Archive of Our Own

Heaven: eternal bliss, being without hunger, sadness, pain, all the ailments that befall man. Yet without those ailments, what would we have to measure our happiness? Where is the relief of being sated without the hunger it chases away? What heights of pleasure can one reach without pain to temper their lives?

Hell: eternal damnation, hunger without end, pain without relief, no end to suffering in a myriad of forms. How could one retain sanity long enough to suffer? The mind is the foundation of the soul, or at least its expression through the mortal coil, is it not? If the mind can fracture, why can't the soul, if that is the only relief one can achieve?

Reincarnation: lives without end, the cyclical expression of the boundless soul, the grinding away of one's sins on the wheel of Samsara. What would be the point in existence after death if our identity is washed away? How can I truly better myself if I no longer know my faults? If I can't remember who I was, am I not someone new? In what world does one have time to debate Karma when they are struggling to survive?

And what of science; this is the only life you'll ever live, and that's fine because after is only oblivion. When your body or mind can no longer hold itself together, you cease to exist. If that's the truth, what then is the point of existence in the first place? To reproduce and birth another poor being into a dead world? One who will also only be able to carry that torch to the next generation and so on until Humanity's time comes to an end. All to perpetuate a species with no real future.

Even with this hopeless path, we live, we learn, we make bonds, and cherish them. We fight for another year, month, hour, minute, second. We claw and crawl our way to see the light of the next dawn no matter what adversity we face. So when I awoke in a new life, an unexpected second chance, that's what I did. I grabbed hold of that fighting spirit and roared my defiance to this cruel world of Gods and Monsters.

---

The first year of my second life was a blur. The mind of an infant isn't developed enough for more than instinct. My life felt more like a fleeting dream than actual existence, yet the longer this dream progressed, the more lucid I became. As my body developed, my mind was able to perceive parts of my surroundings. The warmth of my mother, the sound of her voice, the sharpness of her nails, the dull pain at the crown of my head, the scent, the flavor of copper never fading, and never failing to make my teeth itch or my stomach ache.

Then I noticed my mother spoke Japanese, sounding formal and old, always calling me Musume, daughter. I noticed the redness of her skin: an unnatural, permanent blush. I hadn't once seen my father or heard him in the house. No plastics or modern amenities are present in our home. Over time, I assumed I was in feudal Japan and that my father was busy with work.

How wrong I was.

Just before my first birthday, I was able to walk and had begun learning Japanese from what little my mother said to me. She was always distant, so I had yet to attempt to speak. Call me vindictive, but I wanted my father to be the first one to hear me speak. My mother was… odd-looking. Her skin was a light red, rather than a natural skin tone. Mine was fair. Her hair, which I thought was black, was tinged red, just enough to notice. Mine was bleached white. These I could brush off as cosmetic products from the era being used to achieve the desired aesthetic. What I couldn't brush off were the nails that resembled claws, the sharpened teeth, and the thin horns that poked out of the crown of her head. And I knew I had those same features; I had felt them.

Before, I thought her distant; Now this distance stretched further lately, with me rarely seeing her except for when she had to feed me or bathe me. She hadn't even said a word to me in over a week, and I was beginning to fear for what would come next. My mind came up with horrible scenarios, like her abandoning me or even killing me. Perhaps she had wanted a male child and thought she could bear it for a time.

Whatever I had thought, reality was worse.

On the day of my first birthday, my mother took me out of our house for the first time. Hopefully, it was to get food because I hadn't been fed in days, and I was starving. The village was nice in a way. I had always found historical Japanese architecture to be beautiful. This village takes that beauty further. Artful buildings colored in bright whites and reds lined the streets we walked. The buildings and the pathways throughout are clean, purposeful, yet not detached from nature.

As my mother carried me further up the mountain to a hidden temple, shrouded by the craggy landscape and the dense old-growth within, the world became more beautiful. Yet the all-pervasive scent of copper grows ever stronger. The mountain air carries a certain sacred feeling, the beauty leaving one in awe as they approach. At the same time, an ominous premonition grips my heart; a seed of dread wriggles within me, twisting and stabbing as more sweet copper scent fills my lungs.

