Chapter 12: The Scientific Experiment
Mike’s world darkened the moment he was captured. The man he had once been no longer existed. The Black Angel had done his part, dragging Mike into the depths of a hidden world—one that had always been concealed from him. After a night of brutal training, a trail of blood, and an unforgiving descent into an unfamiliar darkness, Mike found himself unwittingly thrust into a much darker game. The rules of this game were simple: survive, evolve, or be extinguished.
The Black Angel, a master of manipulation and secrecy, had orchestrated this moment with disturbing precision, leading Mike into the hands of people far more dangerous than the criminal underworld he had already known. They weren’t like the thugs Mike had dealt with in the streets, who lived for money or status; no, these people were something far more sinister. They were the unseen hands that controlled the future, playing with human lives as if they were mere chess pieces on a board. This wasn’t the first time Mike had been placed in a chamber, but it was different this time. The cold, sterile environment, the searing lights, and the buzz of unseen machines filled the air with a constant hum. It was a sound that gnawed at the edges of his sanity. A reminder of his helplessness.
Cold steel walls surrounded him, and the only light flickered like the last remnants of hope. His senses were dull and dulled, a harsh contrast to the heightened awareness he would soon discover he had gained. Scientists, faceless and emotionless, stood by with instruments of unimaginable precision—tools designed not to cure, but to break both body and spirit. Their pale faces, behind masks and goggles, were expressionless as they surveyed him like he was little more than a lab rat. They were ready to test the boundaries of his endurance, to push him beyond what he ever thought was possible.
Mike didn’t know exactly what they planned, but he could feel it deep in his bones. Whatever this was, it would change everything. This wasn’t just another round of testing, another session where they tested his strength or his pain tolerance. No, this time, they were going to reshape him. They were going to take everything he was and remake it into something… new.
The experiments began immediately, the sterile needle pressing into his skin with a precision that made him shudder. His veins burned as the chemicals they injected into his bloodstream began to work their way through his system, his body reacting violently to the unnatural substances they forced upon him. Each new injection, each vile substance, twisted his cells, reprogramming them, manipulating his very DNA. His body screamed in protest, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. His flesh, once the source of his strength, now felt alien, as though he were no longer in control of his own body.
The scientists were relentless. For what felt like an eternity, they subjected him to endless rounds of tests—each one more invasive than the last. His blood was drawn, his muscles were stretched and pulled to unnatural limits, and his nervous system was hacked and reprogrammed with precision. They had created a perfect hunter, a weapon so lethal that no one would dare stand in his way. But in doing so, they had also awakened something in him. Something dark. Something dangerous.
They changed his form. It was slow at first, a subtle shift, but soon, his body began to betray him, changing in ways that were both terrifying and awe-inspiring. His bones stretched with an unnatural groan, cracking and reshaping as though they were clay in the hands of a twisted artist. His muscles tightened and grew, swelling with raw power, stretching his skin taut as it struggled to accommodate the new mass. He had been tall and lean before, but now, he was monstrous—standing at 6'5", his body stretched with sinewy muscle, more powerful than he had ever been. Each movement was laced with an animal grace, a predatory fluidity that made his every action appear calculated and precise. His limbs, once human in proportion, were now more like those of a predator—long and powerful, capable of explosive speed and terrifying strength.
His skin darkened, transforming into a deep night-black hue, as though the darkness itself had seeped into his very pores. The color was not a sign of disease or mutation, but rather an indication of his newfound strength—a body forged in the fire of science, marked by the very essence of what they had done to him. His eyes, once a deep brown, now glowed red—molten, burning with an unnatural fury. They were eyes that could see the world in a way that no human could. The eyes of a predator. And beneath that glowing intensity was an emptiness—a void that screamed of everything he had lost.
But the most disturbing change was the talons. Mike’s hands, once just hands, were now tipped with razor-sharp claws. Each talon was longer than a knife, capable of rending flesh and bone with terrifying ease. They were the embodiment of his new nature—ferocious, merciless, and unstoppable. But even more terrifying than his new form was the power that came with it.
