I Teach Monsters to Become Gods

Leong never imagined that a formal invitation could pull him into the edge of life and death. “Dear Professor Leong, We sincerely invite you to participate in an advanced education program at the Independent Education Center (Egypt). Participants will co-teach with the world’s top scientists. Full-time special forces will ensure your safety.” The pay was generous, the conditions excellent. He thought it was just an academic exchange. Yet when he arrived at the meeting point, a pitch-black, heavy bus slowly approached, its metal surface reflecting the blinding sunlight with a low, rumbling hum. Every teacher’s mind tensed; the air seemed to freeze. Beside Leong, John, a bulky former fighter and current PE teacher, frowned. “Are we really going? I don’t want to get caught up in some crazy place.” Leong clenched his fists. “With me here, you won’t face it alone.” The teachers boarded one by one. The bus slowly departed from the port, crossing the Egyptian desert. Wind carried dust, dry and biting, stinging their eyes. Outside, ruins and withered shrubs cast long shadows under the sun, as if foreshadowing unknown dangers. The coordinator spoke in a low voice: “Stay silent. Any disorder could trigger deadly safety mechanisms. Do not remove your blindfolds before reaching the destination.” Leong whispered to John, “Do you know how big this prison is?” John shook his head. “I’ve only heard it’s the largest, most mysterious prison in the world.” Leong’s brow furrowed. “Seventy years ago, a meteor fell here, said to bring unknown energy. Since then, it became an experimental prison.” John sighed. “You had to drag me here. I told you I didn’t want to come.” Leong patted his shoulder. “Trust me. You’ll be safe with me.” The bus trundled over the rugged desert. The journey seemed endless. Time lost its meaning inside the bus. No one spoke for a long while. Even John, who usually complained about everything, had fallen silent. His earlier unease had turned into something heavier—something closer to instinctive fear. Leong glanced around. The other teachers sat stiffly in their seats, their expressions tense. Some stared out the window without blinking, as if afraid to look away. Others lowered their heads, fingers tightly interlocked, silently questioning their decision to come here. A woman in the front row whispered, barely audible, “This doesn’t feel like an academic program…” No one responded. Because deep down, they all knew— she was right. The bus continued forward, its low mechanical hum the only constant sound. Occasionally, the vehicle jolted violently as it rolled over uneven ground, throwing the passengers slightly off balance. Outside, the desert stretched endlessly. No roads. No signs of life. Only broken ruins and distant shadows that seemed to move when you weren’t looking directly at them. Leong narrowed his eyes. For a brief moment, he thought he saw something standing far away— watching. But when he blinked, it was gone. “Did you see that?” he asked quietly. John frowned. “See what?” Leong hesitated, then shook his head. “Nothing.” But his fingers tightened unconsciously. Something about this place felt… wrong. Not dangerous in a normal sense— but unnatural. As if the entire desert itself was hiding something beneath its surface. Dust rose with the wind. Through the window, Leong saw lonely walls and ancient towers standing against the horizon. Heavy iron doors reflected sunlight, shadows deep as abysses. “Why the blindfolds?” Leong asked softly. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear the answer. The coordinator smiled mysteriously. “Precaution for special circumstances,” he said coldly, not elaborating. He then explained accommodations, schedules, and safety rules: “Upon arrival, each teacher will be assigned a private classroom to conduct lessons independently. Unauthorized movement is strictly forbidden. Any violation may result in death. Teacher and student areas are completely separated, each teacher protected by bulletproof glass. Sensors and cameras cover every corner. Extreme behavior triggers alarms immediately.” The teachers murmured, debating morality. “Why are we teaching these prisoners? They’re dangerous, maybe even psychotic.” Leong calmly replied, “Don’t judge by appearances. They simply lack knowledge, not morality.” “But we’re teaching… how to plant flowers?” John complained. Leong inhaled deeply. “Observe first, then judge. All we can teach is what they can accept.” As the bus slowed down, the atmosphere inside shifted again. No one needed to be told—they had arrived somewhere important. Leong felt it before he saw it.A pressure.Heavy.Invisible. Like something was pressing down on the air itself. The bus came to a gradual stop. Through the dusty glass, a massive iron gate stood ahead. It was far larger than any ordinary prison entrance—towering, ancient, and scarred, as if it had endured decades of impact. Or something worse. Strange markings covered parts of the metal surface, faded and uneven, like symbols that had been scratched away… or deliberately erased. Leong leaned slightly closer to the window. For a brief second— he thought the gate moved. Not opening. Not shaking. But… breathing. He blinked. It was still. “…Just my imagination,” he murmured under his breath.But his heartbeat didn’t slow down. Beside him, John muttered, “Tell me that’s just a normal gate.” Leong didn’t answer.Because he wasn’t sure anymore.The engine let out a low, final rumble. Then silence.CompleteEven the wind seemed to stop at the boundary of that gate. As if whatever lay beyond it was not part of the outside world. The bus reached the first thick iron gate. Blindfolds back on, the teachers got off, switching to internal armored transport. Special forces fully armed, faces covered, protective gear in place, the vehicle crept forward. The coordinator’s voice was low. “Prisoners possess extraordinary intelligence and physical ability. Follow safety instructions strictly.” Leong whispered to John, “Be careful. They may be more dangerous than we expect.” John tightened his fists. “If a fight breaks out, my fighting skills will be useful.” Leong sighed. “We don’t know if there’ll be a riot. First, observe, control the pace.” In the distance, high walls, heavy doors, ancient stone towers, and fluttering flags came into view. The air carried dust, metallic tang, and faint blood scent. The bus entered the teacher zone, blindfolded again. Stone slabs were cold underfoot, each step felt like walking on blades. The coordinator reminded them again: “Teacher and student areas are separated. No provocations. Any breach threatens life.” Leong nodded. “Even a small mistake can be fatal.” Inside the teacher rest area, the coordinator detailed: “Each teacher has a private classroom, bulletproof glass in place. Unauthorized movement triggers mechanisms. After 30 minutes rest, proceed to classrooms to educate prisoners.” John muttered, “I still don’t get why we’re teaching them to plant flowers.” Leong explained quietly, “They aren’t born evil. Knowledge is a survival tool; that’s all we can give.” A German physics professor, Karl, whispered, “Do they deserve teaching? They might kill us.” A Japanese biology professor, Fujimoto, added, “But if we don’t, they won’t even survive.” An American chemistry professor, Anna, frowned, “Teach them flowers? Shouldn’t we teach our own subjects?” Leong calmly replied, “True. But they only accept what can be applied. That’s all we can control.” The bus stopped. Engines off. Silence swallowed the world. The coordinator stood in the center, voice cold: “Welcome to the Independent Education Center.” He paused. “Follow the rules… or you won’t survive.” The words echoed in the dim hall like a verdict. No one spoke. No one dared to. Leong felt a chill crawl slowly up his spine. At first, he thought these rules were excessive—just another layer of security in a high-risk environment. But now, standing in this suffocating silence, he realized something was terribly wrong. These rules… were too specific. Too absolute. Too… fearful. They weren’t designed to guide behavior. They were designed to prevent something. Leong’s fingers tightened unconsciously. His eyes swept across the cold walls, the sealed doors, the invisible surveillance he could almost feel watching them from every angle. Then, a thought struck him— What kind of “students” would require rules like these? A prison? No. This felt more like a containment facility. Something inside this place… was not meant to be taught. It was meant to be restrained. Leong slowly exhaled. For the first time since he received the invitation— he felt something close to fear.