I woke up on something soft, but it wasn't a mattress.
I pushed myself up, my hands sinking into a substance that felt like high-density cotton. I looked around. I was sitting on top of a boundless expanse of white clouds, stretching out into an infinite horizon. Above me, there was no sun, just a soft, ambient glow that seemed to come from everywhere at once.
This feels like déjà vu. Where?…
Before I could finish the thought, a singular point of light materialized in front of me. It expanded rapidly, swelling into a massive, pulsating ball; it looked like a star in space. Before I could open my mouth to ask what it was, a tendril of solid light shot out from the star and smacked me right on the forehead.
It wasn't just a hit; it was a download. The force of it knocked me back onto the clouds, but as I laid there rubbing my skull, the confusion evaporated. I remembered who it was—The Guiding Light—and I remembered who I was. I had died—In a very embarrassing way (read chapter 1 of Book 1 for more details). I had earned an obscene amount of karma, both positive and negative. And now, I was being processed again.
"Okay," I groaned, sitting up again. "Message received. Let's get on with it."
The Guiding Light didn't speak, instead a massive, ornate wheel materialized from the ether. It looked like something out of a cosmic game show. The slots were filled with the names of different media that I either watched, read, or interacted with.
"Wheel…. of…. Fortune," I muttered.
The entity commenced the wheel to spin. As the wheel blurred, a kaleidoscope of potential places spun past.
"STOP!" I commanded.
The needle settled on Blue Exorcist. I stared at the name and tried to recall what world that was.
Blue Exorcist, Blue Exorcist, where the fuck have I heard— oh! That animanga!
A world filled with demons, exorcists, and a whole lot of family trauma.
"I haven't heard that name in a minute, that's crazy! I don't even think it finished publishing, so I'm just going in there blind huh?"
The Guiding Light pulsed again, and finally spoke. "You have gained a substantial amount of Karma."
I raised a brow. "Yea, and? What does that mean?"
"It means that you now have the opportunity to acclimate any chosen power onto yourself."
I look at it like it gained a second form. "Huh?"
The entity let out what I believed was its version of a sigh. "You can now choose who you want to be and what power you would like to have."
"Oh shit! Really?!"
"Yes."
"Hold on a minute, when you say any chosen power, do you actually mean that or is that something you just say?"
"Yes, any that you can think of."
"Are you sure about that? Are you sure there's no, you can have this power, but you can only use it under these conditions kinda thing, is there?"
"Yes! Now, please choose."
"Okay, I want to be Rin Okumura," I began, "but, I want his full powers—complete flame control—with the essence of a Banshōman, like Shinrabanshōman from Fire Force."
"Shinrabanshōman, the all-powerful being that stands a tier above reality?" the being questioned.
"Actually, I just want the Banshōman part. I don't want to rely on another dimension's mechanics," I clarified. "I want the power ingrained into my biology. I want my flames to be the engine of creation and destruction. I want the power to rewrite the laws of the world I'm entering."
The entity went silent for a moment.
Is it gonna give it to me? I thought, awaiting for the entity's answer with bated breath.
"It shall be done," it finally said, eliciting a surprised look from me.
Oh shit, it's actually gonna give it to me! I thought, eyeballs nearly popping out. You little fool! I'm gonna use this power for evil! Mwuhahahaha! I'm—
The entity pulsed once and then surged forward, before I could construct another thought. It consumed me in a blinding white light.
"AHHHHHHHHHHH! Fuck!" I cried out as everything went bright, then pitch black in an instant.
Mere Moments Later….
The first thing I felt wasn't just heat. It was supreme, absolute, and uncontrollable power.
Goddamn, it's hot.
"Aye open up a window," I muttered out.
It felt like my soul had expanded to fill the room, and then the building, and then the city. My body didn't feel like a reactor; It felt like I had become the Sun itself. My chest felt like it was becoming the center of a new universe.