His senses were heightened beyond human limits—he could track the faintest movements in the air, hear the smallest sounds from miles away, and see through walls as though they were made of glass. His perception of the world was no longer bound by the limitations of his human body. He was in tune with the environment in ways that should have been impossible. Every movement, every shift of air, was felt in his bones. He could smell the fear of the scientists as they watched him, their presence like a scent in the back of his throat. He could hear the faintest thrum of the machines as they measured his every reaction. He was aware of everything around him, and yet, it all seemed irrelevant. Because now, all that mattered was the power he had become.
And perhaps the most terrifying transformation was his regeneration. Mike could heal from almost any wound. His body repaired itself at a rate faster than the eye could comprehend. Bones snapped back into place, flesh knitted together, and blood flowed again. No injury was permanent; nothing could stop him. It was as if the very essence of life itself had been injected into his veins, making him almost invincible. The idea of dying, of being defeated, became an abstract concept—a far-off possibility that no longer seemed relevant to him.
But despite all the power, despite all the changes, Mike’s mind was clear. He was no longer human. He was a beast—created by the very hands that sought to control him. Yet, in this cold, sterile chamber, he found himself free—unwittingly reborn as the perfect predator, ready to hunt and destroy anyone who stood in his way. He could feel the hunger deep inside of him—the hunger for violence, for domination, for the thrill of the kill. And he knew that he would stop at nothing to satisfy that hunger.
The scientists watched, fascinated by the results, their eyes wide with disbelief as they took in the rapid and undeniable transformation. What had they created? What had they unleashed? They were no longer in control. Mike’s evolution had surpassed their understanding. They were no longer the puppet masters. The puppet had become the master. They had birthed something they could never contain, something they could never comprehend.
Through it all, the Black Angel had seen potential in Mike. He had known this day would come, when Mike’s transformation would complete, when he would rise from the ashes of his former self and become something more. And now, the High Rise Devil had one more tool to wield. One more weapon to bend to his will. But as they watched Mike’s transformation unfold, neither the scientists nor the Black Angel could have predicted the one thing that could not be controlled—the will of the beast inside Mike, the desire for freedom that was growing stronger with each passing moment.
Mike wasn’t a tool. He wasn’t a weapon to be wielded. He was something far more dangerous. Something that couldn’t be contained. And as the scientists watched the monster they had created stand before them, ready to tear everything apart, they realized the one thing they had feared the most—the creature they had sought to make a weapon was, in fact, the very thing that would destroy them all.
Mike's Power
Mike awoke in a stark, sterile room. The walls were white, and the floor gleamed with clinical precision. A bed, a small table, and a solitary chair were the only signs of habitation. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic, and there was no trace of life beyond his own. He lay still for a moment, absorbing the cold, lifeless atmosphere that surrounded him. This wasn’t the same laboratory he had been confined to before. It felt worse—like a containment cell, built specifically for someone like him. Someone that was no longer human. Someone whose power could never be fully controlled.
The transformation had been brutal. He could feel the hunger—the overwhelming urge to dominate, to destroy—coursing through his new form, gnawing at his consciousness. It wasn’t just his body that had changed. His mind was evolving too. It was as if the primal, animalistic side of him had been awakened, and it was urging him to embrace his new nature, to tear the world apart and rebuild it in his image.
He could feel the power in his muscles, the unnatural strength surging through every fiber of his being. His once-human frame had been twisted into something monstrous—tall, dark-skinned, with vicious talons that could rip through flesh like paper. His senses were sharper than ever before, and his mind was clearer, more focused on the violence and destruction that he was now capable of. He could hear the faintest sound, smell the faintest hint of fear, and see through walls as if they weren’t even there. The change wasn’t just physical; it was psychological. The hunger for violence had taken root deep within him, and it was only a matter of time before he would let it consume him completely.