After passing through the Torii and walking to the Honden I noticed how many people were gathered here. There were hundreds, and all had the same odd features that mother and I had. Some with shorter or longer horns, thicker or thinner claws and teeth, hulking brutes of muscle or more lithe frames, and skin and hair of a myriad of colors. These beings ranged from human shades of skin, ghostly pale, pitch dark, even blue, purple, or red hues of skin. A strange menagerie of beings, yet somehow a cohesive species that shared the same general traits.

Inside the Honden, instead of a statue of a Kami or a sacred mirror, was a pit. Around the pit were other mothers holding infants, and that seed of dread bloomed a powerful fear inside me.

This isn't a temple to the Gods; this is a temple to blood.

One by one, we are placed into the pit. There we await the next step of this cruel ritual.

Lowered into the center of the pit is a man in chains, looking as though he is at death's door. His emaciated body, covered in tattered rags, is a tapestry of bruises and cuts atop dirt-marred pale skin. His hair is overgrown, veiling his features, save the occasional glimpse of his eyes. A light wind would bowl him over in such a state, yet in those eyes, there isn't resignation but mania.

The other children were sniffing the air, and I realized we hadn't been fed because he was to be our food. This prisoner, he knew it too, and he wasn't going to roll over and die. Once he reached the floor of the pit, his shackles released. He stares at the shackles in disbelief for a moment, and at that moment, the children lurch towards their meal.

They start moving slowly, on shaky limbs circling, drool dripping from their mouths, eyeing their prey with the starved desperation of a beast. He, in contrast, is frozen, filled with nervous energy, his panicked gaze darting between the monsters around him.

I am still seated, processing this deranged circumstance I've found myself in.

When I glance at the top of the pit, I see the parents and the crowd all talking and laughing as though this is an amusing event. This isn't anything shocking to them. This is simply a fact of life here, and I have a choice to kill or starve. To eat or die.

My hands are shaking, but I realize they aren't the hands of a child, are they? These claws are those of a monster.

The scent comes back, and I look to the man. He's unharmed but has migrated to the edge of the pit. No, this piercing scent of copper isn't coming from him.

One of the children has attacked another. I can't help but stare as it tears into the other; I'm unable to distinguish the two through the splashes of blood and the jerky movement, the piercing wails, and the animalistic grunts. When both stop moving, I realize they've killed each other, two lives already gone in this pit.

Bile rises in my throat as a third comes along to cannibalize the departed. The two others, besides myself, are focused on the man and are within a few feet of him. He lashes out with a kick that hits its mark, launching one of the creatures away, where it lands in a twitching heap. I'm not sure if it's dead, but I don't have time to contemplate as the other rakes its claws along the man's leg. He howls in agony as he falls to his knees, but can backhand the demon out of the way.

Ah, they are demons, I must be in hell after all. This realization strikes like a bolt of lightning but fades just as fast. As I brush my tongue along my teeth and taste the blood in the air, I know that's a lie as well. I'm a demon too after all. The third demon has moved from the bodies of the others, presumably to investigate this new scent. Like an animal, it crosses the distance on all fours and leaps for the man's throat.

He jerks back and swings his arm up reflexively. His panicked motion connects, and he grabs the demon from the air, luckily throwing it at the other one, which starts to get back up.

In a daze, I've trudged over to the fresh corpses of my kind. They hardly even look like they were living creatures anymore. All that's left is a pile of meat, blood, and bone. The two bodies, their gore and viscera, blend indistinguishably. Revolting, pitiable. How cruel an end for stories that had only just begun.

My attention seems to have lapsed for a while, as the man has since killed another and received more wounds in the process. His one eye is now blinded, and one of his hands has been ripped off at the forearm. Even now, he fights on, his spirit burning ever more fiercely as he draws closer to death.

A rib bone is sticking out of the pile of blood before me. Stark white, long, and sharp; it looks like a weapon, a sword. A choice.

