DEMONIC-ANGEL

Through each trial, asta's  resilience is tested to its limits, his spirit tempered by the fires of suffering, yet never extinguished. Each tortured moment serves as a testament to his unwavering determination to endure, to survive, and to defy the darkness that seeks to consume him.

DAY ???

The scientist loomed ominously over Asta, his face unnervingly close as he taunted, "Hey livestock, how's life treating you? I thought you'd give up on the first day."

His smile, laced with malevolence, made it clear he was reveling in the power he held over Asta. The condescension in his voice was palpable, each word designed to degrade and provoke.

"ll-you," Asta managed to rasp out, his voice hoarse and barely audible over the hum of the sterile room.

"What was that?" The scientist leaned in even closer, feigning concern. "I can't hear you. Don't tell me you want to give up now?"

With every ounce of strength left in him, Asta gathered saliva in his mouth and spat directly into the scientist's face. His actions were fueled by a visceral, seething rage that had built up from the relentless pain and humiliation.

"I'll kill you, you bitch!" Asta's voice cracked through the room, a raw, powerful declaration of his enduring spirit.

The madness and murderous intent flashing in Asta's eyes were unmistakable. They burned with the promise of retribution. It was a clear signal that, should he ever find a way to escape these chains, he would indeed fulfill his vow to kill the scientist. This moment of defiance, despite his helplessness, marked a chilling pledge etched in the depths of his tormented soul.

'I'll kill you, I'll kill you, I'll kill you,I'll kill you

I'll kill you,I'll kill you,I'll kill you,I'll kill you.'

In the middle of raging, Asta spit on Scientist's face.

A ripple of revulsion swept across the scientist's face as he wiped the spit from his cheek, his expression contorting with disgust. "You little wretch, a mere piece of livestock dares to do this to me?" he sneered, his voice dripping with disdain.

Meanwhile, a fleeting smile flickered across Asta's face, a glint of defiance sparking in his eyes despite his pain. "You can't kill me, can you?" he challenged, his tone laced with a mix of mockery and resilience.

The scientist's face twisted into a scowl, his jaw clenching tightly as he struggled to contain his rising anger. "You're right, I can't kill you directly," he admitted through gritted teeth, "but I will have my revenge, just you wait, livestock." His words were a cold promise, a declaration of the prolonged cruelty he intended to unleash, ensuring Asta understood that his torment was far from over.

Asta's gaze followed the scientist as he seemingly melded into the wall, walking through it as if it were mere air, leaving Asta alone with the stark, cold reality of his confinement.

Left in the echoing silence of the stark room, Asta's shoulders drooped under the invisible weight of his situation. He slumped against the cold, unyielding surface behind him, the chill of the metal wall seeping through his clothes. Each breath was a visible puff in the artificially chilled air, and with each exhale, his spirit seemed to deflate further.

"Why is this happening to me?" he murmured to himself, the sound barely rising above a whisper. The question hung in the air, unanswered, as he sank slowly to the floor, pulling his knees close to his chest.

Is this karma? His mind churned with the haunting thoughts of past deeds, wondering if this was retribution for choices made in shadows long forgotten. "Am I paying for what I did in the past?" The words left his lips in a breathy exhale, filled with sorrow and introspection.

His eyes, once vibrant with defiance, now mirrored the depth of his internal conflict. "Thinking about what I did in the past..." His voice trailed off, lost in the labyrinth of his regrets, each memory a heavy chain that bound him to his present torment.

Asta's voice dropped to a barely audible whisper, heavy with a haunting mixture of relief and shame. "I lied to you. I said my father died due to alcohol, but that wasn't the truth." His fingers clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms as he wrestled with his past.

He took a deep, steadying breath, his chest rising and falling with the effort of his confession. "The truth is, I killed my father." The words hung in the air, thick with the weight of his secret.

He glanced around, his eyes dark with the pain of recollection. "My father," Asta continued, the bitterness evident in his tone, "was a cruel man. Every evening he'd return, shrouded in the stench of liquor, his temper as volatile as the alcohol that fueled it. He would unleash his fury on us, my mother and me, without restraint. Physically. Mentally. Relentlessly."

"he never once loved my mother but my foolish mother always loves him like "patiparmeshvra"

The term "patiparmeshvra" means husband is god always obey and respect him.

Asta's voice trembled with emotion as he recounted that harrowing day, his gaze distant, as if peering into the painful memories he kept buried deep within. "One day," he began, his words heavy with sorrow, "he was hurting my mother again, and I just... I couldn't bear it anymore."

The air around him seemed to thicken with the gravity of his confession. "I grabbed a knife," he continued, his voice faltering as he relived the moment, "and in a moment of sheer desperation, I... I pierced it through my father's neck."

"I thought I would feel justified, feel no regret," he whispered, the pain evident in his eyes. "But my mother, who had always loved him despite everything, she couldn't bear what I had done."

