**VERSE 2**
Let me weave