The embryonic Demon King's laughter vibrated through Adrian's teeth as the thirteenth candle's flame danced between them. This close, he could see the creature was woven from his own stolen memories—the frayed edges of his mother's lullabies stitched together with the screams of the O'Reilly twins, all held in place by the rusted chains of his childhood swing set.

  "You still don't understand the game," it whispered, plucking another hair from Adrian's head. The strand ignited into a fourteenth candle showing the car crash again—but this time, the rearview mirror clearly reflected Vaulk's mask in the backseat. "We weren't testing if you could contain me. We were testing if you'd choose to."

  The basement walls dissolved into static.

  The Infinite Laboratory

  The sterile white space stretched in all directions, a honeycomb of:

  

  
1. 
   
     Control Group Colonies
   
     
   
   
     
   • 
     
       Hundreds of identical neighborhoods in various states of decay
     
       
   
   
     
   • 
     
       One where the children had grown old still playing hide-and-seek
     
       
   
   
     
   • 
     
       Another reduced to ash except for a single still-swinging swing
     
       
   
   
     
   
   
     


  
2. 
   
     Observation Platforms
   
     
   
   
     
   • 
     
       Researchers in hybrid Sanctum/plague doctor garb taking notes
     
       
   
   
     
   • 
     
       One lowered his mask to reveal—Adrian's aged face, scribbling "Subject VII-OMEGA shows promising emotional resilience"
     
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3. 
   
     The Prime Incubator
   
     
   
   
     
   • 
     
       A colossal glass womb holding the sleeping Demon King
     
       
   
   
     
   • 
     
       Its chest rose and fell in time with Adrian's own breaths
     
       
   
   
     
   • 
     
       The IV line feeding it black fluid ran directly to Adrian's brand
     
       
   
   
     
   
   
     


  

  The coach's maggot-message wriggled up Adrian's leg, reforming on his palm as a living map. Three locations pulsed:

  SITE ALPHA (43°39'19"N 7°08'51"E)

  SITE DELTA (27°22'49"N 94°10'43"W)

  SITE OMEGA (The exact stretch of highway where he'd "died")

  A fourth, fainter coordinate flickered intermittently beneath his thumbprint.

  The Other Subjects

  The embryonic King pressed its sand-and-glass hand to Adrian's chest. The VII-OMEGA brand unfolded like a flower made of surgical steel, revealing:

  

  
1. 
   
     First Layer: A live feed of Site Alpha—a Swiss boarding school where children with brands played chess with living pieces
   
     


  
2. 
   
     Second Layer: Site Delta's oil rig, its derrick pumping black fluid into the sea
   
     


  
3. 
   
     Third Layer: His own car crash, the wreckage now encased in a Sanctum preservation field
   
     


  

  "You were never special," the King crooned. "Just the first to reach the final question."

  It blew out the thirteenth candle.

  Darkness swallowed them whole—then resolved into a new scene.

  The Birthday Party

  Adrian stood in his childhood kitchen, but everything was wrong:

  

  
• 
  
    The cake had seven layers, each a different control group's landscape
  
    


  
• 
  
    The party hats were miniature plague doctor masks
  
    


  
• 
  
    His "mother" stirred a pot of black fluid that screamed in his voice
  
    


  

  The embryonic King sat at the head of the table, wearing a pointed paper crown that dripped formaldehyde.

  "Last gift," it said, extending a hand made from the coach's broken bat. "Give me the memory of why you're really afraid of the dark."

  When Adrian refused, it smiled with Timmy's stolen teeth and reached into its own chest—pulling out a small, still-beating heart labeled VII-OMEGA: PRIMARY FAILURE.

  "Then I'll take it."