From the day I was born into this world, I could recall every detail. I've always had a long memory. Even for the things part of me wishes I could forget.
"WAAAH…! WAAAH…! AHH—WAAAH…! WAAAH…!"
You hear that? My god, I had a set of lungs as a newborn.
I was born in a shinobi village known as Metsugakure, hidden deep within the Kingdom of Fiore.
Villages like Metsugakure are rare—so rare you could count them on one hand.
Whether I was born into it because of fate or something far more twisted… I still don't know.
Metsugakure was ruled by the Ebonveil Clan, an ancient, merciless bloodline that governed through power alone.
In their doctrine, strength was the only measure of worth. Those who even knew the village existed understood one truth: shinobi born from Metsugakure weren't ordinary fighters.
They were feared, revered, and quietly pursued by criminal syndicates and powerful figures alike.
Why? Simple.
Because of what we did.
Assassination. Espionage. Sabotage. Trades deemed illegal, treasonous, crimes against the Government itself.
In other words, we were no different from criminals. And yet, despite all the condemnation, our services were still bought in whispers by people willing to pay the price.
You'd be surprised how many people want each other dead. Then again… maybe you wouldn't.
It's human nature to be cruel. For me, it was no different.
I was born a girl, something that wouldn't have mattered if I'd been raised in a normal village.
But Metsugakure wasn't normal.
Women there were stripped of autonomy, reduced to tools meant to sustain the shinobi population through childbirth.
Their lives were measured in what they could produce, not who they were.
Still… not all of them.
One out of every ten was chosen for training, selected to become kunoichi.
Female shinobi.
Rare, but not impossible. As for the men?
All of them trained. Every last one.
But being chosen to train didn't mean you'd live long enough to become a shinobi. And even if you survived the training, you could still be denied your place with a single failed mission.
It was brutal. Being a kunoichi was worse.
Not only did we have to survive the same training, we did it while facing the quiet cruelty of being seen as less than human.
Years after I was born, I began my training.
And then one day, at the age of four, I was summoned by the village chief.
I wasn't surprised. He had raised me all my life, taking me in not long after I was born.
Even now, I can remember exactly what I looked like.
A small, slender frame. Black hair cut into a textured, chin-length bob—uneven in a way that looked natural rather than deliberate.
The ends were softly feathered, never perfectly clean. Curtain bangs framed my face, thin, wispy strands that brushed my eyebrows before blending into longer side layers.
And my eyes… Deep. Unyielding. Black.
"You summoned me, sir?" the little girl asked.
The chief didn't answer immediately. His gaze lingered, sharp and heavy. As if he were weighing my worth in silence.
Finally, he spoke, in a low, unwavering tone. "In Metsugakure, there are only two ways for one to leave this village."
"The first… is through assignment. A mission sanctioned by the village. That is the proper path. One without consequence."
"The second…" his tone darkened, "is to abandon the village without permission."
His eyes narrowed. "Those who choose that path… are to be put to death."
"This is your mission." My small hands stayed still at my sides. "A woman is attempting to flee Metsugakure. You will find her… and you will kill her."
The words landed cleanly. Coldly. Like an order was supposed to."You are not to speak to her. You are not to learn her name."
Then the final sentence, sharp as a blade dropping. "Your first mission as a shinobi begins with this."
Each shinobi village had its own customs, its own hierarchy, its own laws written in blood.
But all of them were ruled by a central figure: the Chief.
The Chief wasn't elected. The Chief didn't inherit the role through lineage alone. They ruled for one reason. They were the strongest.
In a world where power decided who lived and who didn't, leadership could belong to no one else.
"…Yes, sir," the little girl replied, her expression quiet and stoic.
◆ ◇ ◆
The little girl stood with a katana in her hand, its edge laced with blood. "This is just how it is," she said, voice flat. "It's not personal…"
At her feet, slumped against the trunk of a cedar, lay a woman with flowing black hair and warm hazel eyes. She wore an elegant kimono.
Or she had, once.
Now the fabric was soaked through, dark and heavy, split by a single clean diagonal slash that ran from shoulder to hip.
The girl turned away and started to walk.
"What kind of ninja doesn't finish a target in one strike?" The voice was strained, teasing, somehow, despite the wet rattle beneath it. "Let me guess. First time taking a life, huh?"
'She's alive?' The girl snapped around, her black eyes met the women's hazel.
The woman lifted a trembling hand and made a chopping gesture at her own neck. "…If you'd gone here, you'd have dropped me like a stone."