When I opened up my eyes, a priest with glasses and a cross around his neck looked down at me with concern.
What's this bastard's name again? I tried remembering. Oh that's right, Shiro Fujimoto.
"High fever," he muttered. "Higher than I've ever seen. This isn't normal."
No shit man, I thought. My soul is currently overwriting the physics of this room.
It felt like my DNA was being rewritten in real-time. The chaotic, destructive blue flames of Satan were being tempered by the absolute awareness of a Banshōman. My heart slammed against my ribs, heavy and rhythmic, like the hammer of a god forging a new world.
That bitch ass Guiding Light must have conned me man!
Hours later, the storm settled. I dragged myself to the bathroom mirror.
The boy in the mirror was Rin Okumura, but upgraded. My messy black hair was fading in and out, turning a pale spectral blue that drifted into pure white. My eyes, usually a deep blue, flickered with a sharp, ruby-red ring around the pupil.
I closed my eyes and visualized my power not as a valve, but as a command. I willed the blue-white light to retreat and commanded my eyes to be human.
When I opened them, the ruby rings were gone. I was back to dark midnight blue.
Perfect, I thought, running a hand through my hair. Not a trace of irregularities noticeable. I can work with this.
Three Years Later…
Age 10:
Ninety-eight... ninety-nine... one hundred.
I got to my feet soon after.
Next, squats.
Life at the Southern Cross Boys' Monastery was loud, chaotic, and full of demons that only I could see. Small fry—Coal Tars, mostly—floating around like dust motes. I ignored them.
Every day I completed 100 pushups, sit-ups, squats, and a 10km run. They were getting easy to the point where I had to break them into chunks throughout the day to avoid standing out too much in front of the monks.
My upgraded physiology didn't just adapt; it optimized. My body didn't just want to move; it wanted to dominate the space it occupied.
I finished my set and headed to the kitchen. This was my sanctuary. If I could command the essence of an ingredient to change perfectly—to sear without burning, to tenderize without falling apart—I could command the essence of reality without accidently destroying the world.
"Old Man," I said, sliding a plate of Omurice toward Fujimoto. "I perfected the acidity."
He took a bite, and his eyes widened. The flavor wasn't just good; it was absolute. It was a perfect tasting meal. "Not bad," he muttered. "You might actually make a living out of this."
I sat opposite him, watching him eat. I needed to take the next steps in my training, but I couldn't just ask him to teach me how to fight demons. I needed a cover story.
"Aye, Old Man," I said, gaining his attention. "Teach me how to meditate."
Fujimoto paused, spoon halfway to his mouth. "Meditate? You? You can barely sit still for five seconds."
"That's why," I lied smoothly. "You're always going on about how I need more control. You're a priest, you meditate right? Teach me how to clear my head or whatever."
It was true, I needed control. But not over my anger, over the pressure I was starting to leak. If I didn't learn to silence my soul, every demon in Japan would feel the "New Sun" rising from this monastery.
He studied me for a long moment. Like he was searching for the chaos expected of Satan's spawn. But I met his gaze with a flat, calm stare.
"Well?" I questioned after a while.
Take the bait already, you tall bastard.
"Fine," he grunted, going back to his eggs. "Sessions start tomorrow at 5 AM. Don't be late."
Hook, line, and sinker.
Three Years After That…
Age 13:
I sat through Junior High like a ghost. To everyone else, I was just a mysterious, but slightly dangerous kid.
I didn't attend a Cram School, there was no reason to. Fujimoto still hadn't figured out what I was capable of, so I bartered for techniques that I could use in the meanwhile.
"Fork over them Kendo techniques," I said, holding out a bento box that smelled like heaven to a senior student at a local dojo. "And proper footwork. Teach me right bastard."
The student, a brown-belt who visited the monastery for volunteer work, eyed the food. It was a premium pork cutlet bowl, glistening with the sauce I'd spent two years perfecting.
