It was midnight in Tokyo's third sector.
The air was dry, carrying a smell like rust and cheap cigarettes.
I walked along the cracked sidewalk, heading for the convenience store at the corner.My shirt flapped against my ribs with every gust of wind, like the city itself wanted to peel my skin off.Three figures stumbled out of the shadows.They blocked the alley without a word.
Cheap leather jackets. Dirty sneakers. Hands hidden in pockets.
Bad posture that screamed they thought they were wolves because they had a pack.I sighed.Three-on-one.
They thought numbers meant anything.
I slid one hand into my jacket, feeling the cold steel pressed against my ribs.Good. Let's see them try."Oi!" one of them barked, voice wet and stupid. "Where the hell you think you're going?"
The guy lunged.
His fist cut through the air, a sloppy arc aimed for my face.
Too slow.
Before he even fully committed, my hand was already moving.
The gun slipped from my jacket.
Finger tightened. One pull.
The report cracked like a hammer blow in the narrow alley.
A flower of blood burst from his forehead.
His body twisted awkwardly, momentum ruined, and he crumpled onto the asphalt like garbage dumped from a truck.The other two stopped breathing for a second.
I heard it clearly—the sharp gasp, the sudden tension in their chests, like rabbits cornered by a fox.
Their knees wobbled.
Muscles stiffened.
Their brains were screaming to run, but their bodies had turned traitor.
"Aghh... no way... what the hell... who...who the hell are you?!"
Pathetic.
My lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile.
Fun.
The bloodlust leaking from my pores was almost enough to leave a red mist hanging in the air.
I raised the gun again.Another pull.
Another crack.
Another body crumpled, skull shattered wide open like a dropped watermelon.
The last one tried to run.
Tried.
He collapsed immediately, legs refusing to listen, crawling on elbows slick with blood and dirt.
Survival instinct?
Maybe.
Or just a glitch in the system, some animal part of his brain screaming for life even when everything else had given up.
Either way—
I stepped forward, gun loose and casual in my grip.
Game over
His legs were full of holes.
Each breath squeezed more blood out, spurting in irregular bursts onto the cracked asphalt.
It wasn't graceful. It wasn't cinematic.
It was just meat leaking fluids.
His face drained of color, the skin around his mouth twitching in shock.
A second shot chewed through his knee, dropping him like a puppet with the strings cut.
He gasped for air in short, panicked huffs—no rhythm, no dignity.
Exactly like a stray mutt that knew it had wandered into the wrong yard.
I watched him crawl, shadow falling over his broken body.
Not because I had to.
Because it was fun.
"You're not going anywhere, you piece of trash."
I pointed the gun at his back, casually, like I was flicking a cigarette butt at the gutter.
He turned, collapsing into a heap, hands outstretched like a beggar at a train station."P-please... spare me...!"
The words fell out in a broken mess. No dignity. No hope.
Just the empty twitching of an animal too stupid to realize the end had already come.
I clicked the trigger.
Simple. Easy. Like cutting into overcooked meat.
Each shot tore through him, carving new holes without elegance or purpose.Blood pooled beneath him, thick and greasy. His skull cracked open like a rotting melon, gray matter leaking onto the ground.
Some of it splattered across my cheek.
I looked down, annoyed.
A red splash decorated my shoes, seeping into the fabric.
Tch.
Ruined another pair.
"..."
(No name.
Maybe I had one once.
Maybe I forgot it after my parents tried to kill me.)
(After that, walking alone through the dark was just normal.
Or maybe it wasn't.
Maybe I just decided it had to be.)
(Insanity?
Loneliness?
Whatever.)
(Who gives a damn, anyway?)
On the way to the store, something crunched under my shoe.Maybe it was a bug.
Maybe it was begging for its life in its own tiny way.
I didn't care.
"Tch."
Without slowing down, I pressed my heel down harder.A wet, cracking sound answered back from the ground.
The thing stopped moving.
Walk it off
I stepped into the convenience store.
The cold air slammed against my skin — dry, mechanical.
Still, it was better than the dusty night wind clawing under my shirt.
Rows of junk. Neon lights buzzing overhead.
Nothing worth caring about.
I headed straight for the fridge."Low sugar soda... good enough," I muttered, grabbing a few bottles.
At the register, the cashier was slumped over the counter, drooling into a stack of magazines.
Probably overworked.
Not my problem.I dropped the money with a clink and walked out.
Outside, I flicked open my phone.
The numbers on the screen changed faster than my mind could keep up.
Tch.
"Time was moving too damn fast
"00:05, huh."
I kept walking.
The night wind clawed at my sleeves and shirt, flapping them like broken flags.
Empty streets.
Dark, dead air.
No sane person would be out here.
My legs dragged heavier with every step.
By the time I reached my apartment, my knees were screaming."Night's a pain in the ass," I muttered.
I collapsed onto the floor without bothering with the lights.
The bottle of soda cracked open under my thumb, a tiny hiss cutting through the silence.
I tilted it back.
The cheap, cold liquid burned my throat in the best way.
"...Guess it's not all bad."
I popped out the magazine and frowned.
Empty.
"...Tch. I swear I only fired three."
The hell? When did I waste the rest?
My eyes drifted lazily to the soda can —
—and froze.
A long, jagged crack split the aluminum open like it had been crushed under a truck.
Sticky liquid leaked down my wrist.
I blinked.
"I didn't squeeze it that hard."
Weird.
But honestly, I couldn't bring myself to care.
I let my body drop to the floor.
The night tugged at my eyelids, heavier than before.
Guess I'd just—
A deafening crack split the ceiling open.
Chunks of concrete plummeted straight toward my skull.
Instinct roared before thought.
My body twisted sideways across the floor just as the rubble slammed down, shattering the spot I'd been lying.
Dust filled the air.
I coughed once, sharp and ugly.
"!!!?..What the hell is going on!!?.... What is this!?...Earthquake? Without thinking, I threw the window open.
Outside... nothing.
No smoke. No sirens. No monster footprints.
Just the dead night, same as before.
"Tch. What the hell is this, some kinda prank?"
I slammed the window shut and stomped toward the door.Screw it. I'd just get outta here.
Whatever was going on — not my problem.
But the second I stepped outside—
—the ground roared.
"Ah—!?"
The earth cracked open under my feet.
The world tilted.
Something inside my chest twisted like it was trying to crawl out.
Pain stabbed through my gut, sharp enough to tear muscle.
My vision blurred.
Nostalgia.
I knew this pain.
"...No. No no no—!!"
My knees buckled.
I couldn't even scream properly anymore.
Only choked, broken gasps escaped my throat as I clutched my chest.
"I'm...gonna die... I'm gonna die...I'm gonna—"
The cold world spun sideways.
Then everything went black.
Footsteps scraped across the cracked asphalt.
Three figures loomed over my collapsed body.
They scanned the destruction — the broken pavement, the fissures, the dust still hanging in the air.
"Fushimi... this kid caused all this?"
The woman called Fushimi clicked her tongue, deep in thought.
Like she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. "I've seen my share of monsters with twisted DNA," she muttered.
"But no one's ever managed this much devastation in an instant."
She paused.
"...If he grows up, he might be able to wipe out a planet."
One of the men snorted.
"Planet-buster, huh? Now you're just talking crazy."
Fushimi ignored him.
She crouched down, grabbed my wrist like she was inspecting a dead fish."Whatever he is, we can't leave him here."
"Grab him. Move."
The two men hoisted my limp body off the ground without hesitation, dragging me toward a black car idling nearby.
A dry noise scratched at my ears.
My eyelids cracked open, slowly, like rusted doors.
Cold white ceiling.
The stink of disinfectant.
"...Where the hell...?"
I blinked a few more times, forcing my sluggish brain to work.
The last thing I remembered — the crumbling ground, the tearing pain, collapsing in the street — and now this.
A hospital room.
Sterile. Empty.No nurses, no doctors, not even a heart monitor beeping beside me.
Only the heavy weight of silence.
"...Tch."
My body ached, but I managed to sit up.
The cheap white blanket slipped off me, pooling at my waist.
No IVs.
No restraints.