These monsters above me are still carrying on as though nothing has happened, but anticipation hangs in the air. As my gaze sweeps through the crowd, I see an older demon staring directly into my eyes. He nods at me as though prodding me onward; grab that weapon, those eyes say, follow this blood-stained path till the very end. Or perhaps I'm simply justifying the choice I've already made in my heart. I want to live, and every living being in this pit bars my path from seeing a new dawn.

My heart thumps powerfully in my chest, as though acknowledging my resolve.

I reach down and tear the rib out from the corpse and flick the blood off it. Turning around to where the final two combatants are embroiled in their struggle, I make a detour and finish off the child still twitching on the floor. At this point, death is a mercy for it. I sear this child's form into my memory, despite desperately wanting to forget them. The same with the others who have already died. If I'm to survive... When I survive, I will have to live for them as well. Only then can I move forward.

Focusing back on my adversaries, the man rams the little demon into the ground, again and again. It seems that at some point, he started crying. His tears mix with the fluid from his destroyed eye, as well as the blood and dirt on his face, creating thick black streaks beneath his eyes. Or perhaps those streaks are curses, the hatred in his soul gushing forth into the world, raging at this vile fate of his.

I think he knows that even if he kills us all, he still dies. As he drops the corpse in his lone hand, he slumps and stares at me with one dead eye. Those cursed streaks seem to bubble and writhe on his face, manifesting his hatred. He looks me over before his gaze hardens, his fighting spirit burning brightly in his remaining eye. He will live for even a second longer, no matter what he must do. In a show of pure will, he pulls himself to his feet, becoming like a fearsome giant towering over me.

I start to pick up speed. My legs are pumping as I run for the first time in this life, lungs filling with blood-tainted air, the rib bone swinging in my grasp. As I reach him, He kicks out, but I manage to clumsily sidestep, dragging the sharp bone across his leg as I move under him. The change in his balance, along with the new gash on his leg, means he falls backward. I barely manage not to get crushed as I hear the thud of his body hitting the dirt. Pushing through the dust, I manage to dodge a wild punch by instinct alone and snarl animalistically at him. His arm comes back around to slap me away, but I point the bone at his hand and brace myself. With a wet crunch, his hand is impaled upon the bone, and his blood sprays over my face and hands.

Over my panting, I hear him groan and sob. Discarding the bone, I crawl onto his chest and look him in the eyes. I take a moment and imprint his face into my memory. The first human that I've stained my hands with. Innocent and fighting for survival, just like me. I gently grasp his face in my hands and try to express my regret, but his glare never weakens. Then, I twist.

---

Hopping on the platform in the center, I'm slowly drawn up out of the pit. As I look down at the corpses inside, I feel hollow. What did I do in my past life to deserve this fate? Did I just fail a test from God, or was I abandoned by them long ago? When I reach the top, I see nothing but smiling faces. I see the other mothers smiling at me as though I hadn't lived while their children died. I see the old man giving me a small grin. I see my mother beaming and crying tears of joy. I see demons, monsters: Oni, my mind finally supplies.

My mother runs over and sweeps me into her arms, laughing and getting blood all over her kimono, "Daughter! I knew you would win, I knew you were special. Always, so smart, so strong. Come, the elder will give you a name now. You are a member of the clan now. Our future." I can't help but think that their future died in that pit. How I want nothing more than to tear everyone here to shreds. To end these vile creatures who make play at being people. But I can't, so I sit.

As my mother raises me to The Elder like I'm fucking Simba, I let loose a snarl."

Oh, such a lively one you've raised, Asuga-chan!" He chuckles genially as if there wasn't just a slaughter below. "I had thought she was a goner sitting in the corner at the beginning. Her eyes, however, so sharp. And improvising a weapon, truly inspired. She needs a strong name for a strong child. Homura? No, that won't work. How about Kaida?"

I stew in rage as they idly chat about names, and as they continue, I plan. I need to stay alive if I plan to destroy them; I also need to become strong enough to do so. I'll train harder than anyone ever before, become stronger than anyone before, then slaughter them all. "Perhaps, Saku?"

Tired and angry, I growl, gaining their attention. Then, pointing at myself, I speak my first words in this world, "Ibaraki."