They walked in silence, the forest closing around them in restless whispers. The man kept glancing sideways, unable to stop himself. What he saw made his stomach twist.
The being's skin was changing. No longer that obsidian sheen of smooth, alien stone, but fabric stitch by stitch, fold by fold reshaping into a perfectly tailored three-piece suit. Black, sleek, almost elegant. And as the man blinked in disbelief, hair began to spill across the being's head, dark strands growing into place as though time itself bent to dress him in humanity.
If not for the memory of claws and blood, if not for those still slightly elongated nails though even they were shrinking, curling back into something frighteningly normal he might have believed this was just another man walking beside him.
The silence grew unbearable. The weight of it pressed down on his chest until the words slipped out, stuttering, trembling.
"W-what's… your name s-sir?"
The being stopped walking.
So did the man, his heart lurching. The stillness was suffocating.
I shouldn't have asked—I shouldn't have said anything! His knees almost buckled. He clenched his eyes shut, muttering desperate prayers under his breath, whispering apologies to his family as though this would be the last breath he ever took.
◇◇◇
This foolish human… he actually dared to ask me such a question. I should strike him down for his insolence, make him regret the curiosity that slid from his trembling lips.
But… I did not.
For the first time in countless cycles, I allowed myself to ponder. What is my name?
I never truly had one. Only titles. Only the labels my kind thrust upon me. "Weapon." "Destructor." "The Last Attempt." Nothing more than a tool designed to survive, to destroy, to end. Nothing else.
Yet as I walk beside this fragile, terrified creature, the thought gnaws at something buried deep within me. If I were not chained, not locked in that endless sarcophagus of expectation and control… what would I be called?
What would I call myself?
I do not know why it left my lips, why the syllables tasted foreign yet inevitable.
"Sanghāta," I said aloud.
"A-ah… well, Mr. Sanghāta," the human stammered, voice quivering, "w-what are you doing in this forest, sir?"
I ignored him. His fear was already an offering, and I had no need to waste words. I simply walked. He hurried to keep pace, tripping over roots like a child.
A few miles passed before his trembling voice reached me again.
"Is your… your Endowal, sir… a transformation type?"
Endowal? The word struck me as alien yet… familiar. I tilted my head, letting the question hang. "What is an Endowal?" I asked, my tone sharp, my steps never faltering.
He nearly choked on his own tongue. "F-forgive me, sir! I didn't mean It's just, in the Kingdom we call our gifts 'Endowals.' Some people are born with them, some are given them by science or ritual, and others awaken them through… terrible events."
I lied without hesitation. "Yes."
The relief in his eyes was almost comical.
But the fool pressed further. "S-so, sir… was yours artificial? Did you gain it later? Or… perhaps you had it since birth?"
His words grated against me like chains. My fingers twitched with the urge to crush his throat, to end his endless questions.
And yet… an idea coiled within me.
One day, I will face that damn Nyxia. I know it as surely as I know the void within myself. Nyxia. How do I even know his name?
I shoved the thought aside.
If I am to win, I must twist the hearts of these fragile inhabitants. If I wear a mask of sorrow, perhaps they will shield me. Perhaps they will stand against him.
So I let my expression fall into something sullen, my voice heavy with fabricated pain.
"Nyxia," I said, letting the name drip with venom, "is the reason I bear this curse. He came to my village long ago, cloaked in shadows. He shattered my people's home and left us burning in the ashes. When I tried to defend what little remained, he… changed me. Twisted me. My body was torn apart, rebuilt into this abomination you saw before. I was locked in darkness for years, forced to endure the hunger, the claw, the endless tearing inside my own flesh."
I let the words tremble, though my voice was steady. "Everything I was… he took from me. Family, home, even my name. Sanghāta is all that remains."
I glanced down at the human, making sure he saw the sadness I feigned. His wide eyes shimmered with something that looked like pity.
The human said nothing after my words. His silence was loud, though I could feel the weight of his gaze, heavy with sympathy.
Sympathy.
That wretched, nauseating thing mortals give to those they see as broken. It dug into me like a thorn. Every time his eyes lingered on me with that pitiful softness, the urge rose to tear out his spine and let him choke on it.
But I didn't. Not yet.
We walked until the trees thinned, until the sun dipped behind the horizon and bled its last light into the forest. Ahead, the world shifted walls, towers of stone and steel, a gate guarded by soldiers clad in dark uniforms.
