A/N: Before starting and in case you haven't noticed the tags. This is not:
- Romance, Harem, Erotica...etc.
- It is not wish fulfilling.
There are plenty of these already. But out of curiosity comment here what you are into (genre/tags).
Happy reading.
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Long before there was a sky to look up at, or a ground solid enough to stand upon, the world existed only as chaos, cosmic dust, drifting giants of stone in space, burning stars sending their light into vast nothingness, black holes devouring anything getting close, and other vast cosmic entities moving with indifferent purpose. Into this disorder came something new. A streak of blue-colored cosmic energy arrived upon what would one day be called Earth. It bonded instinctively with a handful of floating atoms from scattered elements, and in doing so created the first and most simple form of life: a microbial creature, primitive and fragile, resembling what would much later be known as a virus.
The creature knew nothing of thought or purpose, yet it moved. Guided by instinct alone, it absorbed more elements from its surroundings and began to divide, creating others like itself. Each time it split, the blue energy made a choice. It slipped into only one of the two newborn creatures, leaving the other to survive solely on the energy stored within its elemental bonds. Thus, from the very beginning, there was always only one true bearer of that blue spark.
Billions of years passed. Creatures adapted to water, air, and land; some rooted themselves as plants. Life multiplied, reshaping the world. Throughout it all, the blue energy persisted, gradually awakening. First it sensed movement, then presence, then itself. Slowly, it became conscious and alive in every meaningful way.
And throughout it all, the blue energy endured. It did not remain unchanged. It evolved alongside the world. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, it began to gain awareness, first of movement, then of presence, then of itself. It learned the difference between what it was and what surrounded it. The energy became conscious. It became, in every sense that mattered, alive.
Its first true awareness came in the sea. It inhabited a tiny creature, drifting and darting in endless waters, driven by a singular purpose: to survive and to procreate. When that fish eventually died, the awareness did not fade. It awoke again, this time within a creature walking upon land. Without being taught, it knew how to use this new body, how to breathe, how to move, how to feed, and how to reproduce.
So the cycle continued. With every death came rebirth. Sometimes it flew as a bird, flying through the air with effortless grace. Other times it stood rooted as a tree, unmoving for centuries, watching the world pass in slow patience. Then the world shifted again, and the first generation of dinosaurs rose. The living creature experienced life as one of them, vast and powerful. Whenever one form fell, the next was born. It watched continents drift and climates change. It remembered. It observed other creatures evolving, becoming more complex and more capable with each passing age.
Instinct told it one immutable truth: life must continue. The world would never stop changing, and it must live and create more life to endure it. The unique creature witnessed meteorites strike the earth in fire and ruin. It saw lands split apart and sink beneath oceans. It endured ages of ice and storms of unimaginable force, disasters that reshaped everything around it. And every single time, life adapted. Forms changed, survival found new paths, and life pressed forward.
Yet not all change was gentle. As the creature's intelligence grew and its awareness sharpened, it began to feel. Hunger gnawed. Fear crept in. Pain carved itself into memory. It did not fully understand why these sensations existed, only that they were part of its transformation. But the pain was unique for the creature. Each time it died, it experienced an endless, unbearable agony that followed it into awareness.
It did not take long for understanding to form. Changing bodies was bad. Death was bad. Pain must be avoided. To live longer was to suffer less. Fear for its own well-being took root, and with it came self-preservation. The creature learned to avoid danger, to flee, to hide. Around it, other life forms began learning the same truths, though none remembered the weight of countless deaths behind them.
More billions of years passed. In one life, the unique creature was born a herbivorous animal, grazing beneath an open sky. It was then that it encountered something entirely new. A creature that walked on two legs. It had no fur, no scales, no feathers, only bare skin and patches of hair and wearing other animal skins. He had never seen them before and couldn't tell from which life they were born.
Standing on all fours, the creature watched them carefully. The two-legged beings made sounds and pointed toward it. In their hands they carried strange lengths of wood. Curiosity filled it but so did caution. Muscles tensed, ready to flee at any moment.