Just me, dumped here like a piece of trash.
I clutched my head, trying to piece it together.
Why am I here?Who dragged me off the street?
And more importantly—
Where the hell did everybody go?
"Aghh.. Wh- Where am I
A bored-looking doctor sat slouched in a chair across the room.
White coat. Loose jeans.
A cheap-looking pen tapping against an X-ray film.
He wasn't that tall.
At least, that was the impression I got when I first laid eyes on him.
He scratched the back of his head lazily with the pen, frowning."Hmm... I don't know if you're faking it or just being paranoid..."
He waved the X-ray around like it was trash.
"But I can't find a single thing wrong. No fractures, no organ damage, nothing. You're perfectly fine."
The words fell into the sterile air like a bomb.
I stiffened.
(—Impossible.)
"Don't be too tense, young one," the doctor said, his voice lazy, almost bored.
"Maybe I'll run a few more tests. Just stay put, alright?"
I narrowed my eyes at him.
"Who brought me here?"
He shrugged, twirling the pen between his fingers like it meant nothing.
"Hmm... Some group in black suits. One woman, two men. That's all I know."
He waved his hand dismissively. "Anyway, stay still. I'll come back for the recheck."
The doctor slipped out, the door shutting behind him with a hollow clunk.
I leaned back on the thin hospital mattress, staring up at the cracked ceiling.
(Tch.)
I shifted my aching body slightly.
Everything still hurt.
The soreness deep inside my muscles, the tearing sensation from earlier — it was all still there.
Only duller now, like it had been muted under layers of cheap painkillers.
"That's really strange..." I muttered under my breath, feeling the rough texture of the blanket against my fingertips.
"I literally felt like I was gonna die... Is that doctor an idiot, or am I going crazy?"
A cold bead of sweat trickled down my temple.
I gritted my teeth, ignoring it.
Something wasn't adding up.
Not at all.
There was a knock at the door.
I didn't bother to answer.
"Whatever. Just come in."
The door creaked open.
She entered — a woman in a cheap black suit, a half-burned cigarette dangling from her lips.
Two men trailed behind her like shadows.
Just like the doctor said.
She glanced around once, then slumped into the nearby chair without hesitation.
Smoke curled up toward the broken ceiling.
"I believe I entered the right door," she said bluntly.
She blew a cloud of smoke toward me.
"I won't bother asking your name, kid."
The casual way she said it grated on my nerves.
I scowled.
"Who the fuck are you calling a kid?"
She didn't flinch.
If anything, she looked amused.
"Listen up. I'm not here to waste time."
She jabbed her cigarette toward me, the glowing tip slicing through the smoke.
"I'm talking about your pain."
I felt my face tighten.
(—Tch.)
"What about it?" I muttered, my voice low.
"Not even the damn doctor knows anything."
A sharp glint flickered in her eyes, like she already knew something I didn't.
"You see," she said, tapping ash from her cigarette onto the floor without a care,
"that phenomenon isn't some random accident."
Her voice was calm, almost too casual.
"It's coming from your DNA."
I stared at her, unable to say anything.
"And trust me," she continued, her tone dropping even lower,
"you're not the only 'victim.'"
She rose from the chair with a grunt, brushing ash from her pants."Some call it a biological disaster.
But in reality, it's much simpler."
She pointed the smoldering tip of her cigarette toward me again.
"Your DNA is doing its own 'thing' — rewriting your body systems, producing things no normal human ever could."
I gritted my teeth.
The words scraped across my brain, leaving nothing but confusion and a rising nausea.
"And the side effects?" she said, smiling bitterly.
"They're anonymous to your body."
She blew a long cloud of smoke into the stagnant hospital air.
"It's not a pain any normal human body was designed to detect.
That's why your doctor found nothing. To him, you're perfectly healthy."
A silence fell between us.
Only the faint hum of the hospital lights remained.
"No medicine exists for this," she said flatly.
"You either control it..."
She crushed her cigarette under her heel, grinding it into the white hospital floor.
"...Or you die screaming."
A sharp, sudden sting tore through my head.
(—gh.)
Memory flashed behind my eyes.
Fragments.
Blurry faces.
The roar of screaming children.
The cold sting of metal.
Blood pooling on a white-tiled floor.
(...So that's what it was.)
The realization gripped my chest tighter than the pain ever had.(Those bastards.
They never told me anything.)
I clenched my fists without thinking.
My nails dug into my palms.
Across the room, Fushimi's expression shifted.
The smirk she wore just a second ago vanished like smoke blown into the wind.
Her whole body stiffened — a rare break in her carefully lazy posture.Her cigarette hung limp between two fingers.
"You..."
She narrowed her eyes, voice low enough to cut steel.
"You're one of those kids, aren't you?"
Chapter 2 Magic number
On the other side of the planet — in Norway's desolate wilderness —
a lone figure stood before the ancient stave church, weathered by time and legend.
Frida Blod.
Short black hair, a wool scarf wound tightly around her neck, a belly-length shirt, short pants paired with leggings, and a pair of short black boots scraping lightly against the frostbitten earth.
Her breath clouded the air in shallow bursts.
Before her sprawled a massive blackened skeleton — a dragon's corpse said to be Fáfnir himself, long since turned to stone and bone by myths that most had forgotten."I've arrived," she muttered, her voice sharp and impatient.
"According to the legend, this is where Fáfnir was slain."
Yet skepticism clouded her face.
The whole thing reeked of superstition.
Frowning, she pulled out her phone and dialed a number without looking.
"Hey. What's the point of this ritual anyway?"
Her voice cut through the cold.
"With my DNA, I can control blood normally. What makes you think I need any more 'power'?"
The call connected.
The voice that answered was Shizuku Hijo.
Though the signal reached her clearly, his presence was nowhere nearby.
In fact, the phone on his end sat abandoned somewhere in the outskirts of Japan — resting in the dust atop a random rooftop, invisible to the eyes of the living.
A ghost's voice from a ghost's place.
"Do you have your Bible with you?"
Frida instinctively checked her other hand — feeling the rough surface of the old book against her fingertips.
An immediate, audible sigh of relief.
"Yeah, I didn't forget it… thankfully."
She shifted her weight, the old wood creaking under her boots.
"I also brought the world map you kept nagging me about."
"Good," came the short reply from the other end.
Frida furrowed her brow.She couldn't shake the feeling of absurdity.
Bringing a Bible and a world map into a so-called 'scientific ritual'? It made no sense.
Still holding the phone to her ear, she muttered back, voice sharp with skepticism:
"Seriously though — what am I supposed to do with it?"
"You know religion and science are completely contradictory, right?"
A small laugh — dry and hollow — escaped the speaker.
"That's the thing," Shizuku's voice said.
"In this situation, both of them are wrong."
He continued before she could interrupt, his tone calm but eerily mechanical:
"Blood control... biological phenomena... those are just the visible parts of the process.
What you're dealing with now is something buried much deeper. A program hidden inside humanity itself — old as myths, older than any civilization."
Frida's grip on the Bible tightened slightly.
"Think of it this way: science gave up trying to explain it. Religion tried and failed to seal it.
Now it's just a ticking time bomb inside your DNA."
Everything in reality has a quantifiable resource or value,which numbers works in a cooperative manner— even your DNA —that was built from subatomic particles.
And manipulating one of the laws of physics? That's just your particular 'gift,' born from those particles shifting around."
He clicked his tongue lightly, as if annoyed she hadn't figured it out herself.
"But here's the real problem — something called a 'magic number.'""It's an anomaly that sneaks into the structure of matter.
An unknown variable that doesn't follow any rational system.
It jams itself into the arrangement of particles at random, twisting the normal laws of physics into complete nonsense." Frida's fingers tightened around her phone.
"The magic number can't be resisted by physical means.
It's not about strength or technology — both forces are operating on different rulesets.
In fact, every spark of a magic number can contradicts physical laws as a whole concept. If its strong enough, it could easily ignore even the basic framework of reality itself"
Shizuku's tone lowered, dropping like a heavy blade:
"Making it... an existence superior to this entire physical world."
He paused — not for her to catch up, but as if daring her to try."I think I've made myself clear."