They saw us at once. Rifles lifted. Metal clicked.
Their weapons aimed straight at me.
Good.
The human panicked, shouting, throwing up his hands. "Wait! Don't shoot! He's with me!"
I expected them to tighten their grips, to pull their triggers, to meet me with fear. Instead… their bodies eased. Rifles lowered. One laughed. Another clapped my "guide" on the back.
"Thought you'd gone and gotten yourself eaten, Ryn!" one soldier barked, grinning.
"Can't believe you outran a Pyre Sabyr," another jeered. "Lucky bastard."
It took hours hours of questions, prodding, and suspicion before they finally let me in. Perhaps longer, had it not been for that trembling insect, Ryn. Yes… that was his name.
The soldiers' questions tested me in ways a blade never could. Their ceaseless chatter, their simple-minded curiosity it was enough to give me an aneurysm. If they had known what thoughts burned behind my silence, they would've scattered like vermin.
Still, I entered.
And almost immediately, I regretted it.
For a moment, I considered killing Ryn right there at the gates and returning to the forests.
I had expected a city of war streets humming with machines, weapons beyond the crude rifles they carried. A civilization worthy of their boldness.
Instead… this.
Buildings scraped the sky with modern, sterile glass and steel. Yet standing beside them were gothic spires, looming Victorian facades as if the past had been dragged forward against its will.
And the streets…
Yes, paved with asphalt, lined with the same mundane marks as Earth's cities. Cars sped along them, ordinary, noisy, reeking of fuel. But the majority oh, the majority were carriages. Wooden, horse-drawn carriages plodding alongside the automobiles as if it were the most natural thing in existence.
I stopped in the middle of the street, staring. "What the actual fuck…" I muttered under my breath.
Had I crossed into a universe still fumbling with progress? Had I stumbled into a world only beginning to touch the future?
When I finally asked, Ryn laughed nervously and scratched the back of his neck. "Cars? Oh, they've been around for, uh… five hundred years, give or take."
I froze. Five hundred.
Five centuries and yet this world still clung to horses and carriages, dragging its heels between two eras like some malformed beast.
I questioned, then, not the city but myself.
I
What was I doing here?
Before I could say anything more—before I could even decide whether to strangle Ryn or not—something happened that nearly snapped whatever patience I had left.
A… group.
Bright colors. Matching uniforms.
I could only describe them as a Super Sentai troupe.
They shouted their names, struck ridiculous poses, and with a blinding flash of light, transformed. Explosions roared behind them, though nothing was there to burn. Sparks erupted as they charged a monster that looked like it crawled out of a drunken god's sketchbook.
At first, they lost—stumbling, crying out, clutching their chests as if on cue. But then came the inevitable rally. Their weapons glowed, their spirits rose, and they carved through the creature like actors following a tired script.
I thought it was over.
Then the monster grew. Towering above buildings, shrieking like some infernal giant.
The Sentai shouted in unison. Of course. Enormous mecha descended from the sky, combining with a storm of sound effects. Metal clashed against flesh, the battle tearing through the skyline until the monster finally exploded in a blinding burst of fire.
I stared. I could only stare.
"…Why didn't I just stay in the forest?" I muttered.
And then oh gods, the insult to my senses
A flying zeppelin drifted overhead. Massive, bloated, blocking the stars. A screen stretched across its side, replaying the entire battle for the cheering masses below.
Ryn, as if this were all perfectly ordinary, just shrugged. "Happens all the time. Weekly, usually. Sometimes twice if there's a holiday."
I wanted to claw my ears off.
We reached the square, and the madness only deepened.
Billboards lined the streets, glowing with ads not for weapons or survival, but for heroes. Hero promotions, posters plastered with smiling fools selling everything from soap to sodas.
The royal family loomed above them all, their faces radiant, their eyes empty. Announcements blared: the second prince's wedding date. The victory of the princess in some grand tournament. I watched girls cry, shrieking as though their very souls had been shattered by news of a marriage.
And the clothes…
Oh, the clothes.
Some walked in plain, modern fashion shirts, jeans, jackets. But among them strolled others dressed in Victorian splendor, lace and corsets and canes. Aristocrats brushing shoulders with office workers. Carriages beside cars. Mecha beside monsters.
"What kind of universe…" I whispered, my claws twitching. "What kind of idiotic, schizophrenic universe have I entered?"