There was a tug inside her… deep, electric, like something hooking into her spine. A word bubbled up in a whisper, not from memory but from instinct.
Erfassen.
Her fingers twitched. Her muscles coiled.
Is this…
…is it…
Subaru's lips curled into a wild, hysterical grin as the realization hit her like lightning.
"Copy moves…" she whispered, almost reverent. "Convert into mana-based motions…"
Her pupils dilated, a feverish tremble running up her arms.
"Erfassen… Is this my power?"
The boy braced himself, gripping his axe with both hands.
Subaru vanished.
A blur, no, a ripple of motion… and she reappeared right in front of him, her axe raised high, a crazed smile carving across her bloody face.
Her frills beat once behind her, kicking up dirt and wind.
Her purple eyes burned with new, terrifying clarity—
And her axe came down.
Time didn't stop.
Or… did it…?
It only stretched, thinning like warm syrup around Subaru as her body hung in the air, legs coiled, axe raised, pigtails behind her.
But inside her head… everything froze. Her thoughts spun so violently fast that they collided, tangled, braided into something raw.
All my life… I thought peace was earned through smiles.
Her teeth tightened.
I thought if I was helpful, agreeable, pleasant… people would like me, and that would be enough.
Her arms trembled around the axe, not from exertion but from the weight of memory.
Classmates laughing at her jokes.
Teachers praising her brightness.Neighbours doting over her politeness.
Mom and Dad boasting to relatives about their perfect, well-behaved child.
Then the emptiness. The exhaustion. The sense that every smile was a mask stretching thinner and thinner over nothing at all.
So she retreated.
Room locked. Curtains drawn. The soft glow of screens becoming her only sun. Days melting together until the calendar lost all meaning.
And the wish she whispered into pillows.
Isekai me. Make me a hero. Give me a purpose. Let me matter.
Her fingers curled tighter around the axe handle.
And now… here she was.
Not as a hero.
Not the chosen one.
But a demon girl with frills… who had been slaughtered like livestock by a redheaded boy over a hundred times.
His form hung in front of her, suspended in the pause her mind had created. Eyes hardened by conviction. Sweat smearing dirt across his cheeks. His chest rising with each determined breath. His stance still prepared to fight her even after everything she had thrown at him.
He had killed her.
Over.
Over.
Over again.
Sometimes quick.
Sometimes slow.
Sometimes when she cried, sometimes when she begged, sometimes when she laughed like a lunatic from the strain of too many resets. He never changed.
Always that grim declaration.
Demons must die.
Always that relentless pursuit.
Always that final blow.
She hated him.
She hated him with a depth that frightened her.. because it came from someone she wasn't sure she fully was anymore. The void of emotions of the demon whose body she now lived in sometimes bled into her instincts. Sometimes her hands moved with an intention she knew she hadn't gained. Sometimes her temper sparked like flint against steel, sharp and fast.
Was that her?
Or the girl she replaced?
Isekai'd… but into a demon. Into a girl. Into a target.
Why?
Why this body? Why this world? Why this boy?
Is he my enemy?
The boy's frozen expression firm, resolute… floated before her inner eye. Not cruel. Not vengeful. Just unwavering. He wasn't killing her out of pleasure. He wasn't mocking her. He wasn't even listening to her pleas, as if they were irrelevant to his purpose.
To him… demons were monsters.
To him… she was something that needed to be erased.
Does that make him wrong?
Her heart twisted.
Does that make me… a monster?
If the original owner of this body did awful things… if she had killed, manipulated, destroyed… then what was Subaru? A parasite? A thief? A murderer without memory?
Or… a victim?
She drew in a slow, shaking breath. In the freeze of thought, she examined the boy's stance.
He wasn't afraid.
She had seen him in the loops and he never faltered. He stood again and again, despite the fact that this loop… this moment… could have broken anyone else.
Is he my enemy?
…or is he just fighting for his survival too?
Her eyes softened, then sharpened again. Confusion and clarity mixing like oil and water.
I can kill him.
The realization came with a chilling clarity. With Erfassen pulsing under her skin, with her body responding faster than her thoughts, with the exhaustion of so many deaths weighing on her…
Yes. She could kill him.
