Inside the soul realm, the figure of Toyota stood at the very core, surrounded by scarlet energy—a substance composed purely of malice. An absorption process had begun. Two newly arrived souls were being disintegrated, broken down into raw memory and thought. The digestion had only just started, yet the outlines of the two souls were already being pulled inward, inch by inch, toward Toyota's core.
Though still conscious, they had long since lost all sense of physical sensation. On the face of one soul—a white-haired figure—an expression of growing elation twisted its fading features, even as its body dissolved and merged into the surrounding scarlet hue.
Within the figure of Toyota was yet another dimension, a fragmented inner world split into countless rooms, each with a unique environment. In one of these rooms sat a boy, his entire form composed of swirling, inky darkness—like smoke given shape. Though his body was childlike, numerous irregularities made his appearance deeply unsettling.
His head bore ivory horns, branching like the limbs of a birch tree. These horns weren't the most striking feature, however. His entire body, even the horns, was covered in eyes—hundreds of them—like tattooed runes spiraling across his arms, legs, and chest. Despite the grotesque design, there was something disturbingly adorable about him.
He sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by rolls upon rolls of translucent tape. Each strip displayed images, like aged film from an old movie projector. But this was no ordinary film. To touch it was to relive every memory imprinted on it—through all five senses at once.
The boy skimmed nervously through the reels of memory belonging to the new souls, gnawing on the back of his hand. His eyes burned with hatred, but his small, youthful frame made his fury almost pitiable.
"At this rate, I'll never get it back... How dare that bastard destroy my body… I'm not even ready yet…" he muttered, voice high-pitched and trembling.
After a long period of grumbling, the boy began to carefully wrap up one of the longer reels of tape. Then, with a sulky walk, he approached a hovering figure—pure white and identical in shape to Toyota. This version of him was sleeping, eyes closed, emanating a soft warmth and radiance.
The boy placed his hand—and the full roll of tape—into the being's chest. Instantly, the tape began to dissolve, absorbed into the radiant figure. But the warmth quickly faded. The glow dulled, replaced by a sickly gray haze, like pollution seeping into the soul.
Toyota's form convulsed violently.
Suddenly, a system notification echoed as the ground trembled beneath them.
[ALERT: System Notification]
Host has been inflicted with multiple status effects:
Depression
Schizophrenia
Cognitive Overload
Depersonalization
Dementia
PTSD
Dissociative Identity Disorder
Cause: Recent memory transfer.
"Why?! Why why why why is this happening?!" the boy shrieked, panicking. "Did I give him too much at once?! I didn't even alter anything, I can't make him—no, no, NOOOOO!"
His scream pierced the realm, high and shrill.
"Why won't this bastard just break?! He can lose his mind so easily, but he still won't go over the edge?! Is it the duration? The density? What do I do?! If he's broken, I'll never get it back…"
Desperate, the boy poked nervously at the grey figure, searching for the dissolved tape's endpoint—now invisible. After a moment of hesitation, he pulled his hand back, revealing a roll of tape still connected by a strand running into Toyota's stomach.
"I should remove all of these and start over..."
He yanked at the tape forcefully, trying to extract it. But it was no use. The strand wouldn't budge—it had become a part of Toyota's body.
"Why can't I pull out Sloth?!" he screamed, overwhelmed by fury. "Fine. I'll start with the other one."
He searched for the tape belonging to Lust. Finding the end, he pulled with all his strength, but again, it refused to come free.
"Fine! I'll deal with you later!"
With mounting desperation, he began searching for the last strand.
"Where is... Envy?"
[ERROR: "Envy" has fully bonded with host's soul.]
Hypothesis: High compatibility detected.
"Son of a b**h!*" he howled, his childlike face contorted in rage. But the absurdity of his appearance—tiny, angry, covered in eyes—made the tantrum oddly comical.
Driven past reason, the boy grabbed the two remaining tape strands still protruding from Toyota's now grey torso. He twisted them together into a single rope, biting down hard on his lip as he strained with all his strength.
There was a sharp pop. He stumbled forward, breathless.
Behind him, the fused tape ends had started to reattach themselves to Toyota's form. The grey hue began to dissipate.
[Notice: Lust and Sloth have been successfully extracted.]
"Clearly not! What the hell is happening?!"
[Beginning Project: Composite.]
Out of sheer frustration, the boy hurled the tangled tape onto the white floor and began stomping on it over and over again, teeth clenched, his rage boiling over.
But then, the tape—now fused into a single rope—began to puff and swell. Its form shifted, bulging unnaturally, until it started to take on a human shape. Masculine. Male. Familiar.
It was the exact figure of Subaru Natsuki.
The form hovered in midair, connected to Toyota only by a single, slender strand of tape—stretching from arm to arm like an umbilical tether. The boy watched it, his expression twisted with fascination.
"Well… it fixed the problem," he muttered.
His eyes slowly turned toward Toyota, who had returned to his usual coloration—his warmth and faint radiance restored. That sight made the boy's rage return, boiling beneath the surface as a thick, corrosive jealousy consumed him.
It should have been me.
