The Emperor’s Angel of Death

　　He is a ten-year-old child who is being mechanically cut.

　　 Although he fell asleep, his body was still twitching, painful dreams and sleepless nerves responded to the rejection caused by the operation.

　　 They start with pain-pain that pours out, pain that hurts into the bone marrow.

　　 The pain is endless, as if the turbulent ocean rushes to the sky, rushing to and fro, swallowing time.

　　 Pull and expand in a few seconds into hours, and rupture and compress back into a few minutes after a few hours. The past and the future are all dissolved in the present, and the tearing spreads.

　　 The red clouds bulged in the gray matter in his brain, and the pain turned into tingling again and again. One second they trembled like a knife cut, and the next second turned into a flame that envelops him.

　　 He couldn't hear anything at all, the pain split all his other senses, leaving him nothing, only the wheels of torture that kept rolling and crushing on the endless end.

　　 He should have been destroyed. They wanted him to surrender and surrender, so that he would succumb to the red ocean and the huge waves.

　　 He can't even remember who they are, but that doesn't matter.

　　 The key to everything is that he can never let go, he can never give in, so the pain continues, so he perseveres.

　　 Then everything is over.

　　 He yelled at the sudden end of the process, a cold feeling of emptiness poured into him, and then he soared into the hazy, tumbling from one end to the other.

　　 Maybe this is death, without any pain, it is the end of pain, and nothingness.

　　 Then there was a voice from the void, hundreds of voices, whispering to accompany him across the void, which was only beyond hearing.

　　 Then the color replaced the pitch black, and various images came one after another. There were various colors he had seen in his life, which were cut into pieces.

　　 Sometimes he thought he could even see the pattern and recognize the shape, like watching a picture through a sliding curtain of water, but then the pattern shattered and he returned to the colorful vortex.

　　 Soshyang’s only remaining consciousness tells him that he is undergoing an operation without injection of anesthetic, which is usually enough to kill an adult.

　　 But he told himself that he must be patient if he wants to live.

　　——————

　　 He is a twelve-year-old child who is being reshaped.

Two strong hearts are beating in his open chest. The second new organ is smaller than the new heart. It will change the growth of his bones and stimulate his bones to absorb unnatural minerals during his life. substance.

　　 Many hands, some of which are human and some of which are mechanical, cut and stitched up the boy's body without shaking, implanting new organs into them.

　　 The boy trembled again, his eyes opened for a moment, and something cold touched the skin under his eyes.

　　 His vision began to become clear, and he tried to blink again.

　　 A deity shook his head at the boy. The gray robe covered his strong muscles. A star-shaped tattoo covered his chest and neck. His eyes were gray with calmness.

　　 "Don't do that—"

　　 A voice sounded beside him, soft but very firm.

　　 "Your eyelids are fixed and opened. Trying to blink too hard will tear them off."

　　 The boy tried to resist, but was soon wrapped in sleepiness again.

　　 He felt that it was just a moment, as if he was sinking into the deep sea of ​​his hometown world.

　　 He obeyed because the chemicals in his blood forced him to obey.

　　——————

　　 He is a fourteen-year-old child who is destined to be different.

The third organ was implanted in his chest not far from the new heart. While the bone-strengthening organ changed his bones to rely on new minerals for growth, the muscle-strengthening organ would produce a lot of hormones to grow His muscles.

　　 The pharmacist sutured the boy's medical wound, and then moved a yellow wrench.

　　 The restraints that kept the boy upright were released, and he fell forward to the ground.

　　 He lay there for a few seconds, breathing heavily, then propped himself up on his knees.

　　 "Called..."

　　 He started to ask, but the pain in his throat and lungs made him stop.

"What's your name?"

　　 The pharmacist stopped and looked down at him, the tattoo on the right half of his face trembling.

　　 "My name is reserved for myself, not for you."

　　 The boy wanted to refute, but his mouth was dry and nothing.

　　 "Most will ask me why this is."

　　 The pharmacist shook his head.

　　 "I know why."

　　 The boy said stubbornly, and the pharmacist raised one eyebrow.

　　 "You think I am a failure."