He had been in this chamber for days, maybe weeks. Time no longer mattered. It was just a blur of experiments, injections, and tests. The scientists who had created him—the ones who had twisted his body and mind into something monstrous—had been pushing him further and further, each experiment designed to see how much more power they could extract from him. But what they didn’t understand was that he wasn’t just a weapon—they had made a mistake in trying to control him. They had awakened something inside of him that could never be contained, something that was far more powerful than anything they could fathom.
The door to the cell slid open with a hiss, and Mike's eyes snapped to the entrance. He wasn’t startled—he had grown accustomed to the sounds of their footsteps, the low hum of the machinery. But what came through the door next sent a chill down his spine.
A massive lion entered the room, its golden mane shimmering under the harsh fluorescent lights. The creature’s eyes locked onto Mike immediately, sizing him up, sensing the new predator in the room. The air seemed to crackle with tension as the two animals—one a beast of the jungle, the other a creature born of science—stared each other down.
The lion growled low in its throat, its body tense with the promise of violence. It was a magnificent creature, powerful, regal, and unafraid. But it could sense something in Mike—a ferocity, a hunger—that made it hesitate. It was no longer the apex predator. This new creature, this monster standing before it, was a force unlike anything it had encountered before. The lion roared, its voice a thunderous declaration of its intent. It bared its teeth and moved slowly toward Mike, its movements fluid and precise, the muscles rippling under its tawny coat.
For a moment, everything seemed to freeze. The lion and Mike were two creatures, embodiments of power, locked in an unspoken contest. Each of them was a predator in their own right—one born of the wild, the other forged in a lab. But there could only be one alpha.
Without warning, the lion lunged. Its massive paws tore through the air as it surged toward Mike, its jaws snapping in an attempt to catch him in its grip. But Mike was faster—far faster than any human could ever hope to be. The lion’s roar filled the air, but Mike was already in motion. He sidestepped the attack with ease, his talons extending from his fingertips in an almost predatory fluidity. In one swift motion, he slashed through the lion’s throat, his claws cutting through flesh like a hot knife through butter.
The lion let out a strangled cry, its body convulsing as blood poured from the deep wound. Its roar faded, replaced by a gurgling sound as it collapsed to the floor, its once mighty body now crumpled in a pool of its own blood. The sterile white floor was stained crimson as the lion’s life drained away.
Mike stood over the fallen creature, his breath steady as he surveyed the kill. He had done it without hesitation, without a second thought. The lion, once the king of the jungle, was now just another casualty in the wake of his transformation. It was a powerful creature, yes, but it was nothing compared to what he had become. The sheer force of his new abilities, the speed, the strength, the precision, had shattered it with a single strike. The weight of his power settled over him, and the realization hit him like a freight train—he was no longer human. He was something else, something far beyond the natural world. He was a monster, yes, but one that could not be controlled.
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Through the hidden observation window, the scientists watched in stunned silence. Their faces were a mixture of awe and unease as they took in the aftermath of the test. Mike’s transformation had far surpassed their wildest expectations. They had created a weapon, a living, breathing force of nature. But they hadn’t anticipated how far this power would go—how little control they would have over it.
For Mike, however, the kill was just another demonstration of what he had become. Another test, another step in the path he had been forced onto. The lion had been just another animal to prove his superiority. But what the scientists didn’t know, what they couldn’t understand, was that this was no longer just a demonstration. This was a beginning. Mike wasn’t just a weapon. He was evolving into something far greater than they could ever anticipate.
They had pushed him beyond human limits, but they had also pushed him into a place where no one could follow. He wasn’t just a monster. He was a force of nature, unstoppable, uncontainable. A new apex predator.
And now, he could feel the hunger in him growing—stronger than ever. The need to break free, to destroy everything in his path, to hunt and conquer. The scientists had made a mistake. They had created something they couldn’t control. And Mike? He was no longer interested in being anyone’s test subject. He was interested in freedom. And with the power coursing through his veins, there was nothing that could stop him from taking it.