"Why do you care, Rin? You're not even in the club. And I heard you don't even take your classes seriously." they said.
"Self-defense," I shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. "Dangerous world out there. Lots of weirdos."
The student was still feeling tentative. "I don't know."
"Do you really want me to go out in the world unprotected? Is that the kind of heart you have? A cold one?" I pressed them.
The student sighed and took the bento. "Fine, but you better take this seriously."
"Yea, yea, let's begin already." I waved them off.
I learned the footwork in a few minutes, surprising the senior. Then, I progressively moved on to Judo and Karate. I didn't just learn them; I perfected them in minutes. My body remembered every movement before I even made it.
Later that night, I slipped away to an abandoned junk yard three miles away; It was my true dojo. The scent of rust and old oil was better than incense anyway.
I set a single candle on top of a rusted car hood.
Don't just burn it, I thought. Command it to be Light.
I didn't "push" fire out of my finger. I simply denied the darkness around the wick. The air shivered. There was no spark, no struggle. The wick simply became a source of pure, blue-white radiance that didn't flicker, because I had commanded the wind not to touch it.
I clenched my fist, and the light vanished. Not extinguished—Erased.
Not bad, I thought. But there's still plenty of work to be done.
Two Years Later…
Age 15:
"Order up, table four!" I called out, sliding a plate on the pass.
A perfect sea bass with a miso glaze.
I'd been apprenticing at a restaurant since I was twelve thanks to a recommendation from the Old Man. Now, at fifteen, I was practically running the line. The heat, the noise, the pressure—it kept my mind grounded.
This restaurant job has not only helped me with my flames and my craft, but the constant intake of a balanced diet and physical conditioning has turned me from a skinny—but very inhumanly strong dweeb, to a form fitting 6'0" 170 lb adonis.
No cap, if I flex right now, I might rip my shirt off.
"Rin! Stop daydreaming and check the temp on that steak!" The head chef shouted, wiping sweat from his brow.
"It's medium-rare, Chef. Relaaaaax," I called back without looking.
I didn't need a thermometer. I could sense the information of the meat—its temperature, its texture, even its very state of being.
I wiped my hands on my apron.
I had also been dealing with demons on the side since I was thirteen. Small fry mostly—Coal Tars, and a couple Hobgoblins I got rid of quickly and quietly.
Today however, felt different. The air tasted like rot. I was taking out the trash in the back alley when I saw him. A delivery driver I knew—cool guy, always tipped well—he was convulsing against the brick wall. A shadowy, distorted figure was forcing its way down his throat.
"Get out," I commanded.
The demon hissed, swiveling its head 180 degrees. It wasn't a Hobgoblin. It was stronger. Rotting.
Astaroth, the King of Rot, I remembered internally.
The temperature plummeted as he approached with jerky and unnatural movement. Shadows stretched long and thin, crawling up the walls like oil. Coal Tars swarmed the alley, blocking the exit, buzzing like a plague of locusts.
"Young Lord..." Astaroth gurgled. "We finally found you."
"Oh shit," I muttered as I bolted toward the monastery, leading them away from the civilians.
"Old Man!" I yelled as I burst through the gates.
Shiro was there, waiting by the steps with a bag of groceries. He looked up, and his face went pale—not with fear, but with recognition. He saw the swarm darkening the sky. He saw the possessed man stumbling after me, rotting aura flaring.
"Rin?" Shiro dropped the bag. He didn't hesitate. He moved with a speed that shouldn't have been possible for a man his age. "Get behind me!"
Astaroth lunged, roaring, "Give me the boy!"
Shiro stood his ground, his voice booming with absolute authority. "In the name of the Lord, I command you: Be gone from this vessel, King of Rot!"
He didn't just chant; he projected his will like a hammer. He slammed a palm against Astaroth's chest. A blinding cross of light erupted on impact. Astaroth shrieked, his vessel convulsing as he was blasted backward, crashing into the stone wall of the perimeter.