Blood bubbled at the corner of her mouth when she smiled—pained, but warm, like she was sharing a secret instead of bleeding out beneath a tree.
The girl raised her hand, palm out. "I'm sorry. I'm under orders not to speak to you."
The woman wheezed, a groan caught between breath and laughter. "Orders, huh?" Her eyes flicked up, sharp even as her body failed. "So that man sent you."
'That man… She means the chief.'
"Well," the woman murmured, gaze dropping to the widening pool beneath her, "not like it matters. I'm going to pass at this rate." She exhaled, slow. "Consider it a parting request?"
The girl studied her. 'I don't sense any hostile intent from her at all. Is she being genuine?'
Her gaze slid to the broken sword in the woman's hand, more hilt than blade.
'Doesn't matter anyway. With that broken sword, and that cut, she's no threat.'
Slowly, the girl lowered herself to the ground a few steps away, the katana still in reach. 'The only reason I didn't behead her was due to my lack of experience…'
"Aren't you scared?" the girl asked, quietly. "With wounds like that… it won't be long before you take your last breath."
The woman chuckled, and immediately winced, breath stuttering. "…Don't you know?" she rasped. "People of Metsugakure aren't afraid of dying. Ninja or not."
Then the smile faded as if someone had wiped it away. "You shouldn't trust the chief."
The words came out heavier than the blood soaking into the dirt. "He cares for no one but himself. If you put your faith in him, you'll pay for it."
She tilted her head back, staring into the dark where the clouds thinned and the moon shone through, cold light on wet leaves.
For a moment, her eyes looked far away, caught on a memory only she could see.
"A long time ago," she said, "I was just a normal woman in the village. Then one day, the chief chose me to become one of his…"
Her gaze returned to the girl, steady. "Do you know what a concubine is?"
"…," the girl said nothing.
"Think of it as being his property," the woman explained, voice rough but precise. "I was a simple girl with no skill in combat. I didn't get to refuse. But one day… that all changed."
She held Metsuri's gaze, as if trying to carve the truth into it.
"When I gave birth to a daughter, it wasn't long before she was chosen to be a kunoichi," the woman said, a soft smile flickering through the pain.
"Knowing what it's like to live under that fate… I separated myself from her." Her breath shuddered. "I think she's about four now. I've missed all her birthdays."
"I didn't come here to hear your sob story." The little girl rose, the katana's tip dragging a thin line in the dirt. "I already know killing you will bring me pain. So hurry up and die."
"Oh my?" The woman's brows lifted, amused in spite of everything. "And here I thought Shinobi didn't have emotions."
Shock cracked across the girl's face.
Slowly, the woman pushed herself upright using the tree, staggering as if the world tilted under her feet.
Blood clung to her kimono in heavy, dark sheets. Even standing looked like torture
She lifted her arms, open hands, no guard, no threat, and offered an honest, kind smile. "Then give it your best shot," she said, almost gentle.
"If you're weak—if you can't even finish someone with one foot in the grave—you'll never survive as a Shiboni."
"You're right." Metsuri bent her knees and steadied her grip, the katana leveling. "If I'm going to live in this cruel world… I have to become hollow."
She exhaled and tried to scrape every feeling from her chest, to turn her heart into stone
'I have to do this.'
She kicked off the ground into a sprint.
'I have to live, no matter the cost.'
The distance was short, only a few steps, but it stretched, warped, turning strange.
like time itself resisted what came next.
'It doesn't matter what it does… as long as it obeys my will.'
She closed in. Raised her blade. Aiming for the neck.
'I have to do this…'
'I must do this… this is the life of a kunoichi…'
Despite her thoughts—
'I have to…!'
Despite her actions—
'I must…!'
The katana stopped a breath from the woman's throat. And something broke through.
Not one simple emotion, but a storm of them, flooding a place Metsuri thought was supposed to be empty.
Her teeth clenched. Her hands shook around the hilt.
"What's wrong with me…?" the girl whispered, face twisting in pain. "I-I'm not supposed to have these emotions."
[She was chosen to be a ninja? Heh. I didn't realize fate had a sense of humor.]
Memories surfaced like knives through water.
[I can't believe we're going to train with her.]
[She doesn't have innate magic? Geez, what a surprise.]
"Why…" Her voice cracked. Tears welled, bright and furious. "Why can't I just be like everyone else?"
The woman's hands, soft, trembling. settled over the blade.
"Don't you get it?" she murmured. "What you feel isn't weakness, Metsuri. It's strength."
Then, with the last of her will, she pulled herself forward.
The edge sank into her chest.
