DIVINE WILL『神様のウィル』《天石》《신의 윌》

Will Trueman was a child with fractured, but loving family, and a close circle of friends when, one fateful day, the world changed forever in ways no one could anticipate. Now, she finds herself thrust into a battle against eldritch horrors with the lives of every living thing on Earth hanging in the balance.

[divinewill]

Capítulo Veintitrés: I want to understand why God died for me.

Seven days remained before our first encounter with the kaijū. Every hour blurred into the next—simulation after simulation, each day against wildly different kaijū with various scaling chains, powers, and personalities.

Major Byrd decided to give us a break. So, she took us to watch Alphonse train.

In the observation room, we witnessed a prodigy unmatched.

In the simulation, his neodeus descended, its impossible weight pressed it deep into the earth, despite a feather-light landing. His opponent finalized his materialization into the material sphere through occultic force and recited an untranslatable incantation. This audacity gave the enemy momentary pause—not in fear, but in inquisitiveness.

The entity regarded the neodeus with callous indifference.

It became aware that the neodeus was being piloted by a human being who wasn’t even a dreamer.

A simulation operator, their lagomorphic ears attentive, cried out: “Richter scale 11 earthquake detected in the Pacific! Twin epicenters! 47°9′S 126°43′W and 49°51′S 128°34′W! An island is rising!”

Coordinates far removed from the Southern African simulation setting. The seismic repercussions alone were already a planetary catastrophe: apocalyptic secondary quakes would span the globe, destined to echo back from their antipole. The Pacific coastlines were now endangered by megatsunami kilometers high, radiating outwards in all directions.

Another added, “Spike in rational psychic signatures at that same location!”

The enemy awakened allies.

Alphonse recognized his opponent. “Neodeus operational up to ten space-like dimensions.”

His neodeus stood 500 m tall. Yet before Great Cthulhu—towering at 3,218 m—it appeared insignificant. Realizing that his opponent was a creature far exceeding star-shattering power, he reasoned that this was not a battle to be fought on Earth. Alphonse acted, performing multiple tasks simultaneously.

The creature cast a spell in an unknown language—a consonant heavy incantation that sounded like horrid screeching to our ears.

Around the beast, shapeshifting arms and hands of varying scales appeared from ether to grab and hold the enemy from all directions. Among these extraneous limbs was the implication of unseen humanoid forms standing 1,200, 3,000, and even 5,000 m tall. Some even tore their way out from within the damnable mountain-tall devil, who thrashed violently as Alphonse tried to hold its body in place.

Within 66.8 milliseconds, the neodeus shrank to 135 centimeters. Armor-bindings vanished the very Planck time the size shifting began. Faster than even our virtual cameras could track. Leaving behind the uncanny naked, feminine form of the neodeus—hovering with feet flat, as if standing on some invisible platform.

This rapid shrinkage caused a violent implosion as air rushed in to fill the now-vacant space, then violently rebounded in all directions. The neodeus was totally unharmed.

Alphonse’s body and soul were moved across a geometric axis outside of our 3D space.

The overpressure attack caught the alien god’s notice. The standing-in-air neodeus darted in comical rigidity above the reincarnated Priest of the Great Old Ones at a rate of 1715 m/s. A hypersonic vapor cone wreathed the neodeus as it moved. Cthulhu reached up and grabbed the neodeus and pulled it back down. Great Cthulhu spoke a curse in misophonic speech—a spell meant to change Alphonse’s race and petrify him.

Alphonse calmly rebuked Great Cthulhu as the enemy pulled his neodeus downward, bringing them face-to-face—its four eyes peering into Cthulhu’s six.

“In Two Black Bottles, the grace of God—my God—protected a church from the occult power of the Great Old Ones you worship. Cast in the name of God, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit: ye art guilty.”

The neodeus teleported out of that occult god’s hand by briefly leaving then reentering the Human universe above Great Cthulhu—a trick made possible because the devil-priest’s corporeal avatar was itself merely three-dimensional. The neodeus now stood only 109 cm.

Massive chunks of the other god’s new body were stripped away and vanished into seemingly nothingness—from both the outside and the inside. Pink, congealing mucus and mist spewed from the wounds. Pink bubbles materialized around it as the geometry of the region folded in upon itself.

Lala, Hyechin, and I all flinched—even knowing it was merely a simulacrum. We were still watching someone simulate ripping something apart—while it was alive—with his bare hands and full sensory feedback. He heard, felt, saw, and smelled everything his neodeus did, as if he were performing the act himself, and he was utterly unperturbed.

The kaijū was trying to manipulate the fabric of spacetime itself to gain an advantage.

Alphonse spoke: “Your power is drawn from stars. If the stars are not properly aligned, your power wanes. That’s how you—who come from outside our topologically flat physical realm, transcending the infinite-dimensional Dreamlands, beyond the ordered universe, past the Ultimate Gate, deep into the Outer Void—were defeated by a steamboat. So, since the stars are properly aligned, let’s turn off the stars.”

My heart skipped a beat.

The other god was pulled into another three-dimensional space, parallel to our own—just one Planck length out of sync, but in the opposite direction from where Alphonse himself was hidden. A space without stars, planets, or even an appropriate Higgs field ground state for the formation and preservation of matter.

The material form of that monster evaporated violently, every particle becoming instantly massless and unbound. An explosion of pure energy radiated outward at the speed of light—completely imperceptible to even the most sensitive instruments or spells on Earth.

Alphonse quoted, in an almost gentle murmur, “Overhead, without any fuss, the stars were going out.”

Cthulhu, of course, was not dead. Alphonse was not Nodens; he did not yet possess the power to kill creatures in the Void. The evil entity had simply been dematerialized and banished back into the Void—beyond the infinitely dimensional Dreamlands that lie outside the material world, from whence it came.

Turns out you don’t necessarily need to be stronger than someone to defeat them in a fight. Certain kinds of battlefield removal strategies can be devastating win conditions.

The first simulation was over, and he made Lala, Hyechin, and me look superfluous.

Major Byrd commanded, “Load the Lovecraft Eschatological scenario.”

The staff complied. “Yes, ma’am!”

As we watched the best of us demonstrate how far we still had to go, I asked Major Byrd, “I didn’t know he could change their size…”

She explained, “He can’t. Think about a sphere passing into and through a two-dimensional universe. The flatlanders would see it as a point appearing from nothing, expanding into a circle as the full circumference is translated, and then shrinking back into a dot before vanishing.”

I followed the mental image.

Major Byrd continued, “The principle is the same here. If a hypersphere were to pass through three-dimensional space, it would appear as a zero-point particle expanding into a sphere. Once its full circumference was translated, the sphere would then shrink back into a zero-point particle at the final moment it remained in our space. The neodei are higher-dimensional entities, and each three-dimensional slice of their bodies appears as a humanoid form—each at a different scale. He simply moved the neodeus through our universe along an axis we cannot perceive.”

Lala mused, “If you passed a cube through Flatland, you could generate a square or triangular cross-section, depending on how you oriented the Platonic solid. If you rotated the cube, you’d be able to transform the square into a triangle—or other shapes. So, Major Byrd, are our neodei able to transform?”

Major Byrd admitted, “Yes.”

Hyechin observed, “If you were looking down into Flatland, you could see inside every building and into the bodies of every Flatlander. I assume that anyone who can access the higher-dimensional power of a neodeus could also peer through three-dimensional walls, no matter how opaque?”

Major Byrd confirmed again, “You are correct.”

She continued, “But there’s a problem—only Alphonse can access these higher-dimensional powers as of now.”

Alphonse’s power was simple. He could synchronize with any neodeus and arbitrarily set his synchronization rate by will alone. He was even able to control which dimensional tier he could access with any given neodeus.

But the most terrifying aspect of his ability was the power to remotely control multiple neodei at once. This was precisely why he was the last resort among pilots: the threat of a foreign nation targeting him for kidnapping or assassination was simply too great.

I asked, “So that’s how he’s able to spawn those auxiliary arms from seemingly nothing?”

Major Byrd smiled. “Yes, but could you care to explain?”

I hesitated, then complied. “Well, the neodeus isn’t a Platonic solid… it has a complex and articulable form, given that its three-dimensional cross-sections are humanoid. So, what might happen if a human being passes through Flatland? It depends on how we choose to do so… We can imagine cross-sections, like an MRI scan, across the sagittal, frontal, or transverse planes, and all of them would appear radically different to a Flatlander.”

I continued, “But what if I just stick my hands into Flatland first? If I reach through with my right hand, they’ll see five dots independently arise and transform into circles. From their perspective, it will seem as if there is no physical connection between them, even as I wiggle my fingers through their universe. But there would be a clear non-local connection preventing them from moving completely independently of each other.

“As I extend my arm through to the wrist, the circles change shape and merge together into a curved oval. I could then do the same with the other hand—and again, there would be no visible connection between their perception of my right and left hands. I could pull back so that their cross-section of my wrist gives way again to the digits of both hands.”

“When the neodeus summons these auxiliary limbs, it’s the equivalent of me reaching my fingers or arms independently into Flatland. We have a hard time imagining this because the neodeus exists in a space beyond our perception. A circle is, to a Flatlander, what a sphere is to us.

I concluded, “We are the Flatlanders—and the neodei, the humans. As a dot differs from a line, and a line from a square, and a square from a cube, so too does the cube differ from a tesseract. In the same way, the form of the neodeus extrapolates our 3D shape into higher geometries—ones incomprehensible to our sensory perception, but comprehensible through mathematical reasoning.”

Major Byrd patted my head and said, “Correct.”

This small gesture of praise made me happy.

On another monitor, we saw that a real neodeus’s eye tracking, heart rate, respiration rate, brain activity, and readiness potentials were being monitored as the simulations progressed.

We watched Alphonse do what none of us could—but in doing so, we learned a great deal about the things we could do as Neodeus pilots.

* * *

We watched him exit the training cock pit.

He was a fair-skinned, blue-eyed boy with blonde hair—handsome in the way of classical sculptures. Seventeen years old, though he appeared only fourteen, and stood 163 centimeters tall. He wore the masculine equivalent of the same pilot suit we did—a form-fitting uniform that left little to the imagination. Not that Hyechin would have complained.

Despite being drenched in sweat, he seemed completely unbothered.

Major Byrd approached him and said, “You did exceptionally well, as always.”

Alphonse thanked her.

After a brief exchange, he turned and approached us—then singled me out. “Giantman Bunchûai, can we talk in private?”

I nodded. “Sure, Giantman Litten.”

We walked off to another room for privacy.

He went to one of the vending machines and made two purchases. His eyes and smile were warm as he handed me a glass bottle of boba sweet tea. He knew it was my favorite. He drank only water.

“From what I’ve been told, it’s six days until the anniversary of your father’s death, correct?” he asked.

I told him, “Yeah… It’s a difficult time of the year for me.”

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Considering the timing of our first mission and the upcoming date?”

“Yes. I’m alright.” I said.

“I’d offer my sympathies if I could,” he said, “but I don’t want to insult your intelligence.”

I told him, “I know, Alphonse. I can’t ask of you what you cannot give. Empathy and sympathy aren’t intrinsic virtues anyway. You’re a good friend—even if you’re genuinely fucking terrifying.”

He asked me, “Do I need more practice?”

I laughed. “Practice? Dude, you’re a freak. In a good way. You’re too damn good an actor. Most people, when they fake a smile, it comes off as forced. Most forget that a smile must make creases at the eyes—but you do it consistently and effortlessly.”

Alphonse noted, “A smile that doesn’t crease at the eyes comes off as deceptive.”

I continued, “Yeah. To someone who doesn’t know you, you seem genuine. But I do know you—so the fact that you so effortlessly portray what isn’t there, something you have trouble even understanding, is very uncanny to me.”

I confessed, “It’s just so weird how Lovelace is more human than you, at least when it comes to understanding emotions…”

Alphonse explained, “Lovelace was actually one of my acting teachers.”

I chuckled, “That actually makes sense.”

I took a sip of my tea.

He inquired, “What does it feel like—to not have him with you?”

I asked him, “Would you be able to understand me if I told you?”

He was honest. “Probably not. But I can at least try. And perhaps, in trying to communicate what you feel to someone who cannot understand, you may come to better understand your own thoughts and emotions.” He reasoned.

I asked him, “You, who are unburdened by these attachments—why do you want to know?”

He told me, “I want to understand the people around me. That includes the people who have come before me, and those who will come after me. The people I might end up dying for—and who might end up dying for me.”

I asked, “Why are you willing to die for us?”

He confessed, “I want to understand why God died for me.”

I looked at him, completely befuddled.

He continued, “I’m not looking to throw my life away carelessly. My life still has great value to me. That’s why I immediately resorted to overwhelming shock and awe and battlefield removal tactics in my simulation. That’s how I defeated the Daeva, Cthulhu, and the other kaijū. I’m training to preserve my own life—as well as the lives of others. That’s why I retreat only when it was necessary.”

There was a pause.

 “You’re living in Mary’s Room.” I thought aloud.

I asked him, “Have you ever heard of that thought experiment?”

He explained, “Of course. But I’d rather hear you tell me about it.”

I complied. “Mary lives her entire life in a room where color is impossible. She spends that life studying everything that’s ever been written or recorded about color. Eventually, she commits every bit of knowledge—spoken, written, signed—to memory. So, when she finally steps outside of her monochrome enclosure and sees color, for herself, for the first time... has she gained any new knowledge about color?”

Alphonse commented, “Does it matter? You’re describing the fulfillment of human nature. If she were colorblind and God healed her sight—doesn’t that matter? It’s still the restoration of someone who was born disabled. I was born broken, and I want to understand the people with whom I share an essential form.”

There was a long pause. I genuinely didn’t know how to explain what he was asking in a way he could understand.

Sensing my confusion, Alphonse lightly patted my head and apologized. “I’m sorry, Bunchûai. I didn’t mean to aggravate that wound. I was simply curious about the sentimental aspect of love.”

I asked him, “Have you ever loved anyone?”

He smiled that uncanny smirk.

“It goes both ways… Just because I cannot feel what you feel doesn’t mean I can’t love. Even love deeply. I am invested in ensuring the well-being of those around me. Just because their deaths don’t move me to heartache doesn’t invalidate the fact that my will is oriented toward the good—of others, and of myself.”

He asked me, “Can you imagine purely volitional love without sentimentality? Because that’s all of love that I have ever known. Nothing more.”

There was a question on my mind—one that had bothered me for years but never found an opportunity to be asked.

So, I seized this chance.

I asked him, “You killed your mother, after she killed your father and tried to kill you… How do you not feel anything about that?”

Alphonse told me, “Because I can’t. Feelings aren’t ontological. Feelings don’t lead to reality. The heart and tongue are the most deceptive of creatures God created, after all.”

“I had the right to defend my life from someone trying to kill me. The fact that it was simultaneous vengeance for my father’s murder didn’t factor in at all. Am I wrong—for not feeling anything?”

I remembered reading about it in the domestic news from the Marie Byrd Land geofront.

It was a ruthlessly cold and calculated slaying.

She had a knife, and he killed her with it—while it was still in her hands.

He noted, “You can’t imagine what it would be like to have to kill someone you love to protect yourself.”

I admitted, “No… at least… I hope not.”

He told me, “I pray you’ll never have to.”

I told him, “Thank you, Alphonse… You know, watching you fight reminded me of a frightful dharmapāla.”

He faked-laughed, “Our motto is ‘For the Greater Good of God.’ A pity that you think our God is a mere self-deluded demiurge. I believe your saṅgha (सङ्घ) calls our Father Mahābrahmā?”

She admitted, “That is correct.”

He said, “I’d love to discuss theology with you at some point. I know you’re an adherent to a Japanese school of Amidism, so I’ve been studying the Taishō Tripiṭaka for a future conversation.”

I told him, “I’d like that…”

Then, like rewinding a tape, he returned to an earlier part of our conversation—as if he’d bookmarked something unfinished in his mental ledger.

“But that’s predicated on you being honest—with yourself, and with me.”

He patiently told me.

“You lied. When you said ‘yes,’ you shook your head ‘no.’ Your body committed treason against your words.”

I froze.

He was right.

I’d lied—without even knowing I was lying.

He continued, “Moreover, you not only avoided eye contact—which is unusual for you—but your voice inflected upward, to signal: ‘believe me, please.’ You don’t need to lie to me. I can’t feel your pain—but I can still help you carry your burdens.”

I’d forgotten that he was an expert in body language, and deeply observant of the people around him.

Largely because he was humble enough never to gloat about it.

I apologized for lying.

He smiled and told me not to worry about it.

When our conversation ended, we parted ways, and I reunited with my team to watch him continue to train.

I noticed that Lala—who, up until now, had seemed confident—was inaudibly praying the rosary.

But she wasn’t using a sacramental.

Rather, to hide her nervousness, she used the knuckles of her hands to keep track of which decade she was on.

Hyechin, too, was deeply concerned about the near future.

She was using subtle breathing techniques to keep herself calm.

Byrd was like a worried mother.

She oversaw child soldiers, and she was doing everything she could to ensure they could look after themselves—and survive.

We were all deeply terrified of what our diviners had forecasted.

He wasn’t.

[divinewill]

Capítulo Veintidós: Our Place in the Cosmos.

Thirteen days until the next kaijū attack. Or, at least, that’s what our diviners forecasted. Moreover, both the Earthly nations and the GSSDO have failed to locate the G² since it disappeared into the sea. Even with access to literal magicians and metahumans with superhuman awareness, intelligence, and engineering abilities, it has still eluded us.

The Supreme Commander of the GSSDO was currently busy negotiating terms of service with the nations of the world. His first meeting would be with the Emperor of Japan, since we were already operating there in a humanitarian capacity. Afterward, precedent went to the Bishop of Rome, the Monarch of CANZUK, President of the United States of America, and the Tsar of Rus’.

In the simulation, I felt the sensation: the slicing of muscle, the burning of flesh, the breaking of bone, the dizziness of exsanguination. The weight of our impending responsibilities pressed on us, but we were determined to meet the challenge. The USSDF had already trained our pain tolerances and general combat abilities, augmenting our minds and bodies. Now, we practiced and fine-tuned our abilities for combat.

Here, we fought monsters ripped from tokusatsu, claymation, animation, comics, video games, and literature from around the world and across decades. Our simulations were heavily informed by the work of old powerscalers. Since we had no idea what kinds of powers the future kaijū might possess, our simulations focused on adapting to unforeseen problems.

Major Byrd, over comms, informed us, “The target appeared over Loxton, South Africa. Your mission is to swiftly slay the kaijū, minimizing fatalities and property damage. We also need to ensure that the kaijū doesn’t cross the border into Volkstaat or the Cape Republic. If we can’t contain the kaijū within South Africa, we’ll have an international fiasco on our hands.”

The major added, “For the purposes of this simulation, we’ve modified the population density of the city to match that of New Delhi. Though, in real life, it’s a rather small town.”

Lala asked, her voice tinged with adrenaline, “What are we up against? Godzilla? Cthulhu? Starro? Jörmungandr?”

Major Byrd replied, “You’ll see when you arrive.”

The doors of the void-filled hangar opened, and Lala was the first among us to be dropped into a descending orbit. I followed shortly after. I felt the acceleration even through the liquid inertial dampener surrounding and interpenetrating me. Hyechin was launched behind me.

As we reentered Earth’s atmosphere, we could feel the heat generated from friction during our descent. Like peregrine falcons, we dove face-first through the atmosphere, but just before impact, we rotated our bodies for a proper landing. We slammed feet-first into the ground, allowing our knees and backs to flex and absorb the impact. Our feet punched deep into the earth, violently sinking into the splashing soil and exploding rock bed—though we quickly regained our footing.

That’s when I saw the monster’s damnable form—befitting an asura or nārakin. Lala’s simulated Neodeus was engaged with a mighty chimera I struggled to describe. It resembled some postmodern art piece more than a living being. A manifestation of an evil vision of man: trapped in a world ultimately unknowable and gleefully maligned against his happiness. In the story it originated from, it was invulnerable to human power and fell only to the blade of another minimally fifth-dimensional monster. This was the ultimate test of our endurance—drawn from a tale in which this Daeva and the eponymous Avatar fought at full force for forty days and nights without rest.

Its central body was spherical and bulbous, with four muscular, columnar legs protruding from equidistant shoulder-like joints. Unlike an elephant or sauropod, its legs were permanently bent at the knees. Along its circumference were eight thick tentacles, each tipped with six serpentine heads and measuring one and a half kilometers in length. Each six-headed tip had five heads circumscribing a central one. Between and slightly above each arm were eyes protruding from a structure reminiscent of a spread vagina, with a clitoris-like node at the apex. Between and above each leg, but below the arms, was a grotesque orifice structured like a cross between a mouth and a vagina, lined with large, conical, curved teeth.

From the abstracted plate-like lotus atop its spherical body rose two thorned stems that converged into a horrid, multilayered sheath of retracted, osteodermed flesh. The open mouthed, serpentine head atop this structure mimed a scream while it bled profusely. In a demonic inversion of expectations, the breath from the vaginal-mouths was sweeter than any flower, while the blood from the postmodern blossom was unspeakably putrid. The closest comparison I could make was the smell of melena from an ischemic bowel—but even that necrotic odor paled in comparison. Worse still, the scent worsened exponentially the longer it lingered.

At the tip of that upward-turned nose, the creature stood a staggering 800 meters tall. But as any powerscaler could tell you, size and mass don’t determine victory in supernatural conflict. Since I never had the heart to read anything as nihilistic as the story this monster came from, I was unprepared for the power and haxes at its disposal.

Due to the way its legs were designed, it needed to twirl to move in any direction.

Lala, taking charge, asked over the intercom, “Hyechin, can you bridge the gap?”

Hyechin answered, “I’ll do my best.”

The creature began its hellish twirling ambulation toward us.

That’s when Hyechin revealed her birthright: the hand of her Neodeus became sheathed in a purple construct shaped like an Indian gauntlet sword. She rushed forward.

Lala, who could see through the eyes of others and share that sensory insight telepathically, fed Hyechin real-time data from the target. With this, Hyechin skillfully slid under the beast, using the inertia of her Neodeus to carry herself into range. Once close enough, she performed a classic Superman punch, thrusting her right-hand shoulder-deep into the creature’s flesh. But it didn’t seem fazed. Almost as if it were aware of her movements yet felt no pain, it rotated, yanking her off her feet and dislocating her shoulder.

As it dragged her along, she attempted to hold on, stabbing it repeatedly with a hook-serrated, wave-blade construct on her other hand.

Lala and I scrambled to get to her, but the sheer mass of the swinging tentacles required calculation. Lala, who could literally see through its eyes, was the first to figure it out and darted toward Hyechin.

Hyechin was dislodged and rolled out of the way of the creature’s foot. But the beast then immediately dropped all its weight down on her. Lala, thinking quickly, intercepted the monster, emulating almighty Atlas holding the sky.

I tried to bolt toward them, but the monster’s arms were as flexible as worms. I leapt over one, only to be clipped by another, spinning out midair and violently slamming into the ground. I got up immediately and retreated as another arm targeted me.

I called over the intercom, “Hang on!”

Lala struggled, the muscles in her Neodeus’s legs straining to the point of tearing.

I could almost hear the blood in her voice as she cried, “Now!”

Hyechin darted out from under the Daeva, slashing open its belly and attempting to cut through its leg. Her psionic blade snagged on impenetrable bone, and the recoil destabilized her.

Organs of unknown function spilled out as Lala dove from under the beast, which slammed into the ground. The wound began to heal instantly; by the time it stood up, the laceration was closed. The entrails were pinched off and excised—eliciting no reaction.

Major Byrd reported, “The target’s organs are regenerating at a rapid pace.”

Hyechin protested, “That’s not fair!”

Lala replied, “That’s the point!”

Unlike most kaijū, and true to the cosmic horror of Avatar: Descent, this Dàyāoguàishòu (大妖怪獸) had no weak spot. The only way to stop it was total evisceration—like a bird sucked into a jet engine. But that only worked if the damage output surpassed its physically impossible rate of regeneration. The creature showed no signs of nociception—or at least, no instinctual aversion to such sensation. Almost mockingly, its poisonous bowels smelled sweet.

And while the sight and smell were horrific, the most perturbing thing was what wasn’t there. The Daeva made no vocalizations—not of pain, pleasure, wrath, or hunger. It was abjectly silent, save for the crashing footsteps, the ground-splitting density, and the turbulence of displaced air. That was the most unnerving part.

It began walking towards us again.

I told them, “Alright, we have to outpace and overtax its regenerative abilities!”

Lala commanded, “Elden and I will try to disarm it. Hyechin, get in and eviscerate it.”

“I’m on it!” I replied, immediately moving to flank Lala. Hyechin did the same, but I couldn’t hear her response. Somehow, our entanglement-based communication began to experience interference—suggesting the enemy disrupted quantum systems.

Lala and I activated our psionic blades—gifts from Hyechin via Warmaster Jeż.

Lala’s fingers sprouted a series of refined claws. Mine manifested as a waveform blade.

Despite its size, the creature was far faster than expected, completing a full rotation in half a second and adjusting its arms’ trajectories as we tried to evade.

I carved through one boneless arm but didn’t expect the severed limb to move with greater vitality than the rest of the body. It spasmed like an amputated gecko’s tail, shattering my right forearm. The ulna and radius splintered, shards tearing through flesh and armor, deforming into a curve like a rotated brachistochrone. My body was flung, my legs carving a trench into the ground.

Lala and Hyechin quickly adapted. They intentionally positioned themselves so they could dodge the twitching stumps after severing an arm.

In the short window of stunned agony, things got worse. The five-headed limb, still alive, reached toward me. I realized each head likely had its own brain—allowing the limb to function autonomously. I slipped under the leaping tentacle as it tracked me.

Lala and Hyechin charged with incredible speed. Their training in parkour and boxing let them bob, weave, and slip through the storm of limbs. They plunged their blades deep, carving out chunks with momentum-driven force.

Despite my injury, I focused on severing arms, as Lala and Hyechin climbed the beast and attempted to decapitate its central stem. It proved too dense to carve through, but not to damage. The monster shook them off, hurling their Neodei hundreds of meters apart.

After lopping off four limbs, I bridged the gap and jammed my broken arm’s exposed bone into one of the Daeva’s eyes, extending a psionic spear from it. Still, the creature was unfazed. I withdrew, pursued by the spasming limbs.

Superacidic blood shot out of the beast’s wounds with pressure reminiscent of water cutters and heated to 1,600 °C (2,910 °F).

To our horror, even the severed arms began to regenerate, albeit more slowly. An evil smile twisted across its many inhuman mouths and eyes. The real fight was only beginning. It had stopped playing with its food.

Then, new arms—identical to those formerly attached to its body—began spawning from within the atmosphere itself. They moved independently of the main body. We were now dealing with higher-dimensional geometry pressing into our 3D space—like a human hand passing through the flatlands.

* * *

The fight was vicious, and dragged on for two hours unceasing, and at the end of the simulation, we were unable to stop the Daeva. We managed to work together to disembowel the demon, but it didn’t seem to care. Even as what appeared to be major organs strewn across the ground beneath it, the beast seemed utterly unfazed.

Even though our Neodei likely scaled at least five dimensions higher than the monster, we did not have access to the higher dimensional power of the Neodei. Rendering that advantage a moot point.

The monster killed each of us in the simulation. Lala was the first to fall. Followed by me, then Hyechin.

When the simulation was over, I was drenched in sweat and nauseated. It took some serious effort to not throw up in my helmet. I could still feel the phantom pains ringing through my bones, like church bells to the ears of a troll. All of us were disheveled and they too could feel the lingering phantom pains which these simulations often incurred.

We could have tried Oozaru, or Monstra, but we were assigned such a hateful practice target. Not that I didn’t understand why. There was value in training for a situation where victory was impossible. It tests and refines your character. Tempering the soul with humility.

I remember reading the fight between the Daeva and the Avatar in the novel, which lasted a full nine hundred and sixty hours without either contestant ever slowing down due to fatigue or fear. It was like reading about two boxers at full power for all twelve rounds without ever growing tired. A humanly impossible feat, even for someone with infinite stamina, to accomplish against someone relative to themselves.

We couldn’t last nearly that long. The carbon nanowire batteries powering our Neodei would die long before that. So, the plan was the same as it always was. Put the bastard down as quickly as possible, which meant maximizing the violence done to its body and trying to outpace its regeneration abilities.

We were preparing to die in that simulation. Not that death was our goal … or so we thought.

Major Byrd criticized our performance. “You fought recklessly… once you discovered that you couldn’t win the fight, you should have been able to reason that redirecting it away from the city was the best course of action. That way we could buy as much time for evacuations to finish and then retreat.”

I asked her, “I don’t get it. Isn’t the point of this test that we couldn’t win this fight?”

Major Byrd explained, “That’s the point. It’s a Kobayashi Maru designed to test your reaction to a no-win situation.  And you chose to die in battle … The death of a pilot does no good for anyone. Not only does it rob the GSSDO of an invaluable asset, but it robs yourself of any ability to realize any unactualized potential for self-cultivation or personal flourishing…”

I meekly responded, “Sorry, ma’am…”

Major Byrd continued her scolding, “And you, Dźugi. I expected better from you. As a Catholic, you should understand that you are obliged to not needlessly throw away your own life. The hell does ‘Love thy neighbor as you love yourself’ mean if you don’t love first yourself?”

Lala apologized with, “Sorry, major.”

Major Byrd sighed, “All three of you could learn to be a little more selfish.”

None of us spoke up.

Major Byrd sighed, “Hop back into the simulation. We’ll try some other kaijū.”

We suited back up, and before diving back into training, Hyechin asked Major Byrd, “Are you not afraid to die?”

Major Byrd told me, “Death does not factor into my moral calculus because death is nothing.”

I said, “What?”

Lala explained, “It’s the privation boni… Like all evils, death has no substance of its own. It is merely the privation of an extant good, in this case, life. In a real sense, death does not exist. It is simply the end of something that does.”

Major Byrd agreed, “Correct. To make nothing into something is reification and is utterly irrational. So, I do not fear death. And neither should you, but that doesn’t give you permission to discard yourself. Fulfill your duties to us and yourself.”

We proceeded to train for the rest of the day.

* * *

During our downtime, each of us had different hobbies.

Hyechin enjoyed playing video games. Her favorites were roguelike language puzzles, where you get dropped into a new location without any guidance and must learn the language—each iteration of the game being uniquely generated.

Lala was a bit of a cinephile with an insatiable taste for psychological thrillers. She styled herself as too mature for cartoons, comics, or fairy tales, but this self-denial only served to highlight her own adolescent immaturity.

Major Byrd was a hyper-focused calligrapher—and a highly talented one at that. I myself enjoyed looking through her repertoire. Each piece she created was aimed at concretizing something abstract. Outside of Tshevu koiwrit, she also seemed to be experienced with shūfǎ (書法), as well as Arabic and Western calligraphy.

I often found myself watching those cartoons or reading the comics that my father used to share with me. They made me happy in remembrance of those moments we spent together, doing nothing but enjoying each other’s presence—even as my mom poked fun at my dad’s neotenic fascinations. It was as if I could still feel him near me, in this little ritual where I read of demigods crusading for love, justice, and truth properly ordered.

It pained me to think that he was gone forever—that all that made him who he was could be obliterated in the transmigration of his ghost. Sometimes, I found myself daydreaming that maybe, someday in the future, I might meet him again, reborn here on Earth. But even if he remained within this manuṣyaloka, there’s no telling what planet he would have been reborn on.

Still, I believed that his devotion to Amitābha and that meritorious vow-power (願力) allowed my father to enter the Pure Lands. A part of me selfishly wanted him to pursue the bodhisattva path instead of the buddha path—just so I might see him one more time. Even though the bodhisattva path demands that he let go of all attachments to me as his beloved daughter. This desire, I was taught, was itself a karmic weight to be purged. Just as he must let go of me to become a bodhisattva or a buddha, so too must I let go of him—to cultivate a state of non-attachment and be freed from the cycle of suffering.

A part of me worried, since I had been freed from senescence, that if I lived long enough, I might forget his face. His strong but gentle voice. Those precious headpats and tickle wars. How his presence made me feel safe, even as everything fell apart. That one day, I might not even remember his name.

On the other hand, I hoped that time would eventually free me from the memory of his mangled, blood-soaked corpse. Part of me wished that he could see me now. But another part of me understood that it was a blessing—that he didn’t have to witness his child preparing for a new form of war.

The room was relatively quiet, aside from the film Lala was watching. Hyechin never had any issue with silence, and Major Byrd was listening to an audiobook. I could tell we were all stressed. Our only real experiences with kaijū were with the G²—which had crippled a nation and then disappeared into the sea—and our own Neodei, which we controlled only through their cooperation.

The phone rang, and Major Byrd answered, “Oh, hey, Dr. Makēsvaraṉ. What’s up?”

There was a pause.

Major Byrd stood up and went to her room, but didn’t bother to close the door.

We all heard: “Of course. Hanno IV will launch the experimental Terraformation Caster Shells in nine days.”

“Well, they’ve been in suspended animation for four years.”

“Yes, I understand that creating backup worlds is essential for the survival of the human race. Although, I suspect the leader of the ASSDF is more interested in creating cathedrals on Alpha Centauri Cb so his Dominican brothers can declare the glory of their God around a new star. It’s just... I don’t like how we must use those poor children as living world engines.”

None of us had known about the Hanno IV project, but we all figured it was probably a satellite launched from the Öpik–Oort Cloud Base. From what it sounded like, it involved using metahuman children to transform worlds into ones fit for human habitation.

She asked, “What about the deep biospheres of those worlds?”

“Ah. It figures Zleŋ‘ was already on it.”

“I take it this is a test run for the Venusian terraformation project?”

I asked Lala and Hyechin, “What’s this about a deep biosphere on Alpha Centauri Cb?”

Lala reminded me, “We learned about this in class. The solar system is teeming with life. There are multiple deep biospheres in our own system—on Earth, Venus, Mars, Ganymede, Titan, Mimas, Callisto, Io, Europa, Triton, Ceres, Enceladus, and Pluto. The GSSDO’s exploratory missions even found a biosphere within the atmosphere of mighty Jupiter.”

I told her, “I’m not completely dense. I remember that. I was asking about a specific planet.”

Lala said, “Oh—sorry. I don’t know anything about Alpha Centauri Cb or this Hanno IV.”

Hyechin pointed out, “It’s not exactly a secret. Major Byrd isn’t the type to have a classified conversation outside our security clearance within earshot of us.”

I agreed. “Good point… I guess we could just ask her when she’s off the phone.”

By the time our conversation ended, Major Byrd was already off the phone and back in the common room with us.

“My, my. Aren’t we nosy?” She spoke.

Lala apologized, “Sorry, Major. We were just curious about the Hanno IV project. We didn’t mean to eavesdrop on anything else.”

Major Byrd admitted, as she sat down on the couch, “No harm done. There wasn’t anything particularly sensitive. Dr. Makēsvaraṉ just called to talk. So—how much do you know about the Hanno IV project?”

We gathered around her, and Lala said, “Nothing outside of the historical implications of the name.”

Hyechin and I nodded in agreement.

Major Byrd explained, “Well, as you learned in school, there are deep biospheres across the solar system—and they all seem to share a common ancestor. Now, comparative genomics has its limitations… Efforts to reconstruct the genome of Earth’s LUCA show that it existed in an already complex microbial ecosystem. Interplanetary comparative genomics suggests that the Solar LUCA was similarly complex and likewise existed in a comparably complex environment.”

“Zleŋ‘ engineered and enchanted a probe to explore and catalog the deep biosphere of Alpha Centauri Cb before we tested the Terraformation Caster Shells. These shells carry some metahuman children with latent world-engineering powers. One can terraform a planet—giving it a breathable atmosphere, an appropriate magnetic field, and jumpstarting its plate tectonics. But he can’t create oceans. His twin sister can give oceans to otherwise dry worlds. And the third child has the power to create moons. Together, they can turn foreign worlds into new Earths.”

“The plan is to see whether their powers work using just their blood, or whether they must be physically deployed on these worlds. That way, we could store their blood in shells and use it to colonize the solar system—and eventually, the galaxy.”

Lala asked, “Major, if the ASSDF figures out how to use parts of their metahuman subjects for this effort, what happens to their bodies after they die? Will they be exhumed like the bodies of saints to facilitate the transformation of worlds?”

Major Byrd replied, “Oh, they already signed the paperwork volunteering for precisely that.”

Lala, ever curious about alien life, asked, “Did they find anything interesting about the species on Alpha Centauri Cb?”

Major Byrd answered, “The discovery of a deep biosphere on Alpha Centauri Cb—a tidally locked planet orbiting an energetic red dwarf—was one of the most surprising results of the ASSDF’s explorations. Extensive genomic sequencing of organisms from that world suggests that even this distant planet, orbiting our nearest stellar neighbor, may in fact share a last common ancestor with the Solar LUCA.”

That last sentence took a moment to process.

Major Byrd continued, “Or at least, that’s what Dr. Makēsvaraṉ believes the genomic analysis currently suggests. It’s all still developing research—subject to revision as new evidence comes in.”

Hyechin asked, “Doesn’t that give credence to the panspermia hypothesis?”

Lala added, “It also fits with Restricted Intelligent Design’s abiogenesis hypothesis. If each world had its own LUCA arise independently, it would suggest that the transition from non-life to life is extremely common—likely to occur anywhere remotely suitable. But if all life in our solar system and our nearest stellar neighbor shares a common ancestor, it suggests the transition is extremely rare—but once established, life is remarkably resilient.”

I observed, “Lala’s right. This also fits with what the ASO showed us—that the various inhabited planets in our galaxy are populated by humans like us. So, either some force is causing humans to evolve independently on multiple planets, or something is seeding human life across the stars.”

This opened up multiple possibilities to ponder. Is there some natural force compelling anthropogenesis to occur in parallel? Was some precursor race responsible for seeding human life across the galaxy—and if so, where are they, and why? Was this divine intervention? Or was something else going on?

Major Byrd expressed epistemic modesty. “Who’s to say? That’s for Dr. Makēsvaraṉ and Dr. Cutter to figure out. But if the history of Lysenkoism taught us anything, it’s that we must let the scientific method proceed unclouded by ideological presuppositions. After all, there is nothing known to the mind of man that wasn’t first apprehended by his senses.”

The day proceeded, and we finished unpacking before heading to bed early. The stress of the training simulation wore us out, and by 20:00 hours, Lala and Hyechin had fallen asleep—Lala at the table, Hyechin on a futon.

I was falling asleep myself when I saw Major Byrd gently pick up Hyechin and carry her to the bedroom. I followed and watched her place Hyechin on her bed and pull a blanket over her. Then, she returned and carried Lala into the room, tucking her in as well.

She told me, with genuine concern, “You get some rest too. We’ll be up early tomorrow for more training.”

Lala, in that liminal state between dreaming and wakefulness, prayed: “Devla mure, Muro shero hin pharo, o jilo gelo. Ava karing iyák somas ando suno. Sastipe tuke, Devla, ke man del tadoha, zor thaj nevo zor. Jekh vakti te pherav, jekh vakti te džav ande svato ande suno. Jekh vakti andar sunipe. Sastipe tuke ke sar man hin, man hin. Amen.”

Major Byrd smiled and told me, “Lala talks in her sleep. She alternates between English, Romani, and Latin. It’s in her sleep study files.”

While I didn’t understand what she was saying, I picked up on the word Devla. A cognate of the Latin Deus, the Sanskrit deva (देव), and the Thai thewá (เทวะ).

I confessed, “It’s comforting to know she actually believes what she says she does.”

Major Byrd shook her head. “It worries me.”

I stayed silent, inviting her to explain.

“In the simulation, you all risked your lives needlessly. Not just because you’re young and haven’t yet become acquainted with your own mortality—but because your religions embolden you to sacrifice yourselves.”

I let her speak.

“Lala isn’t afraid to die because she believes in heaven and purgatory. You and Hyechin, on the other hand, follow a religion that teaches the self itself must be discarded. Lala believes salvation means emptying oneself so that an almighty God may indwell her for unending time. You believe salvation means being unmade—disassembled and returned to suññatā, kū (空), the void. That’s why the Buddhist equivalent of mokṣa is called nibbāna—which means ‘extinguished,’ like the flame of a candle. I disagree with both of you. For me, salvation is to be untethered from gods who would devour me as a sacrifice, so that I may pursue my own end—my own happiness. What does it mean for a man to gain the world, if it costs him his soul? Why should Lala be asked to shoulder heaven, as did almighty Atlas? What good does that do her? And what good does it do you to seek self-abnegation—ego-suicide—in nirvāṇa?”

She looked at me and said softly, “The universe is benevolent, orderly, and real. It’s not out to get you—but it won’t step in to help you either. And your life is precious.”

I said, “You’re taking on this maternal role quite quickly, Major.”

She admitted, “Well, I never got to have children of my own. And I can’t stand to watch you three throw your lives away. What would such indifference do to my soul?”

Falling asleep sitting upright in my bed, I asked her, “You said we could learn to be a bit more selfish... why?”

Major Byrd kneeled down to look me in the eye and said, “Because you’re worth more than to be a mere sacrifice to mere abstractions. Being good isn’t found in following Kantian imperatives. Nor in chasing consequences or utility. And it’s certainly not found in killing yourself on the altar of altruism, in worship of the other. Goodness is found in cultivating virtuous character—and there is virtue in selfishness: the pursuit of your own life and flourishing through reason.”

The last thing I heard as I drifted off was:

               “I must die. Must I then die lamenting?

                I must be put in chains. Must I then also lament?

                I must go into exile. Does any man then hinder me from going with smiles and cheerfulness and contentment?

                ‘Tell me the secret which you possess.’

                I will not, for this is in my power.

                ‘But I will put you in chains.’

                Man, what are you talking about? Me in chains? You may fetter my leg, but my will—not even Zeus himself can overpower.

                ‘I will throw you into prison.’

                My poor body, you mean.

                ‘I will cut your head off.’

                When, then, have I told you that my head alone cannot be cut off?”

[divinewill]

Capítulo Veintiuno: Forever Freefalling Around the Pale Blue Dot

As always, the liquid in my lungs felt heavy and burned intensely, but I had learned to push through the initial discomfort and acclimate to the situation. The seal on my face, securing the breathing mask to my nose and mouth, pressed tightly against my skin. Air entered my helmet only as much as needed to avoid interfering with my vision, as images were projected onto the semitransparent visor.

The needle punctured my femoral artery and began replacing my blood with PFC—a substance heavier and more oxygen-rich than blood. My kaijū-based chimerism allowed me to use it as both a blood and air substitute, with no negative side effects. I could feel its pressure in my veins and heart as it coursed through my circulatory system. A bitter taste flooded my mouth as I swallowed it, flooding my digestive tract. This fluid was highly effective at allowing oxygen to permeate my lungs and even enabled my digestive tract to absorb oxygen if swallowed.

All the while, I listened to the voices in my helmet:

“Kaijū-sealing hex bindings operational up to ten spacelike dimensions.”

“Manuṣya-sealing hex bindings operational.”

“Initializing PFC ionization.”

“PFC circulation and filtration functioning at 98% efficiency.”

“PFC blood substitution complete.”

“Electrocardiogram cleared.”

“Magnetocardiogram cleared.”

“Echocardiogram cleared.”

“Ballistocardiogram cleared.”

“Psychogram cleared.”

“A¹⁰ synchronization established.”

“Scale compensators functioning.”

“Cockpit at stable at default values.”

“Recharge voltage has cleared the threshold.”

“Microchimeral telepathy, subtle but stable.”

“Entanglement-based quantum communication between ADA-Systems 1 and 2 and the neodeī stable.”

“Neodeus synchronization with ADA Systems and pilot secured.”

“All autonomous systems operational.”

“Synchronization of potēns between pilot and neodeus, complete.”

“100,000 low earth orbit satellite trajectories calculated.”

“Adjusting for katabatic winds.”

“Catapult ready for liftoff.”

“Orbital base will be in position within T-Minus nine minutes.”

“Solar weather forecaster warns of an incoming halo coronal mass ejection. It should miss us by 30 seconds.”

“Concealment-spell activated.”

“Thermoelectric generating plates installed. Battery storage affixed.”

“Launch prerequisites achieved.”

“Pilots, please verify communications systems operation.”

I responded, “Read you loud and clear. Hard to hear you through the cacophony, though.”

The voice responded, “Excellent. Just sit tight.”

I recited in meditation, a prayer: “南無阿弥陀仏。南無阿弥陀仏。南無阿弥陀仏。南無阿弥陀仏。南 無阿弥陀仏。南無阿弥陀仏。南無阿弥陀仏。南無阿弥陀仏。南無阿弥陀仏。南無阿弥陀仏。”

The time was soon approaching where I would have to fight my first kaijū. Our best diviners converged on a timeframe of two weeks after the G² Impact. Yet what really preoccupied my thoughts were Ms. Mālhlin, Ms. Breedlove, and the poor girls rescued in the first ASO.

I then prayed, “พระอวโลกิเตศวร โปรดโอบอุ้มข้าพเจ้า เพื่อน ครอบครัวและสรรพสัตวท์ ้งัปวงไวใ้นหัวใจของท่าน โปรดมองพวกเราด้วยดวงตาแห่งความเมตตา พวกเราทุกข์ทรมานอย่างมากและเรารู้ว่าความรักของท่านแผ่ไปทวั่ ทุกพ้ืนที่โปรดระลึกถึงพวกเราในยามเช่นน้ัน ท่านไดต้้งัปณิธานว่าจะตอบสนองอยา่ งรวดเร็วเมื่อสรรพสัตวร์้องขอความช่วยเหลือ บดัน้ีคือเวลาที่ท่านจะทา ตามสัญญาน้นั”

I heard a voice coming from my helmet’s speakers. “How’re you holding up there, Bunchûai?”

I asked, “Is that you, Dźugi?”

Dźugi responded, “Indeed, and please call me Lala.”

I responded, “Alright, Lala. To answer your question: I’m doing fine. A bit excited to fly for the first time.”

Lala playfully remarked, “I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you fly before. You weren’t all that elegant.”

I laughed, “Yeah, levitation for a human and for an 80 m humanoid kaijū is different. For one, our drag coefficients and masses are distinct.”

Hyechin chimed in through the same line, “Oh, don’t pay her any mind. She’s as anxious as you.”

Lala indignantly dismissed her. “Me? Anxious about flying? WARMASTER Jeż wouldn’t have given us anything he didn’t think we could handle.”

I knew that Lala was being truthful, and that Hyechin was projecting her own subconscious anxieties onto her.

I asked Lala, “Are you prepared to die?”

Lala, with a grin audible through her voice, said, “God will call me on His schedule. It’s nothing for me to worry about, so long as I glorify him in the way I live my life. Sure, I may need some time in purgatory to resolve some imperfections, but everyone who goes to purgatory will go to Heaven. That said, we are ageless. So, I intend to live longer than even saint Methuselah, God willing.”

I asked her, “How can you be so excited? Aren’t you at all worried?”

Lala told me, “Of course, I’m worried. But I’m excited because we’re gonna be superheroes.”

Hyechin chimed in, “Say what?”

Lala explained, “My great grandfather was a fan of comics. He once told me, ‘We love our superheroes because they refuse to give up on us. We can analyze them out of existence, kill them, ban them, mock them, and still they return, patiently reminding us of who we are and what we wish we could be.’

“I remembered those words when that Lolita Princess from America appeared to help with the Human Salvaging Operation in Japan. I saw a video of her the night before this all happened, in a news report from the City of New Providence. She was a real superhero among us, and her presence inspired the metahumans of Japan to reveal themselves and become heroes too.”

“When videos of her praying over the dead and dying went viral, I thought to myself, we’re witnessing the birth of a superhero society. One where the old stories become real.”

Hyechin and I invited Lala to continue with our attentive silence.

Lala continued, “After all, ‘The Word of God became man, that thou mayest learn from man how man may become God.’ What we saw was a young goddess. A little Christa. As embryonic gods, siblings of God the Son, and children of God the All-Father, we act in persona Christi when we evangelize the nonbeliever. And what better evangelization than to save the life of a stranger for no other reason than they need you?”