And if she didn't?
He would kill her.
The loop would repeat.
Every instinct screamed the same answer: strike. End the predator before he ends you. Survive. This was the simplest logic in the world.
But then—
Wouldn't that make me exactly what he thinks I am?
Her throat tightened. Sweat prickled her neck.
Is surviving worth killing someone who believes he's protecting his people? Someone who sees her as a threat? Someone who, despite how much she hated him, had a strength she couldn't help but acknowledge?
His eyes, even in their frozen place, weren't empty. They carried something like duty. Something like pain.
He resets as well.
It was enough to show her one small truth:
They were both trapped.
Trapped in a cycle neither had chosen.
Subaru's breath trembled. Her grip on the axe tightened. Her eyes flickered with unstable mana.
If she killed him… would the cycle end? Would she be free?
Or would she become the thing she feared most… someone who killed because it was easier than understanding?
The pause in her mind stretched thinner.
Her heart pounded.
Her gaze locked on his.
Should I kill him?
The question wasn't quiet.
It echoed through her skull, resonating through the trembling muscles of her arms and the burning in her chest.
Should I survive?
Should I stop the pain?
Should I become the monster he thinks I am?
Should I prove him wrong?
Should I kill him?
The axe trembled.
Time waited.
Her thoughts sharpened to a single point, razor-fine.
And in that suspended heartbeat, Subaru made her choice.
Thus, time rushed forward again.
Stark had braced himself, feet dug into the dirt, breath locked in his lungs, every muscle tensed… ready to receive something. A swing, a charge, a feint, anything Linie might try next.
But not this.
Not her materializing in front of him in a crack of displaced air, grin stretched too wide across her face, pupils blown open with a predator's thrill. Her axe was already there, already descending, already brushing the air at his throat.
Stark's heart lurched.
Time didn't just slow. It crawled. The world thickened to syrup around him. His own pulse hammered loud and sluggish in his ears as if it too had been caught in the temporal mud.
Oh, crap. Oh crap oh crap—
He tried to move, anywhere, sideways, backward, down, but his body refused. Her speed was impossible. Her expression was unhinged. Her mana… it was felt like standing in front of a… warrior who killed their own family…
Why did that thought appear in my mind? But that attack…
He couldn't block it.
He couldn't outrun it.
Is this… actually it?
A demon was going to kill him. Just like the ones who destroyed his village. Just like the thing he couldn't protect anyone from back then.
His arms twitched uselessly at his sides.
Fern is going to be furious. I can already imagine her yelling, 'Stark-sama, how did you die to such a predictable attack?!'
A weak, sinking laugh tried to bubble up inside him.
…will she cry?
He hoped not. She didn't deserve to cry for a coward.
And Frieren… she'll just stare in that weird, blank way she does. Probably say something like, 'Humans die easily,' and walk off. He tried not to be offended by how real that sounded.
Master Eisen…
A pit opened in Stark's stomach.
He'd be ashamed. A student who couldn't even hold his stance to the end…
He squeezed his eyes shut—
—but something rippled. A flicker. A blink of pale light right in front of him.
His eyes snapped open just in time to see her axe warp…the metal warping, thinning, stretching until the weapon wasn't an axe anymore at all. It twisted into some bizarre, smooth blade he'd never seen in his life, a shape that didn't belong in this world.
Linie's grin widened, the glee in her eyes sharpening into something that froze his blood.
She sliced…
…not at his neck.
But around him.
The wind howled as the blade tore through the air. Stark felt the shift a heartbeat too late. A cold prickle crawled up his spine.
Then…
STAB
White-hot agony sank into his shoulder.
"GHH—!!"
His legs buckled. He clutched the wound instinctively, feeling warm blood surge between his fingers.
Pain, pain, pain!
His arm quivered. His breath hitched and stuttered out of him. His vision blurred around the edges.
But she wasn't attacking again.
Why?
Why—
Why didn't she go for the head or the heart?
Why spare him? Why hesitate? Why stop when she clearly had the killing blow lined up, perfectly, effortlessly?
He stared at her through the haze of pain, confusion overriding the panic.