"M-Mother—!" Metsuri cried, stumbling, letting go too late. She caught the woman as the body sagged, arms clamping around her as if sheer force could undo what had just
happened.
"Why would you do that!?" Blood spread warm against Metsuri's hands. "Answer me!" she shouted, panic choking the words. "Answer me, Mother!"
Her mother—because it could be nothing else—lifted a shaking hand and caressed Metsuri's cheek, tender and familiar, like she'd done it a thousand times in a life Metsuri didn't get to remember.
"I'm sorry…" she whispered. "For trying to leave you behind."
Her breath came shallow now, fraying.
"What I wanted… was to live something like a normal life," she said, a small, gentle smile forming as if it hurt less to smile than to weep. "Even if it meant abandoning my precious little girl."
Metsuri's throat tightened until she could barely breathe.
"Metsuri…" her mother murmured. "You must live a life worth living." Her eyes searched Metsuri's face, desperate and loving all at once.
"Not as a tool… but as a human." With the last strength left in her body, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to Metsuri's forehead.
"Promise me…" she begged, the words barely more than air. "Please…"
Catatonic horror swallowed Metsuri whole. Her world narrowed to the weight in her arms and the warmth slipping away.
"I will," Metsuri breathed, voice shaking. "I promise."
From that day on, Metsuri swore to herself, no matter what it took.
She would take the village chief's life. She would take everything from that man. She didn't care what she had to become to do it.
Even if it meant adopting the curse of humanity.
◆ ◇ ◆
"Just this once… alright?"
The next thing Albion knew, he was in his mother's arms, still inside the hexagonal barrier.
To him, it felt like he'd teleported. Of course, "teleporting" wasn't a concept Albion even experienced yet.
He looked up, Metsuri's face held a weary half-smile, forced in place through pain.
Her sleeves were gone. Burn marks crawled over her torn clothing and up the side of her jaw. Her black mask—always there—was missing, and her ponytail had come loose, spilling down her back.
"Just this once," she said softly, "I'll protect the both of us."
She set Albion down with careful hands. "Stay here. Don't worry—because at this very moment…"
Ethereal white butterflies bloomed into existence around her, drifting in lazy circles like living embers made of moonlight.
Metsuri turned, and her warmth vanished.
She glared daggers at the magical beasts. "I don't need to conserve my energy," she snarled. "Now it's my turn."
She flexed her arm. The ground cracked beneath her feet, spiderweb fractures racing outward.
'This is the right choice… isn't it, Mom?'
Four magical beasts stood together, each towering fifteen meters tall.
Their skin was a deep, stony cobalt blue, matte and weathered, as tough-looking as cured leather stretched over rock.
Even at that impossible scale, their builds weren't lanky or clumsy. They were compact and explosive, with forearms and shoulders packed with ropy, knotted muscle that shifted like cable under hide.
Their faces were brutal with age and use: heavy brow ridges, deep-set tired eyes, expressions carved into permanent severity.
Two ivory tusks jutted upward from each lower jaw, worn at the edges. Small, blunt horns crowned each head, more battered spikes than decoration. making them look less like giants and more like living siege engines.
Multiplied by four.
Each one held a club formed from Mahō, dense, ugly weapons. Even the one Metsuri had destroyed earlier had simply made a new one,
'These aren't like the three I fought earlier,' Metsuri assessed, eyes narrowing. 'If I'm being blunt… They're weak. Even together.'
She pointed at the center beast and conjured a sphere of light no larger than a coin. With a gentle flick, she sent it forward.
It slipped into their formation, then detonated.
A bright, violent flash swallowed their faces.
"GHHHRAAA!!"
"SSSKKREEEE!"
"SKRRRAAA!"
"AAAUUGH!"
The roars shook the air. Instinct took over. All four dropped their clubs and clamped massive hands over their eyes, stumbling and snarling in blind rage.
Flame erupted from the soles of Metsuri's feet, clean, bright jets that hissed against the ground.
"Go," she whispered. "Jet Kindling." Ninjatō in hand, she rocketed forward, fire driving her like a living projectile.
The closest beast was only a few meters away, close enough that she could smell it.
Magical beasts weren't invincible. They were living organisms, creatures that breathed, hunted, and reacted. Their bodies were enriched with Mahō, but they weren't made of pure energy.
Which meant they could be hurt.
The beast growled, still blinking against the afterimage of the flash. And Metsuri's flaming heel smashed into its chin.
The impact snapped its head back. It staggered.
"Before it could recover, another kick slammed into its jaw—
then another.
And another.