As the blood from the fallen lion began to pool around him, Mike let out a low, guttural growl of his own. The room grew colder, the air heavier, and the once-controlled predator stood poised to do what he was born to do—destroy, dominate, and rise above everything and everyone.
The Black Angel’s Justice
The apartment was a desolate wreck, a scene of devastation that had become too familiar. Shattered glass littered the floor, and overturned furniture was a chaotic testament to the violence that had unfolded in this space. The acrid stench of alcohol mixed with the heavier scent of despair, clinging to the air like an oppressive weight. In the dim light, the remnants of broken lives seemed to hang like ghosts in the corners—unseen, unheard, but undeniable. The cries of a woman and her children had once echoed through these walls, an almost constant soundtrack to their lives, ignored by the world outside. But tonight, there was someone who had heard.
And they were coming.
The Black Angel moved like a shadow, his steps silent as death itself. His presence was the kind that left no room for defiance, no room for resistance—only fear. He had been watching this place for weeks, waiting for the right moment. A careful predator, biding his time. The abuser—self-proclaimed patriarch of this broken home—had taken full advantage of his family’s absence. The wife and children were gone for the night, tucked away safely, unaware that they had just narrowly escaped the fury that was about to descend upon their tormentor.
The man, lost in his inebriated stupor, sat slumped on the threadbare couch. A half-empty bottle of whiskey hung loosely from his hand, its contents spilling over the sides in reckless abandon. His curses were loud and slurred, directed at his wife—an unspoken tirade about her failures, her inability to please him, her refusal to be the perfect, docile housewife he thought he deserved. The man’s distorted sense of entitlement was evident in every drunken syllable that tumbled from his lips. He was so caught up in his ranting that he didn't notice the door creak open, the shift in the air as a new presence filled the room.
Until it was too late.
“You think you’re a man?” The Black Angel’s voice broke the silence, cold, steady, and cutting like the edge of a blade. It was a voice that promised no mercy, no compassion. It was the voice of judgment.
The abuser snapped his head up, his eyes bloodshot and wide with shock. He tried to focus, to make sense of what he was seeing, but the figure before him was a blur of darkness, a silhouette that seemed to stretch across the room, eclipsing the faint light.
“Who the hell are you?” the man slurred, his voice heavy with the fog of alcohol, trying to sound threatening as he fumbled to stand. “Get out of my house!” His words were empty, his bravado a hollow shell of the power he so desperately clung to. He was a man who ruled with fear, but that fear was quickly turning toward something far more terrifying.
The Black Angel stepped forward, his presence filling the space with an undeniable force. His dark eyes glinted, betraying the barely restrained fury burning beneath the surface. There was no fear, no hesitation in his stance. He was the reckoning the man had long deserved but never expected.
“A man protects his family,” the Black Angel continued, his words slicing through the air like a knife. “A man lifts them up, not tears them down. You’re no man. You’re a coward.” His voice was low, heavy with a scorn that could crush the very spirit of the person it was aimed at. The words were not just an accusation—they were a truth, a declaration that could not be denied.
The abuser's face twisted with rage, his hand shooting out to swing the bottle at the Black Angel’s head, a feeble attempt at defense. But the Black Angel was faster, far faster than the man could comprehend. In a blur of motion, he caught the man’s wrist with a grip so tight that the bones threatened to snap. The bottle shattered on the floor, the pieces scattering in every direction. The man’s scream of pain echoed in the apartment as he crumpled to his knees, his bravado evaporating in an instant.
“Please!” the man gasped, trembling as he dropped to the floor, his face contorted in fear and desperation. “I’ll change! I swear! I’ll stop!” His voice cracked, but there was no sincerity in his words—only the raw panic of a man who could sense his life slipping away.
The Black Angel’s face remained unreadable. There were no tears in his eyes, no compassion in his heart. He had seen it all before. The promises of change. The pleas for forgiveness. All lies, all empty. The Black Angel had been the shadow in the background of so many broken homes, the silent witness to the false repentance that never came to fruition. This man was no different. His pleas fell on deaf ears.