What was she doing? Why change her weapon? Why aim for a wound instead of finishing him?
What is she planning?
The fear didn't fade.
It grew.
STAB!
Stark's scream tore out of him the moment the blade punched into his shoulder… sharp, cold, vicious.
Linie didn't hesitate. She didn't even give him space to breathe.
She pulled the blade out.
And stabbed again.
And again.
And again.
Not meant for killing. Precise. Deep enough to make his vision blur and his legs weaken, but never where it would end him. Every strike landed with a sickening thud of steel meeting flesh, his body jerking each time like a puppet pulled on a string.
"Wh— WHY?!" he gasped, collapsing to one knee. His breath came in hot, broken bursts, sweat pouring down his temple. "W-What are you—?"
Linie's voice dripped venom, shaking but steady enough to make him feel ice crawl up his spine.
"One stab," she hissed, twisting the blade just enough to make him choke on pain, "for every ten times."
Her eyes were burning. No… not just that. Worse. Alive in a way he had never seen in a demon… a wild, haunted fury.
"T-Times…?" he choked, clutching his bleeding arm, trying to pull away, but she grabbed him by the collar and plunged the blade into his side.
He screamed.
"TEN," she snarled, yanking it free. "TWENTY."
Another stab. His breath hitched; his vision spotted black.
"THIRTY."
Another.
His knees slapped into the dirt fully now. Eisen had never trained him for this… cold punishment, relentless, personal hatred poured into a blade over and over and—
"FOURTY."
It didn't end.
"FIFTY."
His throat burned as he screamed again; his voice cracked on raw agony.
"Sixty… seventy… eighty…"
By the time she hit fourteen stabs, her breath was ragged, her chest rising and falling sharply. She was trembling, but not from exhaustion.
From emotion.
Stark spat blood, clutching his side, barely able to lift his head.
"You… monsters…" he managed between shallow, pained breaths. "Demons… you're all… monsters…"
Linie froze.
Just for a heartbeat.
He expected rage. Or a killing blow. Or that eerie smile she had flashed before attacking.
But what he didn't expect was the way her expression twisted: like the word "monster" wasn't an insult but a knife plunged into her chest.
Her brows knit together. Her lips trembled. Her face contorted not in cruelty…
…but in heartbreak.
Stark stared, wide-eyed, as something inside her cracked open.
"You—" Her voice broke. "You call me a monster?"
There was something raw in her tone. Something so human it didn't fit the creature he was supposed to be facing.
"Demons don't…" he whispered, unable to finish.
Her reaction hit him like a hammer.
"YOU MADE ME ONE!" Linie screamed, her voice splitting with fury and grief all tangled into one. "YOU! YOU DID THIS TO ME!"
Stark flinched, not from pain, but sheer confusion.
What… what was she talking about?!
"I don't understand—!" he started, bewildered.
"You're guilty!" she shouted, jabbing a shaking finger at him. "Guilty! GUILTY!"
Her voice cracked again, tears spilling down her cheeks: real tears, hot and rapid, mixing with the blood splattered across her face.
He stared in disbelief.
Demons didn't feel like this. Didn't sound like this. Didn't cry like this. Why does this seem so real? Is this not an act?
Was she insane? Retarded? Cursed?
He didn't know. He didn't understand.
"Every time you killed me and I returned—"
Linie clawed at her own head suddenly, both hands clutching her horns, her knees buckling as if something inside her skull was tearing apart.
"Stop— stop— STOP—!" she shrieked, voice warping into desperation. "I can't— I can't— I CAN'T SAY IT—!"
Stark tried to crawl backward, shaking, wiping blood from his mouth with trembling fingers. "W-what…?"
Her tear-stained face snapped toward him with a look so furious it froze him solid.
"This is your fault!" she screamed again. "YOUR FAULT!"
He opened his mouth to speak — but he had no words.
Not for this. Not for her. Not for the pain boiling off her like steam from a collapsing pot.
After the echo of her scream faded, Linie sniffed sharply, wiped her tears with the back of her wrist, and stood up, shaky, uneven, but upright.
Stark watched her turn away, limping slightly, still clutching her axe.