Their bodies, though reinforced by Mahō, still possess physical structure. Flesh can be cut. Bones can break. Vital areas can be struck
A relentless barrage, each strike boosted by the fire at her soles, each flicker of flame letting her change angle and trajectory midair.
She moved like a storm of impact points, never staying in one place long enough to be hit.
Blood began to seep from the beast's mouth, dark against blue hide. Its feet lifted an inch off the ground, rocked by repeated blows.
Standard weapons such as Swords, Spears and Firearms remain effective against most magical beasts.
This is why a well-crafted blade, such as a ninjatō, can lethally wound a magical beast when used with sufficient skill.
Desperate, it swung its mace in a blind arc, an ugly, panicked sweep meant to crush whatever was tormenting it.
Metsuri cut the flames. She stopped dead in mid-motion, dropping like a stone for the briefest instant. letting the club scream past above her head.
Then the fire reignited. She snapped back up into range, eyes cold.
Mahō enhances survivability, but it does not grant absolute immunity.
Metsuri drew in a breath and channeled her energy through the ninjatō. The blade answered with a faint, keening hum.
She swung, "Suntetsu."
A crescent-shaped projectile tore free from her slash. compressed force edged with light, and crossed the distance in an instant.
It passed cleanly through the beast's neck.
For a heartbeat, the monster just stood there.
Then the head slid free and toppled, fifteen meters of weight beginning to collapse.
"Good," Metsuri said, hovering a few inches off the fractured ground."Looks like this species can't regenerate."
The beast she'd just defeated began to come apart, first at the edges, then everywhere at once, its massive corpse breaking into shimmering motes.
When a magical beast is killed, its body doesn't remain. Due to the high concentration of magic within its structure, the body undergoes rapid destabilization upon death.
In many cases, this results in complete dissolution.
"GGRRRAAAAAAAAUUUUUGHHH—!!!" A furious roar tore through the clearing.
Metsuri turned her head and dropped lightly onto the spot where the first beast had stood. The last of it faded away beneath her feet.
A dozen feet away, another of the fifteen-meter giants lay half-sprawled beside a tree, shoulders rising and falling like bellows. It lifted its head slowly, eyes burning through the pain.
"Kill you…" A low, trembling growl leaked from its throat.
It reached out and dragged its Mahō-formed mace close, fingers tightening around the handle as drool—thick and stringing—seeped from the corner of its jaw.
"I'll kill you… I'll rip you open!" it rasped, tusks bared. "I'll make a mess of you… a sloppy, screaming mess—!"
It pushed itself upright, spinning the mace in one hand. When it roared again, the ground beneath its feet caved into a fresh crater.
At the same time, a thin, transparent-white energy began to bleed from its body, spilling like a heat haze made visible.
"So you can talk," Metsuri noted calmly, eyes narrowing as she watched it leak power like steam.
The beast exploded into motion. It charged in a mad dash, dragging the mace along the earth.
Stone shrieked and sparked behind it as the weapon carved a trench through the ground.
"RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAGGGHHHHH!!!"
It stomped, launched itself high into the air, and gripped the mace with both hands.
The huge weapon rose over its head like a falling tower.
Metsuri didn't move..She simply clasped her hands together, fingers interlaced.
A dome materialized around her, smooth, translucent, and pale, like a bubble of hardened light.
The beast came down. Its mace slammed into the dome and sparks skittered across the impact point, bright as welding fire.
A violent boom followed. dust blasting outward in a ring, the shockwave shaking leaves from branches.
The beast held the mace with one hand now, keeping it pinned against the barrier as if brute force alone could crack it.
With its free arm, it pulled back its fist. It threw a punch.
Its control was sloppy, no refined Magic reinforcement, no technique, just a "normal" strike amplified by a monstrous body.
Even so, the force detonated against the barrier like a bomb.
Smoke and grit churned around the dome. The beast panted hard, saliva swinging from its tusks, then a grin spread across its face, convinced it had done something.
One hand still gripped the mace..But the other—the one it had punched with—
…was gone.
Its entire hand had been sheared clean off at the wrist, as if it had hit a blade of air. Blood poured from the open end in a continuous, shocking stream, splashing onto the rubble below.
"Word of advice, pal."
The beast flinched. It turned its head, and found Metsuri sitting casually on its shoulder, as if she'd always been there.
"When you throw a punch…" Metsuri said, curling her fingers into a fist.
A white aura gathered around it, tightening and compressing until it looked like her hand was wrapped in living light. The air around her knuckles trembled.
"…you're supposed to put your back into it."
She drove the punch forward. A sharp, wet splitting sound followed, like something large being ruptured all at once.