“You’ve had plenty of chances,” the Black Angel replied, his voice as cold as the grave. “Your words are as empty as the promises you made.”
The abuser could only stammer, his eyes wide with terror as the Black Angel loomed over him. He was a man reduced to nothing, a broken shell of the person he had once believed himself to be. His fate was sealed, and he knew it.
The Black Angel’s movements were slow and deliberate, each one carrying the weight of countless others. His hands were merciless, but calculated. The first strike was swift—a blow to the man’s chest that left him gasping for air. The second strike was harder, aimed at his ribs, and the sickening crack of bone breaking echoed in the room. The man screamed again, but this time, no one came to his aid. The world outside remained oblivious, as it always did. No one cared.
The Black Angel continued, his strikes methodical, as if he were teaching the man a painful lesson. Each blow mirrored the torment the abuser had inflicted on his family—blows to the spirit, to the mind, to the body. The man’s screams were muffled by the sound of flesh hitting flesh, but it didn’t stop. The violence was controlled, each moment of pain met with a quiet understanding, as though the Black Angel was paying the price of justice for the innocent.
When the screams finally faded into a blood-soaked silence, the Black Angel stood over the man’s broken body, his breathing steady and even. The abuser’s once-proud frame was now a crumpled heap of agony, and the room had been transformed into a grisly testimony to the cost of cruelty. Blood pooled around the man, painting the floor with the consequences of his actions.
The Black Angel reached into his coat, pulling out a piece of chalk, the white against the red of the room a sharp contrast. With careful precision, he scrawled a message on the wall in crimson letters—letters that would speak long after he was gone.
“No forgiveness for those who harm the innocent.”
He stood for a moment longer, looking down at the man who was now nothing more than a broken husk of his former self. Then, without a word, the Black Angel turned and walked toward the door, vanishing into the shadows from which he had come.
Outside, the night was still, the silence of the streets broken only by the soft rustle of leaves in the wind. Somewhere, a mother and her children were safe, unaware of the price that had been paid to ensure their peace. Somewhere else, the legend of the Black Angel grew darker, more terrifying, as his crusade against evil continued. He would not stop, not until every predator, every abuser, every monster that lurked in the dark had been brought to justice.
And as long as he walked this earth, no one would be safe from his judgment.
Weakness
Mike had long since realized that his newfound power was a curse disguised as a blessing. Each day spent in the cold, sterile laboratory chipped away at his humanity, leaving behind a monster forged from pain and manipulation. His body was stronger, faster, and deadlier than anything he had ever been, but it came with a heavy toll. He could feel the hunger gnawing at him constantly—a need to destroy, to dominate, to hunt. The Black Angel had given him a gift, but it was one that came with no way out.
In the darkness of the lab, with the faint hum of machinery and the sterile scent of chemicals, Mike often found himself fighting an internal battle. He was no longer just a man, no longer a person with thoughts and dreams, hopes and fears. His flesh had been twisted, his mind molded into something primal, something that didn’t question but acted—driven by an insatiable need for violence, to rip and tear, to hunt down anything that moved. His transformation was complete, yet inside, he still clung to the faint memory of the man he used to be, and the weight of that memory was unbearable.
He could still hear the lion’s last gurgling breath echoing in his mind. The way its body crumpled beneath him, lifeless and defeated. For a moment, as he stood over the creature, there was a flicker of doubt—a question that danced in the back of his mind, buried beneath layers of instinct and rage. Was this all he was now? A beast, a killer, nothing more than the sum of his mutations?
But the answer didn’t matter. It never did. Because in the end, Mike had been made to be the perfect predator, and predators didn’t question their instincts. They simply hunted.
His transformation had taken away his humanity but left him with something far more dangerous. He was both the hunter and the hunted, trapped in a world that didn’t care for the remnants of the person he used to be. There was no room for weakness. No room for doubt. Only the hunger. The thirst for blood.