Frida smirked, twirling the Bible lazily between her fingers.
Now that she understood the real value behind it — the magic number — a dangerous excitement stirred in her chest.
"I see... so if I go through with this ritual, I can make that 'magic number' mine, right?"
A wolfish grin spread across her face. "I'm actually getting pretty pumped about this."
"If — and only if — you do it correctly."
Shizuku's voice flattened into something heavy, like a weight being placed on the conversation itself.
The shift in tone made Frida tense without meaning to.
It was rare for her "master" to ever sound genuinely serious.
"Yeah yeah, I get it," she said, forcing a laugh that didn't fully reach her chest. "I'll do it right. You can bet on it."
The lightness in her voice faded away quickly as she crouched down near the crumbled altar, feeling the thick ancient air press against her skin.
Something about this place — the way the old stone cracked under her boots — made her heart race for reasons she couldn't explain.
I have no idea what's about to happen.
She bit her lip.
"How do I start?"
"Put the Bible on the ground in front of you," Shizuku's voice instructed through the speaker, calm and mechanical.
"And then... place the world map beside it. After that, use your blood to draw a circle — a star in the center of the Bible. Connect the blood line to the map."
Frida let out a long sigh.
This is getting messier by the second.
Still, she followed every step exactly. Blood from the tiny cut on her fingertip dripped onto the rough pages, sketching a trembling red circle with a crude five-pointed star scratched in the middle.
The blood soaked through the fragile paper fibers almost too quickly.
She wiped the sweat off her brow, glancing at the black wool scarf now dirtied at the ends.
"Okay, done. Anything more?" she asked, her voice a mix of boredom and hidden tension.
Shizuku didn't even hesitate.
"Now..."
"Use your blood. Draw imaginary ley lines on the map — focus on Norway. That's where it must anchor."
Frida chuckled dryly.
"This is seriously weird…" The blood welled up again on her fingertip. She pressed the drop onto the Norway section of the world map, dragging her finger across the faded landmass, tracing crooked, invisible "ley lines" she couldn't even see.
A faint metallic smell from her blood began to mix with the scent of the old paper and the chilling wind that crept through the broken church.Somewhere deep inside the earth, something old began to stir.
Shizuku's voice came through the line once again, calm as ever.
"The ritual is complete. In a few seconds, the magic number will synchronize with your DNA."
Frida stood still, the cold night air brushing against her scarf. She waited.
And waited.
The old wooden beams of the stave church groaned softly under the wind.
Seconds dragged on.
Her patience ran thin.
She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, tapping her boot impatiently against the dusty floor.Then she scoffed, half-laughing into the phone.
"Hah... See? This was a total waste of time. Nothing happened."
Her voice carried a clear disappointment, laced with just a hint of irritation.
Maybe all of it — the blood, the Bible, the map — was just superstition after all.
But as the last words left her mouth...
The ground beneath her gave a low, almost breathing hum.
Suddenly—without warning, without mercy—
reality snapped.
The ritual tools at Frida's feet detonated into a hurricane of blood-red light, tearing apart the ground, the air, the very fabric of the space around her.
Something ancient, something rotten, something so far beyond mortal understanding invaded her body without permission..Her veins turned black.
Her muscles spasmed uncontrollably.
Her bones screamed inside her flesh as her DNA twisted itself into something unrecognizable.
A sound—
Not a roar, not a voice—
but a primordial shriek carved its way out of her throat, ripping the night sky in half.
Fáfnir's spirit exploded out of her, a massive, grotesque mass of blood and smoke.
Its jaws gnawed at the heavens, its eyes gleamed with hunger.
Frida's body contorted violently, the transformation so violent it was a miracle she didn't split apart like wet paper.At her back, torn flesh erupted outward—
forming wings not made of bone or feather, but pure condensed hatred, dripping blood so hot it scorched the earth beneath her without even touching it.
Her feet lifted off the shattered ground, dangling lifelessly like a puppet with its strings tangled by a mad god.
Her eyes cracked open—
no longer human—
twin infernos of glowing red fury stared blindly into the void.
The first roar came.
It was not heard.
It was felt.
Across oceans, across continents—
People staggered and dropped their drinks, their ears bleeding without knowing why.
Dogs whimpered.
The old wept in confusion.
Children screamed without understanding.
Then the second roar ripped loose.
The ground beneath her didn't just crack—
it shattered into bottomless ravines as blood-wrought beams stabbed 50 kilometers deep, fracturing the crust of the earth itself.
In the next instant—
Norway burned.
No fire, no smoke—
Every building—
Every street—
Every living human across Norway—
was swallowed whole by an unknown force.
This wasn't war.
This wasn't a weapon.
It wasn't even slaughter.
It was Hell itself made manifest.
Men, women, children—
They screamed with every ounce of breath in their bodies, shrieking into a sky that no longer listened.But no matter how loud they begged, no matter how hard they ran, it was useless.
Their flesh crumbled into dust.
Their bones blackened and cracked like burnt wood.
Their entire existence—
erased in an instant.
Like insects crushed under a godless boot, they vanished.
There were no miracles.
No heroes.
No gods descending from the clouds to save them.
Only annihilation.
Side note : Since the imaginary ley lines are drawn across the whole Norwegia in the respective ritual the destruction acces are also the same.
Tanks rolled through burning streets, fighter jets screamed across the blood-red skies, missiles cut through the air like spears of desperate hope.
The soldiers, fueled by raw terror and a flicker of courage, hurled everything they had at the calamity.
Bullets vaporized before reaching their mark.
Rockets exploded midair like dying fireworks.
Even nuclear warheads, humanity's deadliest creation, were reduced to harmless flickers — melted and swallowed by the very air that twisted around the dragon's existence.It wasn't a battle.
It wasn't even a slaughter.
It was irrelevance.
Like ants trying to punch a hurricane.
Their bravery turned into meaningless sacrifice.
Their weapons turned into dust before touching her.
Their prayers evaporated into the sky, unanswered.
Before the dragon of crimson destruction, humanity's pride and inventions were nothing but whispers crushed by the roar of a new god.
The entire military effort—
obliterated.
Every last soldier, every last tank, every last piece of resistance—
turned to ash without even leaving time for a final scream.
Fáfnir's rage lasted only thirty minutes.
But thirty minutes was enough.
Enough to erase an entire nation from the map.
Norway—flattened into a wasteland of smoke and dried blood.
No structures remained.
No voices.
Not even shadows.
Only a field of death, silent and absolute, stretched under a bleeding sky.
The Fáfnir spirit vanished, its roar still lingering in the poisoned sky.
Frida's demonic wings cracked and dissolved into ash, falling around her like the first snow of a cursed winter.
She collapsed onto the scorched earth, her breathing ragged.
Slowly, painfully, she forced her eyes open—
and stared in horror.
Her country.
Her home.
Gone.Only an endless wasteland of smoke and blood stretched to the horizon.
"What...!!? What the hell...!?? SHIZUKU!!"
Her voice cracked in panic, desperation bleeding through every syllable.
Shizuku answered, his voice as calm and detached as a surgeon with a scalpel.
"This is the price you pay for power."
"Congratulations, Frida.
You're officially a magician now."
She clenched her fists, trembling—not from power, but from terror.
"A magician…?"
She almost choked on the word."And now," Shizuku continued, "we'll bring you to Japan."
His tone was cold enough to freeze the blood in her veins.
"You will create a Hell there."
Frida shook her head, numb and confused, struggling to piece together a reason.
A meaning.
"Why?"
"Is this even worth it?"
A heavy pause.
Then, like the hiss of a guillotine:
"You'll find out for yourself."
Little child
Chapter 3: Reminder
3 days later.
The world was in chaos.
Every major news outlet, every social feed, every radio station—
all screaming the same impossible headline:
A country had been wiped off the map.
In minutes.
The footage was blurry, unreliable, filled with screaming anchors and shaky satellite shots.
But that didn't matter.
Fear spreads faster than facts.Across the world, people watched their screens, mouths dry, hearts pounding.
Some cried.
Some prayed.
Some just stared blankly at the TV, too terrified to move.
But not him.