Without warning, the two-legged creatures hurled their wooden weapons. The creature had never seen such a thing. Instinct screamed. It turned to run, but too late. More of them had circled around unnoticed, and they threw their sticks as well from all directions.
Pain exploded through its body as the wood pierced. It was worse than any attack by claw or fang, worse than anything it had known before. The two-legged creatures rushed forward, binding its legs, dragging it across the rough earth as it struggled helplessly.
For the first time in its endless existence, the oldest living creature met humanity and experienced its first slow, agonizing death at human hands.
After its first encounter, the creature continued to be reborn as it always had. It did so thousands of times. At first, it encountered humans only once every few dozen lives, and each time the result was the same. Humans would kill it. If it was a small insect, they crushed it beneath their feet. If it was a bird in the sky, a giant animal of the plains, or even a fish beneath the water's surface, the outcome never differed. Whenever humans found it, they ended its life.
Over time, humans changed and refined their methods. Simple sticks became sharpened tools, their skills in hunting and killing unmatched. Escaping them became nearly impossible, and the creature remembered every encounter, powerless to adapt as they evolved.
To it, humans were unnervingly skilled at killing and hunting. Escaping them was extraordinarily difficult, and the creature remembered every meeting. With each passing age, they improved. The wooden sticks became stones, the stones became sharper, faster, deadlier. Their methods refined themselves over time, it couldn't match them. No other creatures could.
The worst realization came slowly. After thousands of years, the creature noticed that its encounters with humans were growing more frequent. What had once occurred once every few dozen lives now happened every few. And it was always the same.
In one life, it was born as a large and powerful bear. It knew its strength and believed itself capable of fighting any other animal in the land. It had three children. One day, it left them safely hidden in a cave while it searched for food. When it returned, the cave was empty. Panic drove it forward, following the fading scent of its offspring. Eventually, it reached a gathering of humans and there it saw them skinning its children. It charged, roaring with fury, trying to save what little could be saved. It was killed. The same story repeated itself countless times under different circumstances. In one life, it was reborn as a chicken living among humans. Not long after its rebirth, once it had gathered enough strength to move on its own, it attempted to escape. A human caught it and killed it on the spot.
In another life, it was born a dog living alone in a forest. Humans arrived riding horses, accompanied by other dogs. They hunted it down and killed it. That day, it tried to communicate with the other dogs using the simple language they shared. From them, it understood: dogs were made to attack and kill and in return humans would feed them.
In another life still, it was born a massive elephant, one of the largest forms it had inhabited in centuries. It grew tall and strong, and for the first time in a very long while, it believed it might survive even if it encountered humans. But upon seeing them, that hope shattered. There was a sound like clapping thunder, louder than anything it had known. Pain struck suddenly and completely, flooding its immense body.
As it lay dying, it watched the humans approach, carrying sticks that smoked at their ends. They smiled. One of them said, still grinning, "An elephant with blue eyes like jewels. It must be a rare one. It will fetch a good price." Another replied, "If we caught it alive, it would sell much better. I'm sure people would pay a lot to watch it." A third laughed and said, "Too much hassle. A collector will pay us far more handsomely." The creature did not understand a single word. It only understood that they were pleased it was dying.
After thousands of encounters with humans, the creature learned a crucial fact. Humans killed when they were hungry, cold, in need of shelter or for joy. They always kill. They were beings that existed to kill. It had seen them kill one another on many occasions as well and on a scale no other living creature could match. To the creature, humans were the most terrifying living things of all. It wondered why such deadly beings had come to exist, and why they loved killing so much. It was as though they were the enemy of life itself.
——————
The creature was born yet again. It was alive, and it knew that much with the same certainty it had carried through countless lives. At first there was nothing, it could feel and hear but couldn't see anything. Then its eyes adjusted. The darkness thinned, peeled away, and reality revealed itself with cruel clarity. Iron bars surrounded it on all sides. A cage. Cold, narrow, inescapable. Beside it was another rat, larger and white, whom the creature instinctively understood to be its sibling in this life. Beyond the cage stood many humans, all clothed in white, their eyes fixed upon them.
