The march back to the fortress was quiet.

  Everyone kept their distance from me, everyone except Zo, who walked close enough that her shoulder occasionally brushed mine.

  "First time's always messy," she said, low enough that only I could hear.

  I didn't respond.

  The worms were processing what they'd consumed.

  The knowledge filtered through my consciousness in fragments… goblin social hierarchies, their fear of the dark despite living underground, the strange language they used to communicate.

  The massive doors of the fortress swung open as we approached.

  Kaz turned to face the unit once we were inside.

  The golden light had faded from his skin, but his eyes still held that unnatural glow.

  "Decon. Now." His voice carried the weight of command without needing to be loud. "No exceptions."

  The unit moved quickly and efficiently toward a side corridor. I followed, uncertain what the fuck decon meant until we entered a large, tiled room with shower heads lining the walls.

  There were no dividers, no privacy, it was just an open space designed to hose down as many prisoners as possible.

  Zo pushed past me, already stripping off her armor.

  "Last one in buys drinks," she called out, peeling off her top without hesitation. She caught my eye and winked as she kicked off her boots. "What? Never seen a naked woman before, worm-boy?"

  I looked away, but not before noticing the beautiful curves of her toned body.

  The rest of the unit was undressing too, with the casual disregard for privacy that comes from living in close quarters.

  Nobody seemed bothered by the arrangement except me.

  I hesitated, fingers at the hem of my shirt. The worms had reshaped parts of my body during the battle, and I wasn't sure what I'd find underneath.

  "You're holding up the line," Sophie said from behind me, her voice flat. "Either get clean or get out."

  Water hissed from the showerheads as people stepped under the spray. Steam began to fill the room, carrying with it the metallic scent of blood washing away.

  Reluctantly, I removed my clothes and stepped under an unoccupied showerhead.

  The water ran red at my feet, carrying away the evidence of what I'd done on the bridge. I kept my eyes fixed on the floor, not wanting to see the looks on their faces if they noticed the network of veins beneath my skin where the worms moved.

  By the time I finished, the room had cleared.

  Even Zo had left without my noticing. I was alone with the sound of dripping water and the hollow feeling that comes after violence.

  I dressed in the clean clothes that had been left in a pile by the door and stepped out into the corridor, unsure where to go next. The unit had moved on without me, back to whatever passed for normal in this place.

  I found my way into the mess hall, my body was still humming with satisfaction from the battle. The worms beneath my skin had gorged themselves on fresh goblin flesh, and now they rested, content and sluggish like snakes after a big meal.

  The space was massive, designed to feed hundreds of prisoners at once, it had concrete floors, and metal tables that were bolted down. Guards patrolled the perimeter, hands resting on their weapons, watching us with the detached interest of zookeepers.

  I grabbed my food tray from the serving line, a gray slab of meat, and something that might have once been vegetables, and a stale bread that they soaked in salt water.

  I eyed the room for a place to sit, noticing a small crowd gathered around one of the central tables. The prisoners stood there laughing and talking unusually animated for people trapped in a dimensional hellhole.

  At the center of it all sat a man I recognized from my first day.

  He'd arrived at the processing center the same time I did, but unlike the rest of us dirty, terrified new convicts, he'd walked through with the calm confidence of someone taking a stroll through a park.

  I moved closer, curious despite myself.

  "...fastest Trial completion they'd ever recorded," one of the prisoners was saying, looking at Rafe with something close to worship. "What was it, three minutes flat?"

  Rafe smiled politely, the expression reaching his hazel eyes, which had the same gold Sacred hue as everyone who'd survived their Trial. "It was four minutes, seventeen seconds. But who's counting?"

  The group laughed like he'd said the funniest thing they'd ever heard.

  "Quickstep's rare as hell, too," another prisoner added. "Most speedster Origins are garbage, they are just short bursts, with limited range. But Epic-rank? That's the real deal."

  "I’m just lucky, I guess," Rafe said, taking a sip from his cup. Even that simple gesture looked graceful. "Right place, right time."

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  I watched him, the gears in my head turning. This little gathering was practically an intelligence briefing. Everyone here was revealing their strengths, their backgrounds, their potential value in the prison hierarchy.

  My feeding frenzy had shown my abilities to anyone watching. By tomorrow, word would spread about the new guy who went feral and ate a bunch of goblins.

  I looked at Rafe's little celebration circle and saw an opportunity. Nothing like a public spectacle to control your own narrative.

  I approached their table uninvited, food tray in hand, and stopped just at the edge of their conversation. For a moment, none of them noticed me. Then I made a dismissive snorting sound, loud enough to interrupt them.

  The conversation stopped flat.

  Their eyes all turned towards me, just another new prisoner, the one who'd lost his shit on the bridge earlier.

  Some looked annoyed at the interruption, others seemed curious. Rafe just watched me with mild interest, like I was a mildly entertaining street performer.

  "So this is what passes for impressive around here?" I said, looking Rafe up and down with exaggerated contempt. "A guy who can run fast?"

  The mood shifted instantly.

  Confusion rippled through the group, followed quickly by open hostility.

  "Who the fuck are you?" one of Rafe's fan-boys demanded. He was a big bastard, with scars across his knuckles and forearms that showed just how much he enjoyed using them.

  "Just wondering what all the fuss is about," I said, not backing down.

  Another prisoner stepped forward, a woman with oily scales running down one side of her face. "That's Rafe, heir to the Getty family. He’s a fucking legacy, do you even know what that means?"

  I rolled my eyes.