He sat on a battered couch, arms crossed, glaring at the screen with a deep scowl.
"A spirit that can wipe out an entire nation?"
He clicked his tongue in disgust.
"Tch. You've gotta be kidding me.
If this isn't a global hoax, then I don't know what the hell is.
"The news anchor kept babbling about "unexplainable phenomena," "global emergency," "unknown forces."
He rolled his eyes.
"Like hell I'm buying that crap."
The TV kept shouting nonsense.
"An unknown force obliterated an entire country in under thirty minutes—"
Tch. Whatever.
He leaned back on the cheap sofa, stretching his legs across the floor, feeling the cold whisper of the double air cons overhead.
Just then, the door creaked open.
"Yo."
Fushimi strolled in like it was just another Tuesday.
A cigarette dangled from her mouth, a lazy trail of smoke drifting into the already cool air.
She gave a glance at the TV, then at him, not even fazed.
"Still stuck on that news crap?"
She kicked off her boots at the entrance, stepping inside casually like she owned the place.
They were living in a cheap apartment now—two bedrooms, a beat-up sofa, two barely working air conditioners, and a TV that probably needed retirement ten years ago.
Ever since leaving the hospital a few days ago, this rundown apartment had become their temporary shelter.
Fushimi plopped herself down next to him, one leg over the other, taking a long drag from her cigarette."Get used to it," she said, exhaling a slow stream of smoke that curled toward the ceiling.
"This world's just getting started."
"It's not, unfortunately."
He leaned forward slightly, eyes sharpening.
"I know magic exists... but something like that?
Wiping out a whole country?"
His glare stabbed toward Fushimi, searching for any cracks, any hesitation.
"You know something about it?"
Fushimi dragged on her cigarette, smoke curling from her lips, her expression unreadable.
"As far as I'm concerned..."
She exhaled slowly.
"Magic's an anonymous phenomenon. It contradicts everything physical it touches. But knowing it could actually happen…"She flicked ash off her cigarette, almost irritated.
"...is a huge shock. Let alone against an entire nation."
She leaned back, tapping the ashtray lazily.
"One thing's clear though—it's very different from the DNA transformations we deal with."
Despite her calm words, it was obvious.
She didn't know shit either.
He cut off Fushimi mid-sentence, his patience clearly worn thin.
"Talking about that... I'm pretty sure I'm ready enough to use it right—"
Before he could even finish, Fushimi's hand slipped from her pocket.
A cold glint.
Gun.
Before he could react, the trigger snapped.
Bang!
A bullet ripped through the air toward his forehead, faster than thought.
But he moved without thinking — his eyes locking onto the bullet.In an instant, the subatomic bonds holding the metal together shattered under his glare.
The bullet exploded into a cloud of deadly shards, still traveling at terminal velocity, tearing through the apartment.
Furniture cracked, glass shattered, a storm of debris raining around them.
He stood there, heart hammering, surrounded by destruction.
His fists clenched, rage twisting his face as he stared her down.
"What the...fuck was that!?"
Fushimi only smirked, lazily blowing the smoke from the barrel of her gun.
With a casual flick, she put it back to safety mode and leaned against the wall, utterly unfazed.
"Not bad," she said, tapping the gun against her shoulder.
"That was quite a reaction... and you barely felt any pain."
She turned her back to him, waving off the chaos like it was nothing.
"Few more rehabs later..."
Her voice trailed off as she headed to her bedroom, the door creaking half-shut behind her.
"I'll consider it."
Left alone in the ruined living room, he could only grind his teeth —
not sure if he wanted to kill her... or prove her wrong.
"Tch"
He stood up from the battered couch, brushing broken glass from his clothes.
The apartment felt suffocating now — shards of ruined furniture scattered everywhere, the stale smell of smoke still hanging heavy in the air.
He shot a final glare at Fushimi's closed bedroom door.
Pointless.
She wasn't going to let him do anything with his powers yet — no matter how much he proved.
(I'm not gonna rot in this boring damn room.)
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and stalked out of the living room.
"I'll just take some air," he muttered under his breath, pushing the door open and stepping out
into the dim hallway, the cold night air greeting him like a slap to the face.
His footsteps echoed lightly as he made his way down the empty hall.
Somewhere deep inside, a restless energy itched at him —
the same dangerous feeling he'd barely contained earlier.
The desire to move, to act, to tear this fake peace apart.
And he knew:
Tonight wasn't going to end quietly.
Chapter 3: reminder part 2
The world around Frida Blod was nothing but a graveyard of soot and silence.
A barren wasteland stretched as far as her eyes could see — twisted black craters, molten scars tearing deep into the earth, and the endless stench of roasted soil crumbling with every weak gust of wind.
Her boots dragged across the scorched ground, every step sending small clouds of ash into the dead air.
"Ahhh... great. Just great," she whined, her voice hoarse from hunger and exhaustion.
She weakly lifted her phone with trembling fingers, her thumb sluggishly tapping the call button.
As the dial tone buzzed in her ear, she let out a pitiful sigh.
"I haven't eaten anything for three damn days," she grumbled, slumping to her knees.
The ash beneath her crumbled like rotten paper.
On the other end, Shizuku Hijo's voice finally answered — calm, cold, as if he hadn't abandoned her in literal Hell.
"You're still alive. Good. Keep heading east."His voice crackled slightly, distorted by some unknown interference.
"East?!" Frida shouted into the phone, coughing from the ash she accidentally inhaled.
"Are you insane?! I can't walk my ass across a whole continent!"
The world outside blurred into a twisted smear of black and gray as the jet screamed across the ruined skies.
Inside the cockpit, Frida was being thrown around like a rag doll despite being strapped to the seat.
Every sudden jolt and vicious turbulence sent her skull bouncing against the headrest, her whole body rattling like it was about to split apart.
Her screams echoed uselessly inside the soundproof cabin.
"I FUCKINNGG HATE YOU!!!"She roared into the empty cockpit, her voice cracking with pure rage and nausea.
Meanwhile, her phone, barely clinging to life, buzzed again with a new message from Shizuku:
[Hang in there, kid. You'll thank me later.]
Frida, if she had even an ounce of strength left, would have crushed the damn phone with her bare hands.
Instead, she just slumped back in the seat, her arms dangling like broken branches, her face pale and greenish.Every nerve in her body screamed for rest, but there was no mercy inside this demon jet — only the howling winds and the brutal speed crushing her deeper into her seat.
She stared weakly out the window, her vision blurring.
Even in her half-dead state, the sight of continents flashing by below was terrifying. Mountains, seas, clouds — all reduced to quick flashes in seconds.
"...I'm gonna kill him... if I survive this..."
She mumbled before her consciousness flickered like a dying lightbulb.
The scene shifted like the turning of a page.
A boy — nameless, unbothered, unknowable — leaned against the rusted rails of a forgotten rooftop.
Above him, the endless stretch of sky was a dirty watercolor of grays and fading blues, the sun hidden behind a sickly veil of clouds.
In his hand was a cheap aluminum soda can, the kind that tasted more like regret than refreshment.
No sugar. No flavor. Nothing.
Just bitter carbonation that scraped against his throat like sandpaper.
The boy tilted the can slightly, took a slow sip, and let the wind brush through his messy, uncared-for hair.
It whipped the loose strands lazily to the side, the breeze moving around him like it was afraid to touch him too hard.
All around, the city was alive with noise — cars honking, distant shouts, the metallic groan of construction sites.
But to him, it was like hearing echoes from a world already dead.
A bird — a lone crow — dared to land a few meters away on the railing.
It cawed once.
The boy gave it a single, bored glance.
pop
Without moving a muscle, without even blinking, the crow dissolved into a mist of atoms — scattered like dust into the hungry wind.
Not burned, not disintegrated.
Simply unmade at the subatomic level, as if it had never existed to begin with.The boy casually tapped the side of his can with a fingernail, the hollow metallic clink echoing in the stillness.
No surprise crossed his face. No guilt, no anger.
He wasn't even trying.
This was just the kind of world he lived in.
A world where the smallest annoyance could be erased into nothing without so much as a sigh.