His mind drifted back to the moment his thoughts first became aware. Even in the womb—before he was fully formed—he was conscious, aware, thinking. He remembered the sensations, the thoughts of his mother. He didn't understand how he could read her thoughts, yet he didn't question it—he only knew that he could, so he would.
His mother… a young teenager in the late stages of pregnancy, was confined in some underground room, restrained with bindings to a bed. She was told she couldn't give birth to him.
Not because of her health.
Because of him.
The fear toward what he was.
He could feel the hatred radiating from her. He was the product of a ritual—a violation. A rape. His mother had been taken by a cult called The Children of the Scarlet King. Alongside six other women, she had been forcibly used in a twisted ceremony, injected with something unnatural that bonded with the egg inside her.
He was the result.
A child born of a monstrous fusion—a forced, anomalous conception.
Even as an unborn fetus, he felt her pain—that of being in a constant state of childbirth, said to be one of the most painful things a human could experience. She had screamed so much that she had lost her voice, only her body left to occasional spasms. Her hatred towards the ones who kidnapped her—however, after being in a constant state of suffering for an eternity, she was able to direct her intense emotions toward the only thing she was able to see: her distended belly, toward him. Her despair.
She was just a kidnapped teenager who had a life, friends, loving parents—all before she was violated, then imprisoned by her supposed rescuers in a tight room with only daily meals and minimal human interaction, with constant experimentation. Some experiments were too horrific to relive—silenced. Her parents were dealt with to ensure news of her absence wouldn't be public. Her suffering was hidden.
She had attempted suicide multiple times—hanging, cutting, strangling. Each attempt thwarted only to be tied to her makeshift bed. She directed all her hatred toward the one thing she could: him.
Still, he endured. Not because he didn't feel the pain, but because—somehow—he didn't want her to suffer. She was his only family. Even if she hated him… even if she wanted him gone… he wanted her to feel better. He wished for her happiness.
He could bear the burden of her hate.
He didn't know how long he was in her stomach for, as she was unable to tell time in the confined room without a clock. If he had to guess, it would be 3–4 years. His understanding of the world solely came from her thoughts and memories, so he essentially was her—yet at the same time, a third person's point of view.
The researchers—or people in white lab coats—had told her if he was born, he would be one of the most dangerous beings in existence. Possibly the most. But they also couldn't kill him—why, he didn't know. Some other force, some prophecy, some threat unknown to him kept them from doing so.
A being so feared that even the Foundation trembled before it.
Years passed. And mother suffered in agony, constantly watched through security cameras, constantly contained. She begged for death as the constant pain of childbirth eroded at her sanity. She cursed her child—him. She wept and screamed and prayed for release. Her pain… all of it… was because of him.
Her thoughts—he absorbed them, the hatred, the feeling of wanting everything to suffer, to die, to end, to be destroyed. Finally, he had enough.
I need to be born. If I end it, maybe she will love me.
What was love? He didn't know, but he knew it was the opposite of hate. However, throughout all his time in her womb, she had never once shown anything toward him but the will to destroy him.
If the world doesn't want me... then I'll spite it.
He willed himself into existence. Forced the birth.
How—he didn't know. It shouldn't have been possible. All protections, all containment measures meant to prevent his emergence, shattered like glass.
His mother's bindings were undone as he was finally freed from his intended prison.
He decided to be born for her. Would her feelings about him change?
The first thing he ever saw was her face.
His mother's screaming ended only for her to look at him with terror.
Tears streaming down her face. Her brown hair matted, her body frail and self-starved. Her throat so dry it cracked with every sound of fear. She might have been beautiful once—with a kind face and soft green eyes, graceful curves—all that once was now a withered adaptation. And he was the reason for her appearance.
Sirens blared. Alarms shrieked. But even through the chaos, her voice rang clearly in his mind:
Evil—that's what you are. A monster. I created such a creature… so many eyes. Her mind was filled with delirium, like she was hallucinating—yet her gaze on him remained transfixed.
Through her thoughts and vision, he was able to see himself. To any human, he would be an unnatural creature—something to be killed. A newborn who had a shadow covering his body, undulating, shifting. Eyes were inside the shadow as if the shadow contained its own space.
An evil child who could do nothing while his mother was in pain deserves to suffer, don't you think? It was a question in her mind, filled with hysteria and madness. Yet never said aloud.
She looked at him not with motherly love. Not even pity.
Only disgust.
Only hatred.
Nothing had changed.
Please disappear in pain.
A wave of unbridled madness seeped through her expression.
Even in her frail, weakened state, she lunged forward, trying to strangle her child that was on the foot of the bed. She wanted him gone. Dead. The source of her misfortune.
He didn't want to die.
He wanted her to smile.
Why did his birth hurt her so much?
If he was so ugly, why not just… look away?
He tried to pull away, moving his frail newborn arms with everything he had. But it wasn't enough.
Her nails dug into his thigh—into the soft flesh of his undeveloped body. Her grip tightened. His thigh throbbed with pain, bones too fragile to resist. A soft crunch, like the sound of a baby carrot being snapped.
I don't want to die. Please… someone… anyone… help me…
That's when the wall exploded.