Another door slid open, and two more figures entered the room—this time, humans. They were both wearing lab coats, but they were different from the scientists who had been observing him before. These men were larger, their demeanor colder, more calculating. One of them carried a tablet in his hand, his eyes scanning it intently.
“Test subject 0421,” the man with the tablet said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Initial results show complete success in physical transformations. We’re pushing the boundaries of human biology here, but the mental and emotional shifts are proving more unpredictable.”
Mike stood silent, his sharp eyes following every movement. He didn’t need to ask what they were saying. He already knew. They had created something in him that they couldn’t control, something beyond their understanding. And that uncertainty scared them. The unknown. The thing they had unleashed and couldn’t quite grasp.
“Are we proceeding with the next phase?” the second man asked, his voice low, barely above a whisper. His eyes flicked over Mike, calculating, perhaps unsure of how far they could push him. Mike could feel the gaze of the men, knowing full well that they were just waiting for the next move, the next level of experimentation.
The first man nodded, his finger tapping against the screen of the tablet. “Yes. It’s time to see just how far we can push this. Get the containment unit ready.”
Mike’s muscles tensed involuntarily at the mention of containment. It was all so mechanical—so clinical. He wasn’t a lab rat anymore. He was something far worse. Something they didn’t even fully understand. He had been shaped into a monster, but he wasn’t a mere subject. He was their greatest failure.
The second man turned to him, a smirk creeping across his face. It was the kind of smirk that came from someone who had no idea what they were dealing with. He leaned in, as if trying to provoke a reaction from the creature they had molded. “Ready to show us what you can really do, 0421?”
Mike didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. His red eyes gleamed, burning with an intensity that made the men take a step back. There was a flicker of realization in their eyes, an understanding that this was no longer just an experiment. This was something they had lost control of, and for the first time, they were the ones who were afraid.
He was done being a puppet. Done being their experiment. They had made him into something monstrous, but they had also awakened something in him—a will to break free.
With a sudden, terrifying roar, Mike surged forward, his talons flashing in the dim light. The men barely had time to react. In one fluid motion, Mike slashed through the air, his claws cutting through the space with the precision of a blade, faster than they could comprehend. The man with the tablet crumpled to the ground, his body torn apart before he even had a chance to scream. Blood sprayed across the room, and Mike’s senses hummed with an almost perverse pleasure. He could feel the life draining from the man’s body, his muscles twisting and contorting as they died.
The second man scrambled to escape, but Mike was faster. His powerful legs propelled him forward, and in a single bound, he was on top of the man. His claws sank into the man’s throat, cutting through skin and muscle with sickening ease. The man’s gurgling breaths turned into silence as Mike’s grip tightened, suffocating the life out of him with cold efficiency. It was nothing personal—just instinct. The man was prey. That’s all that mattered.
The laboratory was silent again, save for the faint hum of the machines that had once been his prison. The sharp scent of blood filled the air, mingling with the sterile odor of chemicals, but Mike didn’t care. He stood over the two lifeless bodies, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. It was done. They were done.
His eyes scanned the room, now devoid of life, and for the first time since his transformation, he felt something that wasn’t rage or hunger—he felt... free. The iron grip of the Black Angel’s influence no longer held him. He had ripped it away with his own claws. In that moment, Mike realized that no matter what they had made him into, no matter how far they had pushed him, they had failed to break him. He was more than just their creation. He was something greater.
The Black Angel had seen his potential, but Mike had taken that potential and made it his own. He had become his own weapon now, no longer a tool to be wielded by others. He was no longer part of their experiments, their games. He was something entirely new.
The door to the laboratory remained open, leading to an unknown world beyond. But Mike knew that whatever awaited him, he was ready. He had been forged in the flames of cruelty, but now, he was the fire itself.
His path was clear. The Black Angel had awakened him, and now, Mike would burn everything in his way.