He crushed the empty can lazily with one hand — no effort, no drama — and flicked it off the edge of the rooftop.
The can never hit the ground.
It vanished midway down, shredded apart at a level too small for human eyes to comprehend.
The boy stuffed his hands into the pockets of his worn-out jacket and stared out over the endless urban sprawl, his eyes sharp and cold like knives hidden under silk.
If the world was a fragile sheet of glass...
then he was the crack that would spread and shatter it into dust.
And he was bored.
The air around him suddenly froze — not in temperature, but in weight. As if the atmosphere had been replaced with some dense, unseen pressure.
The wind that once danced through his hair was gone.
Stillness. Like a pause in time before something terrible happens.
The voice — distorted like a broken radio signal, laced with something not quite human — echoed again, directly inside his mind.
"I you can call me Shizuku Hijo"
The boy's eyes sharpened. No more confusion — just cold readiness. He stepped away from the railing slowly, his hand tightening into a fist behind his pocket.
"I don't join nobodies whispering in my skull. So either show yourself… or shut the hell up."
For a moment, there was silence.
Then —
A low hum. The kind you'd expect from a nuclear reactor spooling up. The air shimmered like heat haze… and then, he appeared.Not by walking. Not by teleportation.
But as if the space itself bent and reassembled to make room for him.
Standing in the middle of the rooftop,showing his visible existence for the first time, not flesh.. Not even physical entity. Just a subatomic changes that merge together that no physical existence relevant enough to understand
The boy clenched his teeth. Every instinct told him: this thing wasn't normal.
Wasn't human.
"Your ability to reduce existence to its smallest parts — to erase matter on a fundamental level — is impressive."
"You can destroy. That's easy. But can you create?"
"Come with me. I'll show you what's beyond erasure. Beyond atoms. Beyond the physical."
The boy narrowed his eyes.
"…And if I say no?"
The figure didn't move, but the sky above darkened instantly.
Lightning — black and soundless — danced across the clouds.
"A girl will bring Hell to this city or maybe even the whole Japan including you"
The boy inhaled deeply, cracked his knuckles…
"…Wrong move, asshole."
With a glare, the molecules making up the rooftop under Shizuku detonated silently — erased with a precision only he could pull off.
But when the smoke cleared, Shizuku still stood — untouched.
Releasing his final voice, a grim reminder, before he splits again down to its most invisible state.
"This is your last warning"
Then, with the same silent distortion that birthed him, Shizuku vanished — not into the air, but between it.
The wind returned, sharp and cold.
The boy stood still, his body tense, eyes fixed on where the figure once was.
He looked down at his own hand. The one that could annihilate reality — and yet, for the first time, it had failed.
His grip tightened.
"Hell's coming, huh? …Fine."
He turned, the city skyline reflecting in his eyes — a storm brewing inside him. With a devious grind.
Ill show them true Hell.
Tokyo — 3:22 PM.
Pedestrians were vibing.
Takoyaki stalls sizzling.
An old man arguing with a vending machine.
Then —
BOOM.
From the heavens, a girl-shaped meteorite plummeted into the center of the city and crashed face-first into the asphalt of Shibuya Crossing like God missed a dunk.
SMACK.
People screamed. Not because they saw blood — but because someone just fell out of a jet and rag-dolled into the Earth like a bug off a windshield
Silence.
Then the girl — Frida Blod, possibly insane, definitely hungry — twitched.
She groaned, raising a thumb.
"...I'm alive. I think."
A tourist slowly leaned into frame, still recording.
"Is that… part of a movie or…?"
Frida tried to stand. Failed. Slid down again like a melting popsicle.
"Give me… like… two minutes. Jet lag. And starvation. Also possibly internal bleeding."
A convenience store clerk walked out, holding a half-eaten corn dog, staring at the smoking crater around her.
"You good?"
She pointed at the store. "You sell Red Bull?"
He blinked. "And a microwave."
She grinned weakly. "Perfect."
Frida popped the Red Bull. The hiss of escaping gas immediately throat-punched her windpipe.
Her tongue spasmed. Eyes watered. She gagged.
And then—
"Ahh—YES. BURN ME MORE, YOU BEAUTIFUL MONSTER."
Tourists scattered. One guy dropped his sushi.
Frida, still sitting like roadkill in the middle of Tokyo's busiest street, then did the unthinkable.
She marched into the convenience store, microwave under one arm like it was her emotional support animal.
No one stopped her.
Because what do you even say to someone who just fell from orbit, assaulted a Red Bull, and is now stealing household appliances with full confidence?
She found a plug by the magazine rack. Slammed the microwave onto her stomach like it was a hot water bottle from hell.
Click.
Bzzzzzt.
Warmth. Artificial. Glorious.
Frida let out a noise that wasn't quite a moan but wasn't NOT a moan either.
"OHHH MY GOD THIS IS PERFECT."
A child nearby asked if she was a superhero.
His mom pulled him back like Frida was a live grenade.
The warm buzz of artificial heat cradled her stomach like a cheap lover. She was in microwave heaven.
"Aahhh… bliss. I could die like this."
She didn't notice the store owner standing over her until his sandal slapped the floor.
Hard.
"OI."
Frida blinked up at him, eyes glazed from warmth and carbonation overdose.
He pointed at the microwave.
Then at the wall socket.
Then at the door.
"OUT."
Five seconds later—
BOOM.
The microwave soared out the door with Frida clinging to it like a baby koala on a rocket.
She hit the pavement, skidded ten meters, and stopped only when she collided with a vending machine.
Thunk.
Still lying there, face-up, she gave a dazed thumbs-up to no one in particular.
"Totally worth it."
A ringing erupts from her pocket, slicing through her shameless bliss like a knife through a warm vending machine pastry.
Caller ID: "Shizuku"
She groans. "What now? I'm already here, aren't I?"
His voice slithered out of the speaker — calm, mechanical, unfeeling.
"Then 'Hell' is ready."
Frida sat up like she just swallowed a can of expired Red Bull. "The hell are you yapping about? I thought this was a vacation!"
"Look around you."
She did.
And her blood ran cold.
Street by street, rooftop to rooftop — people.
But not normal ones.
Each radiated scientific power. Compressed fields of altered reality. Floating tech halos. Bio-modified limbs.molecular weaponry disguised as casual fashion.
It all came rushing back.
Her eyes widened as the truth slammed into her like a giant pile of blood to her brain
Everything goes through her heads
Chapter 4: Where everything began
[6 Years Ago]
Norway — Village outskirts, Oslo.
A scene completely opposite to what remains today: no scorched earth, no ash storms, no echoes of destruction. Just peace.
The wind danced gently across the green plains, brushing through the flowers and tall grass like a lullaby from the earth itself.
A young girl dashed barefoot across the fields — her laughter light, her breath carefree.
Frida Blod.
No ritual. No power. No weight of expectation. Just a girl running under a warm sun.
She had no idea the world would ask more from her than it ever should from a child.
But on that day…
She was happy.
Frida ran up the hill, her steps light, driven more by excitement than speed. The wooden house ahead creaked softly in the wind — a small, cozy home that smelled like old books and pine.
Two familiar figures stood by the porch, smiles already on their faces before she even spoke.
"Mom! Dad!" she shouted, breathless but grinning.
"Did you hear the rumors? About people on the other side of the world — they have scientific powers! Like, real ones!"
Her mother chuckled, brushing her hair behind her ear.
"Enthusiastic, aren't you?" she said warmly.
Frida twirled once, then flopped onto the grass, arms spread wide, staring up at the wide blue sky that had never looked so big.
"I really wish something like that existed here..." she whispered.
She didn't notice it then —
but both her parents went silent at that.
Her mom cuts through the silence like it never happened, her voice gentle but a little too quick.
"Time for breakfast."
Frida blinked, sat up, then laughed as if she hadn't just felt the weight of something strange in her parents' silence.
"Alright! But I'm not eating those boring old oats again!"
"Then you better be ready to make your own," her dad added from the doorway, smirking with a coffee mug in hand.
The front door creaked open. The scent of something warm and sweet drifted out. It was just another morning in Oslo — peaceful, safe, normal.
But outside the village, the world was already shifting.