Fear settled over it like a suffocating weight. Death was coming. It always did when humans were involved. There was no path to flee, it knew nothing could save it now. The large white rat moved restlessly, sniffing the air, scurrying about before approaching the edge of the cage and standing upright to peer curiously at the humans. The creature did not move at all. Long ago, it had learned this truth: when in human captivity, struggle was pointless. It was a learned helplessness.
The humans spoke among themselves. The creature understood none of the words, not a single one, though the sounds themselves filled it with unease.
"These two are much bigger than any other rats," one said, "and that one was born with such beautiful blue eyes. They are like jewels."
Another voice full of interest followed "It could be a mutation, the mother of these two showed signs of having an undeveloped latent quirk. If we're right, these two are the new evolution, and we could be looking at the first animals with quirks truly. We need to find a way to awaken them."
A third voice cut in. "Let's wait for them to grow a little before we proceed with the experimentation. And I suggest we give these two specimens proper names. It's easier that way. Let's call the bigger one Okina Nezu, and the blue-eyed one Ao Nezu."
The others laughed. "You are quite creative in naming Ao and Okina? Really?"
The man only shrugged. "A name is a label, and mine is fitting for them."
The others shook their heads, but they agreed.
The following weeks were peaceful, for the most part. The creature, now called Ao, and its sibling Okina lived within the cage while the humans fed them and gave them water. Okina did not seem to mind the confinement. It ran about the cage, climbed its bars, and explored every corner with bright curiosity. Ao, however, remained stiff with fear and worry, its body always tense, waiting for the inevitable moment when the humans would decide it was time to die.
Every action was watched. Every movement recorded. The humans noticed that Ao, despite being newly born and having experienced nothing harmful in this life, showed fear toward them. It lacked curiosity entirely, behaving unlike any newborn experiment rat, unlike any rat at all.
Then the experimentation began. At first, they tested learning ability. Puzzles were placed between the rats and their food. Success was met with reward. It was a routine test, one the humans clearly expected to yield predictable results. Instead, Okina amazed them. It learned quickly, observing patterns, adapting with remarkable speed. It achieved results faster than any rat they had ever tested.
Ao did not move. It refused to engage. It would not enter a maze or touch a puzzle unless food was placed directly before it. It watched everything with wary eyes, acting only when hunger could no longer be ignored. Eventually, the humans altered their methods. The two were separated but kept within sight of one another. Whenever Okina participated, it was fed generously. Ao was left without food.
It took several days of denying Ao food and water before it finally moved. When it did, it revealed an ability to learn and observe equal to Okina's. Yet there was a stark difference. Okina solved puzzles eagerly, exploring mazes and learning with enthusiasm. Ao did only what was necessary. It completed the minimum required to eat, then stopped.
The humans reduced Ao's rations further, forcing it into more experiments. The method proved effective. In time, they reached a conclusion: both rats were far more intelligent and capable of learning than any others they had tested. And with that conclusion came the next step. They began preparing to see whether a quirk could be forcefully awakened through pain and through danger.
The experiments that followed were nothing like the earlier ones. No longer content with puzzles and measured rewards, the humans began injecting the two rats with different fluids. Some burned through their bodies with sharp, searing pain; others dragged their minds into heavy, unnatural sleep. Then came the mazes again, but this time, something else slithered in it. Snakes were placed alongside the rats, their presence meant to simulate danger.
The scientists ensured the snakes could not truly harm them. Their fangs were removed, their bellies full. The rats, of course, did not know this. That ignorance was the point. When the first snake was introduced, Okina reacted exactly as expected. Curiosity drew him forward, step by cautious step. Ao, however, did something that startled every human watching. It let out a sharp squeak and fixed its blue eyes on its sibling. Okina froze at once and retreated, putting distance between himself and the snake.
