develop ideal genes

A sharp gust of wind sent a chill down Leon's spine, and that was when he noticed—he was naked. Again.

"Seriously?" he muttered under his breath. This was becoming a pattern he didn't appreciate.

He sat up, his muscles sore, and turned his attention to the three men standing before him. They were watching him, their expressions a mix of amusement and mild curiosity.

Leon scowled. "What the hell happened? And why am I naked again?"

The first man, a lean figure with a devilish grin "You're lucky, kid," he said. "Entering exile naked is one of the three best ways to start."

Leon frowned. "How is that lucky?"

The man shrugged. "Because it means you survived."

That didn't make him feel much better.

Then a thought struck Leon. The cocoon.

His instincts told him the exile had done something to his body, and he needed confirmation. He narrowed his eyes and activated his long-range vision, tilting his head upward.

There it was. Suspended in the air, its silken threads shimmering eerily.

So I really did enter the cocoon again, he thought. That explains it.

Before he could process the implications, the grinning man clapped his hands together. "Alright, enough about that. Let's introduce ourselves, shall we?"

He pointed to himself first. "Callum. Fraud's my crime of choice."

Next, he motioned toward the massive, broad-shouldered man standing behind him.

"This giant here is Garrick. Murder."

Garrick said nothing. His presence alone was intimidating enough—scarred hands, thick arms, and the kind of stillness that only came from a man who knew how to kill.

Finally, Callum tilted his chin toward the last man.

"And that one? Lysander. Treason."

The white-haired man stood apart from the group, his expression unreadable. He met Leon's gaze with a calm, assessing stare, but said nothing.

Leon exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. "Leon," he said simply.

Callum raised an eyebrow. "No crime?"

Leon smirked. "I wasn't exactly given a choice."

Before anyone could pry further, the earth shook beneath them.

A deep, inhuman voice thundered through the air, its very presence vibrating in their bones.

"Finally, the four of you have gathered."

The atmosphere grew thick, suffocating, as though the air itself carried the weight of the entity speaking.

Leon's instincts screamed at him—this was no ordinary voice.

"You wish to leave this place? Then you must complete three consecutive tasks," the voice commanded.

Before them, the ground split apart, revealing a path shrouded in mist.

"Step forward, and four doors will appear before you," it continued. "Beyond each door lies a world—a world untouched by corruption, where every soul is pure, untainted by sin."

Leon's breath hitched. A world without sin?

"Your task is simple," the voice said. "Introduce sin into these worlds. Corrupt them. But be warned—do not fall into the sins you create, or you will be lost to them."

The air turned deathly still.

Leon exchanged glances with the others, unease settling deep in his gut.

Then the voice spoke one last time, its words laced with something almost… amused.

"Be the Angels of Hell."

And then—silence.

The four exiles stood there, motionless, as the weight of their task sank in.

Callum let out a slow, disbelieving laugh. "Well… that's absolutely horrifying."

Leon couldn't help but agree.