The possessed man slumped, unconscious. But Astaroth wasn't done. The air grew heavy, smelling of sulfur and sewage.
"Kill them!" Astaroth's disembodied voice screeched from the shadows. "Feast on their flesh!"
The sky above us churned. The swarm of Coal Tars and low-level Ghouls descended like a black landslide.
"Damn it," Shiro cursed as he quickly pulled me into the monastery. We got to a dresser and he reached into his cassock and pulled out a strange key.
That's the Kamehameha Key right? I thought.
"This is the Kamikakushi Key." he said, jamming it into one of the drawers.
Eh, close enough, I mentally shrugged.
"With it you can hide anything anywhere you want," he continued, pulling out a sword wrapped in a red cloth.
The Kurikara.
"Take this!" He shoved the items into my hands. "But don't ever draw it," he said, turning back to the area the swarm was coming from, shotgun in one hand, holy water in the other.
"What?! What's the point of giving it to me then?!" I questioned. "And what's going on?" I feigned ignorance.
"Because it's a magic weapon that's tied to you. Once you draw it you can never live as a regular human again. So, no matter what happens, do not draw that sword! And I'll explain everything aft—"
He couldn't finish. The swarm forced their way inside and crashed down on us.
Shiro blasted a Ghoul out of the air, but there were too many. Three demons circled my blind spot, lunging for my throat while Shiro was occupied.
My survival instincts kicked in. I didn't mean to do it, but the feeling of being surrounded by a large collective of demons from several blind spots put my body into overdrive.
PHOOM.
My hair turned blue-white. My eyes flared red. And a wave of blue flames erupted from my skin—not a blast, but an erasure.
The demons lunging at me didn't just burn; they ceased to exist. They didn't leave ash; they left a void in the air.
Shiro spun around, sensing the surge of Gehenna's power.
He froze when he saw me.
He saw the white hair, the blue flames dancing off my shoulders, and the form of a "God" standing there.
"Rin..." Shiro whispered, his eyes widening in horror. "It's... it's too late?"
He thought I was gone. He thought the seal broke, and I was being possessed. And in that split second of heartbreak, his mental fortress crumbled.
And in his place, came a great evil.
"Found you..." said a voice that wasn't Shiro's.
It was deeper, ancient, and echoed from everywhere.
Shiro's body seized. The shotgun clattered to the ground. The veins in his neck turned black, pulsing with a vile energy. Blue flames—Satan's flames, wild and uncontrolled—poured from his mouth.
"My Son!" Satan laughed through Shiro's lips, twisting his face into a manic grin.
Behind him, reality tore apart. The Gehenna Gate tore open, a gaping maw of rot and darkness waiting to swallow us whole.
"Release him!" I yelled, heat gathering in my palm.
I could do it. I thought. I could use the Banshōman awareness to reach into Shiro's soul and sever the concept of Satan from the man. It would be a surgical strike of absolute heat.
As I stepped forward, raising my hand Shiro… no, my father looked at me. He saw the power I held. He smiled—a sad, proud smile.
"Don't let him take you, Rin."
Before I could reach him, Shiro drove his own dagger into his neck, ending his life to break the vessel.
Damn.
The possession broke, the Gate crumbled into dust, and Shiro Fujimoto collapsed.
The courtyard fell silent, save for the crackling of dying embers. I stood there, the flames dying down, the white fading from my hair. I walked over to him, my steps heavy.
He was gone. He had killed himself to pay a debt he thought he owed, to protect a son he thought was helpless. He didn't know I was strong enough to rewrite the rules of his death.
I looked at the Kurikara lying next to him. I picked it up. It felt like a scepter now. I looked at the empty air where Satan had been laughing. Then, I looked at Shiro's glasses and picked them up.
"Okay," I said, my voice cold as the void. "You want a war? You got one."
Bring it bitch.