As soon as Zarathustra finished speaking, he couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow when he didn’t get any response from Isabella.
He turned his gaze towards his right and immediately saw Isabella gazing at him with a cold glint in her eyes, her tone cold as she spoke, repeating her earlier question word for word, “Will it endanger him or cause any sort of permanent damage to him?”
“What’s with that look?” Zarathustra scoffed, “It’s not like you can stop the process now anyways. If I didn’t know any better, I would think you’re crushing on him or something,” Zarathustra jokingly remarked, but seeing that Isabella just stared at him with a deadpan expression on her face, he cleared his throat, turning his gaze back to the screens, and responded,
“To answer your question, according to experience and records, no permanent injuries should occur. But he would require time to recover if it should fail.”
“How long?” Isabella asked instantly.
“A year at the very least. Plus during that time, he won’t be able to perform anything too strenuous or complicated with his mana.”
Isabella clenched her fist, instantly shooting her father a cold stare. Ever since Atticus had come into the academy, she had found it increasingly difficult to understand what was going through his head.
At the off chance that this should fail, they would bench the most talented youth to ever appear in the human domain for a whole year!
Thinking about it was incredibly anger inducing. Isabella took in a deep breath, trying hard to calm down her thoughts.
Although he had been cruel, the blue haired bastard was right. She couldn’t stop it again even if she wanted.
After a few seconds, Isabella calmed down a little. She stepped back and turned her gaze back towards the screen displaying Atticus, ‘I guess it’s all up to you now.’
…
Pain.
Intense and incredible amounts of pain. It was the kind where it felt as though his whole naked body was submerged into a searing hot pit of lava, its temperature rising with every passing second.
This was what Atticus was currently experiencing.
His teeth were gritted so hard that a pool of blood had already filled up his mouth, his hands clenched into fists so tight that crimson blood seeped out from them.
This was the only thing Atticus could do currently. If only he could move freely, he would have frantically scratched his body until his skin was completely gone.
What was most baffling was that the substance had only just made contact with his back, yet his entire body was engulfed in this intense pain.
It felt so unreal and intense that Atticus found it hard to formulate any coherent thoughts.
As soon as the pain started, Atticus had immediately tried to use his mana and bloodline abilities, but he found they had been completely blocked.
He couldn’t feel his mana anymore, as though access to his mana core had been obstructed.
Before he lost this connection, Atticus felt the substance on his lower back siphon every single ounce of his mana.
And all attempts to take control of the elements turned out futile.
Atticus was thoroughly screwed.
Although he currently couldn’t feel his mana, he had found out that this was internal. He could still feel the mana in the air.
Which was why it wasn’t surprising for Atticus to notice that the density of the mana inside the pod was continuously and rapidly increasing, with the majority of the mana being siphoned into the pest latched onto his lower back.
Atticus could feel it expanding, spreading outwards in every direction on his body, akin to a snake trying to slowly swallow its prey whole.
Every single second felt like years of unimaginable torture. Despite not being able to formulate any reasonable thoughts, two words kept finding their way into Atticus’s head.
‘Hold on.’
Those were Isabella’s last words to them before they entered the pod. And those two words seemed to play a major part in keeping Atticus’s sanity intact.
‘Hold on.’
Atticus did just that. He held on as the black mass slowly and painfully engulfed his whole body.
To the outside observers, it took about 20 minutes for the black mass to envelop the entirety of Atticus’s form, but to Atticus, it felt like a century of pure, intense torture.
Despite the constant urge to give up and surrender, longing for the pain to end, Atticus held on until his form was completely enveloped.
Then, everything went silent.
The pod containing Atticus became eerily quiet, and the room where the scientists watched the unfolding scene fell into a grave silence.
All the scientists, including Zarathustra, stood transfixed, watching with bated breath.
Their focus remained on Atticus’s live stats. As they saw that all the earlier issues had calmed down—the beeping sounds ceased, and the image depicting Atticus on the screen changed from danger red to green—they released a collective sigh of relief.
Instantly, they broke into chatter and murmurs.
‘Good!’ Zarathustra exclaimed inwardly, feeling exhilarated as he clenched his fist. The boy had passed the phase they had struggled with for years.
He had hoped his talent would be enough, and it seemed he was right.
The higher an individual’s talent, the less pain they experienced during the assimilation process. Every person Zarathustra had tested Specimen X on hadn’t been able to remain conscious as soon as it made contact with them.
Atticus’s exceptional talent had made the pain bearable.
‘Just a bit more,’ Zarathustra thought, clenching his fist tighter as he approached the large screen. He stopped a few inches away, the bright light from the screen reflecting in his eyes.
Isabella’s gaze was also fixed on the screen, her hands clenched in anticipation. ‘You can do it,’ she encouraged silently.
But before they could fully rejoice about their progress, a loud, alarming beeping sound suddenly filled the room, shaking them to their core.
Their gazes snapped back to the screen, shock palpable as they witnessed what was currently happening.