　　 The pharmacist shook his head again, hesitated, and then pulled him up.

"Do not."

　　 He replied and led the boy to the rest of the hall.

　　 Under the frosty roof, rows of metal iron frames are arranged and stretched out. In the middle of each frame, there is a human figure standing naked, bound and covered by several circles of ceramic steel.

　　 Numerous helmets cover their faces in the same manner as the pharmacist took from the boy's head.

　　 When there is light flickering at the edge of their vision, their bodies tremble, and many tubes are connected to their arms and chest.

The boy could see the blood vessels bulging under the skin where the needle was inserted. He rubbed his arms and felt the tingling pain of those wounds. Many of those figures were leaning loosely on the restraints, and bloodstains covered them. Bald skin.

　　 Numerous pilots wearing red robes and one-eyed masks moved among the rows of shelves, pulled loose bodies from the restraints, and discarded them on numerous trucks.

　　 The first stage is already one hundred miles.

　　 This cold reality appeared in the boy's mind. The pharmacist had told him, but he had expressed doubts.

　　 "That's what the failed product looks like."

　　 The pharmacist pointed to a figure who fell from the shelf due to the cancellation of the binding. The young man was still alive, but only alive.

　　 The blood flowed from his mouth, his eyes rolled, his arms and legs braced indiscriminately trying to stand up, and then he was attacked by the slave laborers. The young man was as crazy as a beast.

　　 In the end, one of them put a thick tube into the back of the young man's head, and there was a bang and fracture sound. Then the young man fell and blood leaked from a neat hole in his skull.

　　 "We don't want you to fail, we want you to succeed."

　　 "I will not fail!"

　　 The boy snarled, and it hurt him deeply.

　　 The pharmacist looked down at the boy, and then a trace of relief flashed in his gray eyes.

　　 "Very good."

　　At this time, this child is no longer a human being.

　　 This night’s work is to achieve this goal. Time will tell people how different the boy will become.

　　——————

　　 He is a fifteen-year-old child, a new **** waiting to rise.

　　 When they cut him, he could feel it in most cases, but he was numb. They dug out large pieces of flesh and blood very roughly and then replaced them with fresh organs and implanted them in those places.

　　 Before this, he had already understood why his operation could not be injected with anesthetic.

Because he is special, his transformation surgery is different from other people. Usually there are nineteen operations on the Star Warrior, but Soshyang’s surgery is actually twenty, and there is a procedure called [Gray Pulp]. It must be done while he is fully awake.

　　 When they ended, the pain returned slowly, as if a ball of wire was tied into his chest.

　　 He didn't show a trace of the pain, because he already knew something that mortals could not touch, the implanted new organs and the hypnotic infusion~www.wuxiaspot.com~ You accepted it very well, child. "

　　The gray-eyed pharmacist said with a smile, while he examined a series of fixed stitches lined up along the center of the boy's chest.

　　 "Even if you go so far, some will still die here."

　　 "Most."

　　 The boy's voice is hoarse, and his vocal cords are being changed.

　　 The pharmacist looked up at him, his gray eyes looked straight, and the boy stared back without blinking.

　　 "Most of them will die before all this is over."

　　 "Yes, they will die."

　　 The structure of his thinking has changed. He can feel that information and experience have become clearer, the gap between thinking and action has narrowed, and some emotions wither and fade.

　　 The things in his memory that happened in the past drifted away, and he could still see it, but it felt like something that didn't really belong to him.

　　 At the same time, new memories filled his mind, some clear, some vague and mixed, he knew more than he had before, but he didn't understand how this happened.

　　 The machine they buckled on his head did this. He knew very well that instilling change in his mind was like pouring liquid metal into a mold.

　　 The pain got worse, but his ability to endure them also grew. The pain from surgery and hypnosis became many islands in the vast and deep ocean.

　　Time has lost its meaning, and life has experienced many different pains.

　　 Except for the pharmacist who flashed in the fog of pain, he never saw any living person again. The only words he heard came from the servants who moved his limbs according to the next stage of adjustment and repeated the remote control commands.

　　 Everything seemed so lifeless.