The days that followed gradually blurred together, as time inside the underground laboratory lost all meaning for Riven.
There were no sunrises or sunsets, no changing seasons, no gust of natural wind entering his lungs, only pain.
Every morning began with another procedure, another incision, another refinement, while every night ended with his exhausted body desperately clinging to life before repeating the same torment again the following day.
Blood Refinement.
That was what the Imperial Anatomist called it.
Unlike Section Carving, which reshaped the body one part at a time, Blood Refinement sought to reshape in full, forcing every single drop of blood flowing through Riven’s veins to gradually abandon its imperfections while embracing the dormant potential sleeping inside the bloodline of Surthur.
It was also, by far, the cruelest process the old man had ever devised.
Hour after hour, Riven’s blood was continuously drawn from his body through an intricate network of tubes before being guided into dozens of crystal chambers filled with glowing Aether formations unlike anything he had ever seen.
Within those chambers, the blood underwent a process known only to the Imperial Anatomist.
Aether Isolation.
For more than thirty years, the old man had devoted his entire life to perfecting that single technique, believing that while a bloodline could never be changed, its strongest traits could be encouraged while its weakest limitations could gradually be isolated and discarded.
Every cycle began the same way.
Riven’s blood entered the formation.
It became saturated with immense quantities of refined Aether.
The countless particles then penetrated every droplet of blood, every cell, every strand of inherited essence hidden within it, nourishing the qualities capable of enduring that pressure while relentlessly attacking those too weak to survive it.
Once purified, the blood flowed back into Riven’s body.
Then the real suffering began.
The overwhelming flood of Aether coursing through his veins reached every organ, every muscle, every tendon, every nerve, and every bone within his body, penetrating each individual cell while attempting to force them towards a state they had never been born capable of reaching.
His body fought back.
His own genetics resisted.
Every inherited limitation buried within his flesh rebelled violently against the overwhelming concentration of Aether attempting to reshape it, plunging Riven into agony so intense that there were countless moments where even screaming became impossible.
Yet the process never stopped.
Not once.
The Imperial Anatomist simply increased the flow little by little, forcing Riven’s body to continue resisting until resistance itself gradually became impossible.
One limitation yielded.
Then another.
Then another.
As those inferior traits collapsed beneath the relentless pressure, only the stronger characteristics capable of enduring higher concentrations of Aether remained behind, becoming the new foundation upon which Riven’s body slowly rebuilt itself.
It was evolution achieved through suffering.
Months passed in this manner.
Some days were peaceful, however, most were not.
There were mornings where Riven’s heartbeat suddenly weakened without warning, forcing the Imperial Anatomist to abandon everything else as he desperately stabilized the boy before his heart stopped entirely.
There were nights where Riven’s blood pressure collapsed so rapidly that every assistant inside the laboratory was summoned within moments, while restorative medicines, concentrated sodium serums, and specially prepared elixirs were poured into his body in a frantic effort to keep him alive.
On other occasions, he lost consciousness for days at a time.
Sometimes he awoke unable to remember when he fell asleep?
While other times, the pain became so overwhelming that his mind descended into complete delirium, causing him to mumble incoherently while reliving memories of Ashfang Village, calling out for Alira, Lyra, Mary, Garron, and even Daren as though they still stood beside him.
However, regardless of the episodes he suffered, the Imperial Anatomist did not change his methods at all.
He remained inside the laboratory almost every waking hour, personally monitoring every fluctuation within Riven’s condition, adjusting medicines, recalibrating Aether formations, altering Blood Refinement cycles, and correcting every unexpected complication before it could claim the boy’s life.
Failure was never allowed.
Not after coming this far.
And while the Imperial Anatomist preserved Riven’s body, the Hypnotist quietly preserved something equally important.
His mind.
As day after day, he sat beside Riven’s bed, speaking to him whether he was awake or asleep, slowly painting the picture of the man he wished the boy to become.
He spoke of how Riven was born for greatness.
Of how, what Riven would eventually become was not luck, but destiny.
Of how, Riven a descendant of God, and the son of a prominent noble, was the true definition of ’noble’.
He told Riven that true nobles did not exist to indulge those beneath them, but to lead them through their wisdom.
That, if he started to get affected by the opinions of the fools, he would become a fool himself, which was why, the only judgement he should trust was his own, or that of his trusted council.
And after all that, every conversation ended the same way.
"You are becoming that man slowly Riven, I can see it...."
The Hypnotist affirmed, as slowly, Riven began to believe his lie.
Slowly, his mannerisms changed, and the way he addressed those around him did too, as he stopped treating the Imperial Anatomist and the Hypnotist as his superiors, but rather his servants who only existed to make him perfect.
"You swine! That hurt me. If you can’t even prick a needle in my body gently enough, then you don’t deserve to be a nurse!"
He scolded Karen, as, slowly but surely his demeanor changed.
-------
Six months passed in this manner, and by then, the frightened, malnourished boy who had first arrived inside the laboratory almost completely disappeared.
The Blood Refinement had demanded a terrible price, however it had also transformed him beyond recognition.
He had grown nearly six inches taller.
More than twenty kilograms of lean muscle had been carved onto his once-starved frame.
His shoulders broadened, limbs lengthened, bones denser, tendons tougher and his muscles stronger.
Even the quality of his skin, eyesight, reflexes, endurance, and natural recovery had improved dramatically as the dormant superiority hidden inside Surthur’s bloodline gradually became more and more dominant with every completed refinement cycle.
And although he still remained far from the masterpiece the Imperial Anatomist envisioned, there was no longer any doubt within the old man’s heart.
Subject Eighteen had already surpassed every previous subject he had ever created.
And with six more months of blood refinement, he could be converted into the ultimate human.