And Frida had no idea it would one day burn in her name.
[Same morning — Oslo, Norway]
The village remained untouched. Wind chimes clinked against wooden porches. Chickens clucked somewhere off behind the barn. Frida munched her breakfast like any other day.
But across the globe, the headlines told a different story.
[TV Broadcast – Japan]
"The Norwegian Parliament refuses again to comply with the International Scientific Governance Act proposed by Japan's Technological Bloc. Accusations of genetic monopolization and ideological extremism continue to escalate…"
[Unnamed Japanese Government Facility]
A man in a dark suit clicked the monitor off, expression unreadable.
"If Norway continues to tamper with the structure of existence through isolated research, we cannot ignore the threat."
The man in the dark suit narrowed his eyes, then tossed a folder onto the steel table with a dull thud. Inside: heat signatures, blood analysis scans, biometric overlays — and a satellite image tagged FRIDA BLOD.
"We're not guessing," he said flatly. "We mapped every known anomaly in the human genome across six continents. Only one person had a reaction to the Leyline interference pattern in Norway. Just one.Well good thing that We also possesed such phenomenon with our "Children" Give her to us and we shall ensure her development"
The Norway side stunned but try to cope as much as possible
"No.. We cant just give us our people based on your assumptio.. "
The Man sharpened his face threatening his opposition, His tone is strict loud and clear
"Its right in front of you! If you stop pretend to be a stupid animal that you are.. Give her now..!"
The Norway side got no choice of goods, however the speech must go on
"We wont."
The silence that followed was unnatural—like the room itself was holding its breath.
The man in the dark suit didn't blink. Didn't move. Just stood there, letting the weight of Norway's refusal hang in the air like a guillotine.
Then, a smile—not one of amusement, but calculation—crawled across his lips.
"You've made your decision, then," he said coldly. "Let history record who chose pride over prevention."
He turned, coat swaying as he headed for the exit. Before stepping through the sliding metal doors, he paused.
"We'll be watching. And when she moves... so will we."
Oslo [Night time]
Frida is still on her way to dinner seeing her family. Wooden house simple yet no one should even intervere
"Dang it.. Oat again??"
Her mom talks back to her
"When you grow up you can make your own meal"
Frida groaned, plopping down at the small wooden table, the scent of boiled oats barely masking the evening chill that seeped through the thin windows. Her fingers drummed the surface in mock frustration.
"I swear, if I eat one more bowl of this stuff, I'm gonna start growing oat stalks out of my ears."
Her dad chuckled from across the table, spoon in hand. "That might make you the first human scarecrow in the village. Useful for next year's harvest."
Her mom rolled her eyes with a smile. "Eat up. One day, you'll wish for these quiet nights."
She surely will
Frida glanced toward the small window beside her, the moonlight casting soft blue tones over the hills outside. She didn't know why… but something about that night felt different. Like the wind was whispering things it wasn't supposed to.
Her mother whisper her last word,no.
Her last breath
Then—
Silence.
When Frida blinked, they were gone.
her mother, mid-sentence, lips still half-parted… vanished into crimson mist.
Her father, laughter stolen mid-breath… nothing left but a charred imprint and pieces of meat that still steamed on the floorboards.
The walls caught fire. The floor cracked.
Frida fell back, screaming—not from the pain, but from the silence. The kind of silence that happens when the universe itself forgets to breathe.
The sky outside was painted in a twisted aurora of red and white — not from nature, but something manmade.
A surgical strike, impossibly precise, aimed not at a military base, but a single house.
They knew.
They found her.
Japan had made their move.
Her mind couldn't keep up. Her body moved on its own—stumbling out of the rubble, barefoot, blood running down her knees. The wind that once smelled of pine and bread now reeked of ozone and liquefied steel. The fields she ran through as a child were now filled with foreign boots.
Drones.
Unmanned suits.
Oslo was no longer a city. It was a lab.
A testing ground. A chessboard for a game she never agreed to play.
Frida's throat trembled. The scream didn't come from her lungs—it came from her DNA unraveling in horror.
She watched a neighbor — a man who once gave her apples in winter — get disassembled into parts by something invisible. Not vaporized. Taken apart. Like a blueprint being undone.
Her heart screamed. Her mouth gaped. And out of that madness came no sound—only a vibration.
A crack in the air.
The world felt like glass.
And somewhere, high above… they watched.
Not gods.
Not heroes.
Scientists.
Her voice broke.
Not because she lacked strength — but because the world lacked answers.
Her knees hit the dirt. Her hands clawed at the ground that once grew her favorite flowers. But there were no petals now. Only ash. Only destroyed memories.
"Why.. Why.. Whyyy!"
The cry echoed through the hollowed-out village like a broken instrument —
"Ww--what did I do? What do I do to deserve this?
Stop this..make this stop..please..I cant take this anymore!!!"
And the sky didn't answer.Only the buzzing sound of distant, mechanical wings.
Only the crumbling of burning timber.
Only the sickening hum of scanners dissecting what little remained of her home.
Tears blurred her sight, but through the blur — she saw it.
A man, standing far beyond the collapsing treeline.
Sharp suit. Empty eyes. Holding a clipboard.
Not a soldier. Not a savior.
A researcher.
Watching her.
Recording her reaction.
Like she was an animal in a cage.
A burning rage building up from her throat, the earth itself recoiled.
Her DNA — once silent, once sleeping — detonated like a cursed engine being jumpstarted by grief.
A flash of crimson light twisted the air around her. It wasn't magic. It wasn't science. It was something else.
Blood from the wreckage — from her parents, the land, her own torn palms — responded.
It danced in the air like sentient blades.
SCATTERING STRIKE.
A name she didn't know. But her body did.
A primal instinct buried in the marrow of her bones, whispered through her broken genome.
The attack wasn't a spell.
It was a scream.
It was grief weaponized.
A spiraling razored storm erupted outward.
Shredding everything in its path.
Flesh. Steel. Even air itself split apart under its wrath.
Kill its way through the flesh of those so called "advanced"
Their blood added to hers. Obeyed her now.
She stood at the epicenter — a girl no longer.
A weapon born of mourning.
The stunner spike hissed as it drove into the side of her neck — not metal, but a syringe-laced spike, built to paralyze without killing. The serum hit her bloodstream in under a second. Her eyes widened, glowing red fading into glassy haze.
Too risky to fight head-on.
Too unstable to let loose.
She staggered forward, not from pain — but from the seizing grip of betrayal.
Her knees buckled.
The blood around her — once dancing blades — fell like rain, inert.
The remaining soldiers didn't cheer.
They didn't approach like victors.
They stepped with terror, inching closer as if walking on a nuclear warhead.
"She's down," one whispered, barely audible through his helmet.
"But not dead…" said another. "That wasn't the mission."
A third one loaded the containment pod.
"She won't remember a thing. Once the reformat's done… she'll just be another test subject."
One of them, younger than the rest, dared to look at her face.
Still… she looked like a kid.
He turned away.
"Let's move."
Frida's limp body was lifted, sealed inside a black coffin-like chamber — oxygenated, cold, sterile.
Above them, the Norwegian night sky watched in silence.
As the world failed to protect a smile of a single girl
(3 days later])
Illegal lab construction built under the lands of the child's paradise, even long before the tragic massacre,construction was already commence in silence. Calculated plan B has been thought long ago,incase if the child cant be claimed directly, a tragic geographic state, but here they are,
In the underground facility buried beneath Oslo's soil — soil still stained by ash and unspoken apologies — a girl once full of life now sat like a museum specimen,empty dead in soul , will to live is no longer, her wrists strapped by polymer cuffs more symbolic than necessary. Her body didn't resist. Her memory did.
Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, not from disrepair, but by design — to mimic heartbeat patterns. One scientist claimed it made the subjects more "responsive."
[HOLOGRAPHIC INTERFACE: SUBJECT #F-042 – 'FRIDA BLOD']
Vital Status: Alive
Anomalous Blood State: ACTIVE (31.4%)
A blood-red graph danced across transparent screens, mapping her biology like a symphony in agony. Not pain they could feel — only numbers they could control.
