Screams echo down cold stone corridors, a warning to any who enter of their fate. Although, that entirely depends on who you are. Some are here to inflict pain rather than receive it.

  Torches barely light the way, revealing hundreds of dimly lit cells and branching paths. The further the corridor stretches the darker it becomes, eventually turning to pure darkness. Dozens of guards patrol the halls, wielding spears and whips which crackle with lightning. Each of them wears an iron cuirass with chainmail underneath and a black cloak embroidered with a golden crown.

  On their faces are featureless black masks, neither eye nor mouth holes present. Strangely, nothing holds the masks in place.

  One walked down the hall, looking in each cell as it passed them. It didn't make a sound, not a breath, not a footstep, even the chain links were completely still.

  It paused upon looking into one particular cell. The interior was too dark to see within but the guard had its attention on something else. A lit candle just after the door. Its flame was weak and alternated between red and white.

  The guard fished a key from its sleeve and unlocked the door, swinging it open and stepping inside.

  A minute later it dragged out a woman kicking and screaming. She was emaciated, little more than bones left on her. She wore dirty and tattered rags covered in bloodstains. On her wrists and ankles were imprints from the shackles she was in moments ago.

  With a practiced motion the guard yanked her head back and drew an oddly shaped needle. It curved in a serpentine fashion and seemed to…move. Twisting and turning and writhing and reaching, it begged to be set free, to bury itself into the woman's flesh, writhing like a snake as it was just barely too far.

  The guard stared soundlessly, not even breath escaping the mask, and released the needle.

  It leapt forward and burrowed into her neck, visibly worming its way up to her skull. She shook and clawed at her head, pulling out her own hair with her mouth open in a soundless scream. But she had no escape, the guard’s grip like iron. After a few seconds her eyes rolled back and she went limp.

  The guard released her and began walking down the hall. She stood not a moment later, body lurching and limbs moving in an unnatural nature as she stumbled behind them.

  They passed dozens of cells housing people in states similar to the woman's. But each of them had something that set them apart. Some were severely beaten, missing limbs, eyes gouged out, tongues cut, or bellies gutted.

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  Many had unusual traits. There were those with either gray skin, unusually long limbs, bulging eyes, or deformed bodies. A more uncommon anomaly among them was the presence of entirely inhuman parts.

  Wings, tails, beaks, claws, limbs, hair, anything that could be changed was. Aspects from all manner of creatures took their place, regardless of size or compatibility. Some had more changes than the rest.

  A pattern began to show in the way the cells were arranged. Near the entrance were the normal subjects. They had no modifications, simply men, women and children torn from their homes or plucked from the streets.

  Further in were those with minor changes. These had deformities or small parts changed, such as the eyes, ears, and teeth.

  Beyond them were those with major changes. They were far fewer and had swapped limbs and skin. A few even had different heads. Although those ones seemed to be in a vegetative state.

  One cell in particular stood out, situated just before a large iron gate. The bars are several times thicker than the other cells and the room itself is massive. Five guards stand motionless outside and another ten within.

  In the middle was a little girl. Thick chains were looped around her entire body with their ends attached to hooks in the walls, floor, and ceiling. A blindfold was wrapped around her head and an iron muzzle sat over her mouth.

  Under all those chains her grotesque form could still be seen.

  Antlers sprouted from her head, nearly half her height. They were colored a dark gray with black lines running through them and they gleamed, reflecting the firelight.

  One arm reaches the ground and is bent at several places. Three long claws are visible along with several spikes that spanned her entire arm. The other was replaced with a large wing adorned with golden feathers. It twitches every so often, wanting to expand to its full length but held back by the chains.

  Her right leg is bent backwards at the knee, skin replaced with a carapace and the foot replaced by a hoof.

  Her left leg is oddly normal. But the veins are far too prominent. They pulse and writhe under her skin.

  From between the chains her torso can be seen.

  All the skin has been replaced by feathers of different sizes and colorations, sleek carapace, and scales.

  She shifted in response to the guard walking by.

  Who was it this time? Someone older or younger? She'd noticed those being dragged into the gate were steadily growing younger ever since the sorcerers discovered that her body responded better to the changes than the others.

  She'd figure it out once the screams began. They always removed the needles once their tests started. But she always tried to guess beforehand, it was the only thing that could distract her from the pain.

  Although it always sparked other questions she preferred to avoid.

  When would it be her turn? In an hour? A day? How long had it been since her last one anyway? It was useless to count, she never learned what came after eight. She couldn't hold the numbers in her head anyway, they were always drowned out.

  When would they unwrap her chains and place her back on that table? Place her back in that room where they tore her apart and put her back together.

  How much longer before they tore her skin and grafted something new back on? How much longer until they rip off her arms and legs, replacing them with something new? How longer until they plucked her eyes and slipped in new ones?

  Everything they added made her itch. They were wrong, they weren't meant to be there. Her body knew and it rejected them. Her eyes, her skin, her arms, her legs, her hair, her insides, they itch. They itch like thousands of ants biting into her. They itch, itch so much it hurts, hurts so much she wishes it could kill her, and it could.

  But they wouldn't let it. Each time they pierce her flesh with those cursed needles. They worm their way through her flesh and bone. They keep her heart beating and mind thinking.

  They keep her awake, keep her conscious. All day, all night. They keep her awake and fully aware of what they are doing to her. She feels them carve into her and take, feels them graft and stitch something new on with a sensitivity too high for any person to bear.

  They'll keep doing it. Until they find out how their prized subject works. Until they can make others like her. Until they achieve their goal.

  To make something greater. Something that bridges the gap between humanity and its competitors, even something that surpasses them entirely. One that could place humanity upon a pedestal far higher than the others.

  A Hero.