  "Means he had everything handed to him and still only managed to get an Origin that lets him run away better than the rest of us."

  The group bristled.

  One guy actually cracked his knuckles, which I thought only happened in bad movies.

  I doubled down, letting my lip curl upwards.

  "So all that training, all that selective breeding, and the best he could manage was being really fast? Wow. I'm impressed. Did he even have to fight anything in his Trial, or did he just jog around a track while Daddy timed him?"

  The outrage was spreading beyond their group now.

  The nearby tables were turning to watch, their conversation dying down as the confrontation drew more attention.

  "If you think his origin isn't impressive," the big guy said, stepping closer, "why don't you share your results with the class? What's your Origin, tough guy?"

  I grinned.

  "One of the highest qualities there is," I said, letting my voice carry.

  Laughter rippled through the crowd. No one believed me.

  "Right," someone called out. "And I'm the Emperor of the Outer Reaches."

  I shrugged, letting the disbelief wash over me. "Killed over sixty goblins out on the bridge today. You can ask anyone who was there."

  More laughter, louder this time.

  "No fresh Sacred kills sixty anything," someone said. "Not unless they have a Legendary Origin."

  "I let my little monsters feed," I said, dropping my voice to a near-whisper that forced them to lean in. "I gave them what they wanted... what they asked for. I felt every death. I felt the life drain out of them."

  The laughter faded, replaced by uncomfortable looks.

  To emphasize the point I allowed a single worm to push through my opened eye, it was pure white and glistening, writhing visibly against my eyeball before burrowing back in through my cheek with a wet sound.

  Someone made a gagging noise.

  Others took a step back.

  "They talk to me, you know," I whispered, letting a manic edge creep into my voice. "The worms. They told me this morning they want something… someone bigger."

  I stared directly at Rafe as I said this, not blinking, letting the moment stretch uncomfortably.

  The fear was thick now.

  The prisoners edged away from me, the hostility in their eyes replaced by something more primal. They were looking at something broken, and unpredictable.

  Rafe spoke for the first time since I'd approached, his voice warm and genuinely curious. "What else can you do with them? The worms, I mean."

  His calmness in the face of my display was impressive. Most people would be recoiling, but he seemed more interested than disturbed.

  "I can regrow almost anything," I said, maintaining the intensity of my stare. "My limbs, My organs. You can cut me open, I'll just heal through it. Shoot me, I heal. The worms will just rebuild me."

  "Cool," Rafe said, like we were discussing an interesting hobby.

  "I absorb knowledge from what I consume," I continued, each statement technically true but delivered with such feral intensity that it sounded delusional. "I ate a beast's fighting instincts yesterday. Just... sucked them right out."

  "Were you trained for this?" Rafe asked, still infuriatingly calm. "Before your Trial, I mean."

  I shook my head sharply. "Nah no training, i’m not some rich schmuck like you. I don't have any background. I just... got lucky I guess."

  "You're fucking insane," someone muttered.

  I turned to them with a wide smile. "Probably! The worms might be driving me crazy. They're always there, under my skin, moving, hungry. They’re always so damn hungry." I tapped my ear. "They're listening right now... they think you all smell... delightful…"

  The crowd had fully bought into my act now.

  They were convinced I was broken, unstable, dangerous but not in a useful way. I could see it in their eyes, the dismissal. Just another mad Sacred who wouldn't last the month.

  Rafe raised his hand, and the murmuring around him quieted immediately. It was a small gesture, but it showed his influence. These people respected him, they listened to him.

  "Thank you for the demonstration," he said, his voice carrying the perfect note of polite dismissal. "I hope you survive long enough to prove your strength."

  It was masterfully done… courteous on the surface, but the message was clear. He had marked me as broken and irrelevant.

  I straightened up, letting arrogance flood my posture. "While you all celebrate one speedy little Legacy, some of us are busy eating dozens of beasts. But enjoy your little circle-jerk fan club."

  I turned and walked away, putting an exaggerated swagger in my step. Behind me, the whispers started immediately.

  "Completely mental..."

  "...did you see his eyes?"

  "...he had to have broken during his trial..."

  I found an empty corner table and sat with my back to the wall, a position that let me see the entire room. My food had gone cold, but I ate anyway, the worms stirring slightly at the influx of nutrients.

  What had just happened played through my mind on repeat.

  Now The "crazy bastard" label was the perfect cover. No one would suspect strategic intelligence behind the madness of a rabid dog act.

  The worms shifted beneath my skin, something like amusement in their movement. They understood the game we were playing, even if no one else did.

  I filed Rafe away as a potential threat or tool, depending on the circumstances. He was definitely someone to watch.

  A fragment of conversation from Rafe's table carried it way to me across the mess hall.

  "Why didn't you put him in his place?" someone was asking Rafe.

  Rafe's response was pitched just loud enough to carry, deliberately so. He wanted me to hear it.

  "What would be the point?" Rafe said, his voice carrying that same warm tone. "The boy is clearly broken. Whatever happened in his Trial shattered him. He'll be dead within the month… the Front will eat him alive."

  I kept my expression vacant, playing the part of the broken prisoner who didn't notice the pity being directed his way. Inside, cold satisfaction spread through me.

  The deception had worked perfectly.

  When the time came, that miscalculation would cost him.

  I finished my meal in silence, the worms finally settling into a post-feeding torpor. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new battles. But for now, I had established my cover. The crazy worm-boy, broken by his Trial, not expected to last. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

  And in a place like this, any advantage, no matter how small, could mean the difference between survival and becoming just another statistic in the SDC's grim ledger.