"Blood manipulation, huh?" muttered one researcher, swirling synthetic coffee with the same hand that had pushed her parents' death into a 'necessary protocol' folder.
Another, younger, less dead inside, leaned over the data.
"The government was right. She's rare.
Her DNA isn't just altered—it responds."
The older one scoffed.
"Response is irrelevant. Application is what matters. She's a prototype now. Flesh has no say in the future."
He apprach the child, but its not affection, just making sure their toy isn't dead yet.
"Hey, speak now kid."
Dead stare..hair looks awfully unprepared, a single mouth flap is as heavy as lifting a baton. Yet still question
".... aaah.. where's mom?.. dad?"
The scientits starts to initiate surgical command, Her mental health, will to live was drain to death, now she must experience those things,
Physicaly.
"Start the DNA suppression pressure"
The child didn't cry. There were no tears left — just a haunting void in her stare.
One of the scientists nodded to another behind the glass.
"Begin suppression."
A low mechanical hum filled the chamber. Straps tightened around her limbs. Syringes descended like fangs from the ceiling, jabbing into her arms, neck, spine.
The holographic screen flared.
[GENETIC PRESSURE STABILIZING]
[BLOOD VISCOSITY CHANGING]
[PSYCHIC RESISTANCE: DROPPING]
Flesh? No, atomic cells, tortured at every miliseconds
The chamber cracked with a sound no child should ever make.
It wasn't a cry. It wasn't even human.
It was raw. A jagged, animalistic scream that clawed its way from her throat,yet it's the pain that reminds her to breathe in this cruel world.
Death itself have rejected her
Alarms didn't go off — this wasn't unexpected.
But every single scientist paused.
The lead researcher leaned forward, eyes wide, as the monitor glitched—not digitally, but biologically. The data became erratic. Her molecules weren't following commands anymore.
The blood sloshed unnaturally within her veins, forming alien patterns under her skin. Spikes of crimson ran like ink on glass. Her body twitched violently, but the scream didn't stop.
"She's breaking."
"No," the lead said slowly, transfixed. "She's remembering."
Inside her neurons—buried beneath trauma and shock—wasn't just pain. It was the moment.
The laser. The ash. The silence. The red.
A single tear fell—not from grief, but from a reflex her brain couldn't suppress.
The rest was rage.
The restraints groaned. One cracked.
"Get the sedatives—NOW—"
Too late.
A pulse of blood exploded from her skin like a reverse explosion, shattering one of the glass walls.
A heartbeat later, all that filled the lab was a thick, living red mist.
A thought barely surfaced,
"(Mom… Dad… where are you…? Do I deserve…any of this? )"
2 months have passed nothing but the exact repeating process.
The child wished she was dead for the 63th times.
Her eyes blacked out, as if emptiness have an inferiority complex.Frida sat strapped to the same cold bench, cables like veins plugged into her skin—not to sustain her, but to monitor her slow unraveling.
Her eyes were open.
But nothing looked back.
No tears. No flinch. No anger.
Just blank, like the universe had forgotten to draw her soul in.
"Is she still in there?"
One researcher asked, as if referring to a machine that hadn't booted.
The head scientist replied without emotion, eyes fixed on her fluctuating biometrics.
"Unclear. But the body still reacts. That's all we need."
And so the process continued.
"(I used to admire these scientific thing,am I stupid to think like that? What did I do to trigger their onslaught? The laser they unleashed.. For what reason? What did I do to deserve this?!
Blood extraction.
Neural pressure.
Memory isolation.
Suppression injections.
Sleep deprivation.
Pain spike modulation.")
She has no strength to fight, let alone taking revenge. Even so, she still wish for it.
She has no strength to fight, let alone making them pay. Even so, she still wish for it.
"its been 63 days and there's still no significant improvement "
The room was a sterile cube of white agony. The lights never turned off. The temperature never changed. The calendar didn't even tick forward in her world anymore. Just 63 carved marks on a rusted wall. 63 slashes of surviving pain.
"Subject remains responsive… but ineffective," the voice behind the glass muttered, like a teacher disappointed in a broken calculator.
Frida didn't blink. Couldn't, maybe. Her pupils were like dry wells. Her lips hadn't formed a full word in days. But inside her, something never died.
"Let me go… please… so I can kill you all."
Chapter 5: Judgement day
[Present Day]
The crushed Red Bull can rolls off her fingertips —
not dropped,
but blasted away by pure hatred.
Breath delayed like a glitch in her voice system,her emotions erupted. Converting all pain into a single scream
"Hhh-hh--RAAAAAGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!"
Anguish.
Raw. Undeniable. Not performative — but the kind that twists the air itself.
Frida stands in the chaos, not like a victim.
But like the main event.
By the one whose hands rewrote geography.
Bloody ley-lines spread across the city like a crayon on paper
And then — it happens.
{HELL}
Not metaphorical.
Not philosophical.
Literal.
The city doesn't burn. It dissolves.
Street lines curl like paper in a furnace.
Cables erupt from the ground, veins of fire threading through the skyline.
Entire blocks — institutions, monuments, people — fold into flame.
The asphalt liquefies. Buildings scream as their molecules betray them.
"I was young and stupid.. thinking that all this have a positive meaning"
"Nothing good will happen by hoping in such reality, but I know how I want all this to end.The only thing they deserve."
Air burns down into smoke, annihilation smelt through the athmosphere.
"Hell."
The Entire scientific military.. Prodigies with scientific ability. All sorts of "Greatness" held her like a gun point
It didnt matter
The moment her words left her lips, the air cracked.
Not thunder.
Not a sonic boom.
But reality itself — splitting like cheap glass under god-tier pressure.
One soldier lunged.
Frida didn't blink.
His entire upper body ashed — to nothing.Not even the deepest part of his essence were visible,
his screams never escaping his throat.
Deleted. Not dead — unwritten from existence.
"You call that a countermeasure?" she said, tilting her head like she was inspecting a broken toy.
The scientific military.
Prodigies of theory.
Geniuses of control.
Each one raised on data and discipline, now staring down a living contradiction.
Another came — two, five, twelve.
Jetpacks roaring, taser-swords drawn, anti-personnel spells locked in.
All of it looked impressive on paper.
All of it was useless.
And yet —
They still dared.
"[Initiate striking protocol units 01, 03, 07.]"
The voice cracked through a secure frequency. Confident. Steady.
Jets screamed across the sky, sharp and fast — vultures circling their target.
The cockpit screens lit with locking signals.
Pilot eyes full of national pride.
"[Anti-Heatflux Missiles, commence!]
FIREEEE!!"
A rain of engineered hope.
A symphony of metal screaming through the clouds.
Dozens of rockets, spiraling toward one girl…
…one god.
But it didn't matter.
They imagined the missiles hit.
"Progress" turns into their biggest MISTAKE
"Bring me their ash..
{FAFNIR}"
The spirit emerged — not beside her, but within her.
A dragon-shaped nuclear judgment, clothed in the entropy of souls.
Its wings unfurled — spanning across districts.
Its roar bent gravity, sending vehicles and bodies airborne like leaves in a typhoon of death.
The air ignited from mere proximity to its presence.The sky didn't hold planes anymore — it held judgment.
A roar followed. No, not a roar. Something else.
Something ancient.
{RÖSTFRÆTA}
A beam? No.
A reality-bending incision, hotter than stars, colder than death.
Frequecy cracked coming from a glitching mouth. Meeting its last breath.
["This isnt real..This isnt real!!!…I dont wanna di-"]
ASHES
Not even his last words worthy of her existence
Unstitched the pilot from time, his existence slipping through dimensions like spilled ink on a burning page.The skies turned red not from fire — but from atmospheric rejection, like the world itself wanted to vomit this scene out of its reality.
Another voice come out from another jet, ragging his oxygen inside the cockpit
"[Hh.. Hh..no.. NOOOO I HAVR NEVER SIGN UP FOR THIS!!!!!!! LET ME GO.. YOU BASTARDD!!]"
One more down. No
VANISHED
Tokyo — once a crown of scientific utopia —
was now the throne of Hell,
brought upon them by one girl
who no longer needed to scream.