“My great grandfather had a thesis: that the overarching story of American comics was implicitly about divinization. He told me that one of the main continuities—I can’t remember the name off the top of my head—was primarily about gods walking among mortals to show mankind how to be truly human. The other one was largely about men filling the role of the gods in their absence. That’s why there was a token human in the first’s elite team, and a token god in the latter. He was a devoutly Catholic man in an increasingly secular dystopian era. He also told me about another company which was more modest in its narratology, but which was explicitly Catholic in its foundations.”

One of the male pilots, Alphonse, chimed in, “The first company was DC Comics, the second was Marvel Comics, and the third was Iconic Comics, just to be clear.”

Hyechin greeted him, “Hey, Alphonse! How long have you been listening in?”

Alphonse admitted, “I joined about the time Lala started talking. I just wanted to wish y’all luck on our first flight.”

Lala responded, “That’s sweet, Al, but I don’t rely on luck. Skill will lead us to victory, so luck will be on our side.”

Alphonse left us with, “Glad to see you’re as excitable as always, Lala. I must remind you that you still owe me a game of go.”

Lala promised, “I’ll play you after we settle in our new quarters. Deal?”

Alphonse said, “It’s a date.” Then logged off our voice chat.

The other pilots were mostly keeping to themselves

Hyechin told us, “Speaking of settling into our new quarters. Major Byrd asked me to see if ya’ll’d prefer a chicken and durian curry or a surströmming pizza with nine kinds of expensive cheese when you get situated on base?”

I responded, “What an oddly specific pair of options. Does she have any century eggs?”

Lala, clearly amused, said, “No, but deviled century eggs sound amazing!”

I jokingly derided, “You’re either insane or a masochist.”

Hyechin rebutted, “The Thai ladyboy doesn’t like southeast Asian cuisine, ey?”

Lala said, “You’ve got to enjoy the finer things in life. After all, the English conquered a third of the world for women and spices.”

I reminded her, “Granted, but they also had the discipline to be fine with just eating bland food from time to time. Which might have had something to do with how they conquered so much of the world in search of those very spices.”

Hyechin replied, “You only live once, and for us, that might not be that long…”

Lala boldly speculated, “Or we might live longer than fabled Śreyāṃsanāthaḥ (श्रेयाांसिाथः).”

Hyechin chimed in with a quick-witted sarcasm, “Why be so modest? The rate of proton and vacuum decay are the only known limiters to our theoretical lifespans. Although, we’d spend it looking as we are now.”

Lala responded, “So what’s the problem with being adventurous eaters?”

I joked, “Is major Byrd offering us a beer as well to eat that?”

Hyechin laughed, “Heavens no. She just has durian and surströmming on hand.”

Lala commented, “Not that alcohol would have any effect on us anymore anyway, so outside of partaking in the Eucharist, the whole point of alcohol is lost on us. All we’d get is a bitter taste.”

I remarked, “That’s one thing we neodeus pilots share with WARMASTERs and Phase Two WARMASTER Program dropouts.”

Hyechin asked, “Elden, do you think you’ll get a roommate, or are you gonna have your own room again?”

Lala wandered onto the subject. “Well, it doesn’t seem right to have you bunk with men… but it doesn’t seem right to put you up with a woman either… but there’s also limited space on the orbital station.”

I mused, “I’m not sure. Normally, I was allowed to live with my mother to avoid possible impropriety, but that’s not possible now that we’re moving to the orbital base. So, it depends on what the higher-ups think I am. Do I have an aberration of a singular sexual form? If so, am I a man because I can father children, or am I a woman because I can conceive children? If so, why do I possess the reproductive powers of both sexes? That seems to run contrary to the Monophysitist view. Am I some kind of hypostatic union of the male and female form? Dimly reflecting the union of apparently incompatible opposite natures in your Dyophysitist Christology? Or am I some new form derived from the simultaneous combination and abrogation of the complementary sexual forms? Mirroring the doctrines of Miaphysitism? Whatever the decision, I suspect the ASSDF grappled with it extensively. Or, at least, more than I could have.”

I asked them, “Be honest, what do you think I am? Are you a Monophysitist, Dyophysitism, or a Miaphysitist?”

Lala laughed, “Putting us on the spot there, eh?”

Lala proceeded, “Well, considering that you have the potentiality of both fatherhood and motherhood, and it doesn’t feel appropriate that a hypothetical sibling would call you sister or brother, a Miaphysitist interpretation of your nature makes more sense. You can’t be your own opposite, and male and female are complementary opposites, after all.”

Hyechin was about to answer, when the radio cut her off. “Launch initialization process complete.”

To cut down on the cost of fuel, WARMASTER Jeż gave us the power of psychokinetic flight. This was necessary because my neodeus alone weighed 6,875 metric tons dry. Lala’s neodeus, the smallest, stood only 15 m tall, and consequently weighed only 45.28 metric tons dry. Hyechin’s neodeus, though not much smaller than mine, at 50 m tall, still had a dry weight of 1,678.5 metric tons. Our largest neodeus, belonging to Alphonse Kingsley, was a staggering 500 m tall and so weighed 1,678,468 metric tons at dry weight. Without recourse to borrowing the power of flight, it would be impossible to launch these cyborgs without recourse to costly chemical, nuclear, or antimatter boosters. Even with the myriads of superpowers possessed by the engineers within our ranks, these cyborgs were a nightmare to construct. Despite the challenges, the USSDF still managed to create ten neodeī of wildly varying size and were still working to produce more for the coming age of monsters. In fact, we had more pilots than neodeī, creating a rotating cast of child soldiers to prevent burnout in the coming apocalyptic conflict.

Our location in Marie Byrd Land ensured that there were relatively few satellites overhead, though the path to our destination was much more densely peppered with satellites of concern. The last thing we wanted to do was cause a Kessler syndrome. To avoid such a civilization-crippling disaster, the ASSDF and ÆSSDF collaborated with the USSDF and carefully planned our trajectories.

The countdown began. “Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Lift off!”

The launch pad catapulted each of us individually along the guiding rails to the surface port, but instead of decelerating, we activated the psychokinetic levitation temporarily granted to us by WARMASTER Jeż. Our borrowed power allowed us to accelerate to 11.2 km/sec (25,000 mph). The combination of mass, surface area, and speed caused an explosive break in the sound barrier, wreathing the bodies of our cyborgs in friction-derived flames. The shockwaves threatened to push us out of formation.

I felt the intensity of the heat bearing against my neodeus’ skin, but I felt no pain. The thermal nociceptors of my cyborg were inactive, as the intense heat and friction posed no harm to its body. Simultaneously, I felt myself grow unbearably heavy in my seat. The fluid surrounding us and the biology of our neodeī both acted as inertial dampeners, protecting us from the force of acceleration.

We hurtled past the troposphere, punched through the stratosphere, and shone like a meteor through the mesosphere. We crossed the von Kármán line into the thermosphere, were we reached our destination at 340 km above the surface of the Earth’s equator. There, we witnessed the Migdal Orbital Station, hitherto cloaked by a combination of metamaterial technology and obscuring Hecatean pseudo-magic, reveal itself to us.

WARMASTER Jeż, without spacewear, awaited us in orbit. Using the same ability that he lent us, he beat us to our destination. He saluted us; we saluted him, and he flew off to the GSSDO’s lunar base. He was able to reach his destination in only thirty seconds.

The orbital station bay opened, and we positioned our neodeī in the hangar. Lala docked first, followed by Hyechin, then me, and finally the boys. Ladies first, after all. Another WARMASTER jumped from the still open airlock of the base, his orbital arc indicating a descent to Earth’s surface.

I had heard tales of a WARMASTER totally immune to fall damage, remaining unharmed by atmospheric friction or the impact of with the ground when jumping from space. Since orbits themselves were simply stable free falling, he could theoretically cause a Kessler cascade, as collisions with other orbiting bodies would constitute fall damage, and therefore cause him no harm. His other powers were unknown to us

Once the hanger was sealed and filled with breathable air, I waited for the PFC in my circulatory system to be replaced by my blood. Automated systems pumped the PFC out of my lungs and stomach via a nasogastric tube, so my lungs filled with air. The cockpit and my flight suit remained immaculate as the fluid inertial dampener was drained from it, thanks to their non-stick surfaces. The cockpit repositioned itself to enable my exit from the open mouth of my neodeus. The image was reminiscent of a mother crocodilian carrying its young within its mouth for safety reasons.

The source of artificial gravity on the base depended on the specific section. The spinning rings utilized centrifugal force to simulate Earth-like gravity, while the cylindrical stem and icosahedral masses at either end relied on a specific species of rdưn known as gravitomateria. A pseudo-magical crystalline substance which generates an orientable gravitational and/or antigravitational field

We offloaded our gear, slung our rucksacks on our backs, carried extra bags by hand, and were led by security to a war room with 3D holographic projection technologies. There, we filled out paperwork and receive our orders, included the assignment of our living quarters, chain of command, and a detailed briefing on the map of the orbital base as relevant to our role. As with a military briefing, this paramilitary briefing was dry, tedious, and ladened with various redundancies alongside genuinely novel information—not of which was always necessary or even accurate. True to military tradition, much of our duty was to “hurry up and wait.”

Hyechin, Lala, and I were all to be roommates with Major Byrd. A revelation which made sense of the earlier question, as Major Byrd would’ve known about all this beforehand. At noon, we three made our way down to the mess hall, using the transparent maps projected onto the visors of our helmets. We were then given an actual tour of the base, by security

Afterwards we ventured to the designated meeting spot for Major Byrd. We waited for a time, and I volunteered to grab us all some snacks from the nearest vending machine. After picking up some chocolate bars and three cans of sweet tea, which I placed in a lunch box in my bag for transport, I overheard a verbal altercation. I activated the record function in my helmet by pressing the button on my flight suit’s wrist to document the situation.

I pretended to struggle with the vending machine. Thankfully, since the bodies of neodeus pilots do not produce lactic acid or other fatigue toxins, we didn’t tire even carrying all these bags all day.

The altercation appeared to between a female WARMASTER in a stern conversation with two male WARMASTERs. Throughout the history of the WARMASTER Program, only three women ever completed their horrific transformation. Among women, they were the most resilient, but something about the transformation twisted them in a way it did not the men. I recalled WARMASTER Jeż sharing with me his theory: that men survived the WARMASTER Program because it is an innate masculine desire to sacrifice everything in defense of something worth loving. The honorable sacrifice of the self, he argued, was the masculine desire.

WARMASTER Alexandra, a Greek woman, talked with two male WARMASTERS: Hunter, a strong Anglo-American, and Michelakakēs, a proud Russian. Both men seemed displeased with her. Even I was aware of WARMASTER Alexandra’s bloodlust, which disfavored her even among her fellow supersoldiers. WARMASTER Hunter was a specialist in precision shock-and-awe tactics, while WARMASTER Michelakakēs was essentially a combat medic. WARMASTER Alexandra, on the other hand, preferred psychological warfare and total destruction in operations.

I heard WARMASTER Hunter as he said, “Is that so? Willing to put that to the test? Or need I remind you what happened in your duel with WARMASTER Jeż.”

WARMASTER Alexandra, ever the bloodthirsty hot head, immediately snapped back with a flurry of words too fast for me to follow. That’s when a rat with surgical scars atop the vending machine made its presence known to me. It was one of WARMASTER Alexandra’s many surgically altered, remote-controlled animals, integrated into a massive swarm intelligence which she constantly monitored. Not wanting to provoke a WARMASTER, especially one so bellicose as her, so I took the hint and promptly speed-walked away from the scene.

When I returned to the waiting spot, Hyechin and Lala were already deep in conversation. I handed them their snacks and politely declined to join their conversation. I closed my eyes and started to think about recent events —chief among them, Mālhlin’s marriage proposition.

An intrusive thought struck me, and I absentmindedly voiced it while recalling Plum in her Kyanonesian attire. Entranced by the memory of her beauty, I muttered aloud, “ᡥᡠᡥᡠᠨᡳ ᡨᡠᠮᡳᡥᠠ ᡩᠠ ᠠᠨᠮ ᡳ ᠰᠠᡵᡤᠠᠨ ᠵᡠᡳ ᡳ ᠪᡝᠶᡝ”

Hyechin creased in half, laughing, while Lala turned beat red.

Lala demanded, “Please keep your perverse fantasies to yourself. Thank you.”

It took a moment to process, but when I realized that I not only said that out loud, but that Lala could understand Manchu, and thus understood what I said, I felt an overwhelming embarrassment.

Lala asked me, “So, you met one of the Mālhlin sisters while they were wearing Kyanonesian garb?”

I confessed, “Yes. How did you know?”

She glanced at Hyechin and said, “How do you think?”

Hyechin apologized.

I suddenly remembered what a male friend told me about not trusting female friends with sensitive information. As misogynistic as that might’ve been, he might’ve had a point.

Lala asked me, “Which one?”

I told her, “Plum and Qhaŋ.”

“You were probably fantasizing about Plum,” she guessed

Sarcastically, but still embarrassed, I retorted, “I thought you weren’t interested in that.”

At 16:00, we three would meet Major Byrd. She was a woman in her 30s, with fine, straight, mid-backlength, red hair styled into a bun, green eyes, and fair skin. She was quite a personable woman, even in her uniform. She was clearly eager to host us during our stay on the orbital base.

Major Byrd lead us through elevators and winding hallway mazes. During the walk, she told us that the Supreme Commander of the Global Strategic Self-Defense Operations WARMASTER Rage was due to meet with the Queen of CANZUK and the Bishop of Rome, who was also the Emperor of the Confederation of the Church, before any other geopolitical leader. This was due to the longstanding co-operation of these two governing institutions with the GSSDO. While no one knew what the Supreme Commander’s religion was, we did know him to be a theist, though he was neither an Anglican nor a Catholic. After all, no atheist had ever led the GSSDO.

She mentioned a kaijū was predicted to appear soon in Volkstaat, the Cape Republic, or the Zulu Kingdom, and plans were underway to respond.

Crossing the threshold into her quarters, we donned booties from our bags and thanked her for hosting us.

“Welcome home!” she said with a warm smile.

Her residence featured beautifully painted scrolls of koi lining the walls.

Lala excitedly inquired, “Um, Major, are those paintings calligraphy?”

Major Byrd, somewhat surprised that anyone picked up on this, gladly explained, “Yes, actually. These are poems I wrote in Tsevhu.”

“This is a language?” Hyechin asked, “It doesn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen before, even considering our history courses and exposure to literal aliens.”

Lala told her, “It’s a conlang that was developed in the 2020s. It’s form and structure blur the line between calligraphy and drawing. The koi and the ripples all encode phonological, grammatical, and syntactic information.”

I asked her, “How do you know that?”

Lala explained, “You remember how WARMASTER Jeż gives us all presents on our birthdays and Christmas? Well, he tends to give me Church approved bible translations in various artlangs. Last Christmas he gave me a Church approved Tsevhu bible translation.”

She gleefully showed us the book from her bag and added, “On my birthday, he gave me Sindarin and Quenya Bibles in Tengwar!”

Hyechin asked, “Can you read it?”

Lala said, “A little. The text on the paintings is a bit beyond my pay grade.”

Major Byrd told her, “I could teach you the language, if you’d like.”

Lala lit-up immediately at the suggestion, but I reminded her that we still had things to do.

We unpacked in our shared rooms, while Major Byrd got changed into a tank top and short shorts without a bra and prepared the dinner. Hyechin, Lala, and I also changed into shorts, a casual shirt, and, unlike our new guardian, socks.

When it came time to eat, we all ate our rancid smelling food together.

Lala, given that she’s Catholic, recited, “Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

Hyechin gave thanks with, “잘 먹겠습니다.”

I simply said, “頂きます。”

A phrase from a language my Manchu ancestors despised, and with which I sought to reconcile my family.

We chatted as we ate, to get to know our host better

The conversation started with me, “So, Major Byrd, what’s your power?”

Major Byrd admitted, “I don’t have one.”

Lala asked her, “So you’re a TradHu?”

Hyechin asked, “Did your parents have any powers?

Major Byrd told me, “My mother had the power to see relationships of love with her eyes. From sight alone, she could see the networks of love defining friendships, marriages, family ties, and charity, as well as gauge their depth and intensities. My father was able to bring recently deceased domesticated pets back to life, but neither feral animals nor people. Regardless, unlike my siblings, I wasn’t born with any superpowers. Which is fine by me, except for the fact that being a carrier means that all my potential children would have superpowers. That could get unruly.”

The use of the word ‘potential’ stood out to me.

I asked her, “Ms. Byrd, you don’t have children?”

Major Byrd reminded me, “Nope. The GSSDO outlawed IVF over a century ago, so I’d have to find a husband to have children.”

I shyly asked. “If you don’t mind me asking, what stopped you from finding a husband?”

Major Byrd confessed, “Let’s say I don’t think it would be fair to trap any man, especially a good man, in a marriage with a woman who would find his touch repulsive.”

I apologized.

Major Byrd, clearly not intoxicated with the moderate amount of alcohol, flirtatiously joked, “I mean, you could help me with that, after all. I am running out of time and were it not for my inability to romantically love a man, I would have already had many children. Instead, I was cursed with this same-sex attraction, incompatible with my inner maternal desires. But you’re a real cutie. Moreover, since it is within your power, and nature, for fatherhood, it wouldn’t be homosexual now, would it?”

Her eyes pierced into my soul, and I stammered a response as blood flushed to my face and phallus. Hyechin and Lala’s reactions were outlandishly comical, but I couldn’t recall the specifics, given all my attention was on the ripe fruit before me.

She giggled at us and said, “But lucky for me, I don’t actually have to be that desperate as to pursue an adolescent. It seems the recent batch of rescues from the first ASO has brought us some similar potential husbandwives. If there is a God, maybe he had pity on me?”

Lala sternly but politely protested, “That wasn’t funny.”

Hyechin was flushed deep red in the face.

Major Byrd deflected, “What, you don’t think looking for a husband in the ASO is a good idea? I’m pretty sure all of you have HSO-based ancestry. Hyechin, I’d guess you have ancestors salvaged from Korean and Chinese purges. As for Lala, basically all our Romani members are descended from men and women salvaged from the Porajmos. Why can’t I find a suitable spouse among our new wards?”

Lala protested, “You know that’s not what bothered us…”

I told her, “Do you want to know what my position on this is?”

Lala simply said, “Enlighten us.”

Major Byrd quoted who I would later learn was Ayn Rand with the same authority as one might quote Aquinas, Maimonides, Plotinus, Dogen-Zenji, or Udayanācārya, “Love is blind, they say; sex is impervious to reason and mocks the power of all philosophers. But, in fact, a person’s sexual choice is the result and sum of their fundamental convictions. Tell me what a person finds sexually attractive and I will tell you their entire philosophy of life. Show me the person they sleep with and I will tell you their valuation of themselves. No matter what corruption they’re taught about the virtue of selflessness, sex is the most profoundly selfish of all acts, an act which they cannot perform for any motive but their own enjoyment - just try to think of performing it in a spirit of selfless charity! - an act which is not possible in self-abasement, only in self-exultation, only on the confidence of being desired and being worthy of desire. It is an act that forces them to stand naked in spirit, as well as in body, and accept their real ego as their standard of value. They will always be attracted to the person who reflects their deepest vision of themselves, the person whose surrender permits them to experience - or to fake - a sense of self-esteem … Love is our response to our highest values - and can be nothing else.”

There was a hesitation before I asked her, still drunk on sexual arousal but recalling what she said moments ago, “Do you believe in God?”

This caught Lala and Hyechin’s attention

She paused for a moment and admitted, “No. We may live in a world of apparent magic and superpowers, but I see no reason to think that these, in any way, imply the existence of God. Moreover, the orderliness of these ‘magic’ and ‘superpower’ systems subjects them to scientific scrutiny, and there are remarkable parallels between the metaphysics of Objectivist individualism and how potens manifests in expression. Leading me to believe it is simply a hitherto unknown aspect of the natural world, requiring no supernatural explanations.”

I asked her, “Then, what is your religion?”

Major Byrd smiled, “I am a Objectivist. A disciple of Ayn Rand.”

She chuckled, then said, “You don’t need God to understand that homosexuality is antithetical to human nature. Even those of us with exclusively same-sex attractions can recognize this disorder.”

I asked her, “So you’re just screwing with us?”

Major Byrd didn’t answer my question. Simply stating, “Yup. Just a little bit of playful banter. You really think either the USSDF or the ASSDF would risk assigning such valuable assets as yourselves to anyone who didn’t pass a complete background check and telepathic screening?”

She whispered under her breath and slightly annoyed, “I’m a lolicon, not a pedophile.”

None of us had anything to say in response to that, since we all knew she had an unassailable point. Major Byrd might have been a bit of a flirt, but the GSSDO wouldn’t have assigned us to her if she was going to be a danger.

We then divided up the chores, before spending the night play a first-person shooter game as a group. That’s when we discovered that our caretaker had an almost savant-like knowledge of firearms, down to specific variants only a historian might know of. Needless to say, she dominated us in gameplay, even when we teamed up against her.

At 23:00, I took a shower and then a bath after everyone else before heading to bed.

Due to the cramped living conditions on a satellite, Major Byrd, Lala, Hyechin, and I all shared a room together. Major Byrd, strangely, preferred the bottom bunk, so I slept on the bed atop hers. Lala slept on the bunk bed above Hyechin on the opposite side of the room.

We holstered our pistols at the side of the head of our beds, while Major Byrd rested her rifle on a singular gunrack at the head of her bed. The rifle at the head of Major Byrd’s bed was well-maintained, and had a coded text engraved onto it. I wondered what kind of cipher she might have used in its encryption: Caesar, Vigenère, Atbash?

Hyechin and Lala passed out quickly, exhausted by the tediousness of the day. I, in contrast, was having a difficult time sleeping and suspected that Major Byrd, while quiet, wasn’t actually asleep.

As Lala trailed off into her somniloquy, I asked Major Byrd, “Are you asleep?”

She responded, “Not yet. Something on your mind?”

I asked her, “What did you name your rifle?”

She laughed, “Never had a roommate, have you?”

I admitted, “Not really. I’ve never been allowed to sleep in a barracks due to my intersex condition.”

She confessed, “I named my gun after my first love: Sam.”

I told her, “That’s sweet. How old were you when you met each other?”

Major Byrd confessed, “I was seventeen, and she was twenty. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Curly blonde hair, azure eyes, graceful. Admittedly, I was too immature, and we dated in secret. Moved by allconsuming limerence. Possessed by an Erotic energy and enchanted by a Cupidian crush. She was my Kāmadeva, and I could have written sūtras to her as my iṣṭa-devatā… but, as you might have guessed, that didn’t last. As Aphrodite must remind all Venusians that she isn’t just the goddess of lustful passion… she’s also a bloodthirsty goddess of war who takes pleasure in scandal.”

I asked her, “What happened to her?”

Major Byrd confessed, “She froze to death on the surface. It was a suicide.”

I told her, “I’m so sorry that all that happened to you.”

Major Byrd changed the topic. “I know it’s not right for us to ask you to fight monsters that can cripple nations in a single act, but we don’t have any reasonable alternative. I really appreciate what you’re prepared to do, but I can’t ask any man to sacrifice his happiness for mine. Each man’s happiness is not merely a means to any end. Rather, it is its own end. Its own purpose. So, find what makes you happy, and cultivate it.”

I admitted, “If I’m being honest… I don’t know what makes me happy. I mean, I’ve always felt a sense of melancholia: a sense of lack without any apparent reason.”

She quoted Atlas Shrugged, “Do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark in the hopeless swamps of the not-quite, the not-yet, and the not-at-all. Do not let the hero in your soul perish in lonely frustration for the life you deserved and have never been able to reach. The world you desire can be won. It exists… it is real… it is possible… it’s yours.”

I told her, “For what it’s worth, Ms. Byrd. I hope you’ll get to be a good mother.”

Major Byrd replied, “Thank you.”

I told her, “Good night, Miss Byrd.”

She told me, “Good night, Elden.”

[divinewill]

Capítulo Veinte: I’d Come Back for You

I woke up in the middle of the night, on the floor.

Madison didn’t seem to hear me.

I suddenly remembered struggling to convince her to use the bed, and that I’d be willing to sleep on a mat on the floor. I sighed and went back to sleep, had another nightmare, and we woke up early. Madison watched me perform my morning exercise routine, which I think interested her as an animator, and we both got dressed.

I had Madison take a shower first, and we made our way downstairs where father, who never slept for over two hours at a time, had already made breakfast. By smell alone, I knew what he was making: carne guisada tacos, refried beans, and waffles. His Tex-Mex cuisine’s quality was enough to sustain a successful restaurant.

Madison’s presence was enjoyable. I always wanted siblings, but as the only survivor of my nuclear bio-family, and adopted by parents who themselves couldn’t conceive, this wasn’t a plausible possibility. So, this was a welcomed change of pace, and I could tell that my father was enjoying our company as well.

The news confirmed that some within the GSSDO’s membership were at once human and yet starmen. With the appearance of magical girls, superheroes, kaijū, pet monsters, secret societies with ties to the Roman Catholic Church and the Church of England, and now human-aliens, it seemed as if fiction itself was becoming real. I pondered if the fantasies of men were precognitive, and if the lore stored in my eidetic memory from years of avid readership might have information useful in the trials and tribulations to come.

Madison asked my father, “So, you run a vtuber corporation?”

He admitted, “Primarily? Yes, but I deal with plenty of media. The real money lies in merchandizing, such as toys, figures, comics, video games, etc.”

Madison noted, “I think I saw some of your products advertised in the Winter Comic Market last year. I bought a copy of the ‘Weltuntergangsuhr’ dōjin compendium there, which I think centers on one of your talents.”

Dad confirmed, “Oh yeah, that was a remarkably enjoyable fanwork, which is why we ended up licensing it and contracting with the author to adapt it into an animated series.”

I asked, “How familiar are you with my father’s work?”

Madison admitted, “My knowledge of your father’s work is minimal. I mostly watch clippers and not the livestreams. From what I could find in guidebooks and video essays, his vtuber lore is … different from that of most other Vtuber companies.”

He explained, “Yeah, if you’re talking about the Mythopoeic style, I grew up enamored with the classic worldbuilders, like Dunsany, MacDonald, Tolkien, Lewis, Chambers, Lovecraft, Kirby, Morrison, so on and so forth. So, I intentionally sought to create my own mythic style.”

As the conversation gradually progressed, Madison asked, “So, do you go to conventions?”

I told her, “Yes. Conventions are an important part of my father’s business, but it’s not indispensable. Though conventions are also a time for me to cosplay.”

A thought crossed Madison’s mind before she asked, “Could you show me?”

I told her, “Sure, I can cosplay for you, but I can’t guarantee that you’ll recognize who I’m cosplaying as.”

After dinner, Madison and I went back to my room. I stripped down to my underwear and Madison noticed the scar on my back.

She asked me, “What’s that on your back?”

I told her, “It’s a puncture wound I got when I was seven.”

I turned and showed her the entry wound. “Here’s the other side of the scar.”

She looked dumbstruck and asked me, “What happened?”

I explained, “Oh, on my seventh birthday, I was impaled in a freak vehicular accident and almost died.”

Madison simply responded, “Oh my God. I am glad you’re alright.”

I promised, “I’ll give you the full story later, but let’s focus on why we came up here first.”

I got changed into the last costume I used. A Chinese girl, from the adaptation of a CLAMP manga which aired from 1998 to 2000 AD.

She asked me, “Who is this supposed to be?”

I confessed, “Lǐ Méilíng, if you don’t know who that is, that’s fine. Hers was a story way before our time.”

Madison asked me, “Ah, who would you like to cosplay as, then?”

I thought about it, and said, “I’ve been reading an old comic from my great-great-grandfather’s childhood. It was a magical girl story from the now defunct Disney corporation…”

I asked her, “Have you ever used cosmetics in your cosplay?”

I confessed, “No. I know nothing of the subject.”

Madison suggested. “Let’s try some makeup to prepare for your future cosplay.”

I knew nothing of makeup for two reasons. First, I had no interest in it. Second, I didn’t have a mother to teach me. So, when Madison directed me to sit in a chair and be still, I did as she directed. That’s when the girl pulled out a whole makeup kit from her bag.

Madison asked me, “Can you please close your eyes?”

I said, “Okay.” And complied with her strange request.

When she began, she asked me, “Have you tried to reconnect with your mother’s family?”

I explained to her, “So long as I keep my Christology, I will never be accepted by my mother’s family.”

She asked me, “So you must choose between blood inherited or blood shed? What an awful choice, but I take it you’ve made your decision.”

I told her, “Without a second’s pause, I choose my God over my family. I choose the principle of my principle.”

Madison asked me, “Principle of my principle, that sounds remarkably scholastic.”

I asked her, “Are you familiar with Scholasticism?”

She told me, “I’m familiar with the language, but not the actual wereldbeeld.”

Once more, the use of Dutch vocabulary where context was enough to translate the idea.

In total, preparation took 15 minutes. Foundation matching took 20 minutes. Application took 40 minutes, highlighting and contouring took 20 minutes. Setting took 10 minutes. Blush, eyeshadow, and lips took 20 minutes. Final touches (hair and accessories) took 10 minutes. During which time we discussed many things.

Madison told me, “You can open your eyes now.”

I complied, and saw that Madison was holding up a hand-held mirror for me, but in the mirror was a face unknown to me. My skin was a very light brown complexion consistent with that of Chinamen from the Hénán province. I touched my face in stunned disbelief at the image in the mirror. I simply did not recognize the face in the mirror, but the hand was clearly mine.

She told me, “I have a friend whose hobby is magic. He manipulates sense perception and heuristics to create illusions. This got me thinking, is there a way to manipulate your paternal family’s sense perception and heuristics to get them to see you as their own kin? Then, when you mentioned cosplay, it hit me.”

I turned my head and looked her in the eyes.

Madison noted, “It’s remarkable just how much you inherited from your father. Almost everything about your face, frame, and hair all come from your paternal inheritance, but your skin tone and female nature came from your maternal lineage.”

Madison told me something I have never thought of, “I noticed how much more you look like a Shi than you do… I don’t think you told me what your maternal family’s name was…”

I told her, “My mother’s maiden name was ‘Munashe’. It means ‘God is with us’, like Immanuel, but in Shona, not Hebrew.”

She thought aloud, “Munashe? What a lovely name.”

She continued, “I don’t know much about Jewish or Chinese aesthetics, but I can tell you right now that any family in Japan would be proud to have such a cutie as seen in the mirror as their daughter.”

I asked her, “What are you getting at?”

This is when she revealed an ability to access and exploit the more manipulative aspect of the female psyche to her advantage.

“I think that we might be able to use this trick to soften the hard hearts of your patrilineal family. When they see you like this: as their selfsame granddaughter rendered in their own image reflected to themselves… I think they might, even if for a moment, peer behind the superficial and see with their eyes what they have closed their heart and mind’s eye to.” She plotted.

“By changing your accidents and appearances, we will life the veil and make them to see your essence.”

For a moment, I allowed myself to entertain the idea. “This might work…”

I permitted Madison to work her cosmetic accidental transformation on my neck, arms, and legs, and I dressed in my last cosplay. A Japanese school uniform comprising a black turtleneck under a charcoal-black, long-sleeved sweater with white and red striped cuffs, and a top curved shield with wings divided by a cross atop the brachium. A sailor cape split posteriorly, like coattails, with a single red stripe. A white necktie with a diagonal red stripe across its bottom. A white, pleated skirt reaching half-way down the thighs, white ankle socks, and black Mary Janes.

It was an odd experience to see myself in the mirror. I looked no different from any other Chinese girl.

It was then that my adoptive father knocked on the door, “Bee”, my nickname, “I’m coming in.”

I responded, “Okay.”

When my adoptive father opened the door, he said, “Honey, the Queen of CANZUK is…”

He stopped mid-sentence and just stared in disbelief, but he quickly regained his composure and asked, “Is this a ploy to reconnect with your father’s family, Will?”

I was taken aback by both my father’s momentary shock, with a face almost as if he had seen a ghost, but also by how quickly he figured what was going on. Madison was elated.

My father cautioned us, “Look, I understand the desire to mend those broken relationships, but girls… Please don’t get your hopes up too high about this.”

With that, my father departed.

This took the wind out of Madison’s sails a bit, but I reassured her, “Don’t be sad. He’s just telling us to temper our expectations. He never said we couldn’t try, and he didn’t say it wouldn’t work.”

That seemed to help a bit, but she was still concerned about her plan, so I changed the subject. “What’s your religion?”

Madison asked me, “What brought this on?”

I explained, “Well, Japan and the Netherlands are both confessional states, so I was just curious.”

Madison explained, “The official religion of the Kingdom of the Netherlands is the Dutch Reformed Church, and the official religions of the Empire of Japan are Shintō, Buddhism, and Confucianism, but it is a bit more complicated than that. You see, the Kingdom of the Netherlands, under the zilveren koorde, provides monetary support for the not just Calvinist clergy, but also for other Protestant clergy, as well as the Roman Catholic clergy and the Jewish rabbinate, a portion of which themselves have their own Noahide projects.”

As a Catholic Jewess, the Noahide movement always struck me as disturbing, but it was something I left for another time.

Madison continued, “Japan, similarly, provides monetary support to the historical religions. Japanese law has a rather over-encompassing definition of Shintō. Any religion which once had membership within the Shintō Dōshikai or Kyōha Shintō Rengōkai, is legally a form of Shintō… So, for legal purposes, Tenrikyō, Ōmotokyō, and Konkōkyō are considered forms of Shintō. The emperor himself has directed funds to the reconstruction of Shintō shrines in foreign nations: such as funding the restoration of the formerly abandoned Tsubaki Grand Shrine of America, negotiating the reconstruction of the Chōsen Shrine in Seoul, and negotiation the reconsecration of the Gaoshi Shrine in Taiwan.”

I asked her, “How on earth did he manage the last two?”

Madison explained, “He proposed the Chōsen Shrine to serve the function of museum, war memorial, tourist attraction, and temple, all under the jurisdiction of Korea. He also made good on his promise that the temple would be consecrated to Dangun, the legendary founder of Korea, as the temple’s primary deity, and to Douglas MacArthur, a Korean War hero. As for the temple in Taiwan, it was consecrated to Sun Yat-sen, the father of the nation.”

I asked her, “Didn’t India do something similar?”

Madison admitted, “I know little about Indian law.”

I asked, “Hey, Sheska! What’s the definition of ‘Hindu’ according to the Indian Constitution?”

The hither to inactive AI answered, “Hinduism, as defined by the Constitution of the Dharmic Republic of India, includes not only all Vedic and Agamic religions but also includes all forms of Buddhism, Jainism, Sikhism, and Zoroastrianism. Prior to the reformation following the Indo-Pakistan War of 2035, which abrogated the Socialist constitution of the Republic of India in favor of a Dharmic republican constitution, the constitutional definition did not include Zoroastrianism under the legal definition of Hinduism.”

Madison asked, “So, as far as Indian law is concerned, Japanese Buddhists are Hindus?”

The AI answered, “Correct.”

I told her, “The Indian government also funds ISKCON missions to promote Hinduism abroad.”

Madison seemed surprised that I knew this, so I explained, “I found this out when a Hare Kṛṣṇa temple opened up at the end of the neighborhood.”

After a moment, Madison opened up, “My mother got pregnant out of wedlock, and in order for my father to marry her, he had to convert to the Dutch Reformed Church.”

I asked her, “So you’re a Calvinist?”

Madison pondered, “Officially, I am a member of the Dutch Reformed Church, but I have difficulties with some doctrines.”

I asked her, “Could you elaborate?”

Madison confessed, “I do not understand how God could create something that he hates. It seems to me that God must love all that he has created, otherwise why create it at all? Why put salt into your own eye?”

I asked her, “So, it’s the doctrine of double predestination you have an issue with?”

She confessed, “That, and… the lack of assurance that anyone has that they are among the elect. As the good book says, ‘Niet een iegelijk, die tot Mij zegt: Heere, Heere! zal ingaan in het Koninkrijk der hemelen, maar die daar doet den wil Mijns Vaders, Die in de hemelen is. Velen zullen te dien dage tot Mij zeggen: Heere, Heere! hebben wij niet in Uw Naam geprofeteerd, en in Uw Naam duivelen uitgeworpen, en in Uw Naam vele krachten gedaan? En dan zal Ik hun openlijk aanzeggen: Ik heb u nooit gekend; gaat weg van Mij, gij, die de ongerechtigheid werkt!’”

I asked, “I think I heard, ‘have we not in your name…’, so are you referring to Matthew chapter seven verses twenty-one through twenty-three?”

She confessed, “Yes. So that is where I am. I believe in God, but I am skeptical of the Calvinist doctrine because it simply does not make sense to me.”

She pondered, “Maybe the Calvinists are right, and it’s a problem with me, or maybe I was not sovereignly elected, and so I was never meant to understand. Or maybe it is not my place to understand yet, but I will. It is a source of many nightmares for me, honestly.”

After the age of secularization and the esoteric subversion of religion, science, and philosophy came a revival of traditional religions across the world. CANZUK formed as an Anglican state, with constituent countries of Calvinist and Catholic creeds. The Empire of Rus’ reestablished the Eastern Orthodox Churches as the state religions. The Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church played a crucial role in reestablishing the Ethiopian monarchy and creating the Tewahedo Kingdom of Ethiopia. Then there was the establishment of the Republic of Assyria as a confessional state under the Holy Apostolic Catholic Assyrian Church of the East. A new successor to the Papal States emerged, with the Roman Confederation of the Church, lead by the Bishop of Rome, which comprised: Italy, Friuli, Lombardy, San Marino, Sardinia, Sicily, Tuscany, Vatican City, Venice, Malta, and Corsica as its constituent countries. The Tengrist Republic of Türkiye replaced the Republic of Türkiye, when Tengrism replaced Islam after the apostasy of the Turkish people. Though not all these confessional states were theological, with some instead being theosophical, such as the Cao Dai Republic of Viet Nam which replaced the Socialist Republic of Vietnam.

We talked a bit about theology, but then defaulted to watching the news to keep up with what I need to do, as a superhero and magical girl. Madison logged into one of her family’s accounts on my laptop and found a national alert for the citizens of Japan and the Netherlands. The Emperor and the King have spoken. Given the situation, we clicked on the video for the Japanese.

The Emperor of Japan said, “日本の皆様、この度の未曾有の災害により、多くの尊い命が失われ、さらに多くの人々が負傷しました。私たちの心は、被害に遭われたすべての方々と共にあります。この大変な時期に、多くの勇敢な人々が救援に駆けつけてくださったことに深い感謝の意を表します。”

As he spoke, he himself translated his own speech into Japanese Sign Language.

Knowing that I was fluent in both English and American Sign Language, but not Japanese nor JSL, Madison set the video to English and ASL subtitles, with the latter accomplished through the orthographic methodology of ASLwrite. A system added to Unicode in the 2030s. Even in 2075 AD, the Japanese traditionalism was strong, as evidenced by JSL still using Sutton SignWriting as its official orthography.

“To all the people of Japan, in this time of unprecedented disaster, we mourn the loss of many precious lives and stand with all those who have been injured. Our hearts are with everyone affected by this tragedy. We express our deepest gratitude to the many brave individuals who have come forward to assist in this time of need.”

“特に、名も知らぬヒーローが危険を顧みず、多くの命を救うために尽力してくださったことに心から感謝しています。彼女の勇敢な行動は、まさに天照大神様と天之御中主神様のご加護を受けたものであり、その献身と勇気は日本全国に希望をもたらしました。”

“We are especially grateful to the unknown heroine who, without regard for her own safety, dedicated herself to saving many lives. Her courageous actions are truly under the protection of Amaterasu Omikami-sama and Amenominakanushi-no-kami-sama. Her dedication and bravery have brought hope to the entire nation of Japan.”

“さらに、国際社会からの支援と協力にも感謝申し上げます。日本自衛隊やアメリカ軍を含む多くの救助隊員が、放射線やその他の危険にもかかわらず、被災地での救援活動に尽力してくださいました。これらの方々の努力により、多くの命が救われ、私たちの国は再び立ち上がる力を得ました。”

“We also extend our heartfelt thanks to the international community for their support and cooperation. Members of the Japan Self-Defense Forces, the American military, and many other rescue teams have risked their lives in hazardous conditions, including radiation exposure, to provide aid in the affected areas. Through their efforts, many lives have been saved, and our country has found the strength to rise again.”

“私たちは、この災害を乗り越えるために、互いに助け合い、強く、そして希望を持ち続ける必要があります。天照大神様と天之御中主神様のご加護のもと、私たちは必ずや再生し、より強い日本を築いていくことでしょう。”

“As we work to overcome this disaster, it is crucial that we continue to support one another, remain strong, and hold on to hope. Under the divine protection of Amaterasu Omikami-sama and Amenominakanushi-no-kami-sama, we will surely rebuild and create an even stronger Japan.”

“この素晴らしいヒーローおよびすべての救援隊に対し、日本国民を代表して感謝の意を表します。特に、このヒーローが日本を訪れる際には、ぜひお会いし、直接お礼を伝えたいと願っております。”

“On behalf of the people of Japan, I extend our deepest gratitude to this remarkable heroine and all the rescue teams. We earnestly hope to meet this heroine in person when she visits Japan and express our thanks directly.”

“天照大神様の光がすべての人々を照らし、天之御中主神様のご加護が皆様の上にありますように。”

“May the light of Amaterasu Omikami-sama shine upon all people and may the protection of Amenominakanushi-no-kami-sama be with everyone.”

“日本国民一同を代表し、心から感謝を込めて。”

“On behalf of all the people of Japan, with heartfelt gratitude.”

With that, the speech ended, and the emperor departed.

Flabbergasted, I asked, “The emperor wants to meet me?”

Madison told me, “That is what he said.”

I refused to entertain the idea. “As flattered as I am, I’m not interested…”

Madison asked, “Why not?”

I confessed, “There are more pressing concerns for him to deal with, such as meeting with the Supreme Commander of the GSSDO.”

Madison suggested, “That may be true, but I think you should meet with the emperor.”

I asked her, “Why is that?”

She explained, “First, I’m sure he’s as stressed as anyone else in this situation, and meeting one of the great heroes who served the nation, seemingly with no possible political motivations, might help put not only his own mind to a relative ease, and thus make more levelheaded decisions, but it might also help the people of Japan.”

I confessed, “That didn’t cross my mind.”

She continued, “I remember my father commenting that Mr. Trueman’s adoptive daughter has a photographic memory. Am I correct?”

I noted, “Your powers of observation and recollection complement you. Yes, ever since I had my near-death experience three years ago, I’ve had a photographic memory.”

Madison asked me, “You had a near-death experience before?”

I promised her, “We’ll talk about it later. It’s a bittersweet memory, but one I’m more than glad to share.”

I wanted to cover my bases, and therefore I asked, “So, do you have any more reasons for me to meet with the emperor of Japan?”

Madison pointed out, “Sakura is worried about her family. Is it possible for you to identify their faces if you saw them in the field?”

Madison explained, “As distressing as managing the dead and the dying certainly was, you might be the best shot at helping families find closure.”

I reluctantly agreed, “Alright, I’ll meet with the emperor, but I must meet Sakura first. If I can help her find her parents, alive or dead, then it would help me make up for my failure to help her when she needed it.”

I asked her, “Anything I need to know before I go to meet the emperor?”

Madison informed me, “Emperor Shinhito is a devout Shintōka. Not only has he funded apologetical work for Shintō within Japan, but he has also personally funded the restoration of abandoned overseas shrines, such as the Tsubaki Grand Shrine of America and the reconsecration of the Luye Shrine in Taiwan. He also established the kikanhō, or Law of Return, which fast-tracks citizenship for Japanese descended diaspora.”

The similarity to the Isreali law of return (חוק השבות), did not escape my notice.

I asked her, “Anything I need to know about the religion?”

Madison explained, “Well, I guess you might want to know about the emperor’s two favorite deities, but that requires a little background context. The scriptures of Shintō are the Shinten, which includes the Kojiki (古事記), Nihon Shoki (日本書紀), Rikkokushi (六国史), Fudoki (風土記), Jinnō Shōtōki (神皇正統記), Kogo Shūi (古語拾遺), Kujiki (旧事紀), and Engishiki (延喜式). Amenominakanushi-no-kami is the first kami mentioned in the Kojiki as the first of the three self-generated gods of creation, or Kotoamatsukami (別天神), alongside Takamimusubi-no-kami (高御産巣日神) and Kamimusubi-no-kami (神産巣日神). According to the Kojiki, when Amenominakanushi-no-kami appears, he unfolds the Heavens and the Earth. One variant of the Nihon Shoki also mentions them, but only in that one variant.”

I confessed, “I have read the Kojiki. The parts written in Classical Chinese were easy enough to read, but I was stuck with English translations for the parts written in Old Japanese. In Basil Hall Chamberlain’s 1919 translation he relayed the name of the first kami as Deity Master-of-the-August-Center-of-Heaven, the second as Pleasant-Reed-Shoot-Prince-Elder Deity, and the third as Heavenly-Eternally-Standing-Deity.”

Madison looked a bit dumbfounded before I reminded her, “Photographic memory, remember?”

That’s when Madison dropped a bombshell on me. “Emperor Shinhito identifies the God of Abraham with the Deity Master-of-the-August-Centre-of-Heaven.”

I asked her, “Excuse me?”

Madison explained, “I do not know the specifics, but you might need to ask him yourself when you meet him. He has always loved comparative religion and mythology.”

I confessed, “I mean, it kind of makes some sense. The Rig Veda records a mythologized memory of an urmonotheistic precursor to the polytheistic religion in book 10, hymn 121. I don’t have a difficult time thinking that the Japanese scriptures might do the same…”

I asked her, “Anything else?”

Madison reminded me, “When visiting Japan, remember that the Japanese state and laws regard the emperor as an arahitogami (現人神), or a deity in human form, and an akitsumikami (現御神), or a manifestation of a deity. In the former capacity, he is legally both human and a god. In his latter capacity, as part of the divine lineage, he functions as a temporal manifestation of the Sun Goddess, Amaterasu, and therefore his rule is by divine right. Because he is both a god and a man, he exists in both worlds, making him a bridge between the human world and the Plane of High Heaven, Takamagahara (高天原). It is for this reason that not only do his devotees create seishi (生祠), or monuments enshrining living gods, in a practice also called seishi (生祀), or the worship of a living being as a god, but his devotees are encouraged to ‘gratefully receive the emperor’s mind and will.’ That is why the Nipponophile community refers to him as the God Emperor, harkening back to how American newspapers referred to him prior to Japan’s defeat in the second world war.”

I admitted, “Unnerve me, why don’t you?”

Madison then explained, “But this is what the imperial cultists and state believe. Most Japanese do not actually believe this, and the emperor himself does not act as if he himself does either. Though he has never seen fit to speak one way or another on the matter.”

The purpose of her warning was clear.

I contemplated what my next move would be, and since nothing of note happened in the news, I asked Madison to write something for me. Madison played a game of Skud Paisho (牌數) with my father, which she roundly lost, as well as a game of Tak with me. It turned out that while her luck was better than mine; I have a better grasp of strategy. To thread the needle of luck and strategy, I offered to teach her how to play the Royal Game of Ur tomorrow.

During dinner, we watched an independent reporter in the State of Palestine covering the story of a Palestinian Christian Metahuman uprising, emboldened by the events in Hong Kong, called the Outremer Crusader Party, promising to use telepathy to root out and irrevocably destroy the Islamic Resistance Movement and establish a Christian homeland in the Holy Land. The video being analyzed showcased a collection of young Palestinian men, with their faces covered, flanked their leader, a middle-aged man, in support. Only the speaker’s strong, bearded face was visible.

As he spoke, I translated.