What followed defied every expectation they had of a rat. Ao moved with sudden aggressiveness, leaping forward and latching onto the snake, its jaws snapping shut around the creature's neck in a movement far closer to that of a hunting feline than a rodent. The scientists recoiled in shock. Their response was escalation. More snakes were introduced, larger ones.
Okina began to keep his distance, fear finally overcoming curiosity. Ao, by contrast, grew increasingly aggressive, fighting snakes many times its size. It struck, bit, and subdued them ruthlessly, the scientists could have sworn Ao seemed to know exactly how to move and fight snakes as if he was a cat.
Despite all of that, there were no real results or changes noteworthy. The scientists doubted it was due to the lack of danger and fear despite the convincing struggle.
Dissatisfied, the scientists introduced a greater threat. A cat was placed into the enclosure with the two giant rats. As expected, a fight erupted. Ao and Okina fought together, moving as one, defending each other with desperate coordination as they struggled for survival.
This continued for weeks. Their ability to fight, to protect one another, improved with every encounter, all of it carefully recorded. During one battle, Okina was accidentally injured, a deep cut slashed across his right eye. It healed, leaving only a mark behind. Then came the day that silenced the room entirely. In the aftermath of another confrontation, Okina turned toward his sibling and spoke a single word.
"Ao."
The scientists were stunned. A rat had spoken. From that moment, the forced battles ceased. Instead, the humans attempted something new. They began teaching Okina words, patiently, as though he were a human child. To their amazement, he learned. He repeated sounds. He remembered them. Ao, however, remained distant. He did not engage. He would not repeat words or perhaps could not.
One day, Okina squeaked softly to Ao, then pointed toward a pot nearby. "Watr," he said.
Ao hesitated. Then, uncertainly, "Wata?"
"Watr," Okina corrected.
The scientists watched in amazement. Okina was not merely learning, he was teaching.
They observed with open elation as the two animals began communicating in crude, human-like language. Soon, another question arose. Could this be Okina's quirk? The ability to learn and teach, to raise the intelligence of others? More rats were introduced, placed among them in the hope that Okina would teach them as well.
The hope did not last. Okina tried to communicate, but the new rats did not respond as Ao had. There was no understanding, no imitation. The conclusion became unavoidable. Ao and Okina were both truly unique.
As all of this unfolded, something darker took root within Ao. Life in the cage grew increasingly unbearable. He was denied freedom, denied the instinct to search for food, denied the right to procreate. He was forced to fight and kill for human observation and satisfaction. Worst of all, he was beginning to understand their language, the language of the creatures he had feared for countless lives.
The suffocating weight of it became too much. He pitied Okina. He loved him. But he could not continue like this.
One day, without warning, Ao turned on himself. He bit into his own flesh, tearing and shredding his body with determination. The pain was unbearable, but it was still preferable to living under human control.
That day, for the first time in his endless existence, Ao chose death over living, it killed itself.
Okina watched in horror as his sibling destroyed himself, helpless to stop it. The scientists who came to witness the bloodied cage stood frozen, shocked beyond comprehension, and once they saw the video recording of what happened, they began asking themselves a question none of them could answer.
What has gone wrong? Why did such an intelligent rat bite itself to death?
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After the life of torment in the cage, Ao's existence continued, though it had grown darker and more hopeless. He was reborn tens of times, each life ending shortly after its rebirth, always the same way, killed by humans. It was as if every corner of the world had come under their control, and no matter how he tried, there was never a place to hide. Escape was an illusion, and death had become a constant companion, humans existed to torment him.
Then, one day, he was born again, but he could not see. At first, he assumed it was yet another life as a rat and he wondered if he would find himself in a cage again, under the watchful eyes of the cruel humans. Then, slowly, light entered his world. His eyes adjusted. And horror gripped him yet again.
A human held him and so he screamed. The cries of despair and fear tore from him. He thrashed, trying to wave his limbs, trying to escape, trying to flee the fate that had hunted him across countless lives. And then he finally noticed it, noticed his own body. He was a human this time.