She simply existed — and that was enough
"These we're the things that hunted me down?
What a laughable scene"
Her eyes glowed, not with power — but clarity.
She understood now.
She was not just a destruction.
She was the result of humanity's arrogance.
The final thesis of a failed experiment.
The "advanced" fell. Not as soldiers. Not even as men.
But as shattered puppets—discarded props in the opening act of Hell.
They weren't enemies.
They were decoration.
A pile of suicidal insects thinking they're special
Scenery for the blood-drenched masterpiece unfolding in real time.
The girl looked to the burning clouds, rained down with dead metal.
"Mom, dad, witness their punishment now.. I'll make sure they pay the worst, ok? I hope you all be proud of me."
Six years.
Six years of silence, of pretending the past didn't exist.
And now?
Now it was opening night.
She spread her arms wide to the apocalypse she authored, letting the cinders cling to her skin like prayer beads.
A goddess crowned in ash. A demon baptized in screams.
Her voice ripped through the blaze—low, cracked, ecstatic:
"COME AT ME, SCIENCE DOGS"
Chapter 6:Science and magic clashes
Everyone runs like a piece of shit begging the heavens for survival. But not this particular boy
White shirt flap against the scorching ashes, walk in there didn't care. Talk to her not with terror, but annoyance
"You just have to ruin my sleep didnt you"
Facial madness are formed, eyeballs shirking hoping for a challenge
She replies. With arrogance..but slightly surpried
"Brave of you boy"
He looks around,
Hell, finding out the "invincible" man's warning was true
"so youre that bitch that he talks about! Ohh sorry.. I thought that news was fake.
Frida's smirk twitched—caught between amusement and curiosity.
"You don't scream. You don't beg. What, you think you're special?"
He replies
"Why the fuck should I care?? But god-complex like you pisses me off thats what it is"
BOOOOOM!!!!!
His shoes makes contact with the ground creating a hole under her feet, but its not just a hole. As the entire earth's layer gets penetrated, creates a great force shift among the earth's tectonic altitude,the vibration was too much, a blast of raw seismic fury tore upward, like Earth itself answered his hatred.
The ground screamed — molten veins of the planet's core ruptured through Tokyo's ruins, spewing lava not in streams, but columns of wrath that aimed straight for the so-called queen of Hell.
"You want "Hell" In here right?!"
A beast-like facial expression emerge, like he wants to eat the shit out of her existence
"Bitch I'll show you how its really made."
Unfazed by the worldly fire
A single twitch of her brow and the flames bent backward — as if the laws of thermodynamics begged for her approval, she tapped into her Demonic Wings form,
a tornado-like blood that splits on her back coated with anomalistic flames that ignores reality's system
"tch"
Launching drill of death not something he has ever encounter before, his sight usually able to destroy any molecular function.. But something's different ,
Something's wrong
—FOOM!
She dove, drill-like tendrils screaming toward him. He ducked, narrowly avoiding being deleted from the food chain. His shirt tore from the near-graze, fabric turning to smoke.
His eyes sharpened again. This wasn't just power. It was unreadable.Microcosm itself got the middle finger every time she flapped those wings.
He muttered to himself:
("…there's something in that blood. It's not hers.")
She floats on the Hell sheets she cause, knowing she inatantly put his pride to trash like it should be
"Whats the matter? Out of fancy tricks?
"Frida hovered above like a living calamity, her wings—bloodstorms woven into flame—slashing through the air. Her smile twisted: not of joy, but of someone who enjoys being broken.
"You think you're chaos? I am the reason Tokyo doesn't have a map location anymore."
Raging danger from the underground unwarned–
"{ERUPSIGON}"
An eruption spell created from the underground to burst up like a geyser, similar to the boy's earth's core attack but this time the flame is far more deadly, one slightest mistake, and he's gone for good.
BOOMM!!
BOOMM!!
BOOMM!!
BOOMM!!
BOOMM!!
It keeps coming, the hellish beam harass the boy constantly as if shes trying to kill a fly. The boy staggered, each impact incinerating the concrete beneath him, It wasn't just force—it was intent. The rage of a girl betrayed by the world, sharpened into divine punishment.
Desperate dodges but last impact blew him away
(I can just destroy her inner organs if I wanted to, but I wont have the time for that..especially when she keeps attacking me..)
The boy look around looking for a solution
She taunts him, walking slowly as if she owned him
"Giving up already? Youre just the same as the other pile of insect I erased."
He gets up, he aint finised yet
"You talk too much for someone who plagiarize my attack."
Digusted by his words, thinking she might have to burn down his ego even further
"Very funny.. wanting something different don't you?"
SCATERING STRIKE
"!!?"
A spell.
Danced like the tantrum of a furious god. Each motion of her wrath didn't just hit — it dismissed things from existence with no apology. Glass liquefied. Concrete became dust. Air howled like it was begging for a pause.
"Tch—!!"
He threw up his arms, eyes darting—calculating—dodging wasn't enough. One misstep, and his body would be fried up and not even his molecule would exist.
CRASH!!!
A split-second late — and a chunk of debris the size of a car slammed into him, launching his body like a ragdoll across the hellscape. He bounced, skidded, smashed into a broken pillar — dust and blood smearing the ruin.
But then he realized..
"Hah?? Whats this?"
He steped on the girl's blood that connects circularly around the city.Its not something that a street thugs would paint. It's must be done for a bigger reason. He smirks.
Checkmate
"I see. So this is where your bullshit comes from"
She staggered..gets exposed to its very core
Yet denial still kicks in
"Ww--what about it?"
She still looks powerful as she is,, deep down shes nothing but a child begging for mercy
His smirk widened, cruel and electric, like a switchblade smile in the middle of a funeral.
"You think Im stupid? A blood-forged circuit. Amplifying your abilities by turning Tokyo into one giant occult battery."
He stood again—slowly—his back straightening like someone who just flipped a goddamn chessboard.
"Blood have subatomic particles within it.
You need that so your power can function. Guess what happens when I tear that source apart?"
Her eye twitched.
"You... wouldn't."
Release of enjoyment,he knew the tables have turned
"O yeah?? Then beg for it little shit I'll wait"
Frida clenched her teeth—hard enough to crack the bones in her jaw.
Six years. Six years of suffering, of silence, of building a throne out of bones and ash—
All of it—undone. By some stray mongrel who walked out of bed with a white shirt and no respect for her trauma.
The scream tore out of her throat like it was never meant to be released.
It wasn't command.
It was desperation dressed as volume.
"Shut up!!!! You science dogs must send perish!!!"
{FAFNIR} obeyed—
Not with might, but with urgency.
A beast's final gambit, lunging across the battlefield in blind loyalty.A flaming bite was unleased
But then—
SCRAAPE.
The boy's shoe glided over the blood-lined concrete like it was just dirt.
A single, casual step.
And that one swipe—
That tiny, lazy motion—
WIPED. IT. CLEAN.
The spell circle.
The sacrificial seal.
The foundation of her magic.
Gone.
Not even ashes remains
The dragon disaapear from sight right at his face,like a glitch in a system,flames unstable and vanish from midair like its just an oxygen ,he smiles even wider walking towards a fraudulant girl who calls herself a god. While in reality shes just a tool for a system, a fragile doll trying be dangerous
"Attack me now again I fucking dare you"
6 years of preperation.. Vanish in seconds
Raging crimson gone like an extinct periodic table, as if world have moved on
Frida Blod,a singularity of terror—
reduced to a glitch.
A fragile system error.
And worse, she knew it.
The poor girl's revenge turns into despair
The Invicible flames are gone.. only her fragile blood that remains in her arsenal
Shooting the blood out of frustration.. Tantrum in motion
Strong.. But easy to solve,
A single sight, and it's gone
She keeps shooting the blood not knowing what to do
"Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die!!!!FUCKING DIEE!!!"
One final try, painful memories concentrated to a single blow, It launches to him,
none of it matter
The blood splattered 2 inches from his face,
she kneels down, a tragic truth manifest in front her eyes,
"Am I.. This worthless..??" Her smile clicked, her will to live shattered.
Her blood vanished leaving the girl alone in failure
"Just kill me already.. "