Blood sprayed down in a heavy sheet.
The beast's head didn't just snap back.
It vanished, destroyed in an instant, as if Metsuri's fist had erased it.
The fifteen-meter body swayed, took one stumbling step, then collapsed with a quake that rattled the clearing.
Metsuri exhaled and straightened, hovering again above the settling dust.."The result," she said evenly, "is a drastic increase in power."
On the other side of the battlefield, two of the monsters remained. They stood upright side by side, weapons clenched in their hands.
Yet the moment they saw their comrade's head get destroyed in a single strike, something inside them broke.
A frightful, almost human expression twisted across their faces. "RRnn—! Don't—! Don't come closer—!!" they said in sync.
They spun and bolted, sprinting away with clumsy, panicked strides, giants fleeing like cornered animals.
"Stay—! Stay BACK—! KRRH—!" the other one shrieked, fear spreading through its chest so loudly it seemed to shake its voice apart.
Just as it looked like they might actually escape…
A woman appeared between them. She wasn't running, nor was she chasing.
Just… there.
"Where do you think you're going?" Metsuri asked, calm as winter..She hovered in the narrow space between the two giants, suspended by Mahō as if gravity had simply agreed to ignore her.
One beast skidded to a halt, eyes wide.
Metsuri reached out and placed a hand on its massive shoulder.
"RRK—! N-no…! Grrh—!"
"Sesshoku-zan."
Metsuri made a simple chopping gesture.
In the next instant, the monster's head split apart, cleaved into multiple pieces as if an invisible blade had passed through it. The shards of flesh and bone didn't even have time to fall with dignity.
"The second beast froze, then snarled, snapping back into rage to smother its terror.
"Ghhh… I'll— I'll tear—Keh—!" it growled, swinging its mace in a frantic arc at Metsuri.
The weapon struck her, yet it couldn't be overcome. It shattered.
Mahō splintered into fragments, breaking apart like brittle glass. The beast stared at the ruined handle in its hand, stunned.
Metsuri had already moved. She turned, launched herself upward, and landed close to its neck, lightly, impossibly lightly, like a bird alighting on a branch.
"You're the ones who wanted to eat me first…" she murmured. Both of her hands clamped around the beast's throat, fingers digging in with frightening certainty.
"So you'll get what's coming to you." She leaned in and bit down.
A long, tearing sound ripped through the air, wet and final.
"When I eat you instead."
◆ ◇ ◆
A pair of blood-smeared hands wrapped around the hexagonal barrier holding Albion.
"Oy. Time to take you to Darry, Albion," Metsuri said.
Blood coated her mouth, a dark smear at her lips, dripping toward her chin.
"..." Albion stayed still, staring at her mouth. The only thing that moved were his big, beautiful fuchsia eyes,.quiet, curious, unafraid.
Metsuri snorted. "What? Would you prefer it if I made it pretty?" Her tone was sharp, but it didn't quite hide the exhaustion underneath. "I had to do what I had to do…"
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Then, with a flex of her fingers, the hexagonal barrier shattered like glass, breaking into bright fragments that dissolved before they could hit the ground.
She looked down at Albion, expression softening despite herself. "You really are beautiful, you know?"
She leaned in and kissed his forehead—on the same spot her mother had kissed her in her final moments.
"Hehe… ehee~!" Albion giggled, bubbly and light..The sound barely faded before a massive shadow swallowed them both.
"SKREEEE—!!"
"SKRRAAA!"
Two familiar beast-cries ripped through the air.
Metsuri sighed loud and long. "This sucks," she groaned. "But… a promise is a promise."
Her eyes rolled even as she forced herself upright..She glanced back at Albion. "Let me deal with these three, alright?"
"Umu!" Albion nodded, making a joyful little sound..Metsuri nodded once in return, then turned fully around.
Several feet ahead stood three familiar magical beasts, lined up as if they'd planned it.
On the right: a five-meter beast that resembled a living tree, the first one she did battle with.
On the left: a ten-meter eagle-like beast, wings beating in heavy bursts to keep itself hovering. The third one she did battle with.
And in the middle, a fifteen-meter giant.
The same one that had nearly broken Metsuri's barrier before.
All three stood shoulder to shoulder, a smooth white aura flowing off them like mist.
Metsuri planted her stance. Ninjatō in one hand. The other clenched tight.
Flames gathered at her fingertips, condensing, shaping themselves into two glowing words in the air:
COME ON
"I can handle the three of you myself," Metsuri said, voice low, daring. "Come on. Give me all you've got."