A massive reptilian beast—five meters long, ribs exposed, covered in ragged scales—burst into the room. Shards of concrete flew in every direction. Through the wall behind the beast were people on the ground in pools of blood. Some had guns with police-like equipment, others had white lab coats like the ones that visited his mother.
A thought echoed in the child's mind. Very deep and unhuman:
"Master!"
Everything after that blurred. His vision—still connected to his mother's—saw the reptile lunge toward her as a flash of red.
Blood sprayed. Flesh tore. The sound of grinding—
Then his vision went dark. He couldn't see, couldn't hear—only the pain of his thigh remained.
Suddenly his vision connected again as he was staring down at what was supposed to be himself.
A detached human arm remained on his newborn leg, somehow still attached. The flesh clung to bone.
Was that… his mother's?
What happened to her?
The same voice once again echoed in his mind. Deep.
As his vision shifted to a pile of smashed, unrecognizable flesh.
"How dare an appetizer touch such an exalted existence."
He felt the lizard's reverence towards him, forcing his own eyes open—eyes he had barely used. He watched as the reptile in front of him bowed. Then, as if startled, looked around, as an unsettling calm washed over him. That was when the walls warped, consuming the reptile.
"Go back to your tank, Leviathan." The calm voice—full of power—echoed.
Then the world vanished.
He was floating.
The nail marks on his thigh began to regenerate, flesh knitting back together as if time itself were healing him. Yet even when the pain was gone, the scar remained—a memory written into his very body.
And then… he appeared.
A man, standing amidst a space now colored like a quiet garden in bloom.
Bearded. Calm. His eyes shone with ancient knowing—not cruel, but distant. Gentle, yet ungraspable.
His presence filled the air like warm wind on a silent day.
And when he spoke, it was like hearing the voice of the world itself:
"You are the Vessel of Anchors… the one they call SCP-001-7. A being feared not for what you are… but for what you might become."
His gaze softened, full of something like mourning.
"Your mother's suffering… was a sorrow I wish I did not have to witness. I carry it with me. But it was not without reason. Her pain… held back the tide that your birth would unleash. I did not interfere… because in that moment, I could not."
He bowed his head slightly. A long silence followed before he spoke again.
"You are part of my creation… and yet, I find myself struggling to feel what I should. That troubles me. I have always seen goodness in what I create. But in you…"
The man hesitated—pain flickering across his expression.
"In you, I feel a silence. A stillness where there should be warmth. Perhaps that is why I feel I owe you something… if not love, then at least truth."
The words cut deep—deeper than rage, deeper than despair.
He didn't care who this being was. He didn't care what this place was.
All he could feel was contempt.
You watched. You let it happen.
While he was cursed, while his mother suffered… this being simply watched.
And with that realization, something twisted awake in him.
A familiar emotion—fed to him in the womb—something he had never truly felt until now.
Scarlet light flared around his form. His eyes burned with a pressure that made the air feel heavy.
The man's expression shifted—his ageless calm dimming. He raised a hand and, with a single snap of his fingers, the energy vanished.
Silence.
Then the voice again—this time within his mind.
"I have… separated a part of you. The child you once were, without memory, without anger. I do not wish to harm you. But I cannot allow what you are… to become what you might be. You must be… regulated."
Where was he?
All he could notice was that—somehow—he could move. Even in this newborn body, fragile and barely formed, he had control. The space around him was endless and dark, like he was suspended in inky blackness. With trembling steps, he moved forward, unsteady, stumbling as he walked.
Then he saw it—just ahead, a thin, transparent veil.
He pressed through it, and on the other side, the blackness felt heavier, deeper… but something else was there. A feeling—like a thread, a string—pulled at him. A tether. It guided him toward a figure curled up in the distance.
White.
The figure was bathed in soft, pale light, stark against the dark. As he got closer, he saw it more clearly.
It looked like… him.
But it wasn't. Or rather, it was—but without the eyes, the shadow, the abnormalities. This version was clean, untouched. Human. The figure lay there curled up, eyes closed, peaceful, as if in a deep sleep.
He hesitated. Then, instinctively, he reached out—not physically, but with his mind. His innate power surged forward like a whisper, trying to link with the figure.
And in that moment… he felt it.
Pure. Untouched. Childlike. A version of himself that had never seen suffering. Never endured hatred. Never learned pain. Not stupid—just innocent. Soft. Whole.
Wait.
Is that supposed to be me?
Realization crashed into him like a wave.
That's my body. Mine.
His eyes widened. Emotion bubbled in his throat.
Give it back. I want to be normal.
***
Ding.
Two new souls have started the integration process. All new abilities have been added prior to memory Transfer.
(AN: I tried to rush through the backstory and there is still so much lore I haven't covered left, so, I will save it for later to get through the plot, next chapter be prepared for some new ability's I know at this point I'm just stacking them, but we only have two more souls left and still have system rewards.
I've set an official release schedule: Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, Although when I get bored, I add extra.
Bonus chapters will drop on Saturdays if my demands are met. 🔫
Trade deal:
You give me 70 power stones, and I give you a bonus chapter.
Sounds fair, right?)