He looked down, his fists clenching as he recounted the aftermath. "She locked me in a room. She didn't say anything to me, just called her parents. I heard her talking through the door, her voice choked with tears, but I couldn't make out the words."

Asta's shoulders slumped, a shadow of defeat passing over his face. "I didn't even try to escape from that room," he said, his voice a mere whisper now. "Because I didn't feel guilty. I felt that it was the only way to stop the pain, to protect us both. But standing here now, facing what I've become... I'm not so sure anymore."

And the next thing I saw it was already morning,

Asta blinked against the harsh light of morning that streamed in as the door swung open. A police officer stood in the doorway, his expression somber. "Hey, kid, are you okay? No need to panic, just come outside," he said, his voice attempting reassurance.

Trepidation gripped Asta as he stepped out of the room. Thoughts raced through his mind: 'So they found out I killed my father. Is it time to go to jail now?' But nothing could have prepared him for the sight that greeted him. There, in the quiet of his living room, lay two bodies. His heart sank; deep down, he knew who lay beneath the sheets.

"Your mother left a note," the officer said gently, breaking the heavy silence. His words fell like hammer blows. "She confessed to killing your father because she couldn't bear his beatings anymore. She chose to end her own life afterward."

Asta stood frozen, the gravity of the officer's words anchoring him in a sea of tumultuous emotions. The room felt impossibly small, each breath a reminder of the irreversible decisions that had been made.

"I can understand what you are feeling right now," the officer continued, his tone softening. "There's no need for you to say anything. Just try to calm your mind."

As the reality of his mother's actions and the finality of her decision washed over him, Asta felt a profound sadness mingling with his shock. 'The decision I made without regret has become the biggest regret of my life,' he realized, a bitter acknowledgment of the twisted fate that had befallen his family.

"there's no way he knows how I am feeling right now."

The weight of his mother's decision bore down upon him, the reality of their suffering laid bare in the aftermath of their deaths.

Asta's facade remained unyielding, his emotions buried beneath a stoic exterior. Yet, beneath the surface, a storm of anguish raged within him, tearing at the fabric of his being.

As the officer spoke of understanding, Asta's inner turmoil deepened, his pain a silent echo amidst the void of his expression.

"I know this is too hard for a girl to handle," the officer continued, his words a stark reminder of the shattered reality Asta now faced. "But you will now live with your grandparents from your mother's side in India. They will arrive soon."

In the face of the officer's instructions, Asta remained resolute, his resolve unshaken by the chaos that surrounded him.

"I didn't even have the energy to tell him that I am a boy," Asta reflected bitterly, his frustration boiling beneath the surface. "This guy is truly infuriating, he is pissing me off.'

And Yo! You already know what happened after this.( If you don't know read chapter 1 clearly)

Place ???

Time ???

A white just like asta's, but different there were Television screens dot the walls, each connected to CCTV cameras surveilling the every subject's room with unwavering vigilance. In the corner of the room, an old man sits upon a chair, Keeping an eye on everyone.

Suddenly, a tall scientist materializes behind him, clutching documents in his hands, a harbinger of impending revelation.

"What's today's report?" the old man's voice cuts through the sterile silence, his inquiry laden with anticipation.

"Out of twelve subjects, nine have succumbed to the relentless onslaught of mental pressure and died," Dr. Raki reports, his tone heavy with the weight of tragedy. "And of the remaining three, one has slipped into madness. I fear he won't survive."

The old man's curiosity persists, undeterred by the grim tidings. "And what of the other two?" he inquires, his voice betraying a youthfulness that belies his age.

The room was charged with a tense anticipation as Dr. Raki's revelation hung in the air. "One clings to sanity by a thread," he remarked, his gaze lingering on a file spread open before him. "But the most remarkable case is a 16-year-old boy named Asta Kugarasi."

"Asta Kugarasi, huh? How amusing," a voice chimed in from the shadows, its tone laced with intrigue. "A teenage boy who has endured such extreme torture."

Dr. Raki looked up, nodding solemnly. "Indeed. If it were not for the specific directives from our superiors, I would have proceeded with the gender transformation experiment to see if his psychological state would adapt to such a drastic change."

"I though, my precious subjects will die in vain, but now I have seen him, the order of true dragon blood taste is actually more fascinating.

A sigh filled the room, heavy with the weight of unspoken thoughts. "It seems the decision has already been made, and the path is set," the shadowed figure added, stepping into the light. His presence commanded attention, his every word carrying the weight of finality. "The die has been cast, and there is no turning back now."

He turned his attention back to Dr. Raki, his expression stern and resolute. "Now, it is time for us to proceed to the final phase of our project," he declared, his voice echoing through the room with authority. "As the director of Branch #@#@, I hereby order the commencement of the final experiment."