sat on either side of the wall, before the iron bars, talking every day about all sorts of things.
In young Blackfeather’s memory, the world outside was a complete blank. He remembered nothing. Everything beyond these walls, he learned from Xiaoyu’s stories: forests, lakes, meadows, the sky… and all manner of beautiful plants and animals.
“I had a master outside, who taught me magic.”
“Magic?”
“Yes. He’s an incredible person.”
“I wish I could see the outside world,” Blackfeather said.
“I just want to go home, to return to my master…” Xiaoyu replied.
Time slipped by slowly in the darkness. Each time Xiaoyu was taken away and brought back, he cried harder than before. From those cries, Blackfeather could sense the pain and torment Xiaoyu endured. Later, Xiaoyu would sometimes be carried back unconscious, and even when he woke, he could only groan in agony, unable to leave his bed.
Blackfeather would squat beside the bars, calling out and waiting for him.
Until at last, Xiaoyu recovered enough to walk to the door.
“Xiaoyu, what did they do to you this time?”
Xiaoyu remained silent, only sobbing softly.

“Xiaoyu, you’ll get better. You’ll go home.”
“I can’t go home anymore…” he replied helplessly and in despair. “The way I am now, I can never go back…”
Sometimes, Blackfeather was taken not only to the operating table, but to another place.
It was a vast, empty room. Each time, the researchers brought in ten blindfolded adults, chaining them to the walls. Then, White Scorpion, with his gray-white hair, would appear.
White Scorpion would rave madly at Blackfeather, “Come, witness it! The moment your kin are born!”
Then, a researcher would inject ten different pale yellow serums into the adults.
Soon, their bodies began to change. In agony, they tore at their shirts; their teeth sharpened and lengthened; saliva dripped from their mouths; veins bulged. Suddenly, masses of swollen muscle burst from their bodies.
Some died in the process, their bodies exploding from the rapid growth, spattering blood and flesh everywhere. The few who survived became twisted, malformed monsters.
Blackfeather watched, eyes wide with horror, as this ghastly scene unfolded before him.
“All failures,” White Scorpion grumbled, shaking his head and striking off the numbers one to ten on his clipboard.
The failed, distorted monsters were also killed and disposed of. Over time, the laboratory reeked of blood and harsh disinfectant, the stench impossible to hide.
Much later, in the same place, after the researchers injected another group of ten adults, the transformations began again.
The first few could not bear the strain and died, collapsing into heaps of flesh. Only the tenth remained standing—a body intact, veins glowing red, skin impervious to blades or bullets, strength multiplied, and limbs and torso proportioned better than before.
“It worked!” White Scorpion exclaimed, crossing out the first nine entries and circling the tenth in red.
“It worked! At last, it worked!” He turned to Blackfeather. “Did you see? Monsters made from your blood! The true demon legion!”
Only then did Blackfeather realize the truth—their daily blood extractions were for this experiment. And what he feared most was that Xiaoyu might be turned into one of those monsters.
He remembered that, before he left the institute, this project was still incomplete, with severe side effects. The sole successful tenth subject died soon after, bleeding from every orifice as his organs failed.

When he encountered White Scorpion recently, the “Ogre Serum” used was clearly more stable. White Scorpion must have pushed the research even further.
On the last day Blackfeather saw Xiaoyu, Xiaoyu was still shackled hand and foot as he was led away. Passing Blackfeather’s cell, he paused and smiled faintly.
He was a boy with pale blue hair, sorrowful eyes, fair skin, and a gentle smile.
Blackfeather gripped the iron bars tightly, watching his figure vanish into the distance, an ominous dread filling his heart as he cried out in anguish.
Days passed, but Xiaoyu did not return. More days went by and the neighboring cell remained empty.
Desperate, Blackfeather finally asked a cleaning researcher who passed his cell,
“What happened to the boy who lived next to me?”
The researcher replied coldly,
“Oh, that test subject? If they didn’t bring him back, he’s dead—probably disposed of.”
Blackfeather clung to the bars, his knuckles white with strain.
“What… Xiaoyu… Xiaoyu is dead?”
His body trembled uncontrollably, grief overwhelming him. Tears poured from his eyes.
“You killed Xiaoyu! You killed Xiaoyu!”
He screamed in agony, violently shaking the bars. Demonic blood surged through him; black feathers unfurled from his back in layers. In a burst of strength, he broke free from his shackles and spread his massive wings.
The researcher dropped his broom and scrambled away in terror, “When did he get this strong? Help! Sedative! He’s out of control!”
Several researchers rushed down from upstairs, tranquilizer guns in hand, firing heavy doses through the bars at Blackfeather.
Thwip—thwip—thwip—
The tranquilizer darts flew toward him. Blackfeather darted into a corner, wrapping his wings around himself. The thick feathers shielded him, and the darts fell uselessly to the floor.
“His wings have grown! Quickly, call for backup, call for backup!”