"W-Wait!" he shouted, forcing himself up onto one elbow. "Aren't you going to kill me?!"
She paused only for a second.
Without looking back, without letting him see her eyes, she spoke in a voice low and tight — not with rage this time, but something like exhaustion.
"I'm not like you."
Then she walked away.
Leaving Stark bleeding in the dirt, unable to move, unable to understand…
…unable to shake the sound of a demon girl crying.
Subaru halted after only a few steps, breath still ragged from the mess she'd left behind. The trees ahead blurred for a beat as a strange, simmering satisfaction curled warm and ugly in her chest. She clenched her fists, steadying herself.
No. No. She wasn't… that. She wasn't supposed to enjoy hurting someone, even if he deserved—
She exhaled, slow. Focus.
East? No, that was where the damned beam had come from, slicing her apart like she was made of paper.
West? Same problem, the red-headed executioner's little elf friend lurking somewhere out there, probably with more staff death cannons ready to fire.
Both directions were suicide. Again.
So… south? North? Her head throbbed. She didn't know this world, didn't know where towns were, where monsters were, where anything was. Every direction felt like a gamble with death.
"Ugh…" She dragged a hand down her face. "I need something: a sign, a hint, whatever."
A coin. Yes. Flip a coin, random fate, better than standing here like an idiot. Her hand automatically went to her pocket—
Except.
She froze.
Right. This stupid frilly demon dress didn't have pockets. And even if it did, it wasn't her body. No wallet, no coins, no phone, no anything.
But then her mind snagged on the memory of the weapon in her hand: no, the weapon she had been holding. The axe she'd thrown, the blade she'd used to carve pain into Stark's shoulder… that hadn't even been the same weapon. It had changed. Morphed. Shifted into a katana mid-strike.
Wait, she thought she was going for Kusanagi… this doesn't look like Kusanagi… it had a faint dark aura around it… it looks familiar. From a manga? Anime?
She shook her head. Unimportant. What is important is…
Her breath caught.
How had she done that?
She closed her eyes, replaying the moment: the shimmer, the twist, the shape bending as naturally as pulling something from the bottom of her memory. She had pictured the blade… clearly, sharply… and it had been there. In her hand. Real.
Could she…?
Her fingers curled slightly, imagining the cold metal of a 100-yen coin pressed between them. A simple circle. The weight, the ridged edges, the worn feel of overuse. She visualised it hard, squeezing the image tighter, firmer—
Something shifted.
A small spark of pressure settled into her palm. Subaru opened her eyes.
There, resting in her hand, was a coin. A Japanese coin. The depth of the engraving, the smoothness, even the tiny scratches— her breath hitched.
"It works…" she whispered, staring at it. "It actually— I can create anything as long as I can imagine it…"
The possibilities slammed into her like a truck. Weapons. Tools. Armor. Maybe even, her throat tightened, a phone? A map? Food?
Her smile wavered.
Then she frowned.
…Why did the coin feel strangely heavy?
Heavier than it should've been. Not heavy enough to bother her current body, this demon form shrugged off weight like nothing, but still wrong.
A coin shouldn't feel like a chunk of metal meant for war. It pulled at her palm with a weight that didn't belong to such a tiny thing.
"…it's fine. Whatever." She shook her head sharply. Overthinking would get her nowhere.
"Alright," she muttered, stepping back for more room. "Let's do this."
She flicked the coin into the air. It spun, glittering unnaturally, almost too bright for a mundane object.
Clink.
Tail.
"Oh. So it's—"
She stopped.
"…ugh, I forgot to pick one…"
She slapped her forehead.
"Okay. Tail is North, Head is South. Got it."
She flipped it again.
The coin arced up, turning over smoothly, glinting like it weighed far more than it should.
Clink.
Tail.
She stared at it for a second.
"…North it is."
She snatched the coin off the ground, her expression firming. Her arm wiped a last streak of leftover tears from her cheek before she spread her arms, no, not dress, just raw propulsion she still didn't understand, and prepared to launch.
North.
Away from beams.
Away from the boy.
Away from the battlefield.
Away from everything that had killed her: again and again and again.
Her foot pressed into the dirt.
And she soared.