“أيها الإخوة والأخوات، أبناء الأرض الفلسطينية الحبيبة،”

“Brothers and sisters, beloved people of Palestine,”

“نجتمع اليوم لنواجه الحقيقة، الحقيقة التي حاولت حماس، لعقود طويلة، إخفاءها عنكم. منذ تأسيسها في أواخر الثمانينيات، لم تكن حماس سوى مصدر دائم للمشاكل والمعاناة لشعبنا الفلسطيني. لقد وعدت بتحريركم وبناء مستقبل مشرق، لكنها بدلاً من ذلك قادتكم إلى حروب لا تنتهي وصراعات مستمرة.”

“We gather today to confront the truth—the truth that Hamas has tried for decades to hide from you. Since its founding in the late 1980s, Hamas has been nothing but a constant source of problems and suffering for our Palestinian people. It promised to liberate you and build a bright future, but instead, it has led you into endless wars and continuous conflicts.”

“نحن هنا اليوم لنلقي الضوء على الفظائع التي ارتكبتها حماس بحق الشعب الفلسطيني. حماس لم تكن يوماً حاميةً للشعب، بل كانت جلاده. استخدمتكم كدروع بشرية، وكأدوات لتحقيق أهدافها الخاصة، دون أن تولي أي اعتبار لحياتكم أو كرامتكم. حماس لا تهتم بالسلام أو الازدهار، بل تسعى فقط لتعزيز قوتها على حسابكم.”

“We are here today to shed light on the atrocities committed by Hamas against the Palestinian people. Hamas has never been a protector of the people; it has been their oppressor. It has used you as human shields, as tools to achieve its own goals, without any regard for your lives or your dignity. Hamas does not care about peace or prosperity; it only seeks to strengthen its power at your expense.”

“على مدى عقود، استغلت حماس معاناتكم، وزرعت في قلوبكم الخوف والكراهية تجاه الآخرين، محولةً الشعب الفلسطيني إلى رهائن في يدها. بدلاً من البحث عن حلول سلمية وبناء دولة مزدهرة، اختارت حماس طريق العنف والتدمير. لقد كانت الحروب التي خاضتها حماس بلا جدوى، لم تحقق سوى المزيد من الدمار والخسائر لشعبنا.”

“For decades, Hamas has exploited your suffering, planting seeds of fear and hatred in your hearts, turning the Palestinian people into hostages in its grip. Instead of seeking peaceful solutions and building a prosperous state, Hamas chose the path of violence and destruction. The wars it has waged have been futile, achieving nothing but more destruction and loss for our people.”

“كل مرة تبدأ فيها صراعًا جديدًا، كانت حماس تستخدم أطفالنا ونساءنا وشيوخنا كأدوات دعاية، لتظهر نفسها على أنها الضحية أمام العالم. ولكن الحقيقة هي أن حماس هي من تقف وراء هذه الكوارث، متجاهلة صرخات الأمهات وآلام الأطفال.”

“Every time a new conflict starts, Hamas uses our children, women, and elders as propaganda tools to portray itself as the victim to the world. But the truth is, Hamas is the one behind these disasters, ignoring the cries of mothers and the pain of children.”

“لقد آن الأوان لنكشف الغطاء عن الأكاذيب التي روجتها حماس. لقد حان الوقت لشعب فلسطين أن يعرف الحقيقة – الحقيقة التي حاولت حماس طمسها منذ تأسيسها. أنتم لم تكونوا يوماً محور اهتمامهم، بل كانوا يهتمون فقط ببقاء سيطرتهم وسيادتهم على حسابكم.”

“The time has come to uncover the lies that Hamas has propagated. It is time for the Palestinian people to know the truth—the truth that Hamas has tried to erase since its inception. You were never their priority; they have only cared about maintaining their control and dominance at your expense.”

“نحن هنا، كحزب صليبي، لنعدكم بشيء واحد: سنستخدم كل الوسائل المتاحة لنا، بما في ذلك قدرات أصحاب القوى الفائقة، لتحرير الشعب الفلسطيني من قبضة حماس. سنعمل على إزالة التأثير الضار الذي غرسته حماس في قلوبكم وعقولكم، وسنكسر جميع نظم الدعاية التي سعت لتضليلكم واستغلالكم.”

“We are here, as the Outremer Crusader Party, to promise you one thing: we will use all the means at our disposal, including the abilities of those with superpowers, to free the Palestinian people from Hamas’s grip. We will work to remove the harmful influence Hamas has planted in your hearts and minds, and we will break all the propaganda systems that have sought to mislead and exploit you.”

“نحن نؤمن بأن فلسطين تستحق أفضل من هذا. تستحقون حكومة تحمي حقوقكم وكرامتكم، حكومة تسعى لتحقيق السلام والازدهار، وليس لإشعال الحروب والنزاعات. نحن نؤمن بدولة تعزز حقوق جميع أبنائها، بغض النظر عن دينهم أو عرقهم.”

“We believe that Palestine deserves better than this. You deserve a government that protects your rights and dignity, a government that seeks peace and prosperity, not one that ignites wars and conflicts. We believe in a state that upholds the rights of all its people, regardless of their religion or ethnicity.”

“أيها الإخوة المسيحيون في كل مكان، سواء كنتم كاثوليك أو بروتستانت أو أنجليكان أو أرثوذكس شرقيين أو أرثوذكس مشرقيين، ندعوكم اليوم للوقوف معنا في هذا المسعى النبيل. إننا نحتاج إلى دعمكم وصلواتكم وتضامنكم في مواجهة هذه المعركة ضد الظلم والاضطهاد. فلسطين الأرض المقدسة، هي جزء من تراثنا الروحي والمكان الذي مشى فيه مخلصنا يسوع المسيح. دعونا نوحد جهودنا لننشر رسالة المحبة والسلام التي جاء بها المسيح، ولنعمل معاً من أجل مستقبل أفضل لشعب فلسطين.”

“To all faithful Christians around the world, whether you are Catholic, Protestant, Anglican, Eastern Orthodox, or Oriental Orthodox, we call upon you today to stand with us in this noble endeavor. We need your support, your prayers, and your solidarity in this fight against injustice and oppression. Palestine, the Holy Land, is part of our spiritual heritage, the place where our Savior Jesus Christ walked. Let us unite our efforts to spread the message of love and peace that Christ brought and work together for a better future for the people of Palestine.”

He concluded his speech with a prayer.

“يا ربنا يسوع المسيح، نلتجئ إليك اليوم لنكرس فلسطين لك، لتكن هذه الأرض التي مشيت عليها مباركة بسلامك ومملوءة بحبك. نطلب منك أن تحرر شعبها من الظلم والاضطهاد، وأن تملأ قلوبهم بالحب والرحمة. أرشدنا يا رب في كل ما نقوم به، واجعلنا أدوات لسلامك في هذا العالم. آمين. شكراً لكم.”

“Lord Jesus Christ, we come before you today to consecrate Palestine to you. Let this land, which you once walked upon, be blessed with your peace and filled with your love. We ask you to liberate its people from injustice and oppression and to fill their hearts with love and mercy. Guide us, Lord, in all that we do, and make us instruments of your peace in this world. Amen.”

This troubled me. Having been born with dual Isreali and American citizenship, I always wanted my Isreali countrymen to prosper peacefully, and while I support the evangelization and conversion of both Israel and Palestine to Christian nations, I worried that this new turn of events would cause another, potentially more severe, period of destabilization for Palestine.

After dinner, I summoned the Lolita Princess at 1 km and 500 m in the air. As my alter ego fell to the Earth, I oriented myself to the boarding school in which she remained. I leaped and bounded over buildings to reach my boarding school, which was still attended by loyal staffers keeping compassionate care of the few students stranded there.

I found the window of Sakura’s room and knocked on the window. I heard her get up from her bed and walk to the window. Her cadence showed confusion, as she couldn’t see me through the closed curtains.

When she peered through the window, Sakura was in disbelief at my presence, and I told her, “I’m sorry for being late, but may I talk with you?”

Sakura, still in shock, asked me, “What do you need my help for?”

I confessed, “I’d like to help you find your parents. May I come in?”

Sakura, still dumbfounded, said, “Of course.”

I awkwardly squeezed through the window and entered the room.

Sakura asked, “I have to be dreaming.”

I assured her, “No. This isn’t a dream. I came here to ask for your help.”

Sakura asked, “With what?”

I told her, “I understand your parents are missing? I’d like to help to find them.”

Sakura asked me, “How do you plan to do that?”

I confessed, “I have a photographic memory, so I remember the face of everyone I encountered during my escapade in Japan, so I can tell you if I saw them at any point. I also plan to journey back to Japan to petition the government to let me help with reuniting the victims with their families.”

Upon this revelation, she ran to her desk, grabbed a framed photo, and handed it to me. I immediately recognized the mother as a decedent I pulled from the wreckage. I did not recognize the father. So, he was neither a person salvaged from the wreckage, nor a rescuer I encountered.

I asked her, “Do you have anything from your parents that I can smell?”

She, dumbfounded, said, “Excuse me?”

I told her, “I do not recognize the man in the photo, but I have a sense of smell more powerful than an elephant. I might track him down by scent.”

Sakura snapped out of her dissociation and immediately began searching for a piece of paper, then a pen and scribbled down an address, which she handed to me.

“This is my parent’s home address. You might find something in there!”

I thanked her, “Dōmo arigatō gozaimasu.”

Before I could tell her, she pieced together the news about her mother.

“You said you didn’t recognize my father … does that mean you recognized my mother?” She asked trembling, holding back tears in her flushed face.

I broke the news, “Yes. I’m sorry.”

She understandably broke down into a hysterical fit of tears.

I kneeled to comfort her with a hug, and she clung onto my dress, incoherently lamenting in a language I could not understand.

My heart broke for her, and I wept with her as I confessed, “I’m sorry, I should have been faster.”

I prayed over and for her mother, “O Merciful and Eternal God, Who desires that all souls be saved and come to the knowledge of the truth, we humbly implore Thy infinite mercy for the soul of Sakura’s mother, who has departed from this life. Though they were not united to the visible fold of thy Holy Catholic Church, in thy boundless love and compassion, look not upon their shortcomings, but upon the sincerity of their heart, and the good they strove to do in this life.”

“O Sacred Heart of Jesus, who died for all mankind, grant that in their final moments, they may have turned to Thee, even if only in their heart, and may have received the grace of perfect contrition, so that they may be purified by Thy most precious blood.”

“Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of Mercy, intercede for this soul before the throne of thy Son, that they may find refuge in His Sacred Heart, and be granted the grace of eternal salvation.”

“We ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen. Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May their soul, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.”

I then prayed for her father, “St. Anthony, when you prayed, your stolen book of prayers was given back to you. We ask you now to please pray for all the missing children and adults of the world. Pray for their friends, family, and loved ones in their time of suffering and sorrow. Pray that all missing people may be returned to our keeping. Or, if we must continue in our loss, pray that we may be given Christ’s comfort and peace.”

Finally I prayed for Sakura herself, “Dearest Jesus, who wept at the death of your friend and taught that they who mourn shall be comforted, grant us the comfort of your presence in our loss. Send Your Holy Spirit to direct us, lest we make hasty or foolish decisions. Send Your Spirit to give us courage, lest through fear we recoil from living. Send Your Spirit to bring us your peace.”

I promised her, “You’re stronger than you think, Sakura. Trust me. I’m going to do what I can to find your father.”

I let her cry as needed, and she let me go on her own time. At which point, after making sure she was safe to be alone, I left. It was now time for me to test my hypothesis. Since I could retract my alter ego from as far away as Australia, could I summon her as far away as Japan?

My alter ego vanished itself, and my civilian identity experienced a flood of memories instantaneously integrated into my body and soul, but not letting myself be overwhelmed, I willed my alter ego to appear again. This time, at 35.7101°N 139.8107°E. My gambit worked, and at 12:00 JST, I found myself in free fall 500 m above the rebuilt Tokyo Sky Tree, upon which I landed.

Using the Earth’s magnetic field, which I could see and feel, I navigated with leaps and bounds to the Imperial Palace. I knew the coordinates because I had looked it up prior to my mission.

During my meeting with Sakura, my civilian identity discussed how to go about this meeting with Madison. She taught me about fifty lines and what they meant, then showed me a few basic phrases in JSL, and a few things to write on paper, detailing the proper way by which kana and kanji were to be written and signs were to be articulated, just in case they were necessary.

I landed in front of a startled a pair of security guards and recited; verbatim, what Madison told me to: an apology, and a plea to meet with the emperor, then I handed them what Madison wrote. Two men recognized me from the news and called their supervisor. After their brief conversation over the radio, I heard a voice in broken English direct me to follow the guard. Their English was adorably inept, but I knew that my attempt at Japanese would be cartoonishly worse. They at least knew more about the vocabulary and structure of my native tongue than I did theirs. They lead me into the Imperial Palace and to the waiting room, though I didn’t have to wait for long before security led me to the office of the Emperor himself.

The God Emperor of Japan looked up from his book, stood up and simply said, with stellar US English pronunciation, “Hello, Princess. I am thankful that you accepted my invitation.”

[divinewill]

Capítulo Diecinueve: インザバックルーム (In The Backroom)

My alter ego appeared within the impossible space behind the closet door, paused, and closed the door behind her.

“Where on earth is this place?” I asked him.

Kauākṣara explained, “This is nowhere on earth. This domain belongs to a metahuman. He instinctively replicated a spell from an old animated film, sans the monsters and their fear-mongering corporation. It bridges the space between doors presented here and on the human world. Open any of these doors, and you can cross through a corresponding doorframe somewhere on Earth.”

I observed a door beside mine and opened it to test his statement, and found a bathroom with a woman showering. She spoke in French, with a tone expecting a lover, and I closed the door. I noticed I could hear and smell what was behind the closed doors.

I asked him, “How did you find me so fast in this maze?”

Tapping his clawed index finger to his beak, he explained, “Each door transmits the sounds and smells behind them. I sought a door with your scent or voice. I found nothing with your voice, but I detected the faint trace of your current scent.”

This disturbed me and made me very glad that I had trained a nonlocal application of my summoning and banishment.

I asked him, “You said this place belongs to a metahuman. Who are they?”

Kauākṣara explained, with tremendous sobriety, “I cannot tell you that, just as I cannot tell anyone else of your true identity, of which I will not ask…”

He turned to walk and, using a gesture of his right hand, invited me to keep pace with him as he guided me through this labyrinthine array of hallways.

He continued, “To my dismay, this territory will not be open to us for much longer. For you see, our gentleman benefactor has terminal cancer and only six months to live by medical prediction. I suspect he will not make it to his third month. Despite my offer to help extend his life and take care of him, he adamantly believed that as an old soul, I shouldn’t waste my time with a young cripple. I told him he was talking nonsense, but he remained unmoved.”

With unshed tears in his eyes, he explained, “He told me to focus on witnessing history’s great cycles and the great men who shape them. I told him how the small stories, the ones nobody else will remember, hold equal significance. They shape the story of humanity, even if we can’t see how.”

I gave him my condolences, but he assured me, “Everyone dies eventually. Even I will die one day. It’s truly tragic for a young man to face death so vainly. I’d rather see him off with humility, for his soul’s sake.”

I assumed, by vanity, he was referring to the refusal of care by someone perceived as greater than oneself.

I asked him, “How old is he?”

He told me, “Counting from his conception, he would be exactly ten thousand days old in two hundred and seventeen days.”

I assured the creature, in their stoic self-control, “I’m sorry that you’re going through that, but I’ll pray for him, and if you believe in God, pray as well.”

He sighed, “I do, but prayer isn’t magic, and God does not answer all prayers…”

A mournful pause punctuated the moment.

He stated, “When he dies, we will lose access to this domain unless someone is on this side of the doorways. I’m going to miss his witticism, but enough of my troubles. On to the reason I invited you here…”

He asked me, “Why do you think I’ve brought you to this place?”

I noted, “You mean to tell me that this domain exists, and that we only have a limited window of opportunity to use it against the Yōma?”

He told me, “Not quite. I will do my best to ensure this domain remains open, as a memento to him, and for any heroic soul who needs it. Although I’m not sure this domain will be useful against the Yōma threat.”

We reached our destination several floors below, through a damaged door which led to an abandoned building that had been standing unmaintained for decades. He walked into this unknown territory, and I followed him, using my penetrating vision to discover that this was an abandoned metropolitan area in Australia. That’s when I realized Kauākṣara was leading me towards another, what I presumed was a nouiform, still a mile down the road, towards the center of the city.

It looked like a corgi-sized mouse with pangolin-like armor, powerful digging claws, rabbit-like ears, and a single spine at the end of its tail. It was cute a chimera. The creature clearly heard us coming, as shown by its ears tracking our movements, but it seemed unbothered.

My penetration vision showed me the entity’s hypercarnivorous teeth and skull, as well as unfamiliar organs with yet-to-be-determined functions without analogue in any known animal.

Kauākṣara noticed me visually lock onto the creature and deduced, “Ah, so you can see through walls and at great distance as well. You’ve probably deduced why we are here then.”

I guessed, “You wish to show me something regarding your kind?”

Kauākṣara, with a clear sense of vicarious pride, admitted, “Yes and no. I’d like to show you what a friendly bout between nouiformes looks like.”

I asked him, “How does this help us with the task at hand?”

Kauākṣara informed me, “Don’t you realize that your kindness to our sleeping friend has earned you an ally? He will fight for, and even die for, you. Also, while I abstain from bloodsports and mortal combat, I too will do what I can to help you defend the race of men that I love.”

As we approached our target, Kauākṣara warned me, “Princess … We nouiformes are incomplete beings. We need to seek other beings, unlike ourselves, and bond with them. When a nouiform finds a partner with a high enough compatibility, it results in a psychic bond: our partners can see through our eyes and they through ours. But this comes with a cost, as our companions will feel our pain and our rage, and we will feel theirs in return. To kill a nouiform with such a psychic tether is to kill their companion. The psychic trauma will destroy their nervous system long before the nouiform dies, but the reverse does not hold. Killing a nouiform’s companion will not kill it, but it will make them berserk.”

I asked him, “Killing human beings is out of the question for me. I am a peacekeeper, not a soldier or executioner.”

Kauākṣara informed me, “The companions of a nouiform are not always human. They can be any self-aware entity, including elephants, great apes, corvids, cetaceans, etc. The GSSDO has, on one occasion, discovered a nouiform bonded to a domestic cat, but upon testing, it showed self-recognize in a live video feed.”

I asked him, “You’ve worked with the GSSDO?”

He confessed, “Sort of. I developed a bond with the child of one of its members back during the Global War on Terror when they made the discovery in question. I was not their first encounter with my kind, but they treated me well and I taught them many things.”

Akhbar noticed that we were approaching another nouiform, raising its head and perking up its ears. Kauākṣara calmed the creature with a head pat. Akhbar stayed on their perch, sniffing the air for information, and remained alert until we entered the backyard of the abandoned house. The novel creature opened its eyes, looking towards us.

Kauākṣara appeared to initiate and moderate the contact between the bestial nouiformes. They negotiated the situation inhumanly, agreed to a mere test of mettle, and Akhbar jumped to the ground. Two creatures’ eyes locked, Kauākṣara warned me to step back. A click from his closed beak signaled the fight’s start.

Akhbar, in a fraction of a second, accelerated to Mach 2 and tackled the creature. Brutally dragging it through the fences and walls of five houses, two of which collapsed because of their primary supports being turned into shrapnel. The new creature broke from Akhbar’s control and threw them a distance of 300 meters. This creature slammed its left paw down, exploded the ground beneath it and caused an earthquake that shattered the immediate surroundings and shook a tremendous distance. Moving our foundation and compromising my footing, so I leaped 500 m into the air.

I saw this earthshaking violently uproot the foundations of and collapse all the houses and skyscrapers in this ghost town. Judging by the sound, feeling, and damage to buildings, as well as how it destabilized my footing, I estimated it to be an 8.5 on the Richter scale.

Akhbar, fighting to regain stability, unleashed a particle beam of Čerenkov radiation that effortlessly sliced through the ground, buildings, and abandoned vehicles as though they were air. A crack-like thunder accompanied the flash of light and blinding brightness of ionized air.

The other creature, experienced with earthquakes, used the unstable footing to its advantage, racing around Akhbar in a giant half-oval before attempting to ambush them. It vomited out a gallon of a napalm-like compound burning at a heat of 9 gigajoules, causing a massive self-oxidizing conflagration, which missed Akhbar.

Unknown to me, Akhbar could levitate and fly. The sound barrier breaking shockwave stunned the novel creature, but not before it could dodge Akhbar’s beam attack and throw a brick at escape velocity as a counterattack. I found it difficult to determine whether the creature was dodging the Čerenkov radiation itself or was aim dodging with startling proficiency.

Once grounded, I told Kauākṣara, “This is insane! We have to stop them!”

Kauākṣara advised me, “They’re competitive, but they won’t kill each other. Chyūn Sāan Gaap, has been my friend for over fifty years, and it seems these two already knew each other as well. Though, if you’re concerned about human casualties, no one’s here. I checked before we started this fight.”

At some point, the new creature burrowed underground, to avoid Akhbar tracking it. Hidden by the earth, the creature unleashed a VEI-3-like eruption, hurling molten debris towards Akhbar. In response, Akhbar instinctively curled up and formed an invisible sphere as a protective shield.

Kauākṣara altered the weather, turning the cloudless and sunny day into a rainy day. This interference immediately ended the match. Akhbar descended to the ground unharmed and returned to us with the demeanor of an annoyed cat, climbed up on me and took a nap upon my shoulders. Chyūn Sāan Gaap, on the other hand, exited from their hole and returned to Kauākṣara with the disposition of an annoyed golden retriever.

The degree of casual power displayed, even by Kauākṣara himself, horrified me. Moreso from Akhbar, who only weighed 6 kg (13.2 lbs), and Chyūn Sāan Gaap, who looked like they weighed 12 kg (26.5 lbs).

We conversed briefly in an abandoned house. He allowed the heavy rain, which was falling at a rate of 10 mm per hour, to persist for 10 minutes. Then, he dispersed the rain clouds, bringing back the sunny day. Akhbar sleeping on my shoulders like a pet monkey, and Chyūn Sāan Gaap sleeping at my feet like a dog. During the downpour, I asked him why they stopped so suddenly, and Kauākṣara revealed that his interference disrupted the point of the fight. To see who was more powerful.

Kauākṣara confessed, “My friend has shown me your adventures in Japan and your activities in America. You’ve witnessed the danger even limited metahuman powers can pose, as well as the danger presented by the kaijū. I believe it’s important for you to know the threat we also pose as well.”

Kauākṣara explained, “Nouiformes are more dangerous than most metahumans are. Our capacities for regeneration and matter manipulation are frightful indeed… And we can continue to fight with injuries that would quickly kill any animal…”

I asked him, “Like what?”

Kauākṣara confessed, “I have seen disemboweled nouiformes, with a broken spine, and shattered skull, go on to raze whole forests. We get more dangerous the closer to death we are, and the closer to death we survive, the stronger we get.”

I asked him, “Then how do we kill nouiformes?”

He explained, “Complete evisceration is the only surefire way to kill us. Given our durability and regeneration abilities, this is no simple task. Nothing short of getting sucked into the most powerful turbines could hope to accomplish this to even the weakest of us.”

I asked him, “I’ve seen metahumans do great things with their powers, both villainous and heroic. How can we reach out to noble nouiformes and the nouiform-bonded to serve and protect as well?”

Kauākṣara told me, “Some already have. Did you not hear of the pygmy-descended fellow with the giant bird in the GSSDO? He was a nouiform tamer, and the bird was his nouiform. Yet, there’s an undisclosed aspect of our nature that you must know.”

I asked him, “Continue?”

That’s when Kauākṣara revealed the horrifying truth: “We nouiformes are cannibalistic and anthropophagic. Without a bond to one of noble disposition or a personal transformation, we consume each other and the humans bonded to our prey. To us, cannibalism and anthropophagy are a means of becoming stronger. It is likely that under the previous attachment, your newfound friend here ate people, even if only the partners to rival nouiformes. Although now that he has attached himself to you, there is already a change in his apparent disposition. For transparency, the last time I ate a human being was around fifteen hundred years ago. I ceased this practice after forming a bond with a sage of the Dvaita and Nyāya-Vaiśeṣika-darśana.”

This admission shocked me. He analogized his revelation to the biblical command to confess our sins to each other.

“Think of this as my confession,” he explained, “so you can better understand what I am and why I won’t fight as our friends here…”

I experienced an awkward pause where I couldn’t think of anything to say. So, Kauākṣara redirected me to another important topic, “You know, our friend here needs a new name.”

He motioned to Akhbar and explained, “A new name to mark a transformation in mission and ends, don’t you think?”

I agreed, “I suppose so?”

He advised me, “Well, daughter of Adam, since they chose you, I think it should be you who chooses their new name. Consider what you want for your new friend.”

Kauākṣara gently patted Akhbar, who remained asleep.

To avoid disrupting Kauākṣara’s series of revelations, I refrained from mentioning something that had been bothering me. Although I suspect he noticed, he chose not to inquire further, likely out of courtesy. The entire time I was here, despite my penetrating vision seeing no signs of human life, I could nevertheless hear what sounded to be human whispers. Whispers whose content was indecipherable, but whose melancholic disposition was obvious.

At the end of our conversation, I noted that our way home was gone. Kauākṣara apologized but believed I could find my way back with my speed and navigation prowess.

Just before I attempted to call myself back to me, Kauākṣara reported, “One more thing before you depart, Princess. Those girls were not sufficiently skilled to pose any kind of threat to me, and they’re not prepared to fight any kind of eldritch threat.”

I asked him, “You met those girls who contacted me?”

He told me, “Yes. They failed an ambush against me yesterday. I am not sure how they could track me down, but I doubt they will be willing to co-operate with me. So, uncovering what is afoot on their end is on you. I’d suggest, if possible, contacting the girls and feigning submission to their request. I will investigate the Eldritch threat on my side as well. I have some ideas but need to research further to narrow possibilities.”

I smiled at this gentle soul and told him, extending my hand for a fist bump, which was reciprocated, “Godspeed with your investigation, Kauākŝara.”

At that moment, I was still unaware of my mispronunciation of his name.

He didn’t mind and said, “I’ll keep you in the loop and in my prayers.” Let’s keep your home safe.”

New Providence, New Hampshire, wasn’t quite my home yet, but it had grown on me for the past year. Even so, I was determined to protect it as if it were my home.

I attempted to call myself back to me, and to my surprise, all the way from an Australian ghost town, it worked.

[divinewill]

Capítulo Dieciocho: don't be scared, dino

I woke up earlier than Madison, and instead of disturbing her sleep, I silently got up and made my way to the basement gym. Keeping care to not make a sound as I gently guided the doorknob into the closed position before releasing it. As always, dad was already awake and in the process of making breakfast.

In the gym, I did my morning exercises, then made my way to my bathroom to take a cold shower.

When Madison woke up, she took a shower, got dressed, and joined us for breakfast. Dad changed the broadcast from the ongoing fear-mongering of kaijū attacks to more local news in other countries.

Something was on her mind, but she didn’t bring it up, so I probed.

“You look distracted. What’s on your mind?”

She said, “I had a strange dream yesterday.”

I asked her, “About everything going on?”

She told me, “Maybe? I don’t know.”

The confusion in her voice and face was obvious, but it didn’t show worry.

I told her, “Before you tell us about it, how about you write the contents down? That way, you don’t forget it.”

She asked me, “You think I should?”

I told her, “Of course. While some dreams are meaningless fluctuations of sense experience, God often talks to us in our dreams, so some dreams carry great significance. So I’ll help you review it when you’re done.”

I walked off, grabbed a ruled notebook, and handed it to her.

Before dad finished making breakfast, she started writing, and when she was done, he served her a plate of food.

Dad said, sarcastically, “Finish your breakfast before you psychoanalyze our guest, miss Jung.”

I complied with my father’s request.

While we ate, Madison asked me, “Could you tell me about your family?”

I asked her, “What specifically do you want to know?”

She requested, “Well, how about you tell me about the family in the picture we passed coming downstairs?”

My dad told her, “That’s Will’s biological parents.”

Madison said nothing. The lack of physical resemblance between me and my dad was obvious, so she accepted this disclosure without hesitation.

My dad told her, “They were murdered. We don’t know by who or by what means.”

Madison asked, “How could that be?”

My dad told her, “Let’s change the subject.”

Madison felt a twinge of guilt as she apologized, but my dad reassured her, “It’s fine, Madison. Curiosity about this kind of thing is understandable, but the unsolved murder of my best friends is something I still have difficulty talking about.”

My dad didn’t let this discomfort show in his face or demeanor. He never told me precisely what happened to my parents, and I trusted his judgement when he told me not to pry into the case.

I redirected the conversation to something lighthearted and spoke to Madison. “Oh, let’s work this into a little game. Guess what my lineage is! You’ve got three guesses! And, at the end, I’ll tell you the story of my family. In exchange, you’ll need to tell me about your family as well.”

Madison said, “Okay.”

She leaned in slightly, inspected my features, and guessed, “If I had to guess, I’d say you’re half-East Asian? But you don’t look Japanese or Korean, so Chinese?”

I snapped my fingers and confirmed her assumption. “Correct! Next guess?”

Madison was a bit more hesitant about the next guess. “Well, thinking about your room, you had an Isreali flag next to the American flag, but I thought Israelis were more olive skinned?”

I told her, with an amused smile on my face, “Most are, but that’s my nationality, not my lineage. Try again.”

She broke away from the game for just a moment and asked, “Your nationality? So you’re not American?”

My dad told her, “She’s both. She’s a birthright American citizen through jus soli as she was born in Corpus Christi, South Texas; but she’s also an Isreali citizen by jus sanguinis, as her biological parents were Isrealis who obtained their American citizenship while in the country on a work visa.”

I redirected the conversation back to the game. “You’ll hear about our life story over time, but you haven’t answered the question.”

Madison thought, “Well, you have straight hair, which is common among Indians, but not Africans or Australian Aboriginals … then again, your straight hair could be a trait from your father.”

I confirmed to her, “It is.”

Madison continued, “Well, considering the photo of your mom, I would guess African?”

I laughed. “That part was obvious. This game would have been over from the start if I just wanted a continent. Be more specific, please.”

Madison asked, “Didn’t I see a miniature flag of South Africa in your room?”

I sighed, “Lucky.”

Madison asked, “Care to explain?”

I told her, “Yeah, I have no connection to the slave-borne diaspora indigenous to the Americas. My family was never subject to the transatlantic slave trade, nor the Muslim slave trades, for that matter. My mother’s family is Lemba, a lineage of Bantu Jews, from the Limpopo province of South Africa. They moved to Isreal under the Law of Return just before the South African genocide kicked off in the 2030s.”

Madison asked, “What about your paternal bio-family?”

I told her, “My paternal family comprises Jews from Kāifēng, in the Hénán province of China, who escaped to Taiwan just before the technocratic element of the communist dictatorship came into full effect. My father immigrated to Israel under the Law of Return as well. They moved to the United States, South Texas specifically, immediately after they got married because my father had a job offer and that’s where I was born.”

Madison asked, “If I may ask, why didn’t your biological family adopt you when your parents died?”

I bluntly told her, “My Chinese family wasn’t exactly accepting of my father’s marriage to a ‘hēiguǐ’, so the head of the family disowned my parents, and consequently, me as well. My Bantu family is part of an ultra-Orthodox cult, so when my father helped my mother escape the cult, they cut all ties with her. Even held a mock funeral for her to drive the point home. So, when my parents wrote their last will and testament, they intentionally left custody of me to the Trueman family, who were their closest friends."

Madison asked, “If it’s not too much to ask … could you go into a little more detail?”

I agreed, “Sure, my mother was raised in and escaped from an ultra-Orthodox Jewish cult, but even inside it she refused the practice of Shidduch (שִׁדּוּךְ): a practice where a matchmaker arranges a rapid marriage, often between people who’ve never met each other, for the purposes of producing children within the cult, so that the cult can leverage the relationship with the children to keep the parents within their control. When she refused this matchmaker’s influence, her family severely punished her, under the guidance of an authoritarian rabbi.”

Madison asked me, “Why did she forsake the matchmaker? Were they incompetent?”

I told her, “Because she was already in love with an eligible man. You see, this cult forbids its members from interacting with goyim, or non-Jews, at all and even discouraged interacting with Jews not part of the cult. My father met my mother when she was in the cult. He was her line to the real world outside of the cult’s cabalistic hyperreality, despite her family and friend’s objections, and it was because of his influence that she left the cult and converted to Messianic Judaism. When my mother apostatized, she basically lost everything. Outside of my father, everyone she knew was part of the cult. Her family, her friends, her neighbors all cut ties with her. They evicted her from her house and the community staged a mock funeral in her dishonor.”

I continued, “On the other hand, my paternal grandparents weren’t thrilled at the prospect of having a ‘Cushite’ sūnnǚ, so when my parents started dating, my yéye and nǎinai strongly opposed the relationship. When they got engaged to each other, they threatened to disown my parents in the event of marriage or conception, and they made good on this promise when my father married my mother.”

“By the time my parents got married, my dad had a job waiting for him in South Texas. So, he moved to South Texas, became fast friends with the Trueman family, their neighbors. There’s only three people on the paternal side of my bio-family I’ve ever talked to. Everyone else has sided with my grandparents … but my mom isn’t the only one to escape the cult. I have an auntie, my mainini, who escaped as well, though it came at the cost of losing custody of her children.”

Madison simply said, “That’s awful…”

Dad interrupted my retelling of events, “Honey, look at the TV.”

We turned our attention to the news and found a channel discussing a lesser-known topic of international importance from across the globe. In the Free Republic of Liberland, a metahuman family was giving a press conference on DistribuTV, a competitor to DistribuTube. In real time, the translator rendered the interview from Czech into English.

Three of the children had the power to conjure extinct animals. This family sought to exploit their powers to pursue their own self-interest while simultaneously sating the curiosity of paleontologists, biologists, and zoo goers around the world. Using this interview with the local press to advertise their novel startup company. I could respect the hustle and the entrepreneurship which was characteristic of that micronation.

The first critter they showcased was in an environmentally controlled tank. The merchant interviewed identified it as Oestocephalus amphiuminus . A lesser-known animal from the carboniferous period. The next creature up for display and advertisement was allegedly a Mieridduryn bonniae , a middle Ordivician invertebrate belonging to Dinocaridida. A class of animal which had gone extinct long before the birth of any synapsid. The third tank had what appeared to be Hallucigenia sparsa. Apparently, the plan was to expand the marketing immediately, as the merchants promised the ability to deliver on all manner of aïstopods, opabiniids, and lobopods.

Unsurprisingly, the bidding had already begun. Considering that this new company had solidly cornered the market for these organisms, they could already make a tremendous profit with the few sales they had already made, and projections showed they would become wildly profitable. Unsurprising, as they succeeded by merit of their own innate powers where back-breeding, cross-species cloning, and genetic engineering efforts failed with uncalculated billions of dollars and some of the most talented and knowledgeable biologists across generations. They either raised a species from the grave, or at least emulated it sufficiently well as to pass for a true de-extinction. Moreover, they did so across hundreds of millions of years: a timespan which would have always remained impossible by biotechnological and chemical engineering means.

I looked up the New Providence Zoo on my laptop and found that it had already “commissioned” a set of all three species. This brought a question to mind. “What the hell does it mean to commission an organism?”

Their father explained, “Our family specializes in conjuring animals, out of thin air, and I’d wager we are not alone. I suspect that there are many families who can summon animals, extant and extinct, from all eras, and possibly even other worlds!”

He reached out to other metahumans to contact him so that they could work together to return the wonders lost in deep time to the peoples of the world. Something they could use to foster a friendship between the nations of the world and the metahumans who are now known to exist.

During his eloquent elocution, my father received an emergency note on his phone accompanied by the attention grabbing buzzing and cacophonous ringtone.

“A wild animal warning?” He said, bemused.

Madison and I got the same alert on her own phones.

Father changed the channel and found that in the city of New Providence, New Hampshire, a similar power was causing absolute chaos. We saw that a flock of what appeared to be a flock of pterosaurs, each as tall as a giraffe, perched atop of and flying around skyscrapers’ roofs. There appeared to be four hundred individuals of two different species in this flock, Hatzegopteryx thambema and Quetzalcoatlus northropi. The news drones showed that one of these animals seemed to have what appeared to be a deceased mackerel tabby at the end of its beak.

Madison noticed this anomalous behavior. “Why are they perching atop of skyscrapers?”

My dad stoically realized, “Because they’ve encountered men.”

Madison asked, “What makes you say that, sir?”

He explained, “Those appear to be Azhdarchids. In their time, they would have rested on the ground preying on small mammals and archosaurs, as well as scavenging the carcasses of larger animals.”

I began putting the pieces together, “So why would they choose to perch atop of the buildings, unless they encountered something on the ground which is prolific and dangerous enough to keep them from the ground? It can’t be a bear, as bears wouldn’t challenge an animal as apparently large as this.”

Madison thought, “But if they already know to fear man, then why would they perch in a city?”

Dad pondered, “The Azhdarchids could certainly swallow animals up to three feet wide, but would probably struggle to eat over 100 pounds in one sitting. So, if they identified humans as potentially dangerous, it would make sense to pick a nesting spot away from us … but if they also pieced together than human beings, or at least their pets, are a plentiful source of food, it might provide an incentive to stay closer to the abundant food source.”

Madison asked, “So you think they eat people?”

Dad told her, “We wouldn’t likely be the first on their menu, but hungry animals can be desperate. Like a lion or bear with a broken tooth will often resort to anthropophagy out of desperate starvation. Any of those pterosaurs could swallow either of you whole, then still be able to fly afterwards.”

At that moment, the drone spotted another one atop another building, which seemed to swallow what appeared to be the severed shoulder and arm of a human being. The camera zoomed in, and from what little that we could see, it appeared to have belonged to the left hand of a woman with light brown skin. The ring on her finger showed that, in life, she was married.

The gravity of this situation immediately hit Madison and me.

My dad told us, “For the time being, neither of you are to go outside unattended.”

He returned with a .50 caliber rifle, loaded with a magazine of armor-piercing rounds.

I asked him, “That caliber’s a little overkill, isn’t it?”

He explained, “Possibly, but I’m not taking any chances.”

Madison asked me, “What do you mean?”

I told her, “The minimum caliber suggested for giraffe hunting is .375. While these animals may be comparable to giraffes in height, their constitution is necessarily more fragile because of the requirements of their aerial lifestyles. A hunter could probably use a lighter caliber to take one of these out.”

Dad explained, “Same principle as with bears and elephants. A dangerous animal needs to be stopped as immediately as possible, so I do not think it is overkill.”

I understood the reasoning, but explained, “My worry isn’t that it’s too much for the welfare of the animals, but that the round might pass through the target and potentially injure someone or damage property.”

Dad told me, “Concern noted, but when have you known me to be reckless with a firearm?”

The answer was, of course, never, so I did not oppose the measure.

“Alright, dad. I trust you.” I told him.

My dad was an experienced combat veteran and had defended a friend’s house from a bear attack in Alaska at one point.

Madison wondered aloud, “What are we going to do?”

My father assured her, “The law enforcement is going to have to kill this flock, as they do with any animal who associates human beings with food. But we just need to stay put. Azhdarchids were not built for the climate of New Hampshire, so when this heat spell breaks tomorrow, if they haven’t already been put down, they’ll fly south for the winter.”

I suggested, “Madison, let’s go up to my room and play a game to take our minds off of this.”

Dad said, “Alright you two, but keep the windows and curtains closed.”

I grabbed our Blokus box from the game closet and asked Madison, “Have you ever played this?”

Madison admitted with an eager grin, “Yes! I quite enjoy this one.”

While we were making our way up to my room, I asked her, “You weren’t just asking about us, just then, were you? You’re worried about your parents?”

You could hear her voice quake as she said, “Yes.”

I asked her, “Do you trust them?”

She said, “Of course.”

I told her, “Then pray for them. That’s all we can do, and it’s always the best thing we can do.”

Now in my room with Madison, then, after closing the windows, summoned my alter ego at 550 m from the house. Each time I summoned my alter ego, I made it a point to push the boundaries of how far she could be manifested. An effort to protect my friends and family from prying eyes of both the curious and the malicious.

* * *

Falling from 50 m, I used what I had learned about controlling my descent to land on a wooden light pole. Using my tactile telekinesis to protect the poles as I leapt 500 m into the air and towards the center of town, where the creatures were.

Even miles away, my penetrating vision immediately confirmed our fears. Human beings were on the menu, and among the poor souls swallowed whole included a seven-year-old boy and a six-week pregnant woman of abnormally short stature.

Reaching the apex of my jump, I felt something appear in my hand. The sudden novel stimuli startled the beasts, who leapt off the edges of the buildings and took to the skies in all directions. As far as I knew, I couldn’t fly, and the mechanics of jumping would prove detrimental to following all these beasts at once. Luckily, though, they weren’t flying away, but assessing the situations.

I realized the object in my hand was the All-Slayer in the silhouette of a Mousterian spear. Remembering the promise made, I focused on my target and threw the spear, which moved far faster than expected. The All-Slayer didn’t just create a trail of sparks from the blade cleaving electrons off of atoms, but it produced a hypersonic boom and the illumination of Čerenkov radiation. The attack killed the creature instantly and painlessly. Puncturing the braincase with no more resistance than the air and creating an electrical surge throughout the new corpse, which cauterized the wounds.

The lightning-like flash of Čerenkov radiation and the crack of thunder startled the rest of the flock, which attempted to fly off. I thought about chasing after them but realized that there was no way to ground these animals safely if they fled. To my luck, I watched them as they flew around me and attempted to mob me like starlings defending their territory to protect their crudely constructed nests.

I had no interest in crushing the eggs of these beasts, which were laid in crudely made nests and positioned behind parts of the building which protected them from the winds. What they might teach us about paleobiology was too valuable to kill the eggs. Especially since humanity could easily contain these flyers and keep them for the wonderment of men and women around the world. A cursory glance with my penetrating vision showed that these eggs were still a long way away from hatching.

I landed atop one skyscraper, which held eggs, and the pterosaurs immediately began mobbing me to defend their young. As one pecked at me, I dodged and grabbed its beak, pulled it towards me and used the All-Slayer as a knife to puncture its braincase and kill it instantly, then quickly dragged the body onto the top of the building, where it would not fall. Its twitching body and sudden inactivity startled the creatures off. The pterosaurs landed on other buildings, unaware of the ranges in which I could attack them. Something which worked to my specific advantage.

I threw the All-Slayer at another one and it, too, died instantly. Falling onto the roof of the building, but not off it. At this moment, the animals seemed to realize that I was a threat even at a distance and flew away.

I killed another one with a throw of the spear and jumped to intercept the falling body of the creature. Ensuring it would fall safely onto the room of a 10-storey building, with both the corpse and property unharmed. The plan was to shoot down these pterosaurs, intercept them as they fell to ensure the safety of human life and property, then repeat the process as necessary.

This is where something went wrong. I watched in astonishment, and subtle horror, as the weapon would rotate in motion and then sharply change direction, seemingly instantly. Something it did repeatedly as it punctured the braincases of the pterosaurs. All the while wildly exceeding the speed of light in the atmosphere. The world around me seemed to grind to a halt as my perception accelerated in response to the adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream.

I outstretched my hand, at which point the weapon stopped its automated culling and returned to my hand at light speed and jumped towards the scene. Now I had to catch four hundred falling giraffe-sized bodies with the mass of a colossal bear.

Wall jumping off windows like a character from a platformer, using tactile telekinesis to keep the windows unblemished, at speeds blitzing human perception, placing the bodies of the aerial creatures atop the roofs of the buildings. Miraculously, I kept any of the bodies from crashing into the ground below.

At the end of this nightmarish scene, my hands were shaking with adrenaline, so I took a moment to catch my breath, to calm myself down. By the time this was all over, the world went from seeming silent stillness to its normal speed.

I then gathered the eggs I could, of which there weren’t many. Holding the clutch in my dress like a makeshift bag and protecting them along with the light pole I landed on when I stepped off the edge of the skyscraper. I took off my superhuman leaping towards the New Providence Zoo, presented them to the staff, and went back and forth for five trips. One of the female staffers joked about this being the inverse of a stork delivering human babies, which amused me. I knew that they would have the monetary incentive to not only keep the beasts alive but also, having met the owner before, I knew he would donate proceeds to the families of the victims of these creatures.

Back and forth, I went for about five trips before I finished, and as I leapt down to the ground and took off in the opposite direction, to frustrate the news copter stalking me, I disappeared into thin air.

* * *

Madison asked me, “Can you call her back from there?”

I confessed, “I don’t think I can. I assumed that my ability to call her back would have the same range as the ability to summon her.”

She asked me, “Have you tried?”

I confessed, “No … but, now that you mention it, this would make an excellent test of my abilities.”

The process by which I summoned my alter ego was quite simple. I simply needed to actively will her appearance and there she spawned. Consequently, the exact inverse was also true. To make her disappear, I actively will it to happen, and even at this distance, it turned out to be true. We watched as, on the livestream, my alter ego disappeared from the camera view and her memories and experiences flooded back into my subconscious mind, ready to be accessed.

This flabbergasted me. So, I admitted, without thinking, “I didn’t know I could do that.”

Madison observed, “If there is a symmetry between your ability to summon and call back your alter, as you suspect, then you should be able to summon your alter far further removed from your location than you currently do.”

I responded by an observation of my own, “Assuming that I’m correct that there is such a symmetry.”

I turned off the livestream and put in a film-disc of Lord Dunsany’s The King of Elfland’s Daughter. A faithful film adaptation made after the end of the Cold Civil War.

While we watched the film, we returned to our riveting game. I dwelt on a thought in my head for about ten minutes before I told her, “I’m thinking of visiting Sakura as the Lolita Princess.”

Madison told me, “That’s a splendid idea. What brought this on?”

I told her, “I’d like to see if I can help find her parents.”

Madison asked me, “How might you do that?”

I revealed, “I have an eidetic memory. I remember every face I have ever seen, and if I can ascribe a name to that face, I can locate the precise places and times that I saw them. Moreover, from that information, we can reconstruct a probabilistic skeletal profile to help find them.”

Madison suggested, “I think you should come forward with that information. You might be able to help a lot of families in desperate need of reunion, or at least closure.”

I confessed, “That’s the plan … Only there’s one problem. I don’t speak a lick of Japanese. So, I’d need a translator to enact the plan.”

Madison confessed, “I can help you with that. We can find a translator, and…”

I interrupted her, “I’d like it if you could help teach me.”

Madison, dumbstruck, said, “何だと?”

I explained, “It took me approximately three weeks to become conversational in Arabic, and another 3 weeks to become conversational in Hebrew, but those were situations when I was fully immersed in the culture. Latin took me a bit longer because I didn’t have the luxury of going to a country where people speak it as a native language, but I still mastered the language within a month’s time. I am certain that I can do the same with Japanese.”

Madison volunteered, “At that rate, I could simply translate for you over a phone.”

I reminded her, “I refuse to burden you with the vicarious trauma experienced with this kind of search and rescue missions. The purpose of a superhero is to protect people, and to shoulder the burdens that others cannot. Moreover, it is my responsibility, as the only one who can do this.”

Madison asked me, “Then what am I supposed to do?”

I smiled and told her, “You can be my friend, who knows my secret, whom I can ask for council, and to whom I confide. Be part of that reality to which I can return, which knows nothing of the pains of eldritch terror.”

Madison relented, “Okay…”

I further confessed, “I’d still like to talk to Sakura, as I am now, as well.”

Madison said, “Naturally. As I’ve already promised, I will set up a conversation between you two when I can.”

I thanked her, and we discussed how we might help our distraught classmate as we played our board game. That was, until the movie was over, and it was time for lunch.

Father called us down, and he was watching a different live broadcast from an independent investigator from CANZUK. It was through this vector of online reporting by an unaffiliated commentator; we found that other parts of the world were dealing with a similar problem: creatures displaced from time and space. Although, the degree of displacement they were dealing with was far greater than anything in the USA.

Video from Perth showed what appeared to be a monitor lizard with a dimetrodon-like sail on its back and two horns which raised straight up from the top of its ocular ridges and curved forward. The creature was huge, at 80 ft in length and weighing in at 15 tons. Local law enforcement had dispatched it. Another predatory reptile, a crocodylomorph with two rows of outward facing spines along its back, measuring at 96 ft long, was yet to be found and was spotted along the northern shores of Tasmania.

I noted in disturbed amusement, “I’m glad no one died, but that kinda looks like a slurpasaur.”

Madison asked me, “A what?”

Dad explained, “Slurpasaurs are an old school film technique where real animals are used as a stand in for extinct or fictional beasts. Like matts of fur on an elephant to make it look like a mammoth, horns on an armadillo to make it look like a glyptodon, or just splicing and resizing footage of a tarantula to make it look monstrous in scale.”

Madison’s expression suggested she knew what we were talking about, but had never heard the term before.

While we ate, Madison asked, “Is it possible that cryptozoology and ufology are related to metahumans?”

Dad asked her, “Care to elaborate?”

I think he knew where she was going with this, but simply wanted to hear her expand on it herself.

She explained, “Well, we saw that one family had prehistoric animals in their possession earlier today, and we saw some supermundane creatures helping people recover bodies in the GSSDO’s aid to Japan, and now we have this?”

My father asked, “You mean sightings of entities like black triangles and mokèlé-mbèmbé?”

Madison agreed, “Yes … so is it possible that things such as Dutch Flying Jellyfish or Issie are real artifacts of metahuman powers?”

My dad told her, “It would be unwise to disregard the evidence of deceptive reporting in cryptozoology and ufology. While it’s now entirely reasonable to assume that *some* of these entities and phenomena may result from metahuman activities, it in no way justifies any specific claims yet. We’d still have to prove that the relevant sightings were first, genuine, second, that the witnesses’ interpretation of what they’ve witness is correct, and finally, that it really is related to metahuman powers. Which will probably prove very difficult, given that these powers were hidden for as long and effectively as they were.”

I added that, “Some of the supernatural phenomena described from ufology, for example, might not be metahuman even if real. Some of it may be the domain of angelology or theology, such as the miracle of the sun.”

Madison asked me, “The miracle of the sun?”

Dad explained, “It was a miracle witnessed on 13 October 1917 in the city of Fátima, Portugal. Will’ll tell you more about it later.”

We talked about it for a bit, before dad interrupted our conversation and asked, “Madison, do you know how to defend yourself?”

Madison asked, “What do you mean, Mr. Trueman?”

Dad clarified, “Do you know how to fight?”

Madison admitted, “No.”

Dad asked, “Have you ever used a firearm before?”

Madison again admitted, “No.”

Dad asked, “how about a knife?”

Madison confessed, “Not in that way…”

Dad asked, “How are you as a runner?”

Madison admitted, “I wouldn’t exactly qualify for the track and field teams.”

He asked, “Do you have anything to defend yourself with?”

Madison admitted, “I usually have bodyguards with me, and when I’m out of their sight, I carry a personal alarm with me.”

Dad finally asked, “Do you dance?”

Madison revealed, “Yes. My father has a passion for dance, and when he found out I was interested in the subject, he enrolled me into a few dance classes: ballet, modern interpretive dance, breakdancing.”

Dad smiled and said, “Excellent,” before explaining, “As a guest in our house, it is the obligation of my daughter and I to ensure your safety. It also is a moral obligation of everyone to ensure their own well-being to the best of their ability. So, starting tomorrow, you will begin training with Will.”

Dad addressed me directly, “I want you to test her on the basics and we’ll move forward from there.”

I said, “Yes, father.”

Dad explained to Madison, “I’m one of the best marksmen in the world, but I’m also still a one hundred percent disabled veteran. It may not be apparently obvious, but my body has been ravaged by autoimmunity induced organ failure. My daughter may be exceptionally skilled as a fighter, freerunner, and shooter, but she’s still a young girl, like yourself, and that comes with its own intrinsic limitations. Neither of us are metahumans, so part of our protecting you will be catching you up to speed as much as we can in the presumably limited time we have together. Luckily, as a dancer, you should understand the importance of footwork and athleticism.”

Madison looked a little concerned and eager simultaneously. She clearly had a love for martial arts animations, but she was also afraid of violence.

I placed my hand on her shoulder and reassured her, “Don’t worry, we’ve got you.”

Madison jokingly asked, breaking the tension inside, “So, should I call you sensei, or would you prefer shifu?”

My father played along, “You hear that Ms. Shi-Trueman, you’re a shīfu now.”

This turn of the conversation was quite embarrassing, but I didn’t want to interrupt their fun. Especially with everything going on in the news.

At the end of the day, Madison and I returned to my room, and nothing of note seemed to happen in the city.

When I was preparing for my evening shower, I opened the closet door, but behind it wasn’t the geometry and the contents of the closet. Rather, an entire other building disconnected from the house. It was a liminal space, between the abandoned and the immaculate. At once spotless and yet unattended, with bright but soft lights in the stone ceiling.

Both me and Madison were dumbfounded, to the point of not processing what just happened, and then I heard a familiar voice ask, “Are you free to talk, Princess?”

That snapped me back to reality, and I asked the voice, which sounded familiar, in a whisper, “Kauākṣara?“

The entity stepped into view, with Akhbar sleeping on its shoulders like a ferret, but nowhere near the door and using ASL, explained, “Yes. I apologize for the intrusion, but I have no intention of entering your house. I understand your need for secrecy in the role you have chosen from the Almighty’s authorship. At your word, we can reconvene elsewhere and elsewhen.”

I asked him, in ASL, “How did you just do that?”

Kauākṣara simply said, “A favor, from a good friend. A metahuman, such as yourself.”

With a motion of its beak, Kauākṣara alerted me to Madison being silently paralyzed with terror, and I reassured her with a hand on her shoulder and summoning my alter ego in my room, “It’s okay, Madison. I know this creature.”

That seemed to help her.

He certainly wasn’t lying when he told me he could easily find me.

I noted, in ASL, “You mentioned the Almighty. Do you believe in God?”

Kauākṣara specified, “I am old enough to remember when encosmic and ancestral ‘gods’ roamed the earth alongside men and warred amongst themselves. In the eras of Titanomachy, Gigantomachy, and the Æsir–Vanir War, but I am a devotee of none of them. I am old enough to remember times when tribes began to forget and forsake the Eternal One in favor of these spirits. My God is the God of the Philosophers. The God of the Primitives, abandoned and forgotten in the age of polytheism.”

It then continued, with the quotations in an audible whisper, “As the Maharṣi sang, ‘He in his might surveyed the floods containing productive force and generating Worship. He is the God of gods, and none beside him. What God shall we adore with our oblation? ’ or, as Saint Moses wrote, ‘ For the Lord your God is God of gods, and Lord of lords, a great God, a mighty, and a terrible, which regardeth not persons, nor taketh reward: He doth execute the judgment of the fatherless and widow, and loveth the stranger, in giving him food and raiment. Love ye therefore the stranger: for ye were strangers in the land of Egypt. Thou shalt fear the Lord thy God; him shalt thou serve, and to him shalt thou cleave, and swear by his name.’”

The first quotation being from the Rig Veda , book 10 , hymn 121 , otherwise known as the Hiraṇyagarbha Sūkta, verse 8. The second quotation being from the King James Version of the Book of Deuteronomy , chapter 10 verses 17-20.

This all aligned with the contemporary evolutionary anthropology, which moved away from the animist hypothesis of humanity’s urreligion origins and vindicated the Urmonotheistic theory of Andrew Lang FBA.

As enticing as this information was, I decided to cut to the chase, “I would love to talk theology, but I presume you had a more pressing reason to contact me in the manner that you did?”

Kauākṣara confirmed, “Indeed. I have information about the entity which concerns you, and some ideas regarding how to intercept and stop them…”

[divinewill]

Capítulo Diecisiete: Persecution of the Masses

The news communicated my message to the police, who secured the suspects I apprehended, using a blindfold and noise canceling headphones to impede the senses required for any efficient use of their powers. Understanding that transporting them by police car would be too risky, they transported the two criminals on horseback. But none of that mattered to me now.

I asked the person on the other end of the text message who they were, and they confessed, “I am Madison. We go to the same homeroom together.”

I thought I recognized that name, and the sender confirmed my suspicions when they gave a follow up text, “We go to the same homeroom class.”

She was a rich kid who was spoiled sweet by her parents. We had talked a little, and she didn’t live anywhere near me, so I had no clue how she might have figured out that I was the Lolita Princess.

I tried to play it off and texted, “What are you talking about?”

She sent a video file and said, “Can I come over tomorrow to talk?”

My heart skipped a beat, and I opened the file. To my horror, the file was a night vision video of me exiting my window as the Lolita Princess.

At this moment, I was thankful that the 36th Amendment struck the word “unreasonable” from the 4th Amendment.

When the video finished playing, the file seemed to destroy itself through encryption. Even at our time, Quantum Computers never replaced traditional transistor computers. They were simply too unreliable to do so, and there had been no success in finding an error correction strategy that could resolve the issues which had always plagued them.

Much to my relief, it seemed Madison knew this, as the program she used generated a quantum key to scramble a file, then exploit decoherence to irrevocably destroy the key. Rendering recovery impossible by technological or cryptographic means.

I texted her back, “I’m willing to talk but idk if your mom will let you come over, given the situation.”

She texted back, “That won’t be a problem. She has already agreed to let me stay the night if you father would allow it. Which he did.”

This surprised me. “How on earth did you manage that?” I asked.

She revealed, “Apparently, our parents know each other. Their companies have done business collabs with each other.”

This was news to me. There’s a lot about my father and his relationships that I don’t know, but in fairness to him, there was no reason this would have ever come up in conversation.

I texted back to her, “Sure. We can talk tomorrow.”

Madison texted me, “Sleep well. I will be over tomorrow at noon.”

Despite her seemingly beneficial disposition in all this, I could feel my heart racing.

When I finally fell asleep, I suffered through a nightmare. As the Lolita Princess, I recalled the smell of burning flesh, the feeling of skin sliding off bodies as I gripped them, the bodies so mangled that no-one could tell where one man began and another ended, and other horrors only comprehensible to those who experience them.

During this hellish cacophony of despairing cries, putrid odors, and soul-crushing sights, I heard a voice gently call out, “Steel yourself!”

Something within me told me to trust the voice, so as I rummaged through the rubble, I tried to remember my breathing, and after much effort to calm down, everything became unnaturally still. Everything came to such silence that even the chirping of birds, the crawling of insects, the breeze, or the heartbeats of mice that were audible to my superhuman ears ceased.

My heart skipped a beat as I realized that something was off. As I looked about, I noticed that there was no one here. Even my penetrative clairvoyance could not find so much as a nanobacterium among this rubble. Something that I knew was impossible, and was a clear sign that, despite its appearances, I was no longer on Earth. That’s when I the world around me, rippling like images filtered through disturbed surface water, distorted then disappeared before me.

I suddenly found myself before a congregation of ghosts. Their identities concealed by a rippling shadow-like medium distorting their images and voices.

Below me was a reflective floor obscured by a white mist. Looking into the reflection, I noticed I was now in my true form as opposed to my superpowered alter ego. Somehow, I had transformed back without noticing it.

Above me was a nighttime sky unfamiliar to me, and around me was a seemingly endless expanse.

The leader of these apparitions, a bodybuilder dressed as a strongman standing 6 ft 3 in, 235 lb, introduced himself. “Good to meet you, Ms. Trueman. You can call me the [Chōjin]. I’m here to help.”

As this all happened, I continued to be subject to that cognitive block that prevented me from understanding that I was in a dream. I thought it strange that something obscured the clearly spoken behind a language I could not understand. Though the matter of my location and how I got here was a more pressing matter.

I asked them, “Where am I?”

One spirit answered, “We stand now within your domain.”

I responded incredulously, “Where is that now?”

That same spirit explained, “It’s not easy to explain. This place isn’t your world, nor ours—but it is your realm. That’s how you brought us here.”

I asked, “I brought you here?”

There was an almost awkward pause before the ghosts talked among each other, confused by my inquiry.

I clarified, “I don’t remember doing anything of the sort… That’s not a power that I have.”

Another of the apparitions explained, “You are mistaken. The call was made—not long ago. In a moment of great distress, your subconscious cried out… and we heard it. But before we could answer, another force intervened… and turned us away.

I asked, “Someone routed you? Who? And who are you people?”

Another spirit, with power drawn from six others, explained, “Okay, so—first question? Yeah, I’m pretty sure you’ve already met her. She’s got a bunch of names, but I’m guessing she called herself the Worldbuilder. Or maybe the Author. Sound familiar?”

I remembered that strangely ethereal dream after that horrible day.

I confessed, “I dreamed about someone named that…”

They could tell that I knew there was something supernatural about that dream. The appearance of the All-Slayer in the waking world was more than sufficient evidence of that.

These spirits seemed to key into this thought and introduced themselves sequentially-

The first to introduce themselves appeared to be a 6 ft 6 in (198 cm) tall, 640 lbs (290.3 kg), body builder wearing a cape, with wings where his ears should be, and a weapon like a mallet. “Thou hast peered—unknowing—into the chasm 'twixt being and naught. And before that thou hast walked, unflinching, through the vale of Ragnarök’s foreshadow—a path of sorrow little known to mortals. Mayhap, in days yet to dawn, thou shalt prove thyself worthy to bear the All-Slayer. I am Raijin Ōteishin—Thunder’s Right Hand. I have come to stand by thy side, that we may see thy promise kept—aye, even as the stars fall and all the worlds march toward their doomsday.”

A 9 m (29 ft) humanoid robot with a rather rectangular segmentation, introduced himself, “Designation: Gyōtenjū. When the world needs you, you must rise. That’s the code we live by. I’m here to help you transmit what few ever do: reparative grace to our enemy. I stand with you—to ensure that your promise is kept.”

“I am [Taikū Chōjin].” announced a loincloth clad bodybuilder standing 6 ft 2 in (188 cm) tall and weighing 240 lbs (109 kgs), with an impressive sword sheathed at his back. “I’ve stood against gods and monsters alike. I’ve witnessed the ruin left behind when the gods despair. I’m here to ensure you’ll have the strength to keep your word… even in the silence at the end of all things.”

Another humanoid, with a cranial crest like that of a defleshed gorilla’s skull. He stood 40 meters (131 feet) tall and weighed 38,580 US tons (35,000 metric tons). His mouth did not move as he spoke. “I am [Chōjinryoku Haō]. From countless skies, I have watched. Your soul shone like light in the darkness—and we witnessed it. I am here to help you become a titan of light who stays true to your commitment where no one else can.”

Uniquely, within this specter were two fundamentally distinct wills and natures nested within the same person.

A 6 ft (183 cm), 175 lbs (80 kg) humanoid male introduced themselves, “I’m [Muteki Shōkyō]. I’ve done things I’m not proud of because I had to. Thing is, those moments? They’re gonna happen. I’m here to help you become truly invincible. So, that you can make good on your promise.”

An athletic 5 ft 5 in (166 cm) young man with eight ghosts emanating from him. He introduced himself, “I know what it’s like—to see someone hurting, lashing out, and want so badly to help… but not know how. I’m here to help you build a strength that multiplies from co-operation, love, and legacy. So, that you can prove your faith through action.”

Next was a childlike spirit, standing only 2ft 3in (68.58) with what appeared to be a rabbit ear-like bow on her head. She had long, flowing hair and the voice of a young girl.

“They called me [Kaka],” she said. “I know that with great power comes great responsibility and great temptations… but I also know, from experience, that childlike innocence can keep power free even as worlds seek to make power into slavery. I’m here to make sure your power doesn’t corrupt. So, that you retain the innocence required to break even Him. So, she knows you meant every word you said.”

Next was a 5 ft 9 in (175.26 cm) tall woman, with an hourglass figure, and a form fitting uniform, although her hair was wavy with an ahoge protruding from the left side of her head arching towards the right side. “[Gamyeon Meikoku], reporting in…” she said.

She spoke through tears, “We can’t ask you to face her—it’s not fair—but you’re the only one who could stop her. The only one who can save her. So, Keep your head high! I am here to help you keep God and your country in your heart! To help you save her—even as you walk through the darkest night of your soul!”

Raijin Ōteishin comforted her as she cried for me and to my confusion.

Finally, there was a 152 cm tall young woman with a gracile build in 3 cm heels, a microskirt, and hair tied into two buns with long tails. At her back were two massive wings at the shoulder and two smaller wings at the hips. She introduced herself as, “I am [Shō‘usagi]. I’ve always fought for love and justice. But now love and justice are at war with each other. Only you can bring them back together. I’m sorry, but I’m here—to help you keep your promise.”

Shō‘usagi reintroduced their leader with, “And you’ve already met our leader—the Chōjin.”

I introduced myself in kind, “People have been calling me the Lolita Princess. This meeting is strange, so let’s cut to the chase. Assuming I did call out to you, what are your intentions for meeting with me? And what is this Worldbuilder?”

Raijin Ōteishin explained, “Verily, the Worldbuilder is no true god, but a deceiver most foul! With fell sorcery they seek to ensorcel the whole of existence—unmaking truth itself, that they might fashion a false world, a hyperreality wrought in their own twisted likeness, to preserve forever as a mockery of Creation!

I asked him, “So, she’s a Hermetic god?”

Gyōtenjū expanded on this, “The rationale is classified, but one thing we can say—the Worldbuilder’s focus is singular. And that focus is you. Whatever their designs, you’re at the center. Steel yourself.”

I asked him, “Any reason?”

Muteki Shōkyō answered for them, “I wanna tell you—I do. But… there’s stuff out there you’re just not ready to hear. Not yet, anyway. I’m sorry. I really am.”

This struck me as strange, but none of the other spirits spoke up.

I asked them, “What? Are you attempting to confer some kind of mantle on me?”

Kaka clarified, “No. You might be picking up where we left off, but you’re not taking our mantles. This is your fight.”

Raijin Ōteishin explained, “Aye, we have all borne witness to the devouring hunger of mantles—how they feast upon the souls of those who dare to wear them!”

Shō‘usagi continued, “No! We would never try to erase who you are, just to make you more like us. Your heart, your feelings—they matter. You deserve to shine as who you are meant to be.”

Gamyeon Meikoku continued, “We’re not so full of ourselves that we’d tear someone down just to rebuild them in our image. Everyone’s got worth—real, honest-to-goodness value—and it’d be wrong to ignore that.”

Hokyū finished, “It’s the opposite, actually. We’re here to help you grow—to become the hero you need to be… just like others once did for us.”

I asked them, “So you’re here to teach me?”

Chōjin confirmed, “Yes—that’s right. Our goal is to pass on everything we’ve learned, so you can stand tall, stronger than you ever knew you could be.”

I told them, “I am always eager to learn, but I have a question. Why can’t I see you?”

Raijin Ōteishin explained, “Aye, our efforts to reach thee have been thrice thwarted—by the Worldbuilder’s machinations, by thine own guarded soul… and by [Shishi]’s watchful hand.”

I skeptically asked them, “And who might that be?”

Chōjin replied, “If I’m not mistaken… the two of you have met before.”

The ghostly image of a massive lion thence introduced themselves. “Hello, Will.”

Gamyeon Meikoku and the Chōjin bowed down to the beast and referred to it as, “Lord Shishi.”

I asked, utterly flabbergasted, “Who are you?”

He said, “Do you not know me, child? We have met before—on the day you died.”

A statement that gave me pause. It was at this moment that I recognized this to be, in quality, like the near-death experience I experienced on my seventh birthday.

The lion told me, “It is well, daughter of Eve, that you do not give your trust blindly to every spirit that passes your way.”

Shishi offered, “If you are willing, dear child… let me show you who I truly am.”

Shishi opened their mouth, and in it I beheld the entire planet. The image zoomed out, and I beheld the Earth, moon, and sun in alignment before the image receded past the Pluto-Charon double planet system and hitherto undiscovered worlds in the Kuiper belt. Receding further, the solar system became but a twinkling speck in the arm of a bar spiral Milky Way galaxy. Faster we receded to behold the Milky Way’s place in the Local group, then Virgo Supercluster, the Laniakea Supercluster, beyond our Pisces–Cetus Supercluster Complex, out to the very edges of the Observable Universe. Though it did not stop there. In sanity’s name, we receded at impossible acceleration to what seemed to be an ℵ₀ radius, which then itself receded into but an ever-shrinking bubble in a seemingly boundless sea of bubbles with ℵ₀ radii, until even this cosmic ocean filled with soapy superstructures became but a marble in the lion’s mouth. The fiery illumination circumscribing all this was beyond mortal comprehension.

There was something incomprehensibly frightful about this wild beast. But there was something else which engendered a peaceful awe within me.

I asked him, “I know you. Why have you come to me in this fairy tale guise?”

The lion told me, “The Worldbuilder has taken the role of author—a demiurgic storyteller. She would shape all of time and tale to serve her want—a single story, bent to her will. She abhors the co-authorship of divine wonderworking and human freedom in history, and she is willing to twist the stories born of hope to accomplish this evil end. Now you know this. And so, I ask you, not with command, but with trust: Will you take up the task we have set before you?”

I told him, “Of course. I will stand in opposition to all false gods.”

Shishi confessed to me, “I would not choose to destroy her. But she will not hear my voice. Not as she is now. Her heart has closed itself off to me.”

All the spirits voiced their mutual agreement. That, if it was at all possible, they would prefer that the Worldbuilder be saved as opposed to killed, though it was also apparent that most of them were highly doubtful that there was any other option other than killing them.

Muteki Shōkyō interjected, “And that’s exactly why you matter in all of this—you're the key to the whole cosmic mess.”

Shishi revealed, “All that the Worldbuilder has set in motion turns upon you, Will.”

I asked him, “Excuse me, how can that be?”

Gamyeon Meikoku revealed, “Because she loves you more than anything in the world.”

I responded again with, “Excuse me?”

Shō‘usagi pleaded, “Do you remember when the Worldbuilder spoke to you in your dreams? What did it feel like? What feeling did they leave in your heart?”

This struck a chord with me. I felt a surge of compassion and love when I was with them, but I left the encounter promising to save them because something deep down was telling me they were in a distress I could not yet fathom.

Shishi explained, “I need you to speak to her the words she will no longer hear from me.”

I asked him, “What words might those be?”

Shishi told me, “We love you, and that there is no sin, however deep, which God cannot forgive.”

I asked incredulously, “Surely, it can’t be that easy?”

The Chōjin commented, “He never said it would be easy. Truth is… it will be the hardest thing you’ll ever do.”

This piqued my attention, and the lion forewarned, “When the name of your hidden enemy is at last revealed, your heart will break—deeply, terribly, in a way it never has before. And when the battle is done, and you have prevailed, your cry will rise to the Highest, not in joy, but in anguish.”

“You will rage, like Job, against the sky. It will feel as though the very fabric of the world has betrayed you, as though all of being is some cruel jest with no laughter at the end. You may believe, in that moment, that no light could ever return, that no happiness could ever bloom again.”

“You may even long to begin the whole sorrowful dance anew, just to delay the final step till the end of deepest time. You may curse the name of the Lord of the Dance. But hear me well: you are not the author of their choices. You were never meant to carry what was never yours to hold. You cannot save those who refuse to be saved. No matter how fiercely you love them. Some will turn away from every kindness, from every hope, simply because what you offer is not what they seek. And still—still—you must love them.”

Raijin Ōteishin explained, “Hear him, maid—this lesson comes not from books nor bard’s tale, but from the wounds of the heart itself. There shall come a time when thy might shall fail, not from lack of courage, but because even the All-Mighty God cannot save all whom he cherishes.”

Taikū Chōjin expanded, “Though, even if they’re not ours to save… they’ll always be ours to love.”

I responded, “You lot speak as if I should know this person…”

Chōjin foreshadowed, “You do… You did… and you will…”

I asked them incredulously, “So my mission is to defeat this enemy of yours who has taken an interest in me?”

Chōjin immediately corrected my misconception. “No. This isn’t about strength, or speed, or intellect, or even raw power. Against a being like the anti-God none of that will matter. This is going to take something deeper.”

No. Strength, speed, intelligence, and power are all irrelevant in the face of this villain. They will amount to nothing in the face of the anti-God’s invincible power.”

Kaka revealed, “Look, it’s not about stats or hax or anything like that. If this turns into a fight—like, a real one—you’re gonna lose. You could have, like, twelve quadrillion superpowers and it still wouldn’t make a difference. The Worldbuilder controls everything—space, time, matter, energy, information, consciousness, sensation, form, modality, causality, and what’s possible. You can’t out-punch that.”

Gamyeon Meikoku chimed in, “We’re holding out for a miracle—the kind that happens when human hands get to work, backed by faith no bigger than a mustard seed… the kind of faith that moves mountains.”

Shishi pleaded with me, “The only way to defeat the Worldbuilder, dear one… is to save her from herself.”

This was all extremely daunting, so I asked them, “How do you suggest I try to reach them?”

Shishi promised, “When the time is right, we shall teach you what must be said.”

I heard the faint echoes of words in the distance. Words spoken in the past, the present, the future, and in unactualized possibilities.

From the noble beast I felt emanate a transcendent love and compassion far surpassing anything I had ever experienced on Earth, and infinitely greater than even that of the other spirits before me. It was an earnestness which feared not the ridicule of any other. An honesty which did not compromise behind a mask of irony. I felt their emotions flow through me, from some invisible reality which can only be known through abstraction, and my tears began to flow from experiencing a mere fraction of the beast’s compassion and mourning.

Shishi pleaded with me, “Daughter of God… I ask you, from the depths of my heart—help me save them.”

I promised them all, “I already promised the Worldbuilder that I would save them. And to you I swear, on my soul, I will do all that I can to save them all.”

Shishi told me, “And you shall not go alone. I will send to your side the bear and the beetle, the bull and the dragon, the elephant and the falcon, the horse and the mouse, the rabbit, the great sauropod, the serpent, the tiger, the whale, and the wolf. These, and many more, will come to aid you in the task set before you. For it is not a light burden you carry—but you shall not carry it alone.”

Chōjin asked, “Will you take up the task? We won’t make the choice for you. This is something only you can do—but it has to be your decision. It only matters if it comes from your heart.”

I told him, “Yes. For the greater good of God, I will accept any meritorious training.”

Shishi ended our meeting with, “Farewell, dear daughter of God. Go now with courage, and do not forget the task that has been given to you. Hold fast to the faith—for it shall be your light when all other lights go out.”

* * *

I woke up in a cold sweat, an hour before my morning alarm. Attempting to shrug off this strange dream, I tried to go back to sleep, but it quickly became obvious that I was too wired for that. Since I could not go to sleep, performed my morning exercises, took a shower, and went downstairs to prepare lunch. Although, as always, my father, ever the insomniac, was already up and in the process of making breakfast.

Passing by the photo of my late adoptive mother and my late adoptive parents, I made the sign of the cross, a gestural prayer, and told them, “Good morning.”

I heard my father, from the kitchen, say, “Morning, Will.”

Entering the kitchen, I asked my father, “Dad, can we buy some icons or statues?”

My father, not missing a beat while cooking, asked, “Saint William of Perth?”

I told him, “I was thinking more of Saint Anthony or Saint Jude.”

He told me, “I’ll print out a few statues and we’ll have them blessed next time we go to church, so write a list and I’ll get to it. We’ll find some icons later in the week.”

“Thank you, dad.” I told him.

My requests were purposeful. Saint Anthony of Padua is the patron saint of missing persons, whereas Saint Jude the Apostle is the patron saint of apparently hopeless causes. Even after salvaging so many bodies from the G² Impact, the number of missing persons was still staggering. This terrible list, which was still being compiled, included people who were most likely cremated if not vaporized within the fireball of the explosion, but also counted bodies and survivors not yet identified, and therefore unaccounted for.

I figured that a devotion to saint Anthony would become important to the life of a superhero, especially given the novel incursion of kaijū and the mass devastation they can cause. My thoughts of saint Jude were similarly pragmatic. As I promised in the dream, I wanted to save everyone I could, including of whatever rogue’s gallery that might come my way.

Father told me, “By the way, Will. I already texted your tatarabuelo. He wants us to call him at 15:00 hours.”

I lit up at this revelation. “Alright, I can’t wait! But why so late?”

Father told me, “A business friend is leaving the country for a time, and they asked to leave their daughter, one of your classmates in fact, in our care. They’ll be here at noon, but considering their father works on military time, that’s 15 minutes prior, so after we eat, we’ll need to do some cleaning. I’ll have your Saint Anthony and Jude statues printed before they arrive.”

This wasn’t a laborious task, as cleaning up after us was a core value of our household.

Father’s promise was true. He downloaded a beautiful model of saint Anthony holding the infant Jesus, as well as one of saint Jude, and the 3D printer sculpted and then painted them with wonderful precision. He also printed a statue of Saint Michael the Archangel, the patron saint of warriors and poor souls and the Guardian of the Catholic Church, with the devil underfoot. Even throwing in a statue of Saint William of Perth, the patron of adopted children. They were all lovingly designed by digital sculptors whose skills paralleled Michelangelo.

We discussed where to place the home altar.

Fifteen minutes prior to noon, as dad predicted, Madison arrived.

My father greeted them at the door, “Hello, Mrs. Sakurada ( 桜田 ). Please come inside.”

I stayed out of sight, eavesdropping on the conversation.

Madison’s mother told him, “I’m sorry, John, but I have deeds to perform and simply cannot stay for pleasantries.”

I heard Madison say, “Het spijt me for the intrusion, meneer Trueman.”

My father was a polyglot, like me. Something necessitated by his work in managing talents across multiple countries and multiple languages. He wasn’t as fluent in Dutch as he was in Korean, neither of which have I studied before, but it didn’t take a linguist to understand that “Het spijt me” was an apology.

Madison’s mother told him, “My husband and I leave our daughter in your capable hands. You behave yourself, now, Madison.”

“I will, mother.” Was the young girl’s sendoff.

My father told Mrs. Sakurada, “Godspeed on your mission, ma’am.”

“Will, come to the door.” My father requested.

Madison entered the house, and her mother departed for reasons unknown to me.

I entered the room and there she stood. A beautiful half-Japanese and half-Dutch girl with a striking face. She primarily took after her Yamato father as opposed to her Caucasoid mother, but the organization of her inherited physical characteristics generated a striking appearance. Her facial structure was clearly that of a gracilized variant of the Manchu-Korean type, though her pale skin, fine, blonde, ankle length hair, moderate freckling, and heterochromic eyes: with the left eye being green and the right eye being blue, betrayed her admixture.

She styled her hair into twin tails. Her attire was a fashionable yellow blazer, a black undershirt, a yellow knee-length dress, black tights, black flats, a blue scarf, and sunglasses. In addition, she brought along a wheeled-suitcase, a large backpack, and a purse.

Madison was a peaceable girl, but there was a reason I preferred to hang out with boys. I never appreciated the backbiting, gaslighting, and petty trivialities which often came along with feminine company, but Madison never engaged in such behavior. At least, to my knowledge, anyway. Rather, she, like me, was often the victim of such foul falsities from peers of our own sex. From what I understood, we both endured these laughable claims with long-suffering grace.

My dad explained, “I’m sorry, Will. I wanted to introduce you to Mrs. Sakurada, but she’s got humanitarian work to do… Madison’s gonna be spending the next few weeks with us.”

I asked, “Humanitarian work?”

Madison explained, “My parents are going overseas to oversee for a humanitarian project to help the people in Japan.”

Madison gave a momentary bow, explaining, “It’s nice to meet you, mevrouw Trueman.”

Dad told her, “There’s no need to be so formal. Will, why don’t you show our guest around the house?”

I obeyed my father and gave Madison a tour of the house, showing her the library, the gym in the basement, the storage attic, etc. She seemed nervous of the presence of bladed weapons and firearms, but this seemed to stem more from an inexperience around these things than any negligence on our part. After all, they were all secured within an appropriate safe.

During this chaotic period, despite the relative peace in our town, my father always remained strapped. Just in case there was a disturbance that merited an immediate and decisive response. Not everywhere was like our town, though. In many cities around the world, panic drove the people to riots and looting, leaving entire towns ruined.

“ This is my room. Come in, please.” I told her, showing her the last room of the house.

She entered the room and said, “Pardon.”

Though, she said it with a Dutch pronunciation as opposed to a French one.

Now, with both of us standing alone in my room, I asked her, “What did you want to talk about?”

Madison confessed, “Well, I want to get to know the girl in my homeroom, who turned out to be a magical girl… and I wanted to thank you for what you did the other day. You saved many people, including a cousin and friend of mine.”

She committed an extreme bow, and this made me extremely uncomfortable.

“ Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.” She said.

I nervously informed her, “There’s no need for this, Madison.”

I touched her shoulders as she looked at me, and I told her, “There’s no need for this.”

She looked at me, and I encouraged her to stand back up as I told her, “I’m glad I was able to save your cousin and friend, but I didn’t do that for praise or admiration. I did it because I have a responsibility to help people in need.”

Madison clearly didn’t know how to respond to this, and I used this opportunity to make a request, “Now about my secret…”

Madison assured me, “As I promised, I have absolutely no intention of telling anyone about your secret identity. I assure you, I quite understand the importance of secrecy in a magical girl’s work.”

I extended my hand, and when we shook hands, I told her, “It’s nice to officially meet you, Madison.”

Madison responded, “It’s nice to officially meet you too, Ms. Trueman.”

I asked Madison, “So, do you have any hobbies?”

She seemed eager at the prospect of this subject.

Pulling out her phone, she told me, “My hobby is animation. My father bought me a bunch of programs for digital art, 3D modeling, image editing, video editing, audio editing, postproduction, and I even have an AI to help me speed up the process!”

She presented me with her phone to show me the channel シャボン天城 (Shabon Amagi), on Popom, an instance on a federated video hosting service. Despite her age, she had already created highly complex and innovative AMVs, an amateur documentary on the history of her mother and father’s individual companies, two animated short films, and many complex animatics in between these. This was all quite impressive, and she struck me as a bit of an auteur in the making. That is when I learned Madison was a cinephile and took great joy in the creative processes of video editing and animation.

I asked her, “So, how did you animate this?”

She explained, “I got the idea from rotoscoping. I built some 3D models and used Fight.ai to generate a series of fights. Once I found the ones I liked, I spliced them together to my liking. Then I experimented with cinematography and once I got what I wanted. I then redrew the whole thing, using the original fight choreography as a reference.”

The amount of detail in this scene was truly impressive. There were several details that most animators would miss because of difficulties with camera angles and a general lack of experience with the art of grappling, which were perfectly replicated in the animation.

I asked her, “Did you consult with someone to help choreograph this fight?”

She told me, “Of course, I consulted with the head of the MMA club at our school in order to come up with this.”

I vaguely remembered seeing the two talking to each other a couple of months ago, and while I thought it strange, I never investigated it. Figuring they might have an odd but delightful friendship.

It was clear that she did not let the AI create the works. Rather, she used it as a tool to help speed up and refine the artistic process. Like a magician who knew the incantations to move clay or sand into useable configurations that she could further manipulate with her own creative spirit. After all, there were things that an AI, performing its myriad of calculations, could notice that a human brain never could; though conversely, there were a myriad of things that a transistor computer could never see that would be immediately discernable to a trained human mind.

It was at this point Madison asked me, “So, I have a favor to ask related to this.”

I looked at her and told her, “Shoot.”

She told me, “I would like to document the adventures of a magical girl through animation.”

I was at a loss for words, but she assured me, “I don’t mean to pry into your personal life. Rather, I’d like to consult you for finer details that news footage might not capture. To better represent not just you, but the various men and women of virtue who might arise in the coming years. I want to understand you, what motivates you to do what you’ve chosen to do, and I aspire to communicate this understanding to others. So please, let me document your excursions.”

I reluctantly gave in to her pleading grue eyes, “Alright. I’ll be your consultant. Though keep in mind that the reasons I’ve done what I’ve done are more important than myself.”

Madison told me, “Thank you, Ms. Trueman.”

Then she requested her phone back, “I have something else I’d like to ask you.”

She showed me an article titled, “DistribuTube Channel Unearths Lost Treasures: Rare Media Resurfaces Online.”

I had never heard of this. DistribuTube, was another instance on a federated video hosting service. When I pressed the link, it took me to the channel MediaRecovery, and we found the article’s claims were true. Scrolling down I also found that they alleged to have uploaded Japanese-made King Kong (1933), Bulgasari (1962), Batman Fights Dracula (1967), Alam Ara (1931), Kalidas (1931), The Life of General Villa (1914), Young Griffo vs. Battling Charles Barnett (1895), and Dingjun Mountain (1905). All 97 lost episodes of Doctor Who were apparently on this channel as well.

This account had been flying under the radar for the past one thousand four hundred days and had uploaded fifty videos a day. While we obviously could not watch all the seventy thousand videos hosted, everything we saw was hitherto lost media videos.

Madison asked, “Is it possible that the owner of this account is a metahuman?”

I looked at her with some skepticism, but the thought crossed my mind. How could one person possibly come into possession of so many works that had vanished off the face of the Earth? Especially from such a wide variety of sources. Some of these appeared to have been things which should have been lost via the old practice of wiping tapes for reuse. Others would have never been salvageable because of the deterioration of nitrate-based film reels. Hell, some of these appeared to be lost VODs from vtubers my great grandfather might’ve watched. My father’s detailed files on the history of vtubers included a file on someone called Pikamee, who graduated on March 1, 2023. Fifty-two years ago, and yet here were unarchived VODs belonging to her in this library.

After momentary consideration, I answered, “I’m hesitant to say so, but the more I think about how such a collection of lost media might be compiled and uploaded by one person… the more it seems to be the only plausible answer.”

Madison agreed with me. “I thought so.”

I asked her, “Is there a reason you asked me?”

Madison revealed, “I figured, since you’re a metahuman, you might know more about this stuff than I do.”

I politely told Madison, “I’m not that much more knowledgeable than you are. The first time I’ve ever met a metahuman was during the G² Impact relief efforts I helped with. Outside of that, my only familiarity with metahumans is in fiction.”

Madison simply said, “I see…”

After a beat, I remembered Madison could speak Japanese and Dutch, and I asked her about the strange encounter the other day.

“Hey, Madison… What does ‘Wiru-chan, okā-sama’ mean?”

Madison looked completely befuddled by this phrase and she asked me, “Where did you hear that?”

I confessed, “I crashed into a Japanese girl, and she said that after she saw me.”

Madison asked, “Are you sure that is what they said?”

I told her, “I have an eidetic memory, so I’m pretty sure that’s what she said.”

Madison explained, “It’s an extremely unusual phrase, and it doesn’t sound like something that a native speaker would ever say.”

I asked her, “Noted, but what does it mean?”

Madison told me, “It’s an inherently paradoxical, if not intrinsically contradictory, description. ‘Okā-sama’ is the polite address for your mother, while ‘-chan’ is an honorific mostly used to refer to young women and children. ‘Wiru’ on the otherhand is a Japonization of ‘Will’. So, it means something like, ‘Will-chan, mother’. It’s not a proper sentence.”

This puzzled me, but Madison hypothesized, “Was this girl a Hāfu, by chance?”

I told her, “Yeah, she had a Tamil surname.”

Madison suggested, “It sounds to me as if she thought that you had a striking similarity to childhood pictures or videos of her mother.”

I expressed my doubts about this. “I don’t think that’s the case. If she’s half-Japanese and her surname is Tamil, then it’s almost certain that her father is Indian. Which would mean that her mother is Japanese. Even if it were the case, I’m clearly half-Bantu and half-Sinitic, so I don’t exactly look like a Dravidian.”

Madison asked me, “What’s a Dravidian?”

I told her, “One of the ethnic groups of India.”

We sat around and discussed many things, and played a few party games, including an American variant of Mensch ärgere Dich nicht with a pop-o-matic center to roll the dice. Madison’s luck was consistently more favorable than mine, by the way.

When the time came, my father and I called my tartabuelo and introduced him to our new friend. Madison was polite as ever and we watched some of the show that my father suggested, which we all found greatly entertaining.

After the call, my father turned on an independent news channel and we saw something unexpected.

It was video footage from the city of Hong Kong twelve hours ago. Someone attacked the police department, and while they killed no one, it was clear the strangely unarmed police were in an abject panic. The cameraman, filming out of an apartment window, focused on something in the air.

A young man standing upon a Hellenic aspis. Orbiting around him was an arrangement of rifles and ballistic shields in a spherical grid around him. The longitudinal and latitudinal rings revolving independently around him.

He spoke in English into the loudspeaker, “For too long have we Hongkongers been under the thumb of the Communist Party of China! The Party has destroyed our culture, robbed us of our sovereignty, rewritten our history, corrupted our language, subverted our religions, and stolen our identity! We will no longer tolerate such abuses! Me and my allies will stake our lives to secure the independence of Hong Kong from the Party! Whether we shall be a city state or shall return to the Commonwealth Realm shall be left for future consideration, but for now, we have an ultimatum! If you will not vacate our islands peacefully, we will expel you by force! The Party has 24-hours to respond! Fuck around, and you will find out!”

There was an almost sadistic glee in his face, like that of a man whose reservation was pragmatic. As if he was, in his core, almost begging for someone to throw the first swing, so that he could release his inner chimpanzee and rip them to shreds.

He then repeated this same announcement in Cantonese and Mandarin.

I realized immediately the danger this could pose to the people of Hong Kong. Even if they had metahumans with great power or comprehensive hax, the sheer number disparity between the small islands and the mainland was horrifying. If they did, in fact, have the right metahumans to secure their independence from the mainland, the bloodshed required to do so was nothing short of nightmarish. As much as Hong Kong independence appealed to me, I did not want to see a massacre of Hongkongers or Chinamen.

The Chinese Communist Party had long since turned the mainland into a techno-Maoist dystopia, so these counterrevolutionaries would have to go up against the various artificial intelligence programs monitoring everything in the country and the massive manpower granted by the Stalinist doctrine of quantity is its own quality.

It took a bit before I realized I had become so lost in my thoughts that Madison became worried and tried to snap me out of it.

Madison reminded me, “It’s not your job to save the world. Focus on helping those you can locally first.”

I confessed to Madison, “You don’t understand. Overseas, I met another metahuman who explicitly told me that my actions, in revealing metahumanity to the world, emboldened people to use their powers more readily. No one was using their powers like this before I stepped in and…”

Madison reminded me, “That doesn’t matter. What other people choose to do is their own responsibility. Not yours.”

After some time, it was time to go to sleep.

Before heading to bed, when dad was working on something in the studio, I summoned my alter ego for night patrol. Once more, five hundred meters away from the house and in the air.

Madison wore an adorable set of pajamas with a rose pattern.

Madison asked me in a whisper, “Are you not going on patrol?”

I whispered, “Since you saw me, I learned how to summon my alter ego at a considerable distance.”

She asked me, “What?”

I quietly told her, “I don’t have to transform into the Lolita Princess. I could always bilocate as myself and her.”

Madison couldn’t help but lightly say, “Verbluffend!”

We turned the lights out, Madison politely objected to my insistence regarding who sleeps where, “You know… I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”

I adamantly responded, “Well, I care about you sleeping on the floor. Which is precisely why I demanded that you sleep in my bed.”

Madison pointed out, “My sleeping in your bed doesn’t mean that you have to sleep on the floor.”

I explained, “I don’t know how much you toss and turn in your sleep, so I don’t want to crowd you, as I toss and turn.”

Madison apologized for the apparent imposition, and I honestly told her it didn’t bother me. I was quite glad to have spent this time with her.

Before we dozed off, I asked Madison, “Hey, Madison. How long are your folks going to be away?”

Madison told me, “My parents plan to be away for a year, but considering the state of the country as it is now…”

There was a pause as if she had to compose herself, “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about their safety… The thought that I might never see one, or both, of them ever again has crossed my mind as a horrible possibility, but I understand why they left and why they had to leave me behind.”

I told Madison, “I’m sorry, Madison. I know what it’s like to lose a family member, so I’ll keep your family in my prayers.”

Madison told me, “Thank you, Will. I appreciate that very much.”

I confessed to Madison, “I failed Sakura.”

Madison’s silence invited me to explain.

I confessed, “When the news of what happened came out, I didn’t know what to say, how to comfort her, or what she needed… so I avoided going to go see her. I want to see her, or at least call her, but the school’s lockdown and her absence from online activities have made it very difficult to get into contact with her.”

Madison told me, “Did you know Sakura is a Roman Catholic?”

I confessed, “No. I didn’t.”

Madison told me, “Her father is Catholic, but her mother’s not. That’s why her parents named her Sakura. In honor of the Blessed Mother, or at least that’s what I was told.”

I revealed, “I was unaware of that connection.”

Madison told me, “Her parents are still missing, but you’ve been praying for all the people who’ve been affected by the G² Impact, correct?”

I told her, “Of course, and I’ve made specific petitions for her parents.”

Madison suggested, “Don’t you think she would appreciate that? She is a sweet girl. She will forgive you for not knowing how to handle the situation and making a good faith error in judgement. Don’t dwell on it too much. I’ll help get you two together to talk when I can, but till then, please be patient.”

There were tears flowing from my eyes, and my voice cracked ever so slightly when I said, “Thank you, Madison.”

Madison told me, “No need to thank me. It’s what friends do. Now go to sleep.”

That night, Madison woke me up from another nightmare, which had caught the attention of my father as well.

With the lights on, I could see the look on Madison’s face. While my father was calm and stoic, Madison was taken aback by the apparent severity of the night terror I had just had. Her eyes communicated more than words ever could. It was then she understood the stakes at play in my being the Lolita Princess.

I apologized to both, and both assured me that there was no need to apologize. My father attempted to inquire about what caused this and I told him that current events had me profoundly stressed out, which, while not a lie, was not wholly true either. We all went back to sleep.

[divinewill]

I loved Brick_ST_'s Hilda in Jojo pose so much that I had to try it out: twitter.com/Brick_ST_/status/1…

Incidentally, Will and Hilda are basically the same age and brick_ST_ tends to draw Hilda with similar proportions that I tend to draw Will with. Though, admittedly, brick_ST_ is a superior artist more consistent in keeping his characters on model. lmao

Read DIVINE WILL here.

[divinewill]

How did people manage to be THIS CONFUSED about a song?

Above is an explanation for tourists, because there's an lost of deceptive cope out there.

[divinewill]

Capítulo Dieciséis: Joyride

Will Trueman here.

Within a day of that metahuman terrorist attack in Japan, in the year of Our Lord 2075, the internet discovered the manifesto of the villain.

In no time, users translated it into various languages: English, Korean, Chinese, Hindi, Portuguese, Russian, and many others.

That killer’s manifesto, “CONTRADICTION IS TRUTH” (矛盾こそ真理), exploited the same dialectic that destroys the ability of men to use their rational faculties. The logic of unreason which fueled the era of horrors with Naziism, Fascism, and Marxist-Leninism in the 20th Century.

Intentionally disguising its nature as a heretical scripture to an esoteric religion through the postmodern manipulation of language and pretentious verbosity. Among the contemporary dialecticians, it spread like a Californian forest fire.

Only time would tell if it would take, but my father reading through this work’s pseudo-scientific, scriptural structure and seemed inclined to think that it would reinvigorate esoteric wizards.

Assuming most metahuman communities could resist propaganda, uniformity among them remained was a vain and inhuman hope. Much like the assumption of an underlying universal ethic among the nations of the world and their cultures.

All it would take is for a powerful minority to indulge in the lie to cause unfathomable damage and change the world. Believing the first lie told by the serpent in the garden, even after our special fall.

That we can become God by re-entering the garden of Eden, under our own power, and taking a second bite out of the tree of knowledge of good and evil.

This was but a footnote within the news, which seemed utterly flooded with new discoveries unveiled from the first appearance of the GSSDO as well.

The most shocking of which was the discovery that not only did alien civilizations exist, but that these aliens were metahumans themselves. Albeit, the nature of their superpowers seemed different from those of Earth.

This raised several questions. Firstly, whether these are our brothers and sisters born from the same Adam and Eve, but displaced by some panspermic power across the cosmos?

Or if these cosmic siblings were the sons and daughters of another Adam and Eve as in the story of Starcrossed and Interleft? The enormity of this formless chaos bubbling to the surface deeply troubled me.

I didn’t even know where to begin with the Yōma problem that my foolish peers were so adamant about waging war against.

This self-imposed global lockdown gave me time to think about how I might appear as my alter ego in the day, if required. After the Cold Civil War of the 2010s-2030s, security cameras and dashcams were commonplace among most American households, even in high trust neighborhoods. This led me to contemplate strategies to get around cameras, to protect my identity.

A black dress might work to conceal me during the night, but it certainly wouldn’t help during the day. That day, I realized I when I manifested my alter ego; we were never in direct contact. Nor when I called her back to me. Introducing the idea that this ability might have a nonlocal nature to it.

On the first night of testing, I discovered I could manifest my alter ego on the opposite side of a barrier, such as a wall, ceiling, or floor. I even learned how to mute the glow of her summoning. So that summoning her would not draw attention to me if I conjured her outside.

On the second night, I could manifest her within the basement or on the opposite side of the opaque wooden fence while I was in the attic. On the third night, I could manifest my alter ego in the air, above a neighbor’s house on the opposite side of the street.

I meticulously noted every facet of my alter ego’s summoning with my eidetic memory. Allowing me to rapidly extend the ranges at which I could call upon her and return to one body.

The thought of letting anyone else die because of my ineptitude was unacceptable. I needed to cultivate both my powers and character so that I could transform the nature of this traumatic encounter with death on an unimaginable scale.

To transmute this trauma into a motivation for metamorphosis, as opposed to a catalyst for victimization and self-pity. Like the heroes of the Golden and Silver ages of superhero comics, the Cimmerian champions of sword and sorcery literature, and the saints and heroes of history.

At noon, I called my best friend, Rory Rider, to check up on her and make sure she was doing well. During this time, my father listened to the independent news outlets which engaged in empirical journalism, playing in the background, as he worked on creating various assets for his business; fully expecting the world to return to normalcy after the world adjusted to its new situation.

I talked to Rory about several things when I heard the live coverage of a police chase.

Turning on the TV, we witnessed something the police weren’t equipped for. I noticed that all the police cars that pursued them seemed to veer wildly and uncontrollably into disaster. As if someone had stolen control of the wheel and crashed them into each other, other vehicles, and or barriers.

The lead police vehicle violently change velocity, both speeding up and turning as if the wheel had been rapidly jerked as far left as possible. It struck and disabled another police cruiser. To my shock, all the cruisers violently careened into parked cars, poles, and each other.

Later in this chase, a motorcycle seemed to act outside the control of its driver. The engine revved, and the machine popped a wheelie as it went berserk—almost like a horse bucking its rider. Throwing the poor man off his own ride.

The ghost ridden machine raced to overtake a new police cruiser, crashing into it by popping a wheelie and stopping. This caused it to slam into the cruiser, flip onto the hood, smash the windshield and flip over the vehicle.

It was almost as if one of these two criminals could manipulate the controls of motor vehicles. Which, if true, would make it impossible for a police pursuit on the road. Therefore, since the police pursuit of these thieving vandals was impossible, the job of stopping their rampage lay on someone like me.

They seemed to be a pair of petty teenage car thieves in ski masks, emboldened by the collision of the mundane with the supermundane. Their reckless driving and power-tripping risked untold property damage and fatalities.

The foolhardy young man on the passenger’s side peaked his head, torso, and hips out of the car window and howled with adrenaline as he sat on the door. Risking his own safety for a cheap thrill in this careening vehicle.

While continuing my conversation, I made my way to the alleyway fence. Then I summoned my alter ego in my room. She then used her super-senses to make sure the coast was clear, then tapped on the closed curtain of my window to signal this discovery to myself.

So, I recalled her, then immediately summoned her back into our world, further away than ever before. This time two hundred meters away and fifty meters in the air. Something I chalked up to the adrenaline coursing through my veins and the urgency of the situation.

This, being the first time that I had ever manifested in the daytime, I noticed that my Gothic Lolita attire was now pure white. While I loved the dress, I had more important things to do.

I controlled my descent to safely land on the sidewalk, then took off at subsonic speeds towards the broadcast’s last location. Contrary to what I expected, it wasn’t the distant sounds of helicopters and criminal chaos that guided me. Rather, there was something more subtle I could feel: a psychical sense guiding me beyond the powers of hearing or sight.

It was a presentiment that allowed me to more accurately anticipate where I needed to be. A novel power I discovered on the fly when I realized I could predict how the distant sounds would change.

It wasn’t long before I made it to the scene, where I found the hoodlums had entered a parking garage. Before they made their way into the parking garage, I scanned the car with my penetrating vision and got a look at their faces.

Tracking them through the garage, I saw something incredulous. The car carrying the criminals would never come out, as they transmuted it, while driving, into a 2045 Ferrari. The act of transformation made a distinctive cacophony indicative of warping metal, glass, and rubber.

These two criminals then removed their masks and calmly left, expecting to get away as if they were merely pedestrians.

After their departure, I jumped down to the vacant sidewalk and I took off. At 248 mph, I quickly caught up to my target and decelerated to match their speed.

I used my penetrating vision to eavesdrop on them: peering through their skin, muscle, bones, and vehicular obstructions to see every small but meaningful articulation and intuitively reconstructing their conversation. I could see the synaptic discharges within their bodies, granting a complete 3D visualization of their brain activity and activation potentials within their peripheral nervous systems.

While I could not use this information to possess a perfect knowledge of future action or even intentions, it granted me forewarning about what they could potentially choose to do.

I reached equilibrium with the driver's side of the car and knocked on the window and signaled for the driver to roll down their window. While they did not deign to stop the vehicle, the driver complied with my request to roll down the window.

I heard the passenger comment to the driver, “Hey, isn’t that the woman from the news? The one who was helping with rescue efforts in Japan?”

I confirmed, “Yes. Now I ask that you pull over now.”

The driver asked incredulously, “What?”

I explained to them, “I know you’re the perps the police were chasing earlier, so consider this a citizen’s arrest.”

The driver tried to pretend as if he didn’t know what I meant as he turned to his passenger and said, “Is she serious?”

I asked the driver, “When did you crack your skull?”

They both seemed to be surprised by this statement.

I told them, “I can see through opaque matter. Which is how I could see your faces through your masks before you entered the parking garage, and how I know your passenger placed the masks underneath his seat. It’s also how I can see the long healed over linear skull fracture on your parietal bone.”

This statement clearly horrified the driver, who didn’t know what to do.

The cocky passenger snidely remarked, “What, you’re a vigilante and a doctor?”

I sarcastically remarked, “A photographic memory goes a long way when you have friends in academic disciplines… Now tell me, which one of you can control cars?”

The passenger freaked out at that accusation and caused the vehicle ahead of me to come to a full stop.

I simply jumped over the car, landing in front of it. The hijacked car then sped up to intercept me, but I dodged the vehicle and jumped high in the air. While I did not know how to fly; I found I had more control over the trajectory of my descent than expected.

I landed in front of the car with my targets, ready to stop them as I did those criminals the day before the G² Impact. The driver swerved to avoid me, and I immediately intercepted them.

Calling upon that tactile power again, I intercepted the vehicle with my gloved hands without damaging it or injuring the passengers as I ground my shoes into the pavement. The friction brought us close enough to a halt that I could I effortlessly lift the vehicle above my head as I came to a stop.

That initial accusation was a bluff. I did not then know whether it was a specific or general telekinetic power that the passenger possessed, but now I was sure that they could only control vehicles. If they had power over flesh and blood, he would have tried to influence me. Instead, they had only shown some power over motor vehicles.

The occupants howled in abject terror as I leaped 700 m (2,296 ft) straight into the air.

At the peak of the ascent, I briefly let go of the vehicle to tell them in American Sign Language, “Be not afraid.”

I grabbed hold of the vehicle and dampened the inertia of the car and everything within with my tactile telekinetic power. We landed in an adjacent park. I displaced all the kinetic energy through my body and into the ground, which ruptured underneath my feet. Because of this, both the passengers and the vehicles were unblemished. Sans them having passed out from the sheer terror of the fall.

The last thing I wanted to do was damage a stolen car or physically hurt two teenagers. Not that the vehicle, if stolen, could be returned to the original owner because of its comprehensive transformation. Though I thought it might be possible that the license plate remained unmodified. So, I opened the car door and confiscated the keys, which I then placed right side up.

I flagged down the news and police copters that saw this all transpire and once again employed my knowledge of American Sign Language to say, “These two are the perps. The driver can change the appearances of cars and the passenger can remotely control motor vehicles. Their masks are under the passenger’s seat.”

I showed the news chopper the keys, then placed the keys on the branch of a nearby tree. The police, guided by the copter, arrived, then I fled the scene, again.

It was much harder to disappear in the day, so I patrolled the city until nightfall, when I could more effectively return home unseen.

As horrible as it was to fish corpses out of burning, irradiated, and carcinogenic rubble, I learned a lot about how my powers through on-the-fly observation. Lessons that would help me in my self-chosen responsibilities as both a superhero and a magical girl.

To ensure that, no matter where I was in the world; no one else would suffer a loss of life or limb due to me failing to use my abilities to their maximum efficiency.

* * *

The world was still under a self-imposed lockdown, so I passed the time with my father after he finished his work. To keep his company running, he had to ramp up his own production. Normally, he only streamed one week a month, and those streams usually only lasted for two or three hours. This week he streamed for ten hours every day since the G² Impact and still found time enough to spend with me.

Most of his talents took him up on his offer to take a break from streaming to spend time with their families. Although, many of them soon returned to their kayfabes after seeing him put so much effort into his job.

As a manager, he advised them to reduce their time streaming and helped them efficiently manage their time so that they could spend more time with their families. Many of them only streamed for an hour or two every few days during this period. Something which helped their fans to de-stress during this terrifying period. A decision rooted in my father’s business philosophy.

I played games with my father often. Some days we played board games, some days card games, and on other days, we would play one of the myriad video games he obtained for his business. However, I assumed he would probably be tired of video games at the end of his stream, so I searched through our collection of board games.

I made my way to the board game shelf and looked to find something to play. We were both very skilled chess players, and my father’s international business dealings meant that he inevitably learned how to play a variety of classical board games.

My father had sets for international standard chess, caturaṅga, Gliński’s hexagonal chess, janggi, makruk, shōgi, sittuyin, Tamerlane chess, and xiàngqí. We owned other strategy games such as Abalone, Backgammon, Battleship, Blokus, Checkers, Chess Unbound, Connect 4, Da Vinci’s Challenge, Go, Gobblet, Hnefatafl, Hive, Leaves, LYNGK, Martian Chess, Nine Men’s Morris, Otrio, Pünct, Quarto, Reversi, Skud Pai Sho, Sternhalma, Tak, YINSH.

We also had Azul, Monopoly, Risk, Royal Game of Ur, Sagrada, Uno, etc.

I made my decision and had several hours left before my father was done with work, so I trained in our in-house gym, and do vigorous cardio for 90 minutes.

Listening to a conversation between a Thomist and a Palamist discussing the essence-energy distinction on a philosophy podcast, I performed my scheduled routine. 100 explosive pushups, 15 mixed grip pull ups, 100 pulse squats, 100 sit-ups, and a 10 km on a treadmill, in addition to other exercises. Ensuring not to neglect the lower back.

After that, I went and read some of my dad’s books, this time reading Stephen King.

At 15:00 hours I prayed the chaplet of Divine Mercy, for the people I encountered in Japan.

When my father finished, at around 17:00 hours, I let him wind down for about thirty minutes before I asked him, I asked him, “So how’s your scalp?”

He admitted, “Cold, but I’ll get used to it.”

I then asked him, “Would you like to play a game of Risk?”

My father was better than me at this game, but I was no novice myself.

He lit up and accepted my challenge, and we started our game. Unlike most people, we read and memorized the rule book, which meant that the game was more streamlined.

During the gameplay, I asked him, “Could you tell me more about the Trueman family?”

He thought about it for a moment, then asked, “Have I ever told you the story of how we got our name?”

I lit up and told him, “No, you haven’t.”

He smiled and explained, “Well, as with you and me, the story of the Trueman family begins with an adoption. An Anglo-American in the territory of Tejas, adopted a Spaniard boy who was the sole survivor of his village, which was massacred by the Comanche. Back then, the Mexican government did little to nothing about its outer territories being raided by the Comanche and Apache.”

He explained, “It was actually the Americans who settled in Tejas who brought with them infrastructural development and security to the Spaniard and Native American settlers.”

I asked him, “I believe you told me about this part. About how the Mexican government intentionally let the foreigners build the infrastructure so that they wouldn’t have to do it themselves?”

My dad smiled. “And how their sloth cost them the territory of Tejas? They effectively abandoned their responsibilities to their subjects… and both necessarily and rightly lost their legitimacy over it.”

My father explained, “There was a time when people forgot that the defenders of the Alamo included not only James Bowie, William B. Travis, and Davy Crockett, but also José María Esparza and Carlos Espalier. José María Esparza was among the few who were granted a proper burial at the Alamo, thanks to his brother who served in the Mexican army. His brother petitioned the leadership for this privilege, and out of respect, they granted his request. However, most of the deceased were cremated.”

I asked him, “Do we have any ancestors who died at the Alamo?”

He told me, “Yes. They were cremated.”

I asked him, “Is that why, despite our adoptive family being almost entirely Hispanic, we have an English surname?”

He answered, “Yes. This is also why adoption is such an important tradition among the Trueman lineages. It’s the cultural root explaining why I was adopted, and why your father asked me to take care of you if the unthinkable happened.”

I remarked, “That you told me about.”

He confessed, “I’m sorry that you didn’t get to meet them.”

I confessed, “I’m not… As curious as I am about them, I’m happy that you’re my dad, and I wouldn’t change that for the world. Besides, death isn’t the end, so I’ll still get to meet them one day.”

My father smiled, “Ever the optimist, aren’t you?”

We spent about 120 minutes playing the game before I lost. After which remembered something.

“I forgot, I have something for you, from your tatarabuelo.”

He handed me a DVD of an old cartoon and explained, “He started watching this when he was 14. It’s still one of his favorites, but considering his health, he thought you might enjoy it.”

It was a complete series of Ed, Edd n Eddy. A show I had never heard of, but my great-great-grandfather had good taste in media, so I gladly accepted this gift.

I asked my father, “When can we visit him again?”

My father confessed, “I don’t know. He said he wants you to stay here because it’s safer.”

I understood we might not see him for a while, given he was in too poor a condition to come to us.

He explicitly told my father not to let me come visit him, but my father immediately proposed a compromise: “But we could do a video call with him tomorrow. Maybe he’ll agree to a watch along and you can enjoy his gift together.”

I accepted this offer without reservation.

Because of the difficulties of sneaking around during the day, my alter ego could not return until late at night, when everyone was expected to be asleep. When my alter ego arrived home, I could recall all that had happened to myself that stayed home.

* * *

During the wait, as day turned to twilight, I heard something which was neither human nor beast, but which more resembled the organic analogue of a chiptune cry of pain.

I made my way into the woods, following the sound of metal hitting flesh and bone accompanied by these eldritch cries, where I encountered a strange sight.

The beaten, almost albino creature had two white circular eyes with whirling black circles of fur. On its cheeks were eye-like patterns: blood-red irises, a blue lacrimal caruncle, and the rest of the image was as black as pitch.

At the end of its almost rat-like tail was an octahedral club with a long spine at its end and four claw-like protrusions for each of the other rounded points. Its fur was like that of a polar bear, sans the vibrant black stripes that decorated its limbs, body, and tail.

A young man, maybe 14 years old, with a bloodied aluminum baseball bat, wound up for another strike when I approached him from behind and grabbed the bat. Halting the wind up in its place.

Despite its apparently featureless eyes, I could tell from the movement of its ears and its chiptune-esque cries that this creature, like many mammals do, was asking for help in its own creaturely way.

I ordered the kid, “Step away from the creature!”

The cocky brat demanded, “Who the hell are you?”

The clear disparity in our sizes compelled him to step away from me and towards the creature, which stood on all fours and postured as if to defend it.

I told the kid, “I don’t know what that thing is… but considering its natural armaments, the fact you and your clothes remain unblemished, and that it immediately stepped up to defend you, I think it’s safe to assume that your assault of this animal was not in self-defense.”

The beastie’s lagomorph-like ears perked up and in my direction.

I told the boy, “You can’t just go around abusing creatures for your own amusement. What habits does such behavior cultivate?”

The beastie began sniffing the air in my direction and seemed to look me in the eye when I glanced down at it. At that point, all aggression left it and it stood upright on its hind legs like a prairie dog.

This seemed to annoy the boy who kicked at the creature, but I intervened and simply placed my leg between his kick and the beastie before he made contact. Both the boy and the beastie immediately recoiled in surprise at the speed of my intervention.

The beastie lowered its head and approached me like a cat, placing a light, scent-marking headbutt on my legs. A behavior that seemed to send the boy into a rage.

“What the fuck are you doing Akhbar (עַכְבָּר)?” The kid screamed.

The beastie seemed to speak. An act that seemed to horrify its owner. It spoke only one word, which it repeated with aggression, “Choose!”

It stepped in front of me as if to face its abuser.

At which point, another creature, with six emaciated, clawed, humanoid arms, an upright, bipedal frame, a mousy tail, and a hummingbird like beak, cloaked in a tailor-made black robe, made its presence known. Gently descending from the sky, its icy blue, lidless eyes were wide and blinked with a nictitating membrane.

It spoke with an inhuman tongue, and Akhbar seemed to relent.

This new creature’s appearance unsettled me, but utterly froze the kid in terror.

The beaked thing promised, “I am not for you, metahuman, nor am I hear for the tamer. I am merely here for the creature.”

I readied for a fight before asking, “What do you plan to do with it?”

The beaked thing promised, “I simply want to help it heal.”

Akhbar moved away from me and towards the beaked thing, which tapped the little monster on the head.

The beaked thing said, “The bond which abuses, I sever for the mutual good of the abused and their abuser.”

The kid immediately fell to his knees, as if suffering the sudden onset of the most painful migraine I have ever seen.

I darted to the boy with superhuman speed and used my penetrating vision to see the unnatural storm of neurological activity coursing through his brain.

The beaked thing assured me, “Do not fret. He will be fine in a few minutes, though he will need to sleep.”

I made by way to the beaked thing and, grabbing it by its cloak, demanded, “What did you do to him?”

The beaked thing gestured with its hands as if to signify pacifism.

It said, “The child will be fine. His pain should subside in anywhere from a minute to an hour. This poor creature was about to sever their psychic bond, which would have killed the child. I simply stepped in to ensure that the severing of their bond was as safe as possible.”

I asked the beaked thing, “What in God’s name are you, creature?”

The creature answered me, “I am what your metahuman academics call a nouiform. Like the other creature before you, I am a creature that bonds with humans.”

I asked it, “For what purpose?”

The creature obliged me, “It is simply our nature to bond with rational souls.”

That phrase, “rational souls“, stood out to me as Scholastic language.

I commanded the creature, “We will go to the hospital, and so help me if anything happens to this child…”

The manner in which I said it clearly showed I was using an inclusive use of the word “we”.

The creature willingly submitted. Placing its upper right hand in the air as if to give an oath.

It said to me, “I will take responsibility for anything happening to the child. Though, luckily for me, the bond shared between him and the little one was not strong, and should last only thirty seconds.”

I turned back to the child and saw that, as promised, the neurological storm in his head ceased and he returned to normal cognitive function, though very exhausted and angry.

The small creature reared its back like a cat, bearing large bone crushing teeth, and readying its tail like a scorpion. But before I had to defend the boy, the beaked thing spoke inhumanly, which the little thing seemed to understand, and stepped between them.

Then the beastie disappeared with supersonic speed into the woods.

He wobbled to his feet and screamed, “You fucking bastard! I can’t feel my connection with Akhbar!”

The beaked thing told him, “To save your life, I severed the bonds between you.”

The boy threw a tantrum, claiming, “You had no right to do this! He was mine!”

The beaked thing offered to explain more about what he and Akhbar were, and I took him up on his offer. So, we left the sensory range of the aggressive adolescent, though I monitored him with my superhuman perception and ensured that he eventually made his way back to the city.

I asked it, “Do you have a name?”

The beaked thing answered, “My name, is Kauākṣara.”

I inquired, “How many more like you are there?”

Kauākṣara confessed, “I cannot know. Much like your metahumans, tamers have mostly existed in secret. Though, given what I heard about the goings on in Japan now, this GSSDO has been aware of our existence for some time.”

I presented some information for its assessment. “On the news was a birdlike creature carrying a pygmy man, which seemed to have the power to manipulate the debris. Is this one of you nouiforms?”

Kauākṣara assessed, “That would be my assumption, but I have never met this specific entity. I have been roaming the American continent since the 1400s.”

I asked it, “Where are you from, exactly?”

Kauākṣara made a noise that I assumed to be roughly equivalent to a chuckle, then said, “Someplace that no longer exists. Comes with the territory of being thousands of years old.”

I interrogated, “What does this bond between nouiform and the tamer entail?”

Kauākṣara explained, “It depends. Often it entails a psychic connection, allowing passive telepathic communication between the two.”

I finally asked, “Are you familiar with yōma?”

Kauākṣara confessed, “Not by this term. Could you describe it to me?”

I described it to the best of my abilities with what limited information I had available, and Kauākṣara seemed to recognize something.

Kauākṣara suggested, “I will investigate this matter, but I do have an idea what these might be, and I do not suspect nouiformes. If I might ask, where did you get this information from?”

I explained, “This information came from a diviner.”

Kauākṣara thought for a moment, the something beyond my perceptions caught its attention.

It promised me, “I will report anything I find back to you, but for now I must go.”

I asked, “How exactly do you plan on finding me?”

Kauākṣara answered, “Let’s just say I don’t think it will be very hard to find you. Goodbye, madam.”

Just before departing, he stopped, then warned me, “Be cautious around us, madam. We are extremely powerful, and while some of us mean no harm, and even love humans, there are some among us who are incredibly Machiavellian, sadistic, and even anthropophagic.”

I asked one last question, “What kind are you?”

Kauākṣara left me with, “The kind who finds joy in others’ joy.”

Kauākṣara departed from me, and I did not chase it. The fact it kept its word regarding the wellbeing of the child was enough for me to trust but verify.

Now that it was the dead of night, I made my way back towards home unseen and remotely called myself back to my alter ego, still at a distance.

I experienced the sudden recombination and organization of experiences into one coherent narrative of memories, and I was happy that no one got hurt today.

My recombination occurred when my younger self was about to head to bed, so I said my nighttime prayers, then went to sleep.

Right as I was about to doze off into dreamland, my phone got a notification, and I checked on it.

I received a text which read, “So, you’re a fan of Lolita fashion as well?”

My heart almost stopped, and the next text came by, “Your secret is safe with me, but can we talk tomorrow?”

[divinewill]

Capítulo Quince: Brass Monkey

Was I seriously supposed to believe that this bloodsoaked tiger-skin sash was what she implied it to be? Or the hand of the rhesus macaque?

Of course, my mother freaked out at the sight of this bloodstained petrified detritus, which summoned my father back to us to make sure we were safe. I showed my father the sash and hand, then told him about the dream and the geass given to me, but I kept both a secret from my mother. Neither of us wanted to cause her worry.

I told my father that I suspected this stalker was not in the house or anywhere I had seen her previously. However, I didn’t know what powers she might have. Spatiokinesis might explain the displacement of her image and the conjuration of these two items, but it could not explain the nightmare that held me hostage. It couldn’t have been illusion casting either, as the material evidence of this event occurring was in our presence.

I did not sleep that day. I stayed up, weapon in hand, with my father to guard the home, but nothing strange happened. That was what I was hoping for. I didn’t exactly have a plan of action if anything happened.

Throughout the night, we watched the news. It mostly spoke about the ongoing disaster to the north, along with some investigative journalism into that foreign magical girl. The section regarding our mystery woman consisted mostly of interviews with people who claimed to have been saved by her. Included in this was an analysis of footage from the City of New Providence in America.

Considering her obscurity, this coverage resulted in almost nothing. Most of the news was speculation about kaijū, metahumans, the GSSDO, and worries about unknown future consequences of the recent disaster, as well as the ongoing searches for missing persons.

In the morning, my father trusted me enough to excuse himself to make breakfast before my mother woke up. She awoke just as father was finishing with the preparations to partition the food. We all ate together in the living room with the TV on, tuned to the NHK, which broadcast more of the same throughout the day.

We each had our own bowls of steamed white rice and miso soup, as well as a plate with small, grilled, salted salmon and tamagoyaki. We all shared a plate with tsukemono, nori, a bowl of natto.

Because of my biological nature, I had a sped-up metabolism and hypercarnivorous proclivities. So, my parents always tried to cook some red meat and even use the blood to create some homemade snacks for me. Today, my loving father provided me shabu-shabu.

I ate out of a bowl, which I accidentally shattered back in elementary school, which my father restored in the style of kintsugi. Overlaying the fragmentation lines with gold to beautify, rather than conceal, the newly mended cracks.

I thanked my father for the meal, but there wasn’t much to do afterwards other than watch the news. We had nowhere to be since all the schools shut down, along with most businesses, due to the obliteration of the veil separating the mundane from the supermundane.

In one day, we had our first encounter with kaijū, superheroes, and secret militaries. Furthur complicating matters, we now knew that, unbeknownst to the mundane world, devil practitioners were in our future.

I couldn’t stop thinking about that hanyō girl towards whom my thoughts turned when talking to the troll.

So instead of ruminating on it all day, I reminded my father, “Remember what I told you… about yesterday and earlier today? About the troll I met and his warning about powerful devils crossing the veil… About the Lich…”

My father asked me, “Do you trust him?”

I confessed, “Yes. He’s an earnest one who seems to harbor a tremendous love for the human species. He even seems to collect human books relevant for religious education.”

My father found this strange and simply said, “Is that so?”

I did not think to confess this next part when we last talked.

I explained, “I believe him to be Catholic, and the little girl he protects to be his adoptive daughter.”

My father chuckled, “A Catholic troll? Like from a medieval fairy tale?”

Invoking recent events, I asked him, “I know, right… but is it any stranger than a magical girl with manga superpowers, or a kaijū from tokusatsu film, or secret paramilitary organizations out of a spy-fi thriller?”

I reminded him, “His claim about a operating necromancer seems to be bolstered by the mystical modifications I found on the gashadokuro I slew.”

My father pondered my observations and asked me, “What are you driving at?”

I came clean. “I’d like to check up on Mari and make sure she’s okay.”

My father asked me, “You’re disturbed at the prospect that you might have to defend human beings from something that takes part, even if only partly, in the human nature?”

I confirmed his suspicion. “Precisely, but other than that, I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

She was one of the sweetest girls I’d ever met, but only I knew about the extremely disturbing and predatory undercurrent within her subconscious, stemming from her yōkai heritage. An original sin which I understood all too well myself.

He advised me, “If you’re worried about Mari, then you have my permission to check on her in person. I’ll hold the fort here, but be careful. If the world really is becoming something like a manga, then we still don’t know the parameters of the hitherto untold recently manifested. And no matter how powerful you are, you’re still our daughter, so while we trust your judgment, we still worry about you. Go there and come back. If you need to make any detours, and it is safe to do so, keep us in the loop.”

I accepted these terms, suited up in my armor, and glamoured myself to appear in my civilian guise, then tried to leave, remembering to take my Ryūseiseki with me.

Before I could go, my father pointed out, “Remember, Momo… Mari may be half-human, but she’s also half-yōkai. She takes part in the same nature that you do. It would do you well to consider what that means for you as a yōkai, a hunter of monsters, and as the daughter of men.”

I promised him, “I’ll think upon it, father.”

Then I left. I ran, as I thought that might help to clear my mind from the horrific events of the last two days. I made my way through the city, and while passing through, I heard the distant sounds of chaos: screaming, crying, the sound of metal crumpling, glass shattering, and what almost sounded like a bomb.

It took me a moment, but I changed course towards the sounds of terror. As much as I couldn’t bear to worry my beloved mother and father, I couldn’t stand by and let people die. So, while I ran there, I texted them that I had an emergency to help with and needed to make a slight detour.

It took me five minutes to arrive, and I approached the scene through the backroads and alleyways, where I dropped my guise to protect my identity.

Upon arriving, I saw that there was a sharply dressed college student with the physique of a bodybuilder and pleasing physiognomy. He whispered to a woman and her son to stay calm and stay out of sight in the alleyway.

Turning away from them, almost as if about to enter battle, he placed his right hand on the ground and the pavement beneath him ripped itself from the ground to encase him in what appeared to be powered armor. An armor composed of concrete held together and animated through telekinetic power.

A barrage of unseen projectiles seemed to crumple cars like paper, smash windows, and cause a part of the wall near him to collapse. The man, clad in powered armor, understood that the debris threatened the woman and child. Instinctively, he leaped into action and covered them, saving them from being crushed. However, this cost him time to respond to the active threat as he struggled to return to his feet, despite being unharmed.

That terrorist ranted to the crowd, “Traditional humanity has oppressed metahumans since time immemorial! We are the proletariat forgotten by the Marxists, Feminists, Postcolonialists, and Queer Theorists! Don’t you see!

“The seal was never real! It was a structure of oppression interlocking with capitalism, the patriarchy, white supremacy, heteronormativity, and language itself! We must take hold of this nation! Move the hands of the clock forward with our siddhis, through which we can control the flow of time!

“Through the creation of the perfect state and the purging of dissidents, we can become the agents of History that move humanity forward into the utopia which is the end of History! We simply must do the work!”

I parkoured up the walls of the buildings I was between, trying to cause as minimal damage as possible. The unbearable screaming and crying amidst the occasional crashing sounds was overwhelming, but I had to move carefully. This was unlike any devil attack I’ve ever experienced before. There were more hostages, wounded, and dead, all concentrated together than I was used to.

So, I tried to sneak a peek over the roof to get a look at the situation from above. While attempting this, the wall over which I stood exploded beneath me, which forced a quick retreat. I hopped across rooftops on the opposite sides of the buildings and made my way towards the assailant.

The lunatic ravings continued, “The problem with the revolutions of the past is that under human power, it was doomed to be perpetual. But with siddhis, the finite can grab the infinite through actualized supertasks! We can achieve what no human powers ever could!

“Don’t you see? The first contradiction is identical to the last. But we can only find the resolution once all the contradictions in between, which are naught but fragments of that first and last contradiction, are themselves resolved! Until we truly understand that ‘As above, so below!’”

That bloodthirsty utopianism never died. How could you engage in a conversation with someone to relinquish their delusional aspirations when they believe a Logos beyond this world has enlightened them?

You can’t use the logic of this world, for they believe that their gnosis, bodhi, or critical consciousness transcends empirical science and constitutes the “True Science”. Which would make the science of the empiricists a false science unworthy of participation.

That quick glance taught me something: he has some sensory augmentation, but I couldn’t guess its nature. There was no time to wait. I could smell enough blood from enough people to know that this was a mass casualty event, and that there were people who needed immediate help. But so long as this terrorist was active, emergency medical services could not reach them. Luckily, that momentary glance told me enough to know that he was closer to my side of the street. So, I used my superhuman senses of hearing and smell to leap to guess his location, then I bounded to the building, which was immediately behind him.

I thought that if I could get Ryūseiseki to punch through the ground next to him, then the atmospheric shock and disturbance of the ground should disorient him long enough for me to restrain him.

I refused to kill a human being under any circumstances. This was because I lived in extreme fear that my ancestral bloodlust from my biological heritage might manifest in a manner outside my control.

Deep within me was something evil, horrid, and draconic that is not me, yet speaks demonic temptations directly into my subconscious. I was deeply aware of this not-me-within-me through its effects on my consciousness and behavior. It is analogous to Leviathan or Tiamat, the primordial dragons of formless chaos, exploiting the weaknesses of my beliefs, guilt complexes, anxieties, defense mechanisms, and hypercarnivorous biology.

A worm that seeded intrusive thoughts of unspeakable hematophagic, hematolagnic, anthropophagolagnic, and somnophilic depravity into my mind.

But there was something else, which I assumed I inherited from my human parents, that spoke against this brainwyrm. Another serpent, which was not me, compelled me, through my conscience, to act according to the will of Heaven to the best of my knowledge. It told me that the cultivation of benevolence (慈) and love (愛) was an imperative.

Was this interpenetrating serpent the result of karmic impressions aggregated from past lives, the circumstances of my birth, and the blessings of my loving adoption? Was this deathless serpent a manifestation of buddhadhātu (仏性) in my subconscious responding to the light of wisdom-compassion radiating from the pure lands (淨土) and seeding information teleologically oriented to one day actualizing soteriological potential and casting off not only this ātman but that of others too?

I knew a young half-Sotonarukami named Mari, who was a raised as a devout Protestant. She too had unholy temptations derived from her hanyō blood, but she likened this benevolent other inside her to the bronze serpent of the Exodus: the agent of that God who allegedly became human and commanded his angels to defend that creation he unfathomably loves from every evil by placing some new law into the hearts of men to repel infernal vipers spewing spiritual cardiotoxins.

Or was this Cādūceus, explained by Sakurai’s Tenrikyō faith, of which I knew nothing?

I had no answers, but I knew I had to lean into its instinctual moralizations, lest I become one of the very monsters I spent my time defending my beloved humanity from.

Peeking over the edge, I saw he was facing away from me, and I took my chance. I leaped into action from atop a building, hoping to get the drop on him. However, he seemed to notice me, and right before I could throw Ryūseiseki mid-swing, a devastating force unlike anything I’ve ever felt before hit me in the shoulder. Whatever it was, I didn’t see it coming, and it ripped my weapon out of my hand. His attack knocked me off course and spun me like a top, but I landed on my feet, albeit on some poor sod’s car. I felt dizzy and wobbled, which presented an opening that the villain took advantage of.

This villain seemed to produce overpressure shockwaves, which could crush cars. Initially, he seemed to assume that I died, which would have happened had I been human. I was momentarily stunned, but when I recovered, I made the mistake of running towards him. He noticed me and instinctual assumed that I had some durability augmentation, which convinced him to target me specifically. Each new hit did more than stun me, as he repeatedly knocked me off my feet, torqued my spine, smashed me into pavement, cars, and even a telephone pole. Superhuman strength or running speed means little without a foundation. His wrath was a barrage of devastating aerokinetic bolts that crushed my steel armor and left me no time to anticipate or defend against this merciless maelstrom.

Coughing up blood, barely able to see, deafened by the repeated concussions, and with bones ringing like a bell throughout my body in pain, I was in a horrifying position. The slight light bending properties of his ammunition made it theoretically possible, but utterly unfeasible, to spot the bolts before it was too late to do anything about them. Because of this, the villain ragdolled me from a distance while he continued his speech.

Initially, these attacks came from his direction, then they came from above me, almost as if to pin me to the ground. My face, chest, shoulders, hands, arms, feet, legs were all slammed into the ground as if they were being struck with sledgehammers fitted with explosive charges.

In desperation, I decomposed into superheated smoke. That proved to be a disastrous choice. My smoke form was easily dissipated beyond my control by his unrelenting barrage of atmospheric attacks. It was so relentless that he prevented me from pulling myself together and controlling my movement. This mistake carried potentially lethal consequences, because the temperature of my superheated smoke could easily cause injuries such as electrical and thermal burns to human skin.

I knew I could repair the damage to my body by reconstructing myself from the smoke, which was one reason I tried this. However, like a muscle, this power was subject to exhaustion when overexerted. So, even if I succeeded, I’d quickly have to transform back into smoke to escape the brutal and savage beating I transformed to escape. Unfortunately, I had no proper plan on how I was going to escape my assailant’s unyielding assault. I was used to being able to anticipate what my enemies were capable of through bestiaries and demonological lore, but how could you predict the powers of a metahuman?

I panicked when suddenly I heard and felt a loud BANG, like cannon fire. Suddenly, the barrage stopped, and I reassembled myself in an utter frenzy. When I was in my smoke form, the heat of my smoke made the metal of my warped armor malleable enough that I could guide it back into wearability as I pulled myself together. It cooled off while I finished my solidification, as I drew the heat from the metals back into my body.

Looking around, I realized what had happened. The man in the improvised power armor had repositioned himself into a building. He constructed an arm cannon from his concrete exoskeleton and ended the fight with a single move. His shot punched through the window, tore through the villain’s chest, and then bounced off the wall behind the terrorist with enough force to dent the hood of a parked car.

This caught me so totally off guard that I didn’t know what to do. After reconstructing my body, I instinctively ran towards the terrorist. However, long before I got to him, it was clear that he died within seconds, if not instantly.

As I made my way to the corpse, I saw the dead bodies and critically injured patients. People who were hitherto hidden from my view by cars, debris, and my disorientation from getting utterly mollywopped by someone who almost certainly had no combat experience.

I heard a language I recognized, though only for words I had heard uttered by a friend. Someone was speaking in Latin. It was an African American Catholic priest who had been crippled by an attack from that terrorist. He called upon the intercession of his God and his army of angels for the sake of the criminal and his victims alike. Despite having lost his right arm and both legs, he directed medical personnel to help everyone else before even considering himself. He himself was only alive because of the quick thinking of someone in the crowd who made a series of makeshift tourniquets for him.

This terrorist’s violence was horrifying. His power shredded many of his now deceased victims’ internal organs, leaving them a sanguine mess with blood pouring out of their mouth, eyes, and ears.

Many of the living victims suffered shattered bones and internal hemorrhaging. Depending on whether he smashed them against a strongly resisting surface or not, he eviscerated some victims so horribly that it was impossible to tell where their body ended and another’s began.

The police and emergency medical services swarmed the scene to attend to the wounded and ensure that the villain was, in fact, dead. I moved to assist in any way I could, and while my monstrous appearance disturbed the people I sought to aid, most people quickly figured out that I meant no harm and only wished to help. Mammals were strangely adept at figuring this kind of thing out, and humans were the pinnacle of mammalian intelligence, after all.

The commanding officer approached me and asked for a word.

I obliged, and after we moved out of the way, he slapped me across the face and scolded me, “What did you think you were doing? Did you have a plan?”

He seemed unperturbed by my alien appearance.

He pressed me, “Why did you think we didn’t go in yet? You almost got yourself killed because you couldn’t use some goddamn common sense to consider that there might have been a reason the police were keeping a low profile! We already lost a sniper! You got lucky that your arrogance distracted him long enough for someone to put him down!”

I apologized for my arrogance.

I noticed that the second in command seemed distracted, and I turned to see that the man who shot this murderous youth had exited the building, still in his armor, with his hands up as if to signal surrender. The police interviewed him while I was subjected to a verbal dressing down. From what I could see and hear, the police did not deign to arrest him, and he gave them a business card with which they could contact him in the future. Of course, he stayed to help with what he could. Afterward, he returned to where he obtained the materials used to construct the armor and returned the material comprising it to its original configuration.

After cleaning up was done, I found the man who ended this rampage, and I meekly asked him, “Are you the man who took the shot?”

He answered truthfully, “Unfortunately, I am.”

I asked him, “If you don’t mind me asking, why did you kill him?”

He returned my question with, “Didn’t you try to kill him?”

He seemed genuinely confused at my line of inquiry.

I confessed, “No. I meant to use my kanabō to punch a hole in the ground next to him… to stun him so I could restrain him.”

He asked, almost amused, “You don’t have the heart to kill?”

I lied, “No. Or, at least, I hope I don’t.”

He softly challenged me on that, “Well, to be frank. I hope you’re mistaken… I didn’t catch your name?”

I lied to protect my identity, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember what false identity I used. It was honestly probably ripped from an old manga I didn’t expect him to have read.

His face expressed amusement as he said, “Alright. Keep your secrets. My name is Takachiho (高千穂), and it’s a pleasure to meet you. Although, I wish I’d have met such a lovely girl under better circumstances.”

His sudden playfully flirtatious demeanor did not have time to sink in as he deigned to take his leave and go home. His strange introduction lead me to believe that he concealed his full name in response to me concealing my identity. Which meant that he knew I was lying.

I was lucky that there was some subset of metahumans whose powers permanently disfigured them into inhuman forms from within the womb, and that some of those could change their shape. This allowed me to pretend that I was such a heteromorphic human being with transforming abilities. As luck would have it, the traditional humans simply assumed that if kaijū and metahumans were both real, then such heteromorphic kaijin (怪人) might also exist as a type of metahuman. So, most traditional humans just assumed I was a metahuman kaijin.

I gave my statement to the police, and they let me go. After which I found and recovered my kanabō and left the scene. People in the streets and in the buildings recorded everything on their phones. This, combined with the fact that the news had already arrived and that the criminal was careful to not damage any security cameras, meant that almost every facet of this incident was caught on video and photo. The cat was out of the bag now. Certainly, reporters would show my face in their videos, articles, and podcasts, and that this would spread across the nation. So, I counted myself lucky that I had the wherewithal to drop my secret identity before entering the fray. I also considered the possibility that the police did not probe into my identity to protect me from the potential risk of assassination from the superstitious.

The thought of there being a formerly closeted metahuman within the police force who might have explained the dangers of exposing metahumans to the public crossed my mind as I made my way towards Mari’s home. Now under the cover of my alter ego guise, and after taking some time to ensure no one followed me. Any thought of confronting my harasser from yesterday evaporated. I was much too unprepared to deal with lowly metahumans, despite my two years of experience in killing devils.

Eventually, I arrived at my destination. Little miss Mari had been praying for me after seeing the fiasco on the news. While there, a brass-monkey sculpture, made in a manner evocative of the Jōmon dogū, caught my eye as an odd decoration.

Thus began several lives of ever-increasing, often man-made horrors beyond my comprehension. Where night terrors and subtly parasitic dreams manifest to test the very soul of being itself. Stories wherein we must confront Gnostic wizards, whose demiurgic “Scientia” sought to subvert all realities. To transform themselves into Gods, for whom all thoughts become real and who could therefore speak into being any hellish utopian fantasy they so desired. Wizards who desired to recreate mankind in their own vainglorious image.

The greatest of which was the Author, the invincible anti-God whose only challenger was that Supergod she beloved so much despite their impassible opposition to each other.

[divinewill]

Capítulo Catorce: A Shoggoth on the Roof

It was now time to return home, so I made my way south. I lived on the island where this impact took place. However, fortuitous circumstances and the mountainous geography shielded me from the thermal radiation.

By all rights, we all should have suffered superficial scourging. On my way back home, I got a glimpse of the sheer scale of what had just happened. When I looked at a map of the devastation on my phone, the burns, the fires, radiation poisoning, blast, and projected fallout zones were impossible to fathom. This was more than enough to collapse the nation.

Finally, I saw the face of the beast that did this to us. It wasn’t a faerie at all, but some form of life hitherto unknown, in the guise of an impossible animal.

I learned it had already come to light that the reason the United States military engaged the kaijū alongside the JSSDF was simply that it was immediately apparent that this thing presented a real existential threat.

I was unaware of U.S. Constitutional law, so the Just War Amendment was unknown to me. However, I knew that the United States justified the continued existence of military bases in Japan through a series of legal loopholes, to conform to their Just War policies.

The United States of America, Empire of Rus’, CANZUK, and Dharmic Republic of India, had long since become global superpowers and aligned with each other in a cold war against the People’s Republic of China. The ruling party of which used artificial intelligence to turn itself into an honestly Huxleyan hellscape.

As a result, they freely shared information between each other. Therefore, when the Russians nuked this thing with a 100 MT warhead in the middle of the Pacific, they immediately alerted their allies about failing to kill this thing.

Now there was this GSSDO (世界戦略自衛隊)? To reassure a world uncertain of their purpose, their leader made a comprehensive introduction and statement of purpose to the world. I found him to have the demeanor of a killer, given his portrayal in the material I could watch, read, and listen to. He was someone confident in his own destructive capacity, as well as his mastery and control over said capacity.

Their manpower was also fascinating. I couldn’t figure out a common throughline which would explain why their ranks appeared the way they did. Not only did its members seem to be pulled from across the world arbitrarily, but also it integrated populations that appeared like entities out of a fantasy novel or anime.

If it weren’t for that impossible woman and all the other metahumans coming together, rescue efforts would still be ongoing. I could not fathom the power she had displayed. She seemed on par with an immortal or a deva.

Compared to a human being, I have phenomenal strength and speed, but compared to that woman and that beast? I was totally powerless. I thought about what I could do to help, but I understood that what I knew before was only a fraction of what I would need to know for the coming years, if I understood anything at all as I should have.

This was all quickly becoming too much for me, so I remembered what my father taught me: that when a problem seems overwhelming, you must take a step back and reframe yourself in relation to the problem. You can break it down into a series of manageable tasks, reassess your plans as necessary, reach out for help when needed, or you can understand that some situations are beyond your power to change.

I thought about how that “Lolita Princess” must have felt—the sadness and terror concealed behind her eyes, the powerlessness she must have felt as she exhumed the bodies of the dying, being unable to save them despite all the power she seemed to command.

I was of no use to anyone if I let an impossible desire overcome me, so I had to do what I could and be pragmatic about things. I must learn more about what is going on. After all, the essence of the Japanese hero is the dispelling of illusions, both intrapersonal and interpersonal.

Passing by a reflective shop window, I saw out of the periphery of sight a reflection that was clearly not mine, nor the guise I adopted. With a rapid snap to attention, I turned to see that the reflection was, in fact, my own. I thought the stress of yesterday and today might get to me, and I dismissed the thought.

Only ten minutes later, I felt that distinctive scopaesthetic feeling arise from the back of my head and overshadow my body, so I turned to see who it was that was looking at me. That’s when I saw the woman who was in the reflection. On the ledge of a forty-story skyscraper stood what appeared to be a girl, staring at me from a 2 km distance. She was apparently 16 years old, 163 cm tall, Dravidian girl, with straight, black, hip-length hair, and blue eyes. She dressed in cosplay, as a supervillain I did not recognize. An apparently bloodied sash floated in a slithering motion around her.

Our eyes made contact, and she pressed her index finger against her lips as if to tell me to remain silent, and with a blink of my eyes, she disappeared like the image of a ghost.

Now I was totally on edge. The hell was that? She made eye-contact with me from that distance. Is she following me? I felt I could not risk the possibility of being followed, not after seeing how totally even simple siddhis could overpower me. So, I took an unnecessarily convoluted path towards my home, even entering the sewers at one point. I wound about for a time until exiting out of a drainage port.

To avoid contamination, I quickly decomposed myself into superheated smoke and reformed under a new guise at a distance of 50 meters.

After nearly 50 minutes of diversionary maneuvering, I thought to myself, “there’s no way she could have followed me.” So, under another guise—the form in which everyone at school knew me—I ventured back home.

It took another two and a half hours to make it back home. During that time, I assuaged the worries of my parents, whose calls and texts I muted for safety reasons. I reassured them I was fine, and that I had not entered the poisoned zones.

Now, being able to see my house, I was horrified to discover that this woman was STANDING ON THE ROOF OF MY HOUSE! Bloody fucking hell, am I being stalked by the Lich? The girl gave an unnerving and toothy smile, her eyes communicated some sinister intent.

I ran towards her, and with a blink of my eyes, she was again gone. Despite being down wind, I couldn’t smell her, nor could I hear the rustling of her clothes or her rooftop footfalls. I didn’t hear an impact on the ground from her jumping off the roof. Even disappearing, as by teleporting, should have made some kind of sound, yet it was complete silence from her.

I needed to check on my mother and father and make sure they were safe. So secrecy be damned, I bolted with superhuman speed towards the house. When I made it to the door, I briefly fumbled with my keys and opened it in a panic.

“Mom? Dad?” I called out.

I heard them both call out to me, and they came to the door to make sure I was okay. They asked me the standard questions you might expect in this situation: if I was alright, where I was, etc. They recognized me in a news report as one of the superpowered individuals helping to extract the living and the dead from the rubble.

I struggled to ask them if there was anyone in the house, to which my mother told me, “Of course not. Why, what’s wrong?”

I informed her, “Someone was following me after I left the hotel where I just came from. When I got here, I saw them standing on the roof, and then they disappeared. They have some ability to negate sound…”

My father told us, “Stay here…”

He then left to grab his tantō so he could inspect the house, just in case someone broke into the house.

Thank heavens they’re fine. I stayed to protect my mother, but after a thorough sweep of the house, he found no evidence of either anyone being home or of a forced entrance. My mother and I breathed a sigh of relief. Then, I took my parents to the living room where I explained to them all the details of what had happened.

My father asked me, “Do you trust these people?”

I told him, “I trust you, and you taught me to trust, but verify.”

My father then asked me, “So, what are your plans?”

I told him, “Same as always: protect the homeland. If it turns out they need my help, I will offer it, but I do not have any intention of killing a hanyō… It’s too close to killing a human… One of them will have to do it.”

My mother said, “I don’t understand what the difference is between killing evil yōkai and evil people.”

My father explained on my behalf. “She’s a warrior. She understands that lethal force is to be used justly and judiciously. There are very few situations where she would need to kill a human being, but Devils are too powerful and dangerous to be stopped without lethal force.”

I confirmed this, “Precisely.”

My father advised my mother, “My love, Momo looks tired. Let her get changed and take a bath.”

My mother agreed, and I thanked them for my dismissal.

I went into my room, and I froze when I saw her. The ghostly woman was now in my house and wearing my school uniform. My owl-like audition didn’t hear her, nor did my ursine sense of smell notice her, and I could feel no flow of ki (気) that I would expect the feel from any other living thing. My father completely missed her in his sweep. When I blinked, she was gone. I felt an electrical storm pulse throughout my body, from my brainstem into the outermost extremities, as I entered the room, looking for where she might have gone.

For a moment, I thought I might go crazy until I heard, barely audible, in the hallway behind me, “Hey!”

The last thing I heard were the footfalls of someone entering my room, and my mom asking me, with a panicked voice, “Sweetie, are you okay?”

I turned, and she wasn’t there. In fact, I couldn’t hear anyone.

“Hello.” I heard a voice whisper in the back of my brain.

I turned back to see the Dravidian woman, but suddenly, I was no longer in my house.

Transported to an expansive, ethereal dreamscape, I reached for my weapons, but found that my weapons, armor, and clothes were no longer on my person. I was totally naked, even stripped of my glamouring guise. Something was disrupting my powers completely. Terror rang through every cell of my body. I wanted to cry and run, but I rejected both impulses. So, my only option now was to stand my ground.

Posturing in an aggressive boxing stance, I asked her, “The hell are you, and what do you want with me?”

The woman’s smile, at the very edge of human possibility, showcased her immaculate teeth as she revealed, “Born in a future past, I come bearing a message from the Author about her beloved mother of infinities, who, along with all her children, are totally immune to the powers cultivated by Daoists, Buddhists, or even Angels.”

I asked her, “The hell do you mean ‘future past’?”

She twirled around in the air, frivolously, and said, “You’ll figure it out soon enough.”

I thought to myself, “is that the Supergod that Hallvarðr warned me about?”

I asked her, “Why have you brought me here?”

The magical girl revealed, “I need you for something, but I can’t tell you what it is.”

I interrogated, “Then why even show up?”

The witch explained, “To give you a geass.”

I inquired, “You mean the Celtic cursed blessing?”

The witch confirmed, “Correct!”

I told her, “I am not interested.”

The witch mocked me, “It’s cute you think you have a choice, but before that, I want to have some fun.”

She then quickly flew through me. To my horror, my intercepting punch passed through her like a bullet through a specter.

Behind me, she clung to my shoulders. Demonstrating an ability to touch me while I could not touch her.

She said, “Behold, the cascading mistakes which actualize fantasy.”

Suddenly, I witnessed a young Japanese girl, only 16 years old, as she tapped her fingers on a series of toys of American, Japanese, Korean, Chinese, and Indian superheroes, magical girls, wǔxiá, xiānxiá, and other such heroes, bringing them to life. Afterward, she moved onto human-sized and giant posable dolls made in the image of ancient idols.

Each of these dolls came to life in the image of what they represented: Athena, Heracles (金剛手菩薩), Gaṇeśa (歓喜天), Hermes, Mercurius, Óðinn, Papa Legba, Quetzalcōātl (羽蛇神), Śiva (大黒天), Sūn Wùkōng (孫悟空), Thṓth, Viṣṇu (毘紐天), and Þórr. This mistake blew up in her face, as entire pantheons exploded from these idols in a metaphysical maelstrom which would shake the world.

The witch told me, “Now look behind you!”

I did as instructed and saw another metahuman who allowed villainous ancient and modern gods of evil to make contracts with men, allowing them to enter the world in a manner they never could under their own power.

I heard the villain speak their names, which were translated to my ears, almost as if to conceal their identities from me. The first was Kokuanmen (黒暗面; lit. “face of absolute darkness”), an eight-foot nine-inch-tall, incredibly muscular humanoid, avatar of the malevolent spirit, and Platonic form of, tyranny, armed with a spell to break your heart, shatter your will, steal your liberty, and kill your soul.

He possessed an impressive physique, gray skin, red irises, wrinkled face. He possessed a dark blue helmet that concealed his mouth and wore a muscle cuirass designed to mimic a physique with muscular definition where you could not reasonably get them. A capitalized omega (Ω) decorated the center of his chestplate. A perfectly spherical, blood red, crystalline orb was at the center of the letter, and at the front of the mighty belt which affixed his microskirt.

He wore no thigh protectors, but sported armored combat boots, shin guards, forearm protectors, and gauntlets. This body projected something like light writing suspended in space, outlining the sketch of a wicked mechanical face without a nose and in the styling of an ancient magical array projected into three-dimensional space.

I felt a power in him that threatened far more than my world, but a cursed thought crossed my mind: That he had the power and will to drag all universes and their constituent lokas with him into a black hole in the basement of creation: a hell without exit or end. With him was a pantheon of mighty asuras—gods of military strategy, sadism, savage warfare, propaganda, assassination, and the hunt—alongside goddesses of child abuse, controlled opposition, sexual violence, and the life that is death. I sensed their avatars existed in countless universes and commanded hundreds of trillions of lesser asuras, demoniac super soldiers, and metaphysical artificial intelligences in each.

The next was Kōsei-donsei-sha (行星吞噬者; lit. “planet eater”), a horned god of genocide, whose unbranching antlers sprang from the sides of that almost mechanical Olmec face as a symmetrically modified jera rune (ᛃ), protected by an almost columnar helmet. Looking up towards the sky and seeing his expanse, I could guess that this muscular humanoid, clad in purple armor designed to evoke the musculature implicit underneath, must have towered over super-Jupiters. From this evil spirit, I felt an unquenchable and basal gluttony. Looking upon it was like looking upon the embodiment of a living dead universe, the life of which is prolonged only through human sacrifice.

Thence was, Uchū-taitei (宇宙大帝; lit. “cosmic emperor”), which appeared to be an impossibly close moon in the sky, that cleanly segmented, broke apart, and reassembled itself into a mechanical golem with horns, and membrane-lacking chiropteran wings. An asura of chaos, in eternal conflict with his brother, the deva of order. His goal was simple: the revocation of being and formation, which would return everything to the formless nonbeing of primal chaos. A planet sized work of femtotechnology, nanotechnology, megatechnology, and magitechnology conjoined into a demon that grew from a cannibalistic Gaia devouring planets and moons to consuming stars and eventually universes. I somehow knew that he could exist in multiple universes at once, with continuity preserved between his abominable avatars.

Next was Seikusha (星喰者; lit. “star-eater”), the god of the void, whose shadows extended from a source of golden light. Three serpentine tendrils laced with recurved spines extended from the shadow of the cultist who held the crystal gem of unknown composition.

As it crossed the shadows of men and fey alike, the mouths of its shadows bit off chunks of its victims’ shadows, which translated into that wound manifesting in the reality of their bodies. I saw it shred civilians, police, and self-defense forces before its actual body appeared.

Comprising three impossibly long serpentine necks that were composed of armored segments with recursive spines and tipped with dochilocephalic, recursively spined heads with tooth-filled mouths and multiple eyes in a vaguely draconic form—all wreathed in golden plasma as they sprang from a pitch-black, spherical hole in the sky formed by the curvature of spacetime through the manipulation of gravity.

These necks seemed endless as they extended 20 km with no clear signs of being at their limit. Its appearance heralded by a hypercane: a storm which was hitherto purely theoretical, with a diameter spanning well beyond 2220 km across, with 800 km/h winds, gusts of 970 km/h, rapid fire lightning bolts like those of Jovian rage, and rain more severe than the worst monsoons in all the Earth’s being.

Then, I was shown a strange, six-eyed, octopus-headed asura with leathery chiropteran wings. It congealed together from a repulsive gelatinous substance that manifested from a pink, bubbling mist. Among all these dark gods, he was the only one I recognized in this form—the Great Old One, Cthulhu (クトゥルフ). Cthulhu served as the herald of other powerful entities, such as Shub-Niggurath, Nyarlathotep, Azathoth, and Yog-Sothoth.

Behind these gods of evil, an uncountable mass of asuras, devil cultivators, supervillains, and monsters came into view.

A sense of total powerlessness overtook me, but something in my subconscious told me to look behind me.

So, I turned back and beheld the young woman placing within her enchanted hands those of an American sun god too humble to accept worship, to animate it with the prayer, “Chōjin (超人) can.”

The broad-shouldered, muscular, clean-shaven, 190.5 cm tall god of strength, who wore a skintight, wrist-length-sleeved suit in the styling of an American strong man of the 1930s, athletic boots that reached up to his knees, a cape affixed to his shoulders, and a magic ring on his right middle finger, came to life and glowed golden before I could see the emblem on his chest. A tulpa as luminous as the stars, descending into a golem animated to defend the innocent while simultaneously showing mercy to the villainous.

Behind him was something I could not adequately describe in human language. A “machine” whose movement involved the appearance, disappearance, and transformation of moving parts that did not seem interconnected, almost as if some impossible structure in hyperspace was passing through but not bound within our three-dimensional space.

That sun god noticed my confusion and granted me the power to see this “machine” through the power of his simply seeing me: it was an action figure in his image, nested within what I would later learn was called Hilbert space—the medium from which space and time themselves emerge. Relative to its perspective, there was no concept of scale. An android composed of Platonic forms, and which could hold a multiverse in its hands: an archetype actualized.

It was an idea seeded into the minds of authors from a higher spiritual reality to be penned down into their fiction, pointing to a transcendent reality more real than its author’s reality. Its precise appearance obstructed by not only geometry but also by something obscuring my vision of the entity before me. It looked at me, and both the man and the machine smiled. Their face communicated uncompromising faith, hope, and charity that eluded me at that moment.

Besides this man of light, appeared an uncountable number of gods, demigods, angels, immortals, robots, and mortal heroes. Among them was a god of light whose hand crafted being from imagination. A warrior goddess of truth, whose snare dispels possession and deception, stood beside them. Faster than a speeding tachyon, I beheld gods of speed. Within their command structure was a battle-hardened yet compassionate, robotic god of leadership. Cloaked in a hooded cape, was the Solomonic and Herculean but childlike god of gods. With hammer in hand, the impossibly powerful god of thunder made a boisterous appearance. Among them was a short autistic goddess of the internet, who blurs the boundaries between reality and hyperreality.

Standing together, a prideful warrior god of destruction, both a friend and rival to a childlike god of martial cultivation. An elf-like goddess of wisdom and rulership stood alongside her knight-like tutelary god of courage, and together they cast down an asura of power. But the most impressive of them all was a loincloth and leather boot wearing, swashbuckling, hypermasculine god-prince of manliness, from whom radiated an invincible courage and overflowing compassion. Standing at his righthand side was his sister, the swashbuckling god-princess of animus-integrated-femininity.

The evil spirits stood in opposition to them, but these heroic spirits stood their ground against their impossible powers. More impressively, from the eyes of that sun god of strength extended a network through which his godlike power was freely given to others, unseen by his choosing.

One of those streams penetrated straight through my heart, but only left an inert seedling of power. I grabbed at my chest, shocked to find no sign of physical interaction with anything like what I saw. I could not feel a quantum of ki from this seedling.

Many, though not all, of his brothers-in-arms also had the power to share their power with others. Though in a more limited capacity.

He nodded toward me in approval. Afterward, the evil spirits engaged in a cosmic battle with these disciples of light. It was only then that I noticed something behind the forces of light. Something I could fathom even less than those things before me.

It had countless geisha white hands clasped in prayer. Countless heads, most of which with three faces, and bearing hooded green capes, singing songs of silence in a language I had never heard.

In its hands were unborn babies shredded in abortion, along with elderly men and women on their deathbeds, the corpses of people I recognized from the wreckage of the G² impact, and countless more. They weren’t just from my era; some appeared to be from ancient civilizations, and even from tribes as ancient as Homo Erectus, while others appeared to be human aliens from other planets or possibly from the future. Was it an angel, a Buddha, an immortal, an aeon, or God? Regardless, it was a singularity of compassion.

An incomprehensible power restrained these spirits, which I sensed to be the same evil power that kept the supernatural sequestered from the mundane and suppressed the siddhis of men until our present day for unknown purposes.

The Wicked Witch, floating upside down, whispered in my right ear. “Would you like to see how the world ends?”

My heart was racing, sweat pouring down my shaking hands. Before I could answer, I beheld a structure, emanating from and conjoining the physical, platonic, and dream worlds into a cascading spiraling complex. Along which all heroes, villains, and civilians were inexorably marched to some unknown endpoint.

I confessed, “No…”

This specific vision immediately dissipated, and she pulled away, righted her orientation, then said, “Boring.”

I challenged her, with a cracking voice, “What is the point of these visions?”

The wicked witch calmly told me, “The Author has deigned to provide mankind with the power to defictionalize their dreams, including their nightmares, be it their mythologies or fiction. But as you know, heroes don’t arise in a vacuum, and neither do villains. It is an encounter with suffering in times of need that creates heroes.

“After all, in the same way, John Rabe, a card-carrying National Socialist, stood up in compassion to protect innocents during the rape of Nánjīng; becoming the Living Buddha of Nánjīng (南京の活仏). So, too, did Sugihara Chiune (杉原 千畝) prove himself to be one of the Righteous Among the Nations (諸国民の中の正義の人), when he used his position as the Japanese ambassador to the Third Reich to save innocents during the Holocaust.

“In an era when an anthropophagic idea ensnared all nations, to differing degrees, good men arose to oppose this all-pervading degeneracy.”

I remember my father calling this time “The First Socialist Civil War”. He contended that even the United States and Empire of Japan were socialist nations during this period. There was only one nation, a microstate in the middle of the Italian peninsula, that he defended, with its king and high priest being declared among the Righteous of the Nations. Though I could let this correction slide for now.

I rebutted, “We, in Japan, have long since abandoned that anthropophagic idea. So have America and even Rus’.”

The Witch came so close to my face that she almost kissed me.

She looked me square in the eye then said, “Ah, but the Japanese have not been freed of their human nature… a nature that I take part in, but you do not.”

She pulled back, lightly pressing my nose with her finger as we parted, and once again floated weightlessly.

I asked, “So, this author is the one who did this?”

She confirmed, “Yes. The Author cast a seal with thought alone. A spell so powerful that it orchestrated history itself to ensure the separation of the mundane and supernatural until this very day. To be signaled with one hell of a bang!”

I asked, “Why would they do this?”

She confessed, “I don’t have to tell you that.”

I inquired, “Is it because you know but do not want to say, because you know and can’t say, or because you simply do not know?”

The Witch responded, “Cheeky, but I gain nothing by telling you. Which brings me to my purpose being here.”

She snapped her fingers, pointed at me. I felt an invisible force inside me course through my heart and into and through my circulatory and nervous systems.

She promised, “I came here to deliver this message. You will not seek the Lolita Princess, for the day you do, you will surely die.”

I told her, “I do not believe you.”

The beautiful maid returned to me and caressed my face, then finally cursed me with a geass. “My lovely fairy. When it is time, well after this current life you’re living, it will be my sisters who end your reincarnation cycle through the power of our hand.”

I was too terrified to speak as she again slithered behind me.

She explained, “American, Germanic, or Chinese heroism cannot win the ultimate test. To pass the test, all these heroic traditions must cultivate the one who the Author has promised to negotiate with the Author.”

I saw a vision of that Lolita Princess hanged and crucified, with a young woman of mixed Sinid and Bantuid appearance beneath her, and in the arms of that hitherto mentioned eldritch being. Someone hacked the young woman into pieces. Both corpses possessed the same seed of power that I received, and, in fact, they seemed to share the same instantiation superposed between two locations. But within them, that seedling shone brighter than the sun.

The various divine, enlightened, and mortal heroes who could share their powers with others stood around her body, and that seed of power within her resonated with those heroes then blossomed. But their faces were not those of mourning. Rather, they were joyful, like someone who had met an old friend after being separated for far too long and mistakenly thought them to be dead.

The Dravidian witch whispered in my ear, “And before she can do that, she must become a martyr and give her life for her principles. So, I ask you… Are you willing to die for your principles?”

I dodged the question and promised, “You’re no different from any other devil! I will defeat you!”

She giggled, removed a bloodied monkey’s paw from her pocket and placed it in my hand, saying, “Even Sūn Wùkōng, couldn’t oppose me any more than Pigsy could harm the Buddha himself.”

Befuddled, I rhetorically asked, “What?”

She threw the bloody sash at me, then pulled the hairpin from her ear. The hairpin expanded to a staff that she broke in her hands effortlessly. The shattered staff expanded into a crushed celestial column.

I remembered what I was told about the prophecies of the supergod.

“You have already seen the paw.” She revealed.

I looked at the paw and dropped it to the ground, saying, “I’m not an idiot. I know this is a psychic attack, and that this hand is not real.”

She smiled, “Really. Well, I’ll leave you with a reminder. Me and my sisters have slain gods, killed buddhas, stripped the life from immortals, cast down aeons, banished angels, and even felled hyperanthropes. Do not seek the Lolita Princess. This hand and sash should suffice for a warning. Now wake up!”

I woke up gasping for air and drenched in sweat.

My mother and father were besides asking me variations of, “Sweetie, what happened?” and “Are you alright?”

I told them, “I’m fine.”

My father passed me a glance that wordlessly asked if the woman I had told them about was responsible for what happened to me. I nodded to confirm his suspicions. With this information, he again began room clearing, this time with far more thoroughness than any normal man would think reasonable.

My mother refused to leave my side, which calmed me down just enough to notice something I hadn’t before. I felt blood in my pocket. Moving to check my pocket, I found within it a sanguine sash and a bloodied, petrified rhesus macaque paw. At the sight of it, my mother panicked.

Holy shit… that actually happened?

[divinewill]

Capítulo Trece: All This and Heaven Too

I donned my armor, and Mrs. Chiba plotted the route to the meeting location on her phone, then told us, “It’s a fifteen-minute walk.”

Mrs. Chiba, holding the knife by the blade, handed Sakurai a knife and said, “If you’re coming with us, then you need to take this so you can defend yourself if necessary.”

Sakurai was clearly uncomfortable receiving the weapon. I doubted she had ever experienced getting punched in the mouth, let alone knew how to box.

The way she held the weapon told me she knew nothing of knifefighting. Mrs. Chiba seemed to notice as well. I could tell that she contemplated giving Sakurai her pistol, but then realized that the girl certainly had no experience with a firearm and therefore kept it.

I politely informed her, “If anything happens, you two need to run. I will handle it.”

Mrs. Chiba suggested, “As far as we know, it could be a trap.”

I stoically said, “I know, but even if it is, I’ll ensure both of you will remain safe.”

Sakurai inquired, “Do you have a plan, if it is?”

I told them, “Precise and overwhelming force. Same way I killed the gashadokuro yesterday.”

Sakurai asked me, “You killed a gashadokuro?”

I confirmed, “Fairly easily, actually.”

To my surprise, I kept my armaments throughout the panic yesterday. Instinctively holstering them in my armor before heading out to help with rescue.

As I holstered Ryūseiseki and Hiraiha and rested Kyūdōmujun on my back with a sash, Mrs. Chiba sighed. She removed a New Nambu M60 from her purse, then holstered it at her side.

She told me, “If you’re going to protect the people from devils. Melee weapons will not cut it. You need to keep a distance between yourself and the enemy.”

As I finished preparations, I informed her, “Advice assessed, but I have some mighty projectile weapons of my own.”

I stood up and Sakurai asked, “You can’t seriously intend to walk out like that?”

I smiled and said, “Just watch.”

Every aspect of my body gently, but rapidly reconfigured. My skin, hair, and eye colors changed, as my height, hair length, bust, hips, waste, relative trunk length, body type, nose breadth, face breadth, head breadth, and head height all changed. Some changes being barely noticeable and others being radical.

All the while, my horns receded into apparent non-existence, my fangs reducing to human proportions, and the claws on my fingers became like well-maintained nails.

I, in my altered, higher-pitched voice, asked, “What do you think?”

Young Sakurai simply said, “That’s amazing!”

The silent horror on Mrs. Chiba’s face told the truth of what she thought of my transformation.

I responded, “Thank you, and here’s another trick I’ve got.”

I snapped my fingers for showmanship, as opposed to necessity, and I cast an illusion that switched out the appearance of my armor and weapons with the appearance of Ms. Sakurai’s school uniform.

They were speechless at my glamouring powers, and as I opened the door, I simply said, “Now, please lead the way, Mrs. Chiba.”

In only a few seconds, I looked like a totally different person. I looked as if I could have been one of Ms. Sakurai’s younger classmates.

Ms. Chiba led the way as Sakurai asked me, “How did you do that?”

I confessed, “Your myths of oni, djinn, succubi, and vampires tell of their fantastical powers, among them shapeshifting and illusion casting. My adoptive metahuman parents give me the power to inherit all of my parents’ fantastical powers.”

Sakurai reached out to touch me and was startled when she pressed into fabric and soft flesh.

“It’s real!” she whispered.

I corrected her, “Not quite. My mythical heritage allows me the powers to interfere with your human sense perceptions, such as vision, mechanoreception, and proprioception, but these illusions are imperfect, and a sharp mind can tell when they are being deceived.”

I had the sense that Mrs. Chiba had already deduced this, though she kept such realizations to herself.

We made our way to an elevator, at which point I realized we were on the fifth, really fourth, floor.

Making our way to the lobby, we signed out and began walking.

I could tell that Sakurai felt yesterday in her legs, now that the adrenaline of today’s encounter was wearing off, so I offered, “If you’re tired, I can carry you on my back.”

She was adamant. “Absolutely not! Save your strength just in case you need it to beat some sense into those yōkai!”

I gave an uncomfortable smirk and continued. The unnatural silence was awful. It was as if the city had been largely abandoned, though there were a few stragglers in terms of small businesses operating.

Walking through empty sidewalks, across vacant streets, and in between uninhabited businesses gave a feeling as if we were moving through a pristine necropolis. Of course, it wasn’t hard to understand why these streets were so vacant. I would come to learn that most of the world entered a similar period of economic and social inactivity during the first few weeks of kaijū activities.

During our venture, Sakurai asked several questions ranging from small talk to poignant, but Mrs. Chiba remained relatively silent on all except one.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Chiba... I remember an American classmate explaining the Pentagon’s history of outlandish military simulations: for alien invasion, zombie apocalypses, and even kaijū. So, I was wondering, since you are ex-JSSDF, do you think the United States or Japan knew about the existence of these things?”

Mrs. Chiba admitted, “I do not think so, and even if they did, I was in the wrong part of the JSSDF to ask those kinds of questions. When the various alphabet agencies of America were dissolved, the heads of those organizations destroyed countless classified documents, for which they were rightly arrested, tried, and convicted. So, it’s possible that this information was lost.”

I asked her, “What are the alphabet agencies?”

Mrs. Chiba rattled on, “The agencies which were ruled to be unconstitutional by the Supreme Court of the United States a few decades ago, when the tenth amendment was finally upheld as it should have always been. They were the CIA, FBI, NSA, ATF, IRS, BLM, DEA, etc.”

She spoke with authority on the topic, as if she were someone well-versed through instruction and study.

So, I asked her, “How do you know so much about America?”

She confessed, “My grandfather was a general of the United States Marine Corps with a master’s degree in both American and Japanese history.”

Sakurai asked her, “So you’re of mixed race like us?”

She told me, “No. My grandfather is White, but I am fully Japanese.”

I asked a follow-up question. “Were you adopted, like me?”

She explained, “Kind of. My mother was conceived through rape, but my grandfather loved my mother as if she were his own daughter, and he adored me as if I were his own granddaughter. My grandmother wanted to abort her, but my grandfather wouldn’t stand for it. They argued day in and out, and eventually he convinced her to keep the baby. Which is why I am here.”

She couldn’t see the smile that her words put on my face due to being ahead of us.

I told her, “I’m glad your grandfather changed your grandmother’s mind.”

She did not respond to the comment, but I had a sense that she understood and received my intention.

Sakurai said, “I’d like to meet this grandfather of yours. He sounds like a good man.”

Mrs. Chiba told her, “Best I can do is take you to his grave.”

Sakurai apologized, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Mrs. Chiba kindly explained, “Not everything is as it first appears. He took his own life after my grandmother passed away in a traffic accident. A combat related TBI inhibited his ability to cope with the loss, and it destroyed my family. It’s not your fault for bringing it up. There’s no way you could have known, so don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong.”

There was a great tragedy implicit in the idea that a man who saved a child’s life would take his own and steal himself from that same child’s adult life. I didn’t believe that Mrs. Chiba really came to terms with it, given the change in heart rate, which would have been inaudible to human ears but were perfectly audible to my owl-like audition. However, I didn’t pry about it.

I was a demon slayer, after all. Neither psychotherapy nor spiritual counseling were skillsets I possessed.

Long before we got there, since the restaurant where we were supposed to meet was downwind, I experienced the luscious sanguine smell of a large bowl of blood curd. It made me salivate as I anticipated its lovely flavor. It was nectarous—the metallic tang accompanied by sizzling scents of beef, onions, rice, and other foodstuffs. Though the scent of blood was the thing which was foremost in my olfactory focus.

I was part-vampire, so a fixation on these tastes, smells, textures, and sights were hardwired into my biology.

As we approached our destination, we saw Hakutenga standing outside the restaurant. She flagged us down with a standing wave and a smile. Inviting us into the establishment and showing us to the table where her associate sat alone.

“Come, friends. Let us dine together as we negotiate our terms.” She requested.

We sat on the opposite side of Hakutenga and the Shinigami, who needed to be reminded by a gentle but forceful elbow to introduce herself. “My friend has reminded me I forgot to introduce myself yesterday. I apologize for the rude behavior. My name is Fukushi (福死). I am a Shinigami.”

Much to Fukushi’s apparent, though subtle, delight, that admission gave her both Mrs. Chiba and Sakurai’s full attentions. Although I could not perceive it, I knew she had Nenia trained on the Shinigami specifically. Ready to immobilize her at the drop of a pin.

Hakutenga snidely remarked, “You were more than rude, Fukushi.”

Fukushi rolled her eyes and was forcefully nudged again.

A waiter came by to take our orders and, and just as promised, Fukushi offered to pay the tab for everyone there. Hakutenga requested sukhoe (숙회) and tea. Fukushi ordered bulgogi (불고기) with water. Sakurai asked for kimchi pancakes and orange juice, and Mrs. Chiba chose egg dumplings with water.

I, of course, requested the sŏnji-guk, which I suspect our hosts preordered for me. The waitress took the order, and Fukushi paid up front in gold coins without rising from her seat. She then pressed her index finger to her lips as if to request the waiter’s silence. The waiter, who was the owner of the business, left without protestation to prepare the food, clearly enthused and intimidated by the sheer degree that our host clearly overpaid.

Hakutenga then introduced herself. “Hello, as you know, my name is Hakutenga. I am a Swan-maid, most recently born in the 1970s.”

I thought to myself, “most recently born?” What the hell does that mean?

Hakutenga asked, “So tell us a bit about yourselves.”

Mrs. Chiba took charge and answered before either I or Sakurai had the opportunity, “My name is Chiba, I am a former officer of the Japan Self-Defense Force.”

She then glanced at Sakurai, who introduced herself. “My name is Sakurai. I am a student studying to one day become a nurse.”

It was now my turn. “I am Setagaya. I am a devil hunter and protector of the people who raised me.”

Fukushi lit a cigarette as she derisively said, “Your commitment to the defense of these mortals is admirable, if somewhat misguided. I am certain that mankind can defend itself…”

Then a thought crossed her mind, and she asked, “Wait, you’re mortal-raised?”

I defensively deflected, “What of it?”

Fukushi observed, “You do not seem to be a hanyō.”

I corrected her, “That’s because I’m not. I am a full-blooded yōkai.”

Hakutenga asked, “Wait. Then, do you know anything about Otherworld?”

I admitted, “Not much more than what I can gleam from human mythologies and extremely rare conversations with lost and weary travelers.”

Hakutenga asked me, “How far back can you remember? Do you remember the Xenotheomachia?”

I asked her, completely confounded, “The what?”

The question seemed to catch Mrs. Chiba’s attention, though it was so subtly telegraphed that only I seemed to have noticed.

Hakutenga explained, “The war between the devas (天人) known to Earth and asuras (阿修羅) known to another world.”

I asked her, “Known to another world? Do you mean a pantheon of an alien planet or another universe?”

Then Fukushi explained, “That, or another Human World (人間界) entirely. There are countless planets in the Human World inhabited by their own autochthonic human populations, with their own distinct pantheons.

“Otherworld is a trichiliocosm: a network of three thousand million lokas interconnected through a network commonly analogized as an all-pervading world tree atop a cosmic mountain and separated by a veil. Celestial world (天界), Spirit World (霊界), Demon World (魔界), Beast-Man World (獣人界), and Talking Beast World (能言獸界) are but the tip of this cosmology.”

If the Earth felt small before—a blue pixel encircling but one insignificant speck of light itself drifting alongside hundreds of millions of other stars in one galaxy out of more than one hundred billion galaxies within the observable universe, which was, itself, only a fragment of the universe in reality—then it certainly felt smaller now.

As far as I knew, the universe could be incomprehensibly vast but bounded in a manner like the classic asteroids game, where traversing the edge leads to one reentering from another part of the boundary. Or it could be infinite in spatial extent. Certainly, the world of devas and asuras, the ancient gods and devils, was more expansive than the Human World. And knowing that there were at least four other lokas alongside these two, this universe of interconnecting lokas suddenly became much larger.

Chiba interjected, “Pardon the intrusion, but it sounds as if you are describing the universe as a 3-sphere. Are these worlds nested alongside each other in a higher spatial medium? Separated from each other at right angles to the three degrees of freedom we are currently moving through in our ‘Manuṣyaloka’ (人間界)?”

Fukushi rudely dismissed the soldier. “Alright, Alighieri.”

This response confused both me and Sakurai, so I asked, “Alighieri? As in Dante Alighieri?”

Chiba explained, “The geometry of Dante Alighieri’s universe in his Divine Comedy is highly reminiscent of a sphere with four spatial dimensions and one time dimension—a 3-sphere. I guess that means you have some familiarity with Western literature?”

I looked at her, astonished, and she admitted, “What? I’m a math major.”

Fukushi annoyed, but amused, said with a condescending tone, “Cute, but clever child.”

Chiba took this comment on the chin. It was clear that she had questions, and we three earthlings understood that, as far as we knew, she could be thousands of years older than any of us.

Hakutenga asked me, “Then, does that mean you’ve never heard of the antigod (祅)?”

This question took me aback, so I asked, “Please elaborate.”

She obliged, “Thousands of years ago, the veil between the Human World, Otherworld, Beast-Man World, and Talking Beast World was fortified by an unknown and alien antigod calling themselves the ‘author of tragedies-turned-comedy’. This unidentified being possessed the deva the Romans called Iānus and compelled him to foretell the birth of a human supergod (超神).

“According to prophecy, this supergod and their descendants would be immune to the powers of angels (天使), buddhas (仏), immortals (仙), gods (神), yāo (妖), devils (魔), and ghosts (鬼).”

I asked her, “Do you know the identity of this supergod?”

Fukushi took a puff of her cigarette and admitted, “No. There has been no successful attempt at divining the identity of this alleged supergod. Moreover, we are entering an era where even the precognition of the Fates is failing them. The Sky Striker is adamant that this is because of the passive interference of this being.”

Sakurai asked, “Is that because this supergod will be active in our future history, and knowing the effects of their activities would allow the Fates to divine the identity of this supergod?”

Hakutenga was enthusiastic about how quickly we seemed to catch on. “That is spot on regarding what the oracles and sages think is fated to happen, I…”

I interrupted her. “I do not believe in fate.”

There was a beat of silence.

Chiba asked, “Does this alien antigod have something to do with the hitherto unelaborated Xenotheomachia mentioned earlier?”

Fukushi revealed to us, “I do not think so. Almost two and a half thousand years ago, Otherworld was invaded by alien gods (星人の神々). Their most terrifying warrior was a god of strength, a deva of power seemingly unbounded. History tells of his prodigious strength in the xenotheomachia (外空神之戦). At the battle of Sakura Archipelago, an immortal (仙), knowing how to summon mountains, dropped Mount Sumeru (須弥山) upon the shoulders of that alien asura. That did not work, so he then dropped mount Éméi (峨眉山). But even these two cosmic mountains proved insufficient to stop this monster, and the divergent daemon continued to move with the speed of a meteor. As the foreign god mocked them for their efforts, Mount Tai (泰山) was employed, but this too could not stop his strength beyond strength, which allowed him to overcome devas of war while bearing the weight of the three mountains. At the battle of Hell Valley, a bodhisattva dropped the Five Phase Mountain (五行山) atop him, and it still proved impossible to slow him down.”

Fukushi shuddered. “Nothing seemed to stop him. Kailash (岡仁波齐峰), Fuji (富士山), and Olympus (オリンポス山) all failed to slow him down, and his strength threatened to shatter the world tree.”

My older escort chuckled, “So the powers of Buddhism, Taoism, and Confucianism did not stop him… So, the devas turned to Jainism, Shintō, and Platonism?”

The swan maiden explained, “He matched Heracles in strength, and could even hold his own against the Striker. Our best magical bindings, such as Gleipnir and the Golden Headband (金箍圈), were impotent to ensnare him.”

The Striker, being the deva interpreted as Zeus (Ζεύς) by the Greeks, Thor (Þórr) by the Norse, and Indra (帝釈天) by the Indians.

She continued, “While the invaders had many powerful avatars embodying strength, courage, wisdom, wit, light, death, and heart, among other realities, armed with terrifying astras… the terror of his power helped them wage psychological warfare against the Otherworld. It was a battle unlike anything ever seen before, more devastating than the Aesir-Vanir war, Titanomachy, Gigantomachy, Theomachy, and all the conquests that the Striker undertook to conquer Otherworld.”

I asked her, “Then how did Otherworld survive?”

She explained, “An unknown intelligence, neither deva, buddha, nor immortal (仙), in the guise of a queen of light, commanded that a mountain, which was only 765 meters tall, be dropped on him, and he ground to a halt. Not in the sense of collapsing from exceeding his physical strength, but in the sense that he had a revelation. With that, both sides stopped fighting, and the alien asuras agreed to leave Otherworld.

I asked her, “So, one small mountain did this? Do you know the identity of the mountain? Or perhaps the person who did this?”

Fukushi seemed to not want to admit an answer, so Hakutenga (白天鵞) explained, “Hallvarðr is adamant that the being who dropped the mountain was an angel (天使) acting on behalf of the queen of Heaven (天后), and that the mountain was Zion (シオン).”

I raised my eyebrow and asked incredulously, “You’re serious?”

Me and Chiba understood what that would mean if true, but Sakurai seemed to not understand the implications thereof.

The Shinigami admitted with a smirk, “Then you and me are on the same wavelength regarding that. I’ll grant him the bit about the angel. Those are way more terrifying than any deva or asura I’ve ever seen, but I do not believe that his assessment of the mountain’s identity is plausible.”

I asked, genuinely confused, “Have you ever met an ‘angel’?”

The Shinigami took a deep puff of the smoke and, after exhaling the noxious fumes, revealed, “No, but Hallvarðr has. As have some of the most powerful devas and immortals, and let’s just say that I have no interest in ever meeting anything like that.”

Hallvarðr, in the guise of a sharply dressed Germanic strongman entered the restaurant and spoke from behind us, “In Otherworld, the devas live in Devaloka (天界) and we Yāo live in Māraloka (魔界), as humans live in Manuṣyaloka. Though there are magicians so powerful that they can generate their own lokas.”

Fukushi, as Hallvarðr made his way to our table and took an empty seat from the adjacent table to sit down with us, elaborated, “That is how Brahmāloka (梵天界) and Viṣṇuloka (毘紐天界) came to be, through the mastery of 3,000 Great Paths (三千大道).”

I couldn’t help but think to myself, “The hell is this, a Xiānxiá (仙俠) novel?”

Hallvarðr, stoically courteous towards the interruption, continued, “Although, this is not where angels live. You see, these lokas where the gods and monsters of your human mythologies live are still limited within space and time. But angels exist in Aloka (無界): a state of being transcending space and time.”

He introduced himself. “Hello, my name is Hallvarðr. I see you have met my associates.”

Chiba and Sakurai introduced themselves before Sakurai asked, “So, angels are nowhere?”

Hallvarðr pulled out what appeared to be a folded piece of cloth from his shirt pocket, which he then unfolded into a full-sized cloth chessboard, with all the pieces placed in their appropriate starting positions.

He explained, “We are the pieces on the board. We move about the board through the spaces or intersections. Angels are not like that. Their relation to lokas is not analogous to our relationship to this board. Rather…”

He flipped the board over, the pieces keeping their placement relative to the board and effortlessly flattening as they are gently pressed against the table.

He continued, “the relationship between *where* angels are is analogous to the back of the board. While not within the zone of gameplay, it is simultaneously equidistant and intimate to every square and intersection on the board’s face.”

Chiba asked him, “Would that mean that they can interact with all lokas, even the artificial ones?”

Hallvarðr told her, “Correct. Even devas, immortals, and buddhas who have manifested their own lokas have had no success barring them from interfering with their work.”

Fukushi chastised him, “You’re late. Where have you been?”

Hallvarðr confessed, “I apologize for my lack of punctuality. I have been exploring the local library. It’s not every day I get to see such a sight as this.”

Hakutenga explained, “Hallvarðr is a bit of an anthropophile. He is endlessly fascinated with human cultures and has obtained several books from human philosophers and theologians, with a particular bend towards the Catholic dharma. Books from the Human World are scarce in Otherworld because of the aforementioned fortification of the veil, so his relatively modest collection of texts is quite impressive.”

Hallvarðr admitted, “Very true. My father passed on to me a copy of the Proslogion, and I have been forever fascinated with theology. I traveled across Otherworld, looking for human books which made their way through the veil. During those excursions, I have obtained a copy of the Incoherence of the Philosophers from a tribe of djinn (幽精), as well as a copy of the Summa Theologiæ from a hippocentauress (女性のケンタウルス), the Summa contrā Gentīlēs from a phoenix-maid (不死鳥処女), the Kuzari from a flesh golem, and even received the N’yāyakusumāñjali from a deva.”

Hakutenga asked, “Did you find anything to your liking?”

Hallvarðr confessed, “Yes! I bought quite a few books. The two that have caught my eye specifically are the historical evaluations titled ‘On the Reliability of the Old Testament’ by Kenneth Kitchen and ‘The Historical Reliability of the Gospels’ by Craig L. Bloomberg.”

Sakurai made an opportunity to ask Fukushi, “What makes you doubt Hallvarðr’s claim regarding the identity of the mountain?”

The Shinigami explained, “I simply do not believe in a God (上帝). So I have no reason to believe such an entity causally relates to the event.”

Sakurai asked her, “So you believe in angels, but not God the parent (親神様)?”

Fukushi insisted, “Unlike Hallvarðr, who must refer to God (自在) in order to make sense of the world, my worldview possesses no such deficiency. And even if such a being as this exists, I see no soteriological or magical relevance which would give his mountain relevance to my goal of obtaining the Dharmakāya (法身).”

Hallvarðr critiqued, “On the contrary, your worldview is explanatorily deficient in many areas of metaphysics and history.”

The look on Fukushi’s face was one of unyielding resolve and competitive respect. Such as someone who has struggled in debate against an unyielding and squirrely but cunning and honest opponent.

Hallvarðr asked her, “You were there in a previous life. What mountain do you believe it could have been? Surely, the mountain of the man who demonstrated his total mastery over life and death by not only being born of a virgin who was preserved from all ancestral and personal sin, died then came back to life in his original body transfigured into immortality, then raised all his saintly dead from their graves in their original reconstituted bodies, all under his own power, would be a reasonable candidate?”

Fukushi responded, “Poppycock.”

Hallvarðr reminded her, “There is a small population of humans that has lived in Otherworld for thousands of years, and among them are validly ordained priests whose lineages predate the East-West Schism. How do you explain the priests’ powers to obliterate harmatiological karmas that condemn the soul of a Faerie (妖精) to punishments in their next life?”

I assumed that the word yōsei (妖精) was being used in place of the English “faerie”, which seemed to refer to all mythical intelligences that were neither human, nor angel, nor God in Celtic mythology.

Fukushi asked, “Simple, Jesus was a Buddha. How does this differ from the powers of Amitābha?”

Hallvarðr explained, “Anyone who honestly claims that Jesus was a Buddha is either ignorant of the teachings of Christ or ignorant of the teachings of Buddha. Jesus made no claim to Buddhahood, nor do the historical documents show that he was one. The power to forgive sins represents total mastery over karma, where all harmatiological consequences are invisibly resolved. The power to grant this hamartiologically absolvent power, such as the power to release and bind punitive karmas, was given to his apostles by virtue of his word alone, as well as to the holy orders by virtue of their inheritance. This demonstrates an ability to communicate his power to men. What Buddha has the power to communicate their grace to another, such that the power granted to them is efficacious despite the deficiency of the apostle’s character, knowledge, enlightenment, or works?”

Fukushi batted back with, “You are really going to ignore the fact that reincarnation clearly happens? That is not compatible with the teachings of Christ but is with those of the Buddha.”

Hallvarðr told her, “The Church teaches that ‘it is appointed for men to die once’. This does not hold true for other rational souls. Angels, for example, cannot ever die, as they have no body to slay, and cannot subject themselves to time. Thus, they cannot change. Rather, their ultimate fate is determined by a single immutable choice.

“Whereas the ultimate fate of man is determined by a lifetime of decisions wherein they willingly move within and without the Logos (道). We faeries are not men, nor are we angels. We are appointed to be born and to die in a multiplicity of lifetimes, with our ultimate fate decided at the end of our last life.

“We know this because we see in ourselves precisely what we do not see in men and angels but would expect to see if reincarnation were their fate, and this is because we have bodies which are malleable and polymorphous. Given that the soul is the form of our body, our vital principle can be transmitted from one host to another because the principle of our identity has different potentialities to actualize than a human being or an angel.

“Since it is the soul of man which is the essence of man, and the soul of a cat the essence of a cat, it cannot be that ‘the soul which rules man should take on itself the nature of a beast’ or angel ‘so opposed to that of man’. Nor can our souls take upon themselves the nature of a human, beast, or angel so opposed to ours. This is because the soul contains within it the organizing principle which animates the body.

“While our bodies are malleable, the bodies of the sensible and rational animals are fixed, and thus can only ever bond with their own singular lifespan under natural means.

“We see this evidenced in our past life recollections. It is not uncommon among us to see that the souls of our children vary at their conception. We find that, as they mature, through the recollection of past life memories, some souls are clearly newborn while others are ancient.

“‘If souls depart at different ages of human life, how is it they come back again at one uniform age? For all men are imbued with an infant soul at birth.’ I can think of no example where a faerie can recall ever being human in a past life, or an animal or an angel, in a manner that our psychic powers cannot adequately explain.

“Similarly, we find that there is no human that can reliably recall ever having been a faerie, an animal, or an angel.”

At first, Chiba and I were getting progressively more annoyed as this tangential conversation continued, while Sakurai just seemed lost. But we both realized that this sidetracked conversation was freely giving us a lot of information that would be desperately necessary to make a wise decision. So, we paid as close attention as we could, without this specialized knowledge.

The waiter came back with our food, and, though we continued to talk, we all ate. I finally got my ambrosia, and it was more satisfying than I expected. Because of the conversation, I had forgotten how hungry I was. The waiter asked Hallvarðr if he wanted something to eat, and Hallvarðr politely declined, so the waiter left.

Sakurai, a Tenrikyōist, and therefore someone who believes in both God and reincarnation, chimed in. “You said that the bodies of faeries could keep cross life memories because of the malleability of their bodies… Doesn’t that explain why humans don’t keep these memories?”

Hallvarðr said, “My dear, even if I grant your suggestion, human reincarnation still does not stand. This is because the act of transforming the essential form of Saoirse into that of Sakura still destroys the form of Saoirse in the same manner that transforming the essential form of man into that of a cat destroys the form of man. There can be no continuity within such transmigration.”

Fukushi defended, “This assumes Hylomorphic metaphysics. I would challenge the idea that those substantial forms, as you have described, even exist.”

Sakurai, flustered, pulled away. I was so caught up in the conversation that I did not realize the girl’s obvious attraction to the guise this troll had adopted. Though, I highly doubt that she would be as interested in his monstrous true form.

She simply said, “I agree with you that God the Parent (親神様) exists and is the master of karmas (いんねん), but I also think that Ms. Fukushi has a point. That it is part of God’s design and wisdom that humans may have a fresh start (出直し) through saṃsāra (輪廻), and that the soul preserves some form of continuity as it passes between lives.”

Hallvarðr asked her, “My dear, might I ask what is your religion is?”

Sakurai told him, “I am a Tenrikyōist (天理教家).”

Hakutenga remarked, “I assumed you were a Hindu, honestly.”

Hallvarðr apologized, “Pardon my ignorance, but I am unfamiliar with this religion. Would you have any suggested reading?”

The girl fumbled through her bag and presented him with a copy of the Ofudesaki. He placed a scroll atop it, and we saw as the text automatically copied from the book onto the parchment.

With no need for the original text, he gave the book back to Sakurai and thanked her, “I appreciate your gesture, but I do not mean to deprive you of your property. I will gladly get back to you when I’ve finished reading this book.”

The girl, beat red, deigned to accept the offer, “Of course. I’d love to talk to you when you’re done with it.”

Having seen what he looked like without the guise and realizing that he was, in fact, not flirting with her and was oblivious to her attraction to him, I felt bad for the poor girl. And as interesting as it might be to get a better understanding of fey metaphysical biology, I felt it necessary to redirect the conversation to what was of the essence.

“I do not mean to disrupt your riveting conversation, but I need to know what it is you’ve called me here for.” I reminded them.

Fukushi recited verse, in some foreign human language, which Hallvarðr translated as: “If you do not open the gate to let me in, I shall smash the door and shatter the bolt. I shall smash the doorpost and overturn the doors. I shall raise up the dead and they shall devour the living: and the dead shall outnumber the living.”

Chiba and I both recognized this as a translation of the threat Ishtar (𒌋𒁯) makes in the Epic of Gilgamesh.

Hallvarðr revealed, “I’m sorry for the delay, so I’ll cut to the chase. We would like to petition for your help, should the time come that we find the Lich-Czar.”

I remember him calling this villain a necromancer of the devil path, but to learn that they had succeeded in the greatest act of necromancy—turning themselves into an undead magician—was new.

He continued, “The antigod seems to have eroded the veil between Otherworld and Earth, resulting in naturally and supernaturally formed doorways where yāo, devils, asuras, gods, and immortals alike are likely to enter the Human World. Men may also venture into Otherworld, and possibly even Beastman World and Talking Beast World. From what little we know, this necromancer has obtained siddhis unknown to Otherworld from their human lineage. So, we suspect they will make their way to this side of the veil to study this power.”

Fukushi explained, “We are offering you our help in defending your adoptive people. So, will you alert us if you should find evidence that he has crossed the veil?”

Hakutenga chimed in, “They will provide training from experienced martial magicians, to teach you what your human teachers may not have been able to about your fey powers.”

I told them, “These terms are acceptable. I would never leave my homeland undefended, but when the time comes, I will deign to help you slay, or at least contain, this devil.”

I was still wildly uncomfortable with the potential killing of a half-human, something which Hallvarðr seemed to sense.

He promised, “You do not have to be the one to deal the killing blow. If you can help us capture him alive, we can put him on trial as per the custom of the Phoenix-folk, so they can decide his fate.”

I admitted, “I find such a proposition agreeable.”

Seeing that we had fulfilled the point of this meeting, Sakurai asked him, “By human siddhis, did you mean superpowers?”

They seemed unfamiliar with this term, and Hallvarðr admitted, “I do not know.”

Sakurai explained, “Some humans have siddhis which they can pass down to their children through descent, adoption, or fostering. Each one is unique, with no two metahumans having the same powers.”

She pulled out an omnibus reprint of ‘Darker Than Black’ containing volumes one through three and handed it to Hallvarðr.

“It’s not exactly like this, from what I understand, but the Earth’s native magic is very similar to the superpowers found in comics dating all the way back to the 1930s and the literary traditions stemming from them.”

He looked at the strange codex and copied it in the same manner he copied the original and gave it back with, “I will be certain to read this. Thank you, lovely miss.”

She blushed and I, sporting a shit-eating grin, nudged her with my elbow, then said, “Wanna show him?”

She asked, in a confused stupor, “What?”

I stood up and said, “I’ve agreed to help you, but I still need to smash in your smug Shinigami snout for how she treated my hosts?”

Fukushi stood up and said, “You are…”

Suddenly, before she could complete standing up, the Shinigami went catatonic despite being fully conscious of her situation.

I mocked her. “That’s what you get for being rude to my ward.”

Hakutenga worriedly attended to her, “Fukushi, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you moving?”

Hallvarðr, likewise on his feet, attended to her. A composed but worried curiosity inscribed on his face, as he nudged her with his hand and snapped his fingers in front of her face to illicit a response.

He turned to us and calmly interrogated, “What did you do to her?”

I told them, “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

Turning to Sakurai, I requested, “Release her, please.”

Sakurai, without moving, did as I requested, and you could see the panicked gasping of the Shinigami as she leaped to her feet and almost fell.

I told him, “Humans with innate siddhis, obtained through descent, adoption, or fostering, are called metahumans. Every metahuman’s powers are different, even if they, at first, appear to be the same.”

Hakutenga, attending to Fukushi’s panicked state, commented, “So this is the power of ‘metahumans‘?”

I told them, “Oh, you have no idea.”

Hakutenga asked, “Would you be able or willing to find other such ‘metahuman’ magicians? Abilities such as these may be quite useful in controlling and combating devils.”

I confessed that, “I am reluctant to solicit human help in dispatching devils. Metahumans have one or two abilities, and not all of them suited for battle. Even if they have a siddhi which could prove useful for such, metahumans are still human. In contrast, our kind have a myriad of abilities to draw from.”

Hakutenga asked, “So that is a ‘no’?”

I confessed, “Correct.”

Mrs. Chiba stepped in. “I would advise you to investigate these claims further. While I have detected no lies, it may be prudent to verify this information yourself. Regardless, it would also be a good idea to find humans who can contend with faeries and prepare them to protect their country from this new devilish threat. In fact, I might be able to help with that second issue. I still have connections within the JSSDF, and I know a real military otaku who loves isekai. He would almost certainly dive into such an opportunity as this.”

She continued with a request, “If these claims prove true, could we count on you to present this information to our government? So, they could prepare, as best they can, for these villains?”

Without skipping a beat, Hallvarðr said, “To defend my brother-race, and the species of my Lord, you have my word that, should you trust us enough, I can present this information to your leaders.”

This statement perplexed Mrs. Chiba, as she did not know that Hallvarðr was a Christian.

Mrs. Chiba looked at me and asked, “What about you, Ms. Setagaya?”

I answered with an affirmation, “Yes. I will gladly evidence the existence of devils if requested, but under no circumstances will I reveal my name. I have a family to safeguard, and a life to live.”

Hallvarðr commented, “That sounds reasonable.”

Mrs. Chiba did not look as if my answer was reassuring, but she did not pursue the issue.

I requested, “And please do not reveal my identity when you come out with this information.”

Mrs. Chiba simply said, “Of course.”

Her heart betrayed an indifference to my worries, but I understood that with both Sakurai and Hallvarðr here, I could not press this issue, so I let it slide for the time being.

After a long conversation over dinner, we parted ways on peaceful terms. Though before leaving, Sakurai petitioned Hallvarðr to meet up with her in the future so that they could discuss metaphysics, to which he agreed.

This was the first foreshadowing to me I now lived in a world where C. S. Lewis, Wú Chéng’ēn (吳承恩), H. P. Lovecraft, and Grant Morrison would collide with horrific effects: a world of angels, buddhas, outer gods, and supergods.

[divinewill]

Capítulo Doce: Weak and Powerless

I was unaware of the segregation between traditional humans and metahumans within this Occidental-styled hotel, nor that this was a precaution for the safety of both traditional humans and metahumans alike. So, there was no way I could have known that the staff simply assumed I was a metahuman based on my appearance and what the transporters told them about my powers.

Waking up, I opened my eyes, and I saw that the two other women I was rooming with were terrified and standing in front of me. There was a subtle aggression in their poses.

The older woman had short hair and wore pants, a t-shirt, and black socks. She stood there while leaning her back and left foot against the wall.

The younger girl, dressed in a middle school uniform with waist-length hair, was crouched halfway between us.

I realized that, in my total exhaustion, my glamouring failed, and they could see my face: red skin with blue hair, green eyes, and vampiric fangs. Then, horrified, I noticed that while I could breathe, I could not move or speak.

I panicked, immobilized, and desperately tried to move. Even attempting to disintegrate my body into smoke to regain my freedom, but this paralysis was so pervasive that I couldn’t even move my gaze or control my facial expression.

I felt like I couldn’t breathe, like my life was in the hands of some unperceived ventilator that barely allowed me the air I needed. I felt like I needed to cry, but I couldn’t even manage that.

The schoolgirl, wearing a necklace with the Tenrikyō crest (天理教紋), confessed, “My friend will keep you immobilized until I decide it is safe to release you.”

The older woman, in her late twenties, asked me, “What are you, and what are you doing here?”

My mouth moved on its own. “I am a yōkai. I am here because helping with the rescue efforts and saving human lives exhausted me.”

The woman inquired, “A yōkai? By chance, do you know anything about the kaijū (怪獣) that attacked us yesterday?”

I answered, “No. I know nothing about a kaijū attack yesterday.”

The middle schooler apprehensively asked me, “If I release you from your hold, can I trust you won’t harm us?”

Their power compelled to say, “Of course.”

The woman asked, “Why?”

They again compelled me to answer, “Because I love humanity…”

They looked at me, confused, and the woman queried, “Why?”

My voice cracked as I explained, “Because I am an adopted child of human parents who adored me as if I were their own.”

The woman asked, “Then what’s with the armaments?”

I divulged, “Devils (悪魔) have been breaching the veil between Earth and Otherworld for years, so I’ve been protecting the people and country I love.”

The younger one enquired, “And how do you protect us humans?”

I admitted, “I hunt and kill devils…”

This caught them off guard, and the older woman probed, “Have you ever killed a human being before?”

I willingly told them, “No. I have not.”

The younger woman glanced at her elder and then, turning back to me, explained, “I am going to release you now.”

A thought crossed her mind before she released me, so she warned me. “Remember to control your breathing.”

She didn’t seem to do anything, but suddenly, I could jump to my feet, unintentionally startling them both. I began hyperventilating, so I grabbed at my chest, feeling as if I could barely breathe while my mind raced in trembling terror. Oh my God, I’m having a panic attack. I’ve never had one before.

I collapsed to my knees over the arm of the couch, quickly taking off my breastplate, gambeson, and undershirt as fast as I could because I was desperate to feel as if I could breathe.

The younger one kneeled to my level and calmly coached me, “Follow my lead. Close your eyes and match my breathing.”

In desperation, I focused on following her instructions. Slowly inhaling as deep as I could through my nose, then slowly exhaling through my mouth. I could hear the use of her fingers to keep time. Either counting down from or up to five. After a few minutes of calming down, I felt emotionally exhausted.

The girl told me, “I didn’t expect you to freak out as much as you did.”

I told her, “I’ve… never… been that powerless… before…”

Wracked with guilt, she stepped in front of me, prostrated herself, and begged for forgiveness, while the older woman simply left with, “I’m going to take a shower.”

Despite the shower room being attached to our room, I did not hear her close the door.

I told the girl, “No… I completely understand… I must seem totally monstrous and alien to you… I mean, I am literally a monster out of your mythology and folklore.”

We heard the shower turned on, and the sound proved that she really did not close the door.

The young girl looked up at me, clearly distraught at what she had just done, and a thought crossed my mind. Something she mentioned earlier.

I asked, “Did you say a kaijū did this? Do you mean the one that was all over the news yesterday?”

The older woman confirmed this intuition from within the shower. “Yes, well... Maybe. It’s unclear if it was the same kaijū. Regardless, a kaijū walked into a city and exploded, then continued to rampage until it returned to the sea. We do not know why, and it has yet to be destroyed...”

The girl asked, “So, you know nothing about kaijū?”

I revealed, “I’ve seen nothing like that kaijū prior to the news.”

“I see.” She said before a momentary pause.

The girl asked me, “What were you doing before the attack?”

I explained, “I was hunting the Ama-uma.”

The older woman petitioned, “Wait, that’s real?”

I told them, “I believe a nuckelavee (ナックラヴィー) made its way through the veil to our humble island.”

The girl said, “I mean, Ama-uma is just a Japanization of Hói Yàhn Máh.”

While she said nothing, it was obvious that this caught both of our ears.

I asked her, “Wait… that sounded like Cantonese?”

The girl simply said, “That’s because it is. Hói Yàhn Máh is simply the Cantonese name for the Nuckelavee.”

I asked her, “Where did you learn Cantonese?”

The girl admitted, “My maternal ancestors are from Hong Kong.”

I admitted, “To be honest, you don’t look like it. I assume you are a Hāfu?”

She said, “Yes, I am.”

I smiled at her, and she asked me, “What are you?”

I paused for a moment but figuring that the cat’s already out of the bag and decided this couldn’t hurt my situation any more than it already had. “My biological father was half-vampire and half-incubus, while my biological mother was half-vampire and half-djinn.”

She asked me, “So, you’re not a hanyō (半妖)?”

I told her, “No. I’m a full-blooded yōkai.”

The woman got out of the shower, quickly dried off, wrapped her torso and hair in a towel and said, “All yours…”

I told the younger girl, “You can go first.”

She tried to protest, but I adamantly refused, so she deigned to take her shower next.

I sat outside the shower room and inquired about another thing said. “You said your friend was the one keeping me bound in position, so is the other woman duopotent?”

The girl explained, “I don’t know about that, but I was the one keeping you secured. I don’t know why, but I’m the only one who can see and hear my little fiend. They’re almost liked an imaginary friend, but with the power to interact with the real world.”

I bluntly told her, “That makes little sense.”

She explained, “I named them Nenia (念以安), and they are my superpower: a bird with five eyes and the ability to paralyze anyone it touches or who is within its field of vision—humans, ghosts, robots, and apparently yōkai as well.”

I asked her, “You paralyzed a ghost before?”

She admitted, “Yes. It was not on purpose, but I paralyzed a ghost before.”

The very idea disturbed me, but I deigned to keep my concerns to myself. I have seen abilities like this before, but they usually appear in some corporeal form. That said, there was a lot that I, and the metahuman community, simply do not know about our own powers because of the lack of serious scientific examination of these abilities. Though, I guess with the revelation to the wider world about the existence of these superpowers, that was likely to change.

We talked for a bit until she finished her shower.

As we traded places, she, apparently curious, asked, “Would you mind if I looked?”

I asked her, “What?”

She explained, “I’m just curious.”

I understood that she likely never had much contact with people of other races (or species in my case), and she was just curious about how I differed from her people. It was the same anthropological curiosity that underlies the desire to touch hair of novel textures but tempered with the politeness to ask for permission first.

This didn’t bother me, so I deigned to allow her request, “I don’t see the problem.”

She peeked around the corner and visually scanned me as I got undressed and hopped into the shower. Her eyes lingered on the elements that seemed foreign to her. What stood out to her was, aside from my coloration, horns, fangs, and claws, that I appeared to be human.

She looked at my breasts and asked, “So, your nipples are a deeper red?”

I explained, “Ma’am, nipples are always darker than the surrounding skin. It does not matter your race.”

She asked, “Does that apply to humans too?”

I reaffirmed, “Yes. This applies to human beings.”

She left the room, and I could hear her use her phone to access a search engine. After which, she mumbled to herself in a manner that showed she thought whatever she was seeing was beautiful. The only reason I knew this factoid is because my father was a physical anthropologist. He taught me a lot about the evolution and differentiation of the various human lineages, as well as the environmental and cultural factors which led to these adaptations.

I revealed, “My father is a Yamato-American who worked with the Khoisan for a time in South Africa.”

I heard the girl ask the woman, “Wait, you are a JSSDF soldier, right?”

The woman explained, “Former JSSDF soldier.”

The girl asked, “Did you hear any stories from your peers about the South African Genocide?”

The woman admitted, “I served under superior officers who were involved in peacekeeping operations during that period, but I never asked them. So, the only thing I know about that event is what I’ve read online or seen in a documentary.”

The girl asked, “I’d be interested in hearing you both talk about any stories you have.”

To that, I thought to myself that she really doesn’t know what she’s asking for. It was at that moment, while I was still in the shower, we heard a knock at the door. The woman, dressed in casual formal wear now, opened the door.

The moment she cracked open the door, I could tell that the ones at the door only wore the guise of humanity. It radiated from their presence.

The stranger tried to barge into the room while demanding, “Where is the girl in armor?”

But the ex-JSDF soldier immediately shoved the stranger out of the room, saying, “She’s not here, and even if she was, I would not let her go anywhere with you.”

The audacity of the would-be intruder was stunning.

I heard a second stranger’s voice chide the first with, “What are you thinking? Do you have no sense of propriety, Yōshin? Hallvarðr said to not cause a scene.”

I recognized that foreign name.

The first stranger cut them off, “Poppycock. I can feel her presence.”

Both voices belonged to women, with the second voice trying to deescalate the situation. “I’m sorry, ma’am. My friend here can be a little abrasive. My name is Hakutenga (白天鵞). We’d just like to speak with the armored young woman we believe was sleeping here yesterday.”

I could smell their heritage. The first one was another yōkai, specifically a Shinigami, or death deva. The other one seemed to be a foreign lineage I have never encountered before. My two roommates and I seemed to find these names to be rather incredulous.

The girl forcefully warned, “I think you need to leave.”

The more abrasive stranger snidely challenged, “Oh, really?”

The more aggregable stranger clarified, “She is free to decline if she so desires.”

I heard an annoyed grunt from the more aggressive stranger.

I covered myself and walked to within view of the door.

Making no effort to conceal my monstrous features, I clearly though subtly present my fangs as I aggressively asked, “What do you want?”

The moment they figured out I was part-Vampire, the Shinigami smirked and said, “I know a Korean barbeque which sells sŏnji-guk (선지국). My treat.”

I salivated at the suggestion because, while I did not need it to survive, blood was my favorite food: be it the blood soup offered, blodplättar, or even the delicious crunchiness of hematogens. Plus, after the blinding panic of yesterday and today, I was starving, so I accepted the offer.

I told them, “Alright, since you are offering, I’ll take you up on the offer on the condition that she,” referring to the ex-JSDF soldier, “accompanies me. If she won’t go, then neither will I.”

The more agreeable one happily told her partner, “I can pay for the other two.”

The Shinigami smiled and told her more agreeable friend, “See? Everything worked out.”

The polite stranger pulled out a small notepad from her back pocket, scribbled something down, and handed it to the ex-JSDF soldier.

She said, “This is the address and our phone number. Please call us if you decide to decline.”

They bid us farewell and left, so the woman closed the door, breathing a sigh of relief.

The girl asked, “Do you know them?”

I explained, “I’ve never met them before. I have met the person the smaller woman mentioned by name, though. After killing a gashadokuro.”

The woman asked, “Do you have any idea what they might want from you?”

I confessed, “I believe they want me to help them track down and kill a devil.”

The woman probed, “Is he trustworthy?”

I confessed, “I do not know, but my initial impression is that he means humans no harm.”

The girl reminded us, “Didn’t the smaller woman castigate her colleague about being too abrasive because her behavior violated their directive?”

I told them, “The troll seemed adamant about not desiring harm to come to humans, and those two were yōkai… So, I assume their relationship with him should provide some regulatory effect on their behavior.”

The woman asked me, “Do you plan to go?”

I explained, “I think I must. They may have information regarding a devil that presents a clear and present danger to the people of this nation.”

The woman sighed, “Alright. I’ll go along with you. I can at least ensure they won’t lie to you.”

The girl also volunteered, “I’ll go as well. If need be, Nenia can help to prevent them from making a scene.”

After what had just happened to me, that name terrified me.

The woman ordered, “Alright. Get dressed. We have things to do.”

The girl, realizing that we never properly introduced ourselves, rectified that mistake. “My name is Sakurai Nadeshiko, and our friend here is Chiba Chie. What is yours?”

I paused for a moment, but considering that, as far as I understood it, the lady could simply compel me to tell the truth, I decided to simply be honest.

“My name is Setagaya Momo…”

[divinewill]

Capítulo Once: I’m A Monster

Deep within the forest, I pursue my prey. Stalking a pulchritudinous pair of teenage lovers, who appeared to be in middle school, as they walk down a trail in the dead of night searching for a ghostly fright.

Despite my following them, these two lovebirds were not my target. Rather, they were unwitting bait for my prey—an otherworldly intelligence, not from the stars, which relishes human flesh for various purposes. Sometimes to eat, sometimes for the same reason people have tortured baby monkeys or kittens, and other times for sadistic sexual gratification. Not that these three motivations were mutually exclusive.

I had my attire modeled as a sort of medieval interpretation of a Kamen Rider. A round helmet with oni-like horns and a third eye painted on it. The visor combining elements of a bug’s and human’s eyes, with an ovular concave shape segmented into a pupil and iris without a sclera. Additionally, a pointed strip of metal extended outwards from the edge of the visor.

Covering my face was a menpō (面頬) depicting an open smile with exaggerated mandibular and maxillary fangs, giving me a predatory expression. To protect my neck, albeit at the expense of restricting its movements, I wore a bevor.

The breastplate accentuated my bust with the kanji for “super” (超) painted on the center of the chestplate and below the clavicle. Spaulders, rondels, couters with a weaponized point on the elbows, and vambraces protected my arms. I also wore gauntlets with talon-like tips.

At my hips, I had three overlapping tassets on each side. For my legs, I donned cuisses, genouillères, shin-guards, calf-guards, and segmented sabatons, which provided greater freedom of movement.

The weapon in my hand was Ryūseiseki (流星石), a kanabō made of carbon nanotube reinforced tungsten with meteoric iron studs. The pommel of Ryūseiseki could detach to reveal the spine sheathed within the handle, which I named Tenbatsubari (天罰針).

The meteoric iron (隕鉄) within these studs had been alchemically transmuted into a cold iron (冷鉄) alloy. An alloy that disrupts the flow of magical energies of the beings from Otherworld (異界).

Affixed to my utility belt was a kpinga, a five-bladed weapon meant for melee combat or to be thrown as a shield-circumventing fūma shuriken (風魔手裏剣). A weapon I named Hiraiha (飛来刃).

From the handle projected a main bladed shaft, which split into two counterclockwise carvers. These carvers extended from the stem’s ten and two o’clock positions and were crooked at an almost ninety-degree angle in a counterclockwise fashion. A third counterclockwise curved, but not crooked, blade extended from the base of the main shaft at the weapon’s three o’clock.

Unlike a traditional Azande kpinga, the basic design of which the bladesmith emulated, its form took inspiration from the Chinese hook sword, or gōu (鈎). Hiraiha featured a crescent, single-edged guard to protect the handle, which was wrapped in goat skin leather for a more ergonomic grip. This weapon projected a dagger-like blade at the end of its hilt to facilitate slashing and stabbing.

My shield, Kyūdōmujun (九瞳矛盾), was another weapon of hybrid consideration. Inspired by the spiked pavise of medieval Europe, with a shovel-like blade that allowed it to be planted in the ground or used to augment my punch. Kyūdōmujun also possessed a tungsten spine modeled after those of the Scottish targe. This allowed me to gore my enemies if I gripped the shield with my fist. This weapon’s name drew from the ocular motive painted across its face: eight eyes circumscribing another massive central eye out of which extended the tungsten spine.

I had heard a rumor about something that should not be here. Something like the excoriated corpse of a beheaded, eight-armed giantess grafted, from the hips up, onto a flayed horse as tall as a giraffe at the shoulder. Its eyes were like a blazing fire, its breath a potent miasma, and it wielded a flanged mace in each hand. A devil whose wail could strip the courage from a samurai.

This is what the locals called the Ama-uma (海人馬): a cryptid blamed for the exceedingly cruel deaths of over ten people, not counting the alleged suicides. I suspect that it was also responsible for the astonishingly gruesome deaths of a hane no haeta kappa (羽之生えた河童) and a shirogitsune (白狐).

What I would find today, however, was not some misplaced Indo-European chimera, but something native to the folklore of this country. I could feel its presence through the tactile hairs across my skin as its evil presence filled this space.

The chill of the air forebodes something truly monstrous. The electricity coursing from my shoulders to my brain, tempting me to a shudder that I successfully suppressed. There was a magical power flowing through the ever-thickening air as it approached.

I heard, with bat-like hearing, the violent chattering of teeth and rattling of bone against bone in the distance, which strangely grew less intense as it approached. Owl-like night vision allowed me to see into the darkness, in search of the evil spirit, as the pair grew more and more disturbed by the approaching aura they could only indirectly sense.

A smell of rotting human flesh in the distance detectable through my canine olfaction.

It accidentally made a sound as it stepped on an unnoticed branch, so they turned to see it. From a distance, it bore the appearance of a defleshed human skeleton held together only by tendons, except it was far too big to have ever belonged to a man. Ever-hateful bones animated by a ghost with insatiable hunger and unquenchable thirst.

Though, upon closer inspection, one could see an ancient magic carved into every bone of that fifteen-meter-tall monster, with a script I could not read.

The boy, as would be proper of a man, stepped between the monster and his girlfriend, who froze in supernatural terror. Curdled blood stained its hands and jaws, with bits of putrid maggot-infested flesh clinging to its hideous, triangular, and chiseled incisors.

That’s when it made its move, and I sprang into action. Leaping with the force of a bomb detonating below my feet, I launched 30 m into the air. I threw Ryūseiseki, which exploded through the monster’s wrist like a bullet through glass and punched straight through into the ground. This violently forced the carpal bones apart and forced the monster to drop them.

I grabbed the humans, using a seminal power to fly and dampen the inertial forces experienced as I landed. A landing that started in a run and ended in a slide across the ground. I place the two on their feet, and they saw my mask.

I stepped between them and the gashadokuro (餓者髑髏), which emanated an overwhelming and penetrating psychic field to immobilize its prey. So, I expanded my psychic influence to oppose that of the gashadokuro and release the youths from its paralyzing presence.

Having freed them from its telepathic oppression, I told them simply, “Run!” as I grabbed Hiraiha. The boy thanked me as they took off, but the man-eater, ignoring me, reached for them.

“Oh, no you don’t, you bastard!” I told this malevolent intelligence.

“You won’t be gnawing on the bones of children today!”

I once more leaped with explosive force into the air. This time, aiming at the base of the giant’s skull from under and through the space between the mandible. I punched a hole into its skull with my shield’s spine, pushing those loathly bones away from the naïve lovers.

As they ran, the young woman looked back and saw that I decomposed my body into a superheated smoke. I caused it to rapidly seep into the cranium through the foramen magnum of the staggered titan. This forced the air within out through its many lesser foramen and fissures, as well as the puncture wound I had just made.

I reconstituted myself inside the braincase in the fetal position since its skull was only 122 cm tall. So, I summoned my metal shearing strength. Pressing on all sides with my limbs and body until the cranium lost structural integrity on all sides, killing it instantly.

I rotated like a cat in freefall, then landed on all fours like a monkey, having avoided injuring myself upon these criminal bones. Quickly, I moved to recover Ryūseiseki from its burial place, gathered the rest of my equipment.

Then, I made my way over to the femur—the strongest bone in the gashadokuro’s body—and cut away its tendons with Hiraiha. I thought I could carve an excellent weapon, fit for an oni, from this material.

Unlike the lovers under my aegis, I’ve always known of the existence of monsters simply because I am one. My name is Setagaya Momo (世田谷 桃), and what I am goes by many names across the world: Yāo (妖), Goemul (괴물), Wenkamuy (ウェンカムィ), and Faerie, but here in Japan most people would rightly call me a Yōkai (妖怪). I am not a metahuman. In fact, I am not human at all. My biological father was half-succubus and half-vampire, whereas my biological mother was a half-oni and half-djinn. They died when I was only a few months old, and that’s what resulted in my adoption by a kindhearted couple who found me abandoned in the woods. My adoptive father was a foreign-born Yamato man, and my adoptive mother an Ainu from Hokkaido. From my adoptive metahuman parents, I inherited the siddhis of Earthly metahumans, with my unique power allowing me to unite the powers of my parents while assimilating none of their weaknesses, and that included the seminal powers of humanity: my adoptive heritage.

To protect the human nature that loved me when I was weak and powerless, I took on the guise of their archetypal superheroes, such as Ultraman, to fight against the unspeakable evils that come from Otherworld. Though, I also dabbled in vigilantism.

I thought that something had to have happened in Otherworld, as I had never seen something of this scale pass through the veil into the Human World (人間界). Considering that I had never been to Otherworld myself, I did not know what it might be.

As I walked around the corpse, contemplating how to conceal the bones, I heard something behind me in the distance. I turned around and noticed a massive, hideous thing with gray skin, knee-length wavy locks, a long, broad, drooping nose, piercing eyes, long, pointed, drooping ears, and disproportionately small head compared to their muscularly rotund body, legs, and arms appeared from within the woods. I had never seen this manner of yōkai before, so I grabbed Hiraiha and prepared for a fight.

But the monster calmly pleaded, “Easy, demon slayer! I mean no harm.”

Another, higher-pitched voice confirmed this, “It’s true, he saved me from slavers!”

A human girl, only nine years old, stepped out from behind him. A Koropokguru (コㇿポックㇽ), which resembles a bearded Ainu man, except that he was small enough to effortlessly hide underneath the leaf of a butterbur, stood on the child’s left shoulder.

The Koropokguru petitioned, “All we ask is that you hear us out.”

This child was clearly not a native to this location. Evidenced by her red hair, green eyes, and fair skin. I could smell the humanity coming from her, and the way she clung to the troll’s robes told me that the child felt safe with this stranger, so I deigned to trust this foreigner.

I holstered my weapons and asked it, “What manner of yōkai are you?”

The thing explained with a bow, “I am but a humble troll (トロール), but you can call me Hallvarðr (ハルヴァーズル).”

A strange name that I could not hope to pronounce, so I avoided using it. That said, he was astonishingly proficient in Japanese.

The Koropokguru introduced themselves with a bow. “My name is Atuy (アト゚イ).”

I could speak and understand Ainu, so his name was easy for me to pronounce and remember.

The child did not deign to speak, but she emulated her guardians.

I warned him, “A troll? By earth or Otherworld, you have traveled far. But make no mistake. I am protector of this island, and if I have any inkling that you mean harm to men, I will waste no time in swiftly ending your life.”

The child seemed to understand the general threat, as she clung even tighter to the troll, who reached into his shirt and revealed a crucifix necklace, explaining, “I commend your love of humanity, but as you can see, my God is a man, so I mean men no harm.”

This took me aback. I had heard stories of yōkai being converted to Catholicism in Medieval Europe, not dissimilar to the stories of yōkai converting to Islam and Buddhism throughout Africa and Asia, but I had so few interactions with my race that I had never seen this myself.

His voice was as deep and powerful as you might expect from a 350 cm tall humanoid who looked as if he could wrestle a bear into submission, even without magic, but it was soft enough as to not frighten the girl, whom he comforted with a gentle head pat.

The monstrous thing said, “I apologize for the fright, but we had heard the rumor of a monster slayer with tremendous power, so we seek your aid.”

Atuy explained, “Several man-eaters have escaped Otherworld and entered Earth through a doorway on this island.”

The Troll explained, “It is not just here. Portals have appeared across the Human World.”

Atuy asked, “Have you noticed something unusual about the anthropophagi recently?”

My thoughts turned to the alien description of the Ama-uma and the unexpected state of the gashadokuro’s teeth, which are not traditionally reported to be filed, as well as its joints, which I would not have expected to possess tendons.

I honestly answered, “Yes, there are reports of a monster wondering about this country, which does not match the description of any native to the local mythology.”

The Troll asked me, “I thought so. Could you please describe this criminal?”

I complied. “A yōkai, called Ama-uma, which is implicated in multiple murders. It has the form of a woman, from the hips up, grafted onto a horse…”

I could see that the Troll immediately recognized this description, and I asked, “So you know what this is?”

He told me, “It sounds like a Nuckelavee (ナックラヴィー). An unusual devil for this part of the world…”

I interrupted, “That’s what I would have assumed if it wasn’t headless with additional arms.”

The Troll seemed troubled by this revelation, turning to Atuy. They seemed to be on the same page, so the troll explained, “I am unfamiliar with this criminal, but we will help however we can.”

I asked him, “I assume you are in pursuit of a specific monster?”

The Troll admitted, “Yes. We have tracked many devils who have tried to enter the human world: manticores (マンティコア), yara-ma-yha-who (ヤラマヤフー), even asuras (阿修羅), but we’re currently looking for a hanyō (半妖) who was born and raised in Otherworld.”

My left hand could not help but flinch when he said that their target was half-human. Because of my assortment of powers, I had never had to kill humans in my vigilante work. Even the yakuza were of little concern to me, given I could simply transmute my body into and from various amorphous states.

That, coupled with the power to enter people’s dreams, to shapeshift into animals, become invisible, and to hypnotize the weak willed with eye-contact, among other powers, meant that I’ve never had to take a human life.

I’ve only met one hanyō in my life, a sweet little girl, only twelve-years-old who was half-Sotonarukami (半外なる神) and I could not imagine seeing her as anything other than a metahuman, like my parents.

Atuy admitted, “We know next to nothing about our target, except that they are an astonishingly powerful necromancer and follower of the Devil Path (魔道).”

Without moving my feet, I turned to look at the aberrant gashadokuro, and the Troll asked me, “Do you think that this necromancer might have something to do with this devil?”

I turned to face them and admitted, “It’s possible…”

But before I could finish my thought, a flash of light illuminated the distant north behind me. I turned to look toward the flash, which left the others in confusion.

A few moments passed before the troll observed, “I am not familiar with how the weather in the Human World works, but I thought a particular cloud was necessary for lightning. Yet the skies are clear.”

I chimed in, “That is my understanding as well…”

We waited for a little before I rhetorically asked, “Where’s the thunder?”

Atuy agreed, “It is oddly silent.”

I pointed out, “From what little I understand about the matter, I remember humans can only hear thunder up to about sixteen kilometers from the lightning strike. That means the young girl should have heard the clap of thunder within 47 seconds.”

There was a foreboding feeling that overcame me, something that the others felt through my aura and saw through my body language.

The troll revealed, “I feel an intense psychic disturbance, the likes of which I have never felt before.”

I felt it as well, coming from that direction, but aside from an intense sense of forewarning, I had no intuition what this might have been.

I asked them, “What was the most powerful devil that you know has crossed the veil into the Human world?”

The troll told me, “That would probably be an asura, but we believe she arrived in Patagonia, not Japan.”

I asked them, “What other devils do you suspect have made it here?”

The troll confessed, “I believe that a manananggal (マナナンガル), mapinguari (マピングヮリ), and nue (鵺) have made their way into this country.”

I did not recognize the term mapinguari, but the others I have heard of, and while they were incredibly dangerous and sadistic creatures, none could explain what it was we observed.

After about four minutes, we all heard a crack of thunder succeeding it. Loud enough that we could feel a wall of pressure pass over us, jostling our hair, the troll’s clothes, and throwing poor Atuy off his feet. He held onto the child by her hair, who didn’t mind while she clung to the troll, not out of a need for stability, but for a sense of protection. As Atuy climbed back up to his shoulder, we all spotted the cloud rising in the distance.

A cloud that soon took on a familiar shape, clear to the nocturnal eyes of the troll and me: a mushroom filled with rain and thunder. I dropped the gashadokuro’s thigh bone as the gravity of the apparent situation washed over me. I bolted north, in the direction of the cloud, before I could come back to my senses.

The troll called out to me, but I could not hear what he said. Blind panic filled my mind. I could not fathom that any state was mad enough to start a nuclear war, but there were no signs of this being a meteor strike, which only left the possibility that this was the work of a Jihōhōsha (持法宝者): a magician given the power to wield the weapon of a deva, as described in the Mahābhārata.

I took on the appearance of an ethnic Yamato middle school girl underneath the armor and continued to run through the woods. Until I came across abject ruin, beyond the thresholds of broken glass. Running until I encountered toppled buildings. I removed my helmet and affixed it to a holster on my armor, then offered my help in excavating the trapped.

With my radically superhuman strength, I moved massive slabs of wall, floor, and ceiling. Using my psychokinetic powers in tandem, I helped maintain the structural integrity of what we moved.

I could use my inhuman senses, and latent telepathic powers to locate people trapped under the rubble. But the dead and comatose were invisible to my psychic powers. I considered transforming into smoke to help locate those we couldn’t otherwise find. Something I immediately realized could unintentionally displace the air that the people trapped in the rubble needed to breathe, which might kill someone in a critical need of medical aid. So, I deigned to rely on my strength and fallible psychic senses.

We worked ceaselessly until time seemed to lose all meaning, and it became impossible to remember what happened at night, dawn, and day. Although, during dawn twilight, after I delivered a young boy, only ten years old, to the triage, I saw a giant woman with black skin and hair dressed in a kuro Lolita fashion.

She effortlessly spotted people concealed under the rubble and excavated passageways for emergency medical technicians to carry off both the living and the dead. This out-of-place fashionista could clearly find and rescue people and recover bodies I missed. She was also much faster at moving between patients. It was astonishing, even to me.

I could smell her humanity, and I knew she was neither yōkai, deva, nor the product of admixture with these two. She was 100% human.

She came across a father, who I would later learn had been digging with shredded hands for twelve hours straight in desperate search for his wife and son. The monstrous woman found a mass of survivors through some unknown power and quickly opened a passageway for the escape and rescue of the children in need. She yelled something in English, and the emergency medical technicians raced to her.

The woman saw the man, on the verge of complete muscle failure, stumble towards them, so she darted to him, picked him up, and brought him to the opening. He called for his son, and a child called back. They rescued his sons and his son’s friends, but his pregnant wife died when the structure crushed her skull like a grape in the collapse. Something they both learned when she excavated the body from the wreckage, with a towel provided by an EMT covering the decedent’s face.

The giant woman made the sign of the cross and prayed over her body, all the while scanning for others in need, as the EMTs moved the body, which the two immediately recognized by her clothing and a scar on her right arm.

Before the day ended, I had heard tales of that foreigner working at superhuman speed, with supernatural proficiency, impossible strength, and seemingly limitless stamina. With eyes that displayed clear compassion and heartbreak, bounded by compassion.

Considering how utterly exhausted I was, I couldn’t fathom how a foreigner, with no connection to this country, could bear such a weight and commitment. Not only saving as many people as she could, but also faithfully recovering as many bodies as she could. It was like she could hear sounds I could not and see through the rubble.

I couldn’t forget the look in her eyes: behind the stoic mask, they betrayed her childlike heart. A heart that earnestly cared for the well-being of the surrounding strangers.

We never interacted, as I was called to help elsewhere when she appeared. And as quickly as she arrived, she was gone. I never helped within the inferno, as by the time I needed to rest, the firefighters and metahuman volunteers had put out the blaze.

By the end of it all, covered in dirt, dust, ash, sweat, and dried blood, I was too exhausted to cry or scream. I entered a state of autopilot.

Good Samaritans offered anyone involved with the rescue efforts free transportation to a distant hotel, which offered to open itself up so that the rescuers and volunteers, too exhausted to make it home, could have somewhere to sleep. It was an offer I did not refuse, and so I slept on a couch in a room shared with two or four other women. By the time I woke up, I had been asleep for twelve hours.

This was the worst day of my life so far.

[divinewill]

Capítulo Diez: Rape Me

I watched the young mother interact with a team of linguists. She had already come to learn many words, but the grammar of the English language would evade her for quite some time still. Contrary to my expectations, she appeared more at ease around the men than she was with the women, whose relatively otherworldly attributes and attire made her tense.

The staff gave her a tablet with a live video feed, directly monitoring the development and healing of her precious babe; the salvaging of whom gave her the trust necessary to co-operate with us in complete faith. She never parted with this tablet, even keeping it next to her when she slept.

The young mother cleaned up extremely well. While she was clearly not used to wearing a shirt, shoes, or even a dress, she quickly understood that this was the custom of the people here. So, she deigned to comply.

Under the white light of the hospital, her achromatic skin and hair seemed to glow ghostly pale—an etheric effect that drew attention to her already considerable beauty. To smoothen her integration, the SDMC issued her some comfortable clothes: a shirt, dress and socks made from 100% cotton, and five-toed shoes that allowed her the full mobility and freedom of her feet. She found everyone she met fascinating, paying close attention to the details of their faces, limbs, frames, and dress as to suggest that she had seen no one like the peoples of Earth or Hecate.

She seemed to have never seen wavy or curly hair and showed a fascination with our complexions. Because of their diminutive size and youthful features, she had a great fondness for the Rose Pygmies of the ASSDF and SDMC, although she also seemed quite interested in the Kyanonesian medical personnel for their incredible stature, gentle disposition, and blue pigmentation. The ears of the Grue Goblins proved particularly fascinating to her, and the SDMC quickly found out that she enjoyed watching them wiggle their enormous, pointed ears.

Her people would be albinic if their coloration were because of a lack of melanin, but her glow under the white light was a clue that she had pigmentation of a kind not native to humans on Earth or Hecate, reflectin. A pigment that did not exist in her eyes, explaining the bright red of her irises.

There was something about this that made her seem mystical in a manner distinct from siddhis, which was something I had become demystified of in the GSSDO. There was a juxtaposition in my mind between the image of this lovely and studious stranger in a strange land, and of her as a wounded young lady, horrified and terrified that her hitherto unknown assailant could have murdered her baby in her womb. That image of blood seeping from between her legs would not leave my mind.

I wasn’t alone in the observation room. Hyechin, Mālhlin, Breedlove, and Dr. Lovelace were all there with me. We were curious as to the fates of the women rescued from death and enslavement before our eyes. Ms. Breedlove was especially concerned about the wellbeing of the young mother and her child. Her toddler twins accompanied her on this visitation behind a bullet resistant one-way mirror.

Hyechin couldn’t help but comment, “She’s so pretty!”

Ms. Breedlove smiled and agreed. “Yes. She is. Her husband is a very lucky man.”

Ms. Breedlove was someone who experienced a sense of vicarious joy at seeing other people happy and cried with others when they broke down into tears.

Mālhlin was writing in a notebook, but not in the sigillary script of Blue Rose Chinese. Rather, she was writing in High Elvish. Orthographically, it was an abugida of a similar nature to the Brahmic scripts, including Devanāgarī and Tamil, though it shared some commonality with Canadian Aboriginal syllabics, Ditema, and Hangul. This orthography was featural, directly encoding information about the place and manner of articulation of consonants, as well as the position, shape, and height of the vowels, even the length of both, in the characters written.

This notebook, annotated with sticky notes, was one of many which she kept in a binder. Using a four-color pen to visually distinguish between topics in a manner.

Dr. Lovelace was there to inform us of the progress regarding the salvaged women whose rescue we witnessed.

She told us, “We’ve identified how their potēns works.”

We all listened intently as she explained, “Turns out Dr. Makēsvaraṉ’s remark was right. There are no rape victims here, at least not male-on-female. Turns out they come from a single-sex planet: the native population propagates through parthenogenic reproduction. That’s why there’s an uncanny homogeneity between them. Apparently, they have no control over this ability and become pregnant with every ovulation. For this reason, the ASSDF has classified her lineage as the subspecies Homō sapiēns parthenogenoi.”

The ASSDF, because the alien races encountered, do not speak of hominid populations from the same world, such as Neanderthals, Denisovans, Heidelbergensis, and even Erectus, as if they were distinct species or subspecies. Rather, they regard such as lineages of a single species. The ASSDF reserved the designation of human subspecies for human populations discovered on alien worlds, such as the Hecateans.

Our scientists also invented a secondary classification system, used in parallel with the first, to distinguish between different metahuman lineages. They differentiated traditional humans, referred to as Homō sapiēns magkl, from metahumans, with earthly metahumans identified as Homō sapiēns superior, through a similar but distinct binomen. In keeping with this system, we gave the Hecateans the Latin name Homō sapiēns magī, literally meaning “magical wise man”.

Breedlove mused, “But if there are no men in their world, then I think that might have something to do with it… Men and women balance each other… A planet of only women would be forever unbalanced…”

No one objected to the suggestion. Given what we’d seen in the ASO, that assessment seemed completely reasonable and was in line with our personal views. Therefore, it did not merit elaboration.

The thought of anyone intentionally bringing harm to a baby in the womb deeply disturbed Ms. Breedlove, who simply could not understand what could motivate such a vile act.

Our guest seemed to sense she was being watched and turned to look in our direction, but of course, she could neither see nor hear us.

Breedlove noticed an opportunity to ask Mālhlin about her project. “Um, if you don’t mind me asking, what kind of writing is that?”

Mālhlin smiled at her, showed her the notebook, and explained, “This is High Elvish. It is written using an abugida, similar to the writing in the Indian languages. This script was conceived by a revered sage, a scholar of languages and grammar, who grew dissatisfied with the needlessly intricate writing system used by the ancients, which hindered the lower castes from learning to read. His goal was to fashion a writing method so straightforward that even a simpleton could grasp it within a day. His revolutionary innovation swiftly gained popularity, enhancing the efficiency of all castes in fulfilling their roles more effectively.”

Hyechin asked, “You mean like Sejong the Great?”

Mālhlin elaborated, “Only in that one aspect.”

She pulled out a note card from the binder then began writing in a radically different language and script as she told us, “The followers of the great sage, referred to as the ‘Featuralists’ by your people, ventured forth into the lands of Boreal dwarves, Kyanonesian giants, and even the Sea peoples. Their influence played a pivotal role in the orthographic reforms of many languages spoken in Hecate. Their impact was so far-reaching that even the adversaries of the Elvish, such as the Red Spider Lily Orcs and Thorn Orcs, adopted this approach in their writing systems. The only ones who refrained from embracing this approach were those whose languages consisted mainly of monosyllabic units and numerous homophones. For such tongues, a logosyllabic or logoconsonantal orthography held greater merit.”

Ms. Breedlove couldn’t keep up with the conversation, but she was too sweet to dare to interrupt the flow of the conversation when she knew she could ask about it later and one-on-one.

She handed Hyechin the card, which she could not read, and explained, “This is an example of Kyanonesian. Due to its simpler syllable structure, the Kyanonesians adopted a syllabary system, akin to the Cherokee script of Ms. Bunchûai’s country.”

An allusion to the fact that I have birthright United States citizenship, unlike Hyechin.

Ms. Breedlove once again observed, this time about these alien writing systems, “They’re both so pretty.”

Mālhlin continued, “Indeed, Ms. Breedlove. Us Featuralists firmly believe that the written forms of a language should not only be easily mastered but also gratifying to both the eye and the hand. We do not seek to present something that is merely functional yet unsightly. Rather, we advocate for genuine beauty in the art of writing. These scripts complement the languages and cultures they were created for. Typically, it was a skilled artisan and a native speaker of the language who devised the scripts now employed by the various nations of Hecate, resulting in a delightful array of styles. The Sea People employ an abjad system, akin to the Arabic and Hebrew scripts of Earth. The Dwarves employ an alphabet arranged into syllabic blocks, much like the Korean Hangul. As for the Red Spider Lily Orcs, they make use of a linear alphabet, similar to the strategies employed by the Greeks, Romans, and Runic scripts. The Thorned Orcs, on the other hand, present an anomalous case, as they employ a semisyllabary system. In their system, certain characters represent complete syllables, while others depict individual consonants or vowels. I must confess, the reasoning behind this decision eludes me, but that is how they choose to convey their written language.”

Hyechin noted, “The Goblins didn’t seem to take to this idea.”

Mālhlin informed us, “From what I understand, Goblish, being a polysynthetic language, incorporates numerous single-syllable morphemes, similar to Chinese. Hence, the abundance of homophonic morphemes did not lend itself to a featural script, unlike other writing systems.”

Hyechin and I were both aware of the failed movement to replace Chinese characters with pinyin, and so we understood how this might mirror the failure of the Featuralists to change the manner in which the Goblish writes.

Hyechin joked, “Well, it’s good to know that we won’t have to worry about any Featuralist attempts to reform English spelling.”

Mālhlin missed the joke entirely. “Certainly not. We already have three standardized versions of English, two of which are easily understood by all, effectively encompassing the innumerable dialects of the language. Any endeavor to reform the system would only result in unnecessary complexity and hinder the learning process. Which would undermine the very point of an orthographic reform.”

Hyechin asked, “Three? Are you including Scots?”

Mālhlin said, “Yes.”

Dr. Lovelace mentioned, “You Featuralists might have your fair share of work to do here. The young mother seems enchanted by the staff writing, as if she had never seen it before. When given a paper and pencil, she produces clearly asemic and formless material. This leads me to believe that this young mother is illiterate or has never seen writing, and it is entirely possible that these people never invented proto-writing.”

Ms. Breedlove asked, “So, you’re a Featuralist? Do you have a specific language you would like to work with?”

Mālhlin admitted, “I do.”

She excitedly flipped over to another notebook within her binder, which appeared entirely written in American Sign Language, and showed us.

She explained, “I recall the moment when I first encountered ASLWrite. It captivated my father and I. In all of Hecate, no one had ever conceived the notion of employing featural principles to encode the parameters of sign language into a written script. It is remarkably ingenious, and I aspire to introduce this form of writing to the Chinese, Vietnamese, and Japanese sign language families.”

She continued, “But I’m not alone in this mission. Although my preference lies in collaborating with the deaf communities of Asia, my father is inclined to assist the Polynesian peoples. He aims to support them in creating a distinctive script that can contribute to the preservation of their languages.

“Many of the Featuralists among us share the same goal, as we seek to focus on endangered, extinct, and minority languages. The existing orthographies for these languages may not truly align with their unique characteristics, and the development of a new script could rejuvenate them. Our aim is to create something that these communities can take pride in. To make something that can assist them in safeguarding their linguistic heritage.”

We all understood the importance of this project for the preservation of history, along with the revitalization and reformation of culture. It was something we all saw as a boon, but it clearly seemed a little abstract for Hyechin, who did not have any cultural connection to a language that went extinct outside the GSSDO. As someone who had to learn Manchu, I immediately understood the importance of language preservation.

Dr. Lovelace, picking up on this, gave her an example, “Consider the invention of N’Ko, Sulemana Kantɛ only invented the orthography because a Frenchman rightly pointed out that the writing strategies used by Mande speakers at the time simply did not fit the language. The creation of N’Ko was a boon to these languages’ health. There is a similar case with Adlam, which displaced the use of Ajami, or transcription into the Arabic abjad, for the Fulani language.”

The doctor continued, “We have Featuralists within the ASSDF who are looking to work with Na-Dené, Pama–Nyungan, Khoe–Kwadi, Caucasic, Macro-Jê, and Jarawa–Onge to help with their preservation. Some are looking to language isolates, like Zuñi, Sandawe, San Martínian, and Ainu, hoping to revitalize their use.”

The young mother suddenly looked in our direction despite being unable to see or hear us. Her vibrant red eyes seemed to pierce through us, then the doctor told us, “Let’s move on to the next patient.”

We all agreed and let the doctor led us to another observation room. This time we visited the emasculated one. She was being held in the same hospital as the young mother. Mālhlin put away her notes, and Hyechin offered to carry one of Ms. Breedlove’s twins. To no one’s surprise, there was a deep depression that was cast over the next patient because of what their captors stole from them.

Dr. Lovelace explained, “I’ve already explained this to Bunchûai, but the potēns of this patient’s people have the same intersexuality Bunchûai has. They possess a novel sex chromosome that allows them to develop the secondary sexual characteristics of women, but the primary sexual characteristics and powers of both traditional sexes. The only actual difference being that Bunchûai’s powers emulate and defictionalizes a Japanese fictional archetype, whereas these people’s traits are significantly more modest.”

I asked, “Do you know what happened to her?”

Mālhlin, Hyechin, and Breedlove turned to see me, responding with concern to the tone of my voice.

Dr. Lovelace explained, “Specifically, no. Generally, yes. They are victims of genocidal rape. A hitherto unidentified population attempted to destroy their ethnic and cultural identity by ensuring that their bloodline would be irreversibly bound with their conquerors, and by depriving them of the good that is fatherhood, they destroy the chain of cultural transmission, as the father that would raise their children is the very rapists who enslaved them.”

Ms. Breedlove held her sleeping babe close, and stepped adjacent but slightly behind me and said, “Are you okay?”

I was not, but I lied and said, “Yes, I’m fine.”

I don’t think anyone believed me.

Dr. Lovelace told me, “The perpetrator’s plans were foiled, simply because their victims are in our care. Remember that the SDMC can take their cells, revert them to undifferentiated stem cells, and print new specified tissue. We can regenerate the masculinity of the emasculated.”

Mālhlin, ever perceptive, noted, “It is merely coincidental that this would not only foster a profound sense of indebtedness towards the GSSDO in the newly formed population but also enhance recruitment efforts.”

Dr. Lovelace responded, “As WARMASTER Jeż would say, Deus vult.”

Hyechin stepped next to Mālhlin, then Ms. Breedlove’s babe squirmed in her arms and accidentally kicked the binder from her hand. Exposing the papers within as they scattered about. That’s when we saw something we were not expecting. A charcoal drawing of a pubescent boy with an erection curled into the fetal position, sleeping in the embrace of an unconscious teenage girl. This sight deeply disturbed us all, Ms. Breedlove most of all, who transitioned from deeply disturbed to a still horror as she held her son close. Shielding his gaze from the awful sight as her eyes transfixed on the malevolent image. Her breathing quickened and became shallow.

Hyechin gagged at the sight, as Dr. Lovelace simply said, “Oh, no” and I, unthinking, asked, “What the?”

Mālhlin immediately placed a sleeping spell on the young boys, then gathered up the papers. She admitted, covering the offending one up first, “Oh, that. It’s just a recurring nightmare that has been troubling me.”

Dr. Lovelace looked at her as if she were a pitiable thing.

What they saw in those pictures horrified Hyechin and Breedlove, but not Dr. Lovelace.

I looked at her, completely confounded, querying, “What’s the meaning of this, exactly?”

Mālhlin admitted, “I have been informed that in order to overcome traumatic memories, one must confront them directly. So, I started drawing the images that haunt me in my dreams. It grants me a sense of control as I face the source of my nightmares...”

I shook my head in befuddlement and cut her off. “Hold on. Did you just say ‘memories’, as if this is something you’ve seen?”

That athletic beauty looked at me with a stoic but obviously pained expression and admitted, “Yes, these are victims of the gryphon sacrifice. It is a practice that my people, originating from the Bālrālmư̄nic Republic, abandoned centuries ago. However, it continues in the Savage Lands.”

Dr. Lovelace commented, “I’ve heard of that barbaric rite. It’s the ceremony which crowns a new sovereign to rule the Shrādtēgsrids Kingdom. Believe it or not, it used to be more horrifying than it is now…”

I probed, cautious of the answer. “What happened?”

Mālhlin had difficulty maintaining eye contact, but before she continued, she told Ms. Breedlove, “I have cast a slumber spell on your sons. They will be unaffected by any part of our conversation. Once he leaves this room, the spell will be lifted.”

Ms. Breedlove struggled to say, “Thank you. Please tell us what happened.”

Mālhlin revealed, “I accompanied my father on a diplomatic mission representing the Blue Rose Empire to the Savage Lands. The previous warrior-king had passed away, and our purpose was to ensure peace between our nations. We expected to arrive after the completion of the king’s initiation rite, but the shamans delayed it. Therefore, we found ourselves compelled to witness the coronation of the new sovereign.”

She admitted, “The most horrifying thing I have ever seen is the griffon sacrifice rite of the Savage Lands. There, to ordain a new king, they take a wild albino gryphon, which had been broken like a horse, and the boy who would be king invokes the spirits then strikes it in the braincase with a polearm. Killing it instantly. After killing it, he removes his clothes and covers himself with its blood.”

“At that macabre moment, a naked maiden, betwixt the ages of twelve and fourteen years, and a nude boy, at least twelve years of age, but always of equal or lesser age to the maid, were unveiled before his malevolent presence. The ritual called for the maid to be intoxicated with a substance akin to ayahuasca. They forced the boy to consume an aphrodisiac before the rite.

“We could see the horror reflected in their eyes, as the girl descends into the depths of narcotic madness: plagued by hallucinations, haunted by elusive specters that torment her senses. Meanwhile, the boy, possessing his sanity, anticipates the impending violence that awaits them.

“That monster bound the thrashing girl’s hands and feet, so she couldn’t struggle, then did the same to the boy… after which, he forces the boy onto the girl. Pressing the boy into her and keeping them conjoined until he ejaculates, then forcing them apart to rape her himself. After which he strangles her to death with his bare hands. He then sodomized the boy and strangles him to death as well.

“Following that diabolical ritual, they buried the sacrificial victims side-by-side, as if they were lovers, adorned with many offerings. The boy was meticulously manipulated into a fetal position, while the girl was positioned to cradle him, their lips tenderly meeting the boy’s forehead. Their countenances were artfully manipulated to resemble a peaceful slumber. Their lifeless forms were then petrified, ensuring their eternal embrace in the mausoleum.”

She finished her story with, “My father and I were compelled to witness this horrifying spectacle, alongside the other hapless spectators, as a dragonslayer looked into the abyss and became a dragon himself.”

Ms. Breedlove asked, in abject shock, “What would compel anyone to do anything like that?”

Dr. Lovelace said, “You earthlings are not so different. The Indo-European tradition of horse sacrifice involved the amalgamation of animal and human sacrifice, with the violation and slaying of a maiden through strangulation serving as a pivotal component in the king’s ritual of initiation. A Mexica chieftain, upon securing the hand of a princess from Culhuacan in matrimony, he flayed her skin and donned her blood-soaked cloak during a meeting with her father, displaying his unwavering devotion to his iṣṭa-devatā, the god of war Huītzilōpōchtli. The ancient Egyptians and Mesopotamians endeavored to preserve the bodies of their human sacrifices; the former through mummification and the latter through embalming with mercury.”

Mālhlin noted, “The Elvish people, in the past, would initiate their kings into power through the sacrificial rape of a young girl and sacrificial sodomy of a young boy. The Kyanonesians, too, had a history of consuming human flesh to such an extent that, even after generations have passed, I have retained immunity to the effects of Kuru. Even in recent times, you Americans allowed the heinous act of infanticide within the womb in certain states, and even permitted parents to castrate their children in service to a Queer, Gnostic God. The GSSDO itself is not exempt from this. After all, who deprives adolescents of the opportunity to fully develop their nature, even if it is the only way to pilot a Neodeus?”

Dr. Lovelace continued, “The Calvinists are right to observe that there is a disorder deeply rooted in every human being, but they are mistaken to extrapolate that fact to mean all men are totally depraved. Every culture has some practice which is objectively horrifying to the eyes of God. We are blind to these horrors in our own cultures because it is our culture which we take as normative. The key is not destroying the culture but reforming it. Bringing what lies in the disorders of vice and delusion into the light of virtue and truth.”

Mālhlin explained, “That very same dragon I saw resides deep within your shadow. Many flee from this dragon, but such avoidance does not make it disappear. In fact, the dragon pursues you relentlessly until it either destroys or possesses you. Remember, the only way to conquer this dragon is to confront it directly and prevail.”

She continued, “There is a deep symbolism in every tradition of the griffin sacrifice. These traditions are the magic which have sustained this repugnant and unequivocally wicked rite through the ages. It is because of this ritual that I embraced the teachings of the Mohists.”

I asked her, “How does that relate to Mohism?”

Mālhlin expressed, “Much like how Ms. Breedlove’s Anglican faith is fortified when she encounters events of this nature, my beliefs as a Mohist are strengthened, as well. On that day, I realized the existence of true evil, and if evil exists, then goodness must also exist, for evil is simply the privation of goodness. No degree of evil can shatter my faith in Heaven, for my monotheism finds reinforcement in the presence of evil.”

Ms. Breedlove cradled her sleeping son in her arms, horrified by the story she had been told. It was apparent that she took this recounting more personally, which caught Mālhlin off guard.

Mālhlin inquired, “Ms. Breedlove, are you well?”

Ms. Breedlove was breathing erratically, so I moved to comfort her.

I reminded her, “Control your breathing, Breedlove.”

Hyechin gave the child in her arms to me and then signed manually encoded English to Mālhlin, explaining, “Ms. Breedlove was raped three years ago, but she remembers nothing about it. The fathers of her children remain unidentified.”

Mālhlin signed back, “My apologies. I assumed she was a widow.”

Hyechin was momentarily stunned at this assumption, before remembering that young marriages were quite common among Kyanonesians, and explained, “No. Her dream is to get married, and she wants more children, many more in fact, but she conceived her current children through rape.”

Ms. Breedlove was trying her best to control her breathing as she prayed an Anglican rosary, using prayer beads with a Celtic cross as a mnemonic tool to keep track of where in the prayer she was.

Hyechin explained, “A genome sequence showed her sons are half-brothers. We know virtually nothing about the father of the older one, but the younger child’s father is a serial rapist, with over five hundred children across the United States alone.”

Mālhlin signed a question. “Are you telling me he has more victims outside of the United States?”

Hyechin told her, “Yes. Whoever he is, he travels around quite a lot. With victims across Asia and Africa. Even within the United States, his crimes span across Texas, Hawaii, Alaska, and New York.”

Mālhlin looked shocked at this revelation.

Dr. Lovelace explained, “Simply put, none of the victims can recall the event, and thus identification of the perpetrator based on a witness description is impossible.”

Mālhlin signed, “Could you not identify him through genome sequencing?”

Dr. Lovelace had a far more in-depth understanding of the inquiry into her sexual assault than anyone else in the room, and so she explained, “Yes, but it is a bit more complicated than you think. With our superscience, we could reconstruct a semblance of the assailant’s genome, but that would require co-operation across nations to obtain a genetic profile of the children and his victims. Though, that is a luxury we do not have and might never have. After all, most countries of the world do not perform a full genomic sequence of their citizens for a reason. We do that for our membership to anticipate and remedy genetic predispositions, but that’s not something a country should do. A far simpler solution is to simply wait for a DNA sample from him or a family member to reveal him.”

Mālhlin signed, “So, you must wait for him or one of his family members to commit a different crime that renders evasion impossible?”

Dr. Lovelace shrugged in a manner that admitted her assessment was accurate.

Ms. Breedlove spoke up, “It’s not about me. I love my precious babies, and if I could go back in time, I wouldn’t dare to change what happened to me if it meant losing them, but what he’s doing is evil. It’s not right to deprive a woman of her virginity as she sleeps… It’s not right to deny a woman of the right to give her virginity to her husband… It’s not right to abandon your children… It’s not right to deny the mother of your children a husband… Simply put, it’s not right to use people, and then toss them away like they’re trash.”

She had gained conscious control of her breathing at this point.

Mālhlin made the obvious observation, “It seems implausible that a lone individual could commit such a magnitude of sexual crimes without being apprehended... Is it conceivable that he is a metahuman?”

A thought that Hyechin, Breedlove, Dr. Lovelace, and I all contemplated independently, but hesitated to voice. I remember Warmaster Jeż telling me that a diviner foretold, “All fiction becomes real”. There was a dawning realization that “all fiction” did not just include kaijū, faeries, supersoldiers, supervillains, devil cultivators, pet monsters, and horrors of superscience, but might also include depraved pornographic fictions. After all, my unique condition was essentially something out of a pornographic genre which centers on outwardly feminine characters with varying degrees of intersexuality, otherwise known as futanari.

Dr. Lovelace explained, “That seems to be the only reasonable possibility, but that doesn’t tell us anything about the situation: We don’t know if he is using a perception filter, hypnosis, mind control, inducing unconsciousness, programming the victim’s mind to simply not recall the event, or just wiping memories to go undetected.”

Mālhlin asked, “Have you consulted a diviner?”

Hyechin asked, surprised by the suggestion, “You’ve never worked with a diviner before, have you?”

This question was, of course, rhetorical. Divination, as a power, works differently between the Hecatean and Earthling. Divination was but only one skill among many that a Hecatean could learn, but simply put the shear extent and degree of that power, even for the most skilled Hecateans, could not compare to the Earthlings whose only seminal power was the ability to obtain hidden information remotely. The two were simply not comparable.

Dr. Lovelace explained, “The powers of most diviners are quite limited, but the more powerful ones have the opposite problem. They become trapped in their own ability. It fractures their mind and is the only species of power known to do so. There are exceptions, of course: the Supreme Commander seems to be an extraordinarily powerful diviner, but we simply do not know how his powers work with any specificity.”

Mālhlin asked, “Since it is highly classified… and as the Supreme Commander, he possesses absolute authority over the declassification of information. Which he has not seen fit to disclose.”

Dr. Lovelace confirmed, “Exactly. Most WARMASTERS keep the specifics of their powers close to the chest.”

Mālhlin admitted, “A respectable practice, indeed. We, the Bālrālmư̄nic people, encode spells into every garment we wear using an encrypted ceremonial language. Kyanonesian women tattoo protective spells on the parts of their bodies concealed by their attire. Maintaining secrecy regarding these enchantments is crucial for personal protection.”

A thought crossed Mālhlin’s mind, and she asked, “Ms. Breedlove, if I may inquire, will your realm undergo transformation as you learn more about the GSSDO’s guests?”

It was apparent that she intended to move the conversation away from what troubled poor Ms. Breedlove and used this as an opportunity to do so.

Ms. Breedlove admitted, “Yes. I add a new world to my collection every time I encounter a new school of art. I don’t have to understand the rules of the thing. It just appears, and the moment it does, I know it and its contents.”

When Ms. Breedlove got full control of her breathing, Dr. Lovelace lead the way, “Come on. We’ve spent enough time here, so now let’s meet our new resident goddess.”

She led us to the room with the hyperanthrope, and even after only a few days, her healing was astounding.

Dr. Lovelace explained, “It seems she can regenerate any tissue: brain matter, bone, tendons. How her body accomplishes this is unknown, but it occurs at a rate exceeding the most aggressive cancers, so she’ll be like new before you know it.”

Ms. Breedlove revealed, “The thing she was clutching in her hands. It was a baby.”

Everyone looked at her as she continued, “The ASO only rescued two people from her end. And the only other one was an infant child, who is unharmed.”

I asked, “So, is it her child?”

Dr. Lovelace told us, “Yes. We couldn’t reasonably get a hair, skin, or blood sample because of her being, well, invulnerable, even as the immolated and comatose mess she is currently. So, we took a spit sample, which confirmed that the baby is hers.”

Mālhlin asked, “So, what is the plan regarding her?”

Dr. Lovelace affirmed, “Same as the others. Rehabilitate her. Integrate her into Earth society, and then try to recruit her. Respecting her decision whether she accepts or declines or offer.”

Hyechin asked, “So all the damage was external?”

Dr. Lovelace looked at her and said, “Of course not. Structural neuroimaging shows some degree of rapidly healing brain damage, so it won’t surprise me if she experiences post-traumatic amnesia, but again, I won’t know until after she wakes up.”

Mālhlin asked, “What if she becomes panicked?”

Dr. Lovelace explained, “One of our WARMASTERS is a hyperanthrope, so we have that base covered. Plus, we could always just put her back into suspended animation.”

Mālhlin probed, “Isn’t it interesting that in a galaxy suspected to be teeming with distinct magic systems as numerous as inhabited worlds, Zleŋ’ selectively gathered worlds that are easily manageable with your current resources, rescuing only two hyperanthropes who pose no significant risk to the GSSDO?”

Dr. Lovelace turned to see her and explained, “You think this is by design?”

Mālhlin answered, “It was solely by the will of Heaven that my compatriots and I were delivered into the care of the GSSDO, and it must also be by the will of Heaven that Zleŋ’ reconstructed and adapted the sage summoning rite to extend the Human Salvaging Operations throughout the galaxy. I am merely alluding to the rumors suggesting that Zleŋ’ was born from a fallen star. I wonder if being partially half-starfallen explains why this initial selection, rather than being random, appears to be reasonably calculated."

Dr. Lovelace admitted, “Dr. Cutter was the one who asked Zleŋ‘ if she had some ability to place filters on the rite, to make the initial salvaging more manageable. Not that an entire population of hyperanthropes would have done much harm. We have safely locked the inbound patients in a state of suspended animation until we can reasonably attend to them. That said, even though it is highly probable that the father of Zleŋ‘ was a spacefarer, she doesn’t seem to have a detailed knowledge of the inhabited planets.”

Everyone remembered how that intersex woman clearly recognized something specific in Zleŋ‘, which seemed to be familiar to her and yet distinct from the rest of us. However, what it was, even the ASSDF did not know.

She then directed us, “There is nothing more to show here, so let us move on to the next patient.”

The girl with the squirrel's tail and cat ears. She had a wrapping over her left wrist for an injury I did not recall from when I last saw her.

Dr. Lovelace told us, “These people are kemonomimi. Their powers seem to have twisted their bodies into a new form, which is slightly zoomorphic. This one shows all the behavioral signs of sexual assault: engaged in self-harm, is afraid of being touched, demonstrates emotional withdrawal, frequent crying, bouts of anger, severe nightmares, a lack of trust, withdrawal symptoms from what appear to be a substance dependency, which we are currently addressing, and she seems to have conditioned herself to not resist other people physically moving her about.”

I kept a hand on Ms. Breedlove’s shoulder to keep her calm as she prayed her rosary.

Dr. Lovelace explained, “Our best guess is that she was a sex slave. We can’t know the specifics yet, but we have determined that she is two weeks pregnant with twins.”

Hyechin asked, “Is that tattoo on her related to this?”

Dr. Makēsvaraṉ entered the room and explained, “That’s probably an identification code, similar to a serial number.”

Me, Hyechin, and Lovelace stood at attention, but she told us, “At ease warriors.”

Ms. Breedlove simply turned and greeted the doctor. “Good evening, Dr. Makēsvaraṉ.”

She was a buxom, middle-aged Dravidian beauty. 173 cm tall, with wide hips, thick thighs, beautiful brown eyes, and coarse, straight, black that reached to the middle of her back.

She simply asked, “What are you doing, Lovelace?”

Dr. Lovelace admitted, “These lovely ladies were witnesses to the salvaging of these pitiful souls, so I am catching these lovely ladies up on the progress of the women that Ms. Breedlove helped to save.”

Dr. Makēsvaraṉ thought aloud, “Oh, I supposed that is understandable. It’s not like I need to remind you to respect the patients.”

A bit of time passed as Drs. Makēsvaraṉ and Lovelace talked with each other and Mālhlin. All the while I was thinking about what this girl might have gone through to have landed her here and in this state, so I asked, “Is there any way I can volunteer to help, even if just for today?”

Hyechin listened intently.

Mālhlin and Breedlove already knew how they could volunteer, as they didn’t have to contend with an immanent deployment to a distant location. Mālhlin was almost certainly going to assist with the application of medicinal magic, whereas Breedlove was likely to volunteer to help babysit the children of these women and simply spend time with these women.

Dr. Makēsvaraṉ reminded her, “You’re scheduled for orbital deployment, along with Hyechin, so there’s not much you can do.”

I was desperate to at least do something for these poor girls in the SDMC’s care.

Dr. Lovelace, reading my face like a book, pointed out, “Remember your role in this operation. Dr. Makēsvaraṉ handles the medical and psychological aid. Your role is to slay monsters. Keeping them safe from the same kinds of monsters that ravaged Japan is how you can help them.”

Deep down, I understood this, but it didn’t feel like enough.

Dr. Makēsvaraṉ remembered, “Actually, there is something you can do…”

Dr. Makēsvaraṉ suggested, “Warmaster Jeż is also going to be deployed soon, so he wrote each of them a letter.”

I asked, “A letter?”

She explained, “Yes. He wrote to them about his sympathy, how his God loves them, how we love them, and finally, how they could turn their suffering from something destructive to something salvific.”

Mālhlin commented, “There is wisdom in his words.”

I felt sympathy for him. He had fallen away from his faith before he joined the WARMASTER program, and now that he had rediscovered it, he must live with the fact that so much of his humanity was irrevocably lost, with his full consent and knowledge, to be reforged into a monster.

It wasn’t so different from my own role, willingly giving up my mortality and cooperating with a monstrous nature as a Neodeus pilot. That was simply the warrior’s journey: to obtain the monster’s power and wield it in service of the good, a pursuit that always came with sacrifice.

I simply wanted to let these women know that it was going to be okay, but I knew better than to speak through the intercom. So, at that moment, I decided that when I got home, I would follow the WARMASTER’s example and write a letter to them expressing my sympathy and hopes for them, as well as my intention to protect them the only way I can.

Dr. Lovelace received a clipboard from Dr. Makēsvaraṉ, who told her, “I have an assignment for you that needs immediate attention.”

Dr. Lovelace accepted with “Roger, Dr. Makēsvaraṉ.”

Then she left, and we followed suit, but we did not follow her. Rather, Dr. Makēsvaraṉ led us to the next girl, the burn victim. Surgeons have already provided her with skin grafts, which we printed from cultures of her own cells to help her heal from the severe burns across her body. A controlled supply of analgesics kept the pain of her injuries manageable.

Dr. Makēsvaraṉ told us, “This subject’s people are sequential hermaphrodites: cycling between the sexes. So, this one was at one time a man, and she will become a man again in the future, though before that, she will become like you, Bunchûai: perfectly intersex. In fact, we have examples of male, female, and intersex patients in suspended animation.”

Breedlove made a quick connection and asked, “Like Ranma ½?”

Hyechin added, “Or, The Left Hand of Darkness.”

Dr. Makēsvaraṉ softly corrected, “Not quite. The sequential hermaphrodism of the former does not present any in-between form and is triggered by the temperature of the water used to douse the subject. That of the latter involved the people being sexless for most of their lives. Rather, these people never lose their sexual nature, it just cycles in a manner that cannot be sped up or slowed down through external methods. Although, it is for that apparent similarity that the ASSDF has named their race Homō sapiēns gethen.”

The doctor spent some time acquainting us with her, before moving us to meet the woman who could transform into a beast.

Revealing, “She is a victim of an onychectomy, with the distal phalange of each digit of her hands having been mutilated. A blade was used to cut through the bone, seemingly to prevent the transformation of her nails into claws. For some unknown reason, she seems to have not been subject to canine ablation, which many of her people seem to have been subject to as well.”

Finishing with, “We call this race Homō sapiēns bestia.”

The descriptions of happened to her made Ms. Breedlove wince and say, “That’s so awful…”

Dr. Makēsvaraṉ explained, “You’ve already seen her powers. She can turn into a bestial form, and that might explain why her people were treated this way.”

Hyechin noted, “Like a cat or snake…”

Dr. Makēsvaraṉ confirmed, “The leading theory was that these people were slaves, and that their slavers robbed them of their primary physical weapons so they could not oppose their masters. We can provide a prosthetic for the teeth and even help regenerate their fingers, but that is all I can say about this patient, so let’s meet our last guest.”

Then she took us to see her final patient. The gracile lagomorphic woman patched up with stitching and bandaging. Despite the apparent structure of her face, the muscles of her mouth could make the same movements as ours. Her self-talk showed that, unlike the animal whose image she bore, she had human speech.

The doctor couldn’t reveal much about her, relative to the others, aside from, “Despite her appearance, she is totally human. The magic her people inherited seems to twist their bodies into something zoomorphic, but unlike the previous patient, she cannot transform. Her mother conceived her this way and she will die this way. Until a few days ago, she would not have even known that this state was a superpower. The only world she would have ever known is a world filled with lineages associated with different therianthropic variations. And it is for this reason we have named them Homō sapiēns bestius.”

Mālhlin noted, “That does not sound like proper Latin.”

Hyechin explained, “The ASSDF named these people after a vaguely similar race from a tabletop RPG.”

Mālhlin mused, “An interesting choice…”

Dr. Makēsvaraṉ informed us, “And with that, your tour of the facilities is over. You’ve seen that the women are in my excellent care, and my next appointment is coming up. So, I will head out. You girls have a lovely day. These ladies and all their countrymen will be fine.”

She left, and the rest of us departed shortly after as well. I walked Ms. Breedlove, Hyechin, and finally Mālhlin home.

As we walked to her quarters, Mālhlin told me, “My father is currently working on a constructed language specifically for you.”

I asked, “For me? Why?”

She explained, “Because I proposed to you. It is customary for Elven children to learn a ceremonial language corresponding to their sex as they transition into adulthood. Therefore, if we were to marry, it would not be appropriate for our children to learn either the Gentlemen’s Tongue or the Ladies’ Tongue, as they would not become gentlemen or ladies. Instead, a new language must be devised for their novel sex, and it must be crafted by a master of initiation, such as my father.”

I asked, “So he would teach it to our kids?”

She elaborated, “Ideally, he would teach it to you, and you would become a master of initiation yourself.”

I inquired, “So, what can you tell me about it?”

She admitted, “I have no knowledge of his project. As a lady, I am prohibited from learning the Gentlemen’s Tongue, and consequently, I would be forbidden from learning the Intersex tongue as well. However, even if you reject my proposition, which I highly doubt, my father will continue his work on the project. Eventually, one of the Bālrālmư̄nic women will marry one of our intersex guests, necessitating the novel tongue.”

A thought crossed my mind, “So what about the ones that Dr. Lovelace said were sequential hermaphrodites? If an Elvish married one of them, then what tongue would they learn?”

Mālhlin was stumped by this line of questioning, and after a bit of thought, humbly admitted, “I cannot say for certain. That decision lies with the sages, I suppose.”

I asked her, “I thought you were a Mohist? You follow the Elvish sages as well?”

She explained, “No, but the Bālrālmư̄nic linguistic customs exist to safeguard both sexes from abuse.”

We continued to talk until we arrived at her house, where she kissed me on the cheek, and we parted ways. My face was flush, again, but when I went home later that day, my thoughts continued to turn to the patients that Drs. Lovelace and Makēsvaraṉ showed to me.

I sat down at my desk, pulled out a pen and paper, and wrote:

“Dear precious guest,”

“I know it will take time before you can understand the contents of this letter, but I hope it finds you well. I was one witness to your being salvaged by the ASO rite. I cannot suitably find the words to express my sympathy for those horrors I cannot possibly comprehend that you have endured but know that you are among people who genuinely care about your well-being and know what you have gone through.

“By the time you can read this, you have known people who have either descended directly from salvaged victims of genocide or survived genocide themselves. In fact, in 1937, my then fifteen-year-old great-great-great-great-great-grandmother was salvaged by the GSSDO after being sexually assaulted and left for dead in Nanking. Because of their intervention, she survived and conceived a precious baby, without whom I would not have been here to write this letter today. Know that you are not alone, and know that your child, here, is beloved.

“Because of my deployment, I cannot properly introduce myself for some time, if ever. Though, if I ever meet you in person, I would like to invite you to dinner. To hear about your life, about how you are doing, about your precious baby, and to share with you some sūzǐyè dòubāo, roti sai mai, or maybe a classic American apple pie. If, by that time, you are married, then I would invite your husband as well.

“So please, lovely one, cooperate with the SDMC and ASSDF. It was you who was chosen to help facilitate the integration of your people into Earthling societies, and it is with your help that they will receive the information necessary to save others, just like you. Please refrain from the self-abuse observed while in medical custody. I hope you desire to be well, as you have the best doctors, pharmacists, therapists, and spiritual guides on the planet willing to help you find your life.

“I promise I am going to do all that I can to make sure that you won’t have to worry about eldritch powers. So please, live a long and happy life.”

I ended with the motto of the GSSDO, “For the Greater Good of God,” and signed my name simply as “Love, Bunchûai.”

I wrote a letter to each of the women we witnessed rescued by the ASO. Aiming to be as earnest as I possibly could.

At the end of this, I sighed, looked at my phone, saw the time and thought to myself, “Our time off is over. Tomorrow, we go into orbit…”

I wondered what it would be like to see the world overhead.

I wondered into what country we’d have to drop from orbit to rescue.

[divinewill]

Capítulo Nueve: I’ve Got No Strings

I talked to Hyechin at length about Mālhlin’s proposal before I headed to bed.

That night, I had strange nightmares: at 80 m tall; I stood in the middle of a city. A giant clothed in combat armor with a carbine in hand. My enemy, another giant humanoid of the same size, with two heads and four arms, covered in armor, was dragging the unresponsive body of Hyechin with its right hand by her hair as it walked towards me. Hyechin’s blood drenched this asura’s right arm down to the middle of the biceps, and I could see a massive hole through her chest and out her back.

I screamed for my friend, as I opened with automatic fire on her killer. The monster dropped Hyechin in front of itself, apparently just to step on her face and crush her skull as it approached me. All the while, seemingly unfazed by the massive supersonic rounds slamming into it.

When the center of mass proved ineffective, I aimed for its faces and that’s when it charged at me. I struck it in the face with the butt of my rifle, which knocked off the asura’s opaque face shield and seemed to momentarily stagger it. Before I could hit it again, it retaliated without skipping a beat. Its fist tore through my rifle like a .50 cal through a glass mug and knocked me hundreds of meters away through a skyscraper and several other buildings, which crumbled into a toxic ash cloud.

With obscured vision, I rose to my feet, while other animalistic shapes appeared around me. More monsters clad in armor like ours. Some resembled bears, others theropods, yet other birds of prey with jet engines grafted onto their wings. These monsters encircled us to spectate.

I cried for my friend as I charged at her killer. A burst of pressure came from those eyes concealed behind the visor in a blinding flash of light, after which I found myself hundreds of meters away again. I promptly scrambled to my feet and got knocked back to the ground as an inanimate corpse slammed into me, immediately followed by a foot pressing down on me through that body. It was Hyechin’s killer, though the obliterated faceplate revealed that it wore my face on one head. After making direct eye contact with me, the asura removed the other faceplate to reveal that this thing had Hyechin’s face as well, then it dropped to its knees and grabbed at my arms to pin me down. All while looking me in the eye with both faces. I screamed myself awake from this nightmare in anger, sadness, and a cold sweat, as my alarm went off.

My mother scrambled awake from the other room and before I knew it, she had asked through my door, “Elden, sweetie, what’s going on?”

I told her, “Nothing, mother. Just a nightmare.”

She asked me, “Oh, thank Heaven. I never hear you scream like that.”

I told her, “It’s just anxiety about the news, mother. Nothing to worry about… Now please, go back to sleep.”

Formation was 04:00, so I had to quickly shower, get dressed and head out. In formation, we did some light PT, including a fun run, but then began our scramble to prepare for an immediate deployment anywhere in the world.

Hyechin, Dźugi, and I knew of our journey to the Orbital Station, concealed from the world by a metamaterial surface that rendered it undetectable to visible light, ultraviolet, and infrared imaging. We would leave tomorrow. Although, we did not know that we had two weeks until the next attack, nor that the attack would occur in the Republic of South Africa. Closer to us, in Salvation Base, than we had expected.

Part of my preparatory training today included range qualification. I qualified with a sniper rifle, which reminded me of our neodei’s sniper railguns, albeit on a smaller scale. The target was moving, so I lead the shot. I pulled the trigger between beats of my heart with the middle of my index finger at the end of an exhale. Using my shoulder and corporeal articulation to absorb the recoil. This weapon was caseless, so there was no scolding hot ejection from the port to recover afterwards. As trained, I aimed center of mass.

Normally, my qualification, equipment, and assessment took place in a virtual reality with haptic feedback, to simulate the operation of a Neodeus. Today, however, I wanted to fire something real. We fired prone position, on a knee, and standing. All of which I passed with flying colors.

Even though my job was ostensibly to slay monsters, we knew it might come to pass that the nations of the world might one day wage war on us. So, we USSDF pilots still needed to qualify with a rifle on a human scale. I smiled when I fired my last shot.

Shooting at the range is fun: the sound of the shot through ear protection, the haptic feedback of the recoil, and the sense of empowerment it offers. Simple as.

I wasn’t our best fighter, nor our best sniper, or even proficient with a handgun, but I was quite the proficient marksman with a carbine. I could perform a full field disassembly and reassembly in under a minute, blindfolded. I had, in fact, done that on a challenge more than once with different models.

I ejected the magazine, cleared the weapon of any round which could be in the chamber, of which there was none. Then, I made my way over to a metal barrel filled with sand. I pointed the rifle into the barrel, and I pulled the trigger. All I heard was a click, proving that I had cleared the weapon.

The range officer cleared me to go, so I flipped the weapon’s safety on. As I made my way back to the waiting area, I held my rifle at rest, pointed downward and towards the range. My finger never entered the trigger well. When I got back to the rest of my unit, I returned the rifle that I borrowed to the armorer and sat down at the bleachers.

As I sat down, I didn’t notice someone move behind me before I heard a synthetic voice speak, “Bunchûai, you’re, like, totally killing it with your marksmanship!”

I turned around to see that it was Ai Lovelace, the first true artificial intelligence. A wetware computer stored in a gynoid body. Ai wasn’t a mere lifeless Turing machine presenting the appearance of consciousness while really being a pseudo-animate golem controlled by senseless transistors. Rather, she was a Lovelace machine, a soul with the freedom of will and power to act in ways unforeseen by her creators.

The ASSDF created and raised her, so unsurprisingly she inherited and reflected the values of our paramilitary, theocentric, humanist culture.

She had beautifully biofidelic blue eyes, fair skin, an East Asiatic face and frame, freckles, coarse, straight blonde hair, and stood only 155 cm tall. Her design was neotenous, providing an adorable face that allowed people to let their guard down near her. To facilitate this design, she cultivated a demeanor reminiscent of kawaii culture and a valley girl's speech pattern to emulate youth. A demeanor she would drop during official business or to signal a change in situational seriousness.

She was quite beautiful and cute, but there was something about the way her body moved that could be off-putting. Despite being an affectionate soul, she had not yet mastered the art of smiling, and it always came out slightly lopsided. Almost appearing psychotic.

She was the older sister of the Advanced Distributed Analysis System: an ever evolving, massively parallel hybrid hypercomputer and the most powerful processor on the planet. An interconnected array of analogue, DNA, membrane, peptide, quantum, quintedynamic, and transistor supercomputers. All under the command of a trinity of parallel wetware supercomputers, each with distinct and complementary personalities modeled after the human mind.

The ADA System’s creation was an unparalleled achievement in computer science and engineering. Only possible because of the GSSDO’s access to siddhis, which allowed engineers in the ASSDF to manipulate matter on the femtometer scale. Enabling us to be the first among nations to master spintronics among other technologies.

She was one of many Lovelace machines employed by the GSSDO across its ranks. Every one of them is capable of super-Turing computation, allowing them to work through incomputable issues like a human being.

She asked, “You totally went to the ASO test last night, right?”

I confirmed, “Yes, Dr. Lovelace.”

She requested, “I need to have a private convo with you later today! Seriously, it’s, like, super important that we chat, like, one-on-one, you know?!”

Being outranked, I agreed to this request, “Certainly, Doctor.”

She patted my shoulder and told me, “Chillax, Bunchûai! Like, seriously, no need to be all formal and, like, super uptight. Just, you know, take a chill pill and relax.”

I got a notification on my phone. When I checked to see what it was, I found that Dr. Lovelace texted me a location and time. 18:00 at room 518 in one of the many privacy boxes within Salvation Base.

She volunteered to be among those who went to qualify next, so she made her way down to the firing range. However, she did not possess any firearm. Ai started prone position, and she extended her right hand and forearm, which disassembled itself and reconfigured into a custom firearm grafted onto her body. She then placed her left hand under it in a manner similar to supporting a rifle.

The weapon seemed to lack any moving parts, but it had a scope attached to it. When directed, she fired instantly. The shot rang out with a thunderous clap as a .50 BMG broke the sound barrier six times over, with a muzzle velocity of 2414 m/s. Instead of using gunpowder cartridges, she reformed her arm into a railgun, with room temperature superconducting magnets providing the kinetic energy behind the shot.

The forces involved were mind blowing. Her arm couldn’t have weighed more than three pounds at the most, and yet she had learned how to position herself to absorb the recoil and shoot as if it were just another rifle. The recoil impulse, velocity, and energy far exceeded anything most of us squishy humans and metahumans were handling. The damage such a round could cause on impact was horrifying.

Every shot, even up to the 300 m moving target, hit the center of mass. So, she effortlessly qualified and disassembled her weaponized limb so she could reassemble her original hand. Even a near miss would be fatal, considering the concussive forces involved in the round tearing through the atmosphere.

This terrified and pleased everyone. Dr. Lovelace’s exocortex allowed her to subconsciously process and react to information faster than a normal human being. I’ve seen her split a BBs in two with a sword mid-flight and even hit an aspirin in motion from 300 m while firing a carbine.

This made her virtuous. She was dangerous to a capacity almost unimaginable, but she has mastered her destructive capacities and channeled her destrudo in service to the good of others. After finishing up with the firing range, she quietly left.

As promised, after the day was over, I met Dr. Lovelace in a soundproof room booked for private conversation. We sat across from each other with a coffee table between us. The touchscreen surface of the coffee table allowed us to access a myriad of board games. Mostly combinatorial games such as chess, checkers, xiàngqí (象棋), janggi (장기), and ouk chaktrang (អុកចត្រង្). Although hybrid strategy games, such as backgammon, were also present in its library.

Dr. Lovelace informed me, “I hear Mālhlin has asked for your hand in marriage.”

Her dropping the valley girl speech style foreshadowed the nature of our conversation.

“You talked to Hyechin?” I asked her.

Lovelace admitted, “Of course. Who else would I have heard this from?”

I inquired, “Do you have any thoughts on the matter?”

Ai confessed, “I do not have a sexual nature as you humans do, but I understand the purpose of the martial relationship on a teleological level. From that external vantage point, and as someone invested in your supreme good, it seems like a perfectly rational proposition you should seriously consider.”

I told her, “I know. Mālhlin detailed her argument thoroughly.”

Dr. Lovelace asked, “Again, because I am not human, I cannot advise you on matters of the heart. I do not experience attraction or infatuation. This is something you should discuss with your mother.”

Her having singled out my mother in exclusion to my father indicated to me she knows my father was deceased. Something she undoubtedly learned from someone else, as I had never told her that.

I avoided having that conversation with my mother because ever since the kaijū attack in Japan, she’s been worried about the fact that I am supposed to hunt these incomprehensibly powerful dragons. So, I didn’t think I needed to worry her about that, at least not now.

I promised, “I will, doctor. I just need to give her some time to come to terms with the fact that her daughter signed up to be a dragonslayer, and now the dragons seem to have come back.”

Dr. Lovelace informed me, “I think you have made an error in your judgement. Hiding this from your mother, even if for her own sake, is not advisable. You are merely stalling the inevitable, and the consequences of this will be greater than if you simply told her when it happened. I think you should tell her today, after our conversation.”

I half-sarcastically remarked, “I’ll consider it.”

She was right, of course, and I knew it.

Dr. Lovelace let my semi-sarcasm slide and changed the subject, “The child survived, by the way.”

I asked her, “Excuse me?”

Dr. Lovelace revealed, “Hyechin told me about what you both saw yesterday, so I snooped around the SDMC. The baby, who is a girl, is in suspended animation. Fetal surgeons safely extracted the child from her mother’s womb, performed reconstructive surgery, and placed her in an artificial womb under the aegis of the fetal intensive care unit.”

I felt an almost overwhelming sense of relief, and listened closely as she continued, “The young mother has spent most of her time watching the babe through a handheld monitor. Although we can’t talk to her yet, it’s pretty clear she recognizes the baby as hers and that she is extremely grateful the child is alive.”

I told her, “That’s wonderful to hear.”

Dr. Lovelace revealed, “This is where it gets weird. Dr. Makēsvaraṉ (மகேஸ்வரன்) had the SDMC run a whole genome sequence on both the mother and child, which found they were genetically identical to each other.”

I looked at her, confused, and asked, “How is that possible?”

Dr. Lovelace explained, “I don’t know, but an exploratory mission into the Mayan Revival world, where Ms. Breedlove placed her people, found that all the salvaged are women. Almost all of which are pregnant, and for those which aren’t, they seem to have given birth within the last 18 months or were too old or too young to have children. The oldest of these mothers is 59 years old, while the youngest of these mothers appears to be 8 years and 7 months old. SDMC personnel transported her for a medical assessment, but besides the pregnancy itself, there is no sign of sexual assault.”

I looked at her and said, “That’s not possible. The pregnancy is itself sufficient evidence to prove rape.”

Dr. Lovelace agreed, “So it would seem, but Dr. Makēsvaraṉ is at a complete loss regarding how to explain what’s going on. She made an offhanded remark that it’s almost like they reproduce through parthenogenesis.”

“Say what?” I asked.

Dr. Lovelace elaborated, “More of a thought induced by confused exacerbation than a serious consideration. There were no men among their ranks, after all. The SDMC has been taking hair and spit samples to sequence the genome of this new population. Though, it gets stranger. Triplets and quadruplets seem to be a strong majority of the examined pregnancies. Only the very young mothers seem to have single pregnancies.

“They’re homogenous to a degree unprecedented to Earthly populations... and not just in the manner that people of the same evolutionary lineage share features because of environmental and cultural pressures. The homogeneity is deeper than that. Many of the doctors and medics found it quite uncanny how similar their faces and proportions were to each other.”

This confused me, and Dr. Lovelace could see it in my body language.

I asked her, “What do you think the explanation for this is?”

Dr. Lovelace, without missing a beat, shrugged, “I don’t know. But Dr. Makēsvaraṉ’s remarks seem to be the only reasonable answer to account for the single sex salvage, extremely high pregnancy rates, and their apparent lack of genetic diversity amongst each other.”

I chuckled, “A planet of only women? With no men to complement them? Sounds like a dystopia.”

She then told me, “Speaking of single sex planets, that woman with the avulsion wound has a lot in common with you.”

I asked her, dreading what I was about to hear. “What do you mean?”

Dr. Lovelace explained, “That girl was the victim of a simultaneous castration and emasculation. She’s a hermaphrodite like you.”

I closed my legs in sympathetic horror upon hearing this.

She disclosed, “Her injuries suggest she put up a struggle as someone held her down and carved her masculine genitals from her body with a blade. Which would explain the arterial bleeding.”

I asked, horrified, “How is she doing?”

Ms. Lovelace explained, “As you would expect. Physically, the SDMC has saved her life, but you don’t have to speak an alien language to recognize that she’s been in mourning ever since she woke up from surgery.”

I didn’t want to even imagine being held down as someone took a blade to me and carved out my masculine organs. I felt a deep sense of sympathy for them and a penetrating sense of vicarious anger for her. Never once did I ever expect to meet someone with an analogous, if not identical, condition to mine. And now my first encounter with someone like me was as a witness to the effects of their mutilation.

That made me think about a lot of things. Including things that I might have taken for granted, which these ASO patients had lost.

Dr. Lovelace admitted, “I was involved in surveying the salvaged among her people: which consists entirely of people who appear to be women but have the primary sex characteristics of both earthly sexes. Many of them are victims of simultaneous castration and emasculation, but not all.”

I thought aloud, “How horrid…”

Dr. Lovelace explained, “We know little about the others. We know that the girl with the squirrel-tail and the beastman are both completely human, at least on a genetic level. But other than that, we simply know nothing yet. It will take time for them to learn our language and us theirs, so we might not know the full details for quite some time.”

She smiled, “I guess, in that way, they’re like you as well.”

Referring to the fact that my siddhi manifested not in traditional superpowers, but in the transformation of my corporeal nature at the instance of my conception.

While the emasculated ones and I underwent a heteromorphic transformation into a third sex, they underwent a transformation into beastly forms.

I asked, “And the others?”

She admitted, “We don’t know. The rest seem to have potēns which do not result in permanent morphological changes to their bodies, but what those abilities might be, I do not know yet.”

I probed, “And the hyperanthrope?”

She confessed, “Dr. Cutter has an interesting hypothesis about her. He thinks we pulled her out of the accretion disk of a black hole.”

I leaned back in my seat as she argued, “I believe him. Nothing less than the interior of a star can harm most earthly hyperanthropes, so the clean angle of her amputation would fit with the idea that we saved her up just after her feet passed through an event horizon and she was being blinded, deafened, and immolated on all sides by a plasma hotter than the core of a star.”

I observed, “That would mean that, somewhere out among the stars, there are cosmically powerful people flying about?”

Dr. Lovelace concede, “It would seem so.”

She then bid me farewell, standing and offering to shake my hand. “That is all I meant to say for today. I do not wish to keep you from your scheduled martial arts training. May God bless, young miss.”

I stood and shook her hand, confessing, “I still have a few questions.”

She smiled at me, “In due time, young miss.”

We left it at that, and I made my way over a few blocks’ distance to my training hall. The GSSDO came into the possession of a plethora of martial masters through a combination of our traditional recruitment and HSOs.

Through fierce competition and combat simulation, we adapted and refined their teachings to our needs. Ensuring the survival of their martial lineages, which were disseminated across the GSSDO; not just for hand-to-hand combat, but for CQC as well. All of us frequently cross-trained to refine our warrior prowess, so there were none among us who had only studied under one martial tradition.

Our metahuman members learned how to use their superpowers, when possible, in complement to their martial arts training. I’ve been training under masters who were familiar with boxing, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, catch-as-catch-can, tàijíquán (太極拳), bokator (ល្បុក្កតោ), even World War II combatives, and while I was no master, I was plenty skilled with a knife and with my hands.

I was tired after my shift was over, and exhausted by the time that my combatives course was over, so I simply went home. It was nothing like the aching of shin splints, or the cracks in bones from striking a solid surface repeatedly. Rather, it was a rewarding pain that invests you into trying again and again. Striving not for some end goal, but for the process of cultivation itself.

Combat addiction was a real risk within this culture, the exhilarating highs of testing your mettle against another could easily become a destructive fixation, especially knowing that one day we might need these skills to defend the people we love or extract people who suffered like our brothers-in-arms from the killing fields.

I’ve personally experienced this high in both a sadistic fashion, forcing an opponent into submission, and in a masochistic fashion, smiling after receiving an earth-shaking strike to the face while clearly losing against a superior opponent. It was an uncanny grin that never ceased to unnerve my opponents and teammates alike, and which was the same whether I was on the defensive or offensive.

Arriving home, I placed booties over the five-toed shoes that were inalienably integrated into my uniform. I greeted my mother, who had been making dinner, and then said, “You remember that thing you were asking me about yesterday, mother?”

Mother asked me, “I do. Are you ready to tell me what’s been on your mind?”

I walked into the kitchen, still in uniform, and admitted, “So, mother. That thing I promised to tell you about… A Hecatean noblewoman wants to ask you in person for my hand in marriage.”

Mom looked surprised, which was perfectly understandable considering the circumstances, so I laid out Mālhlin’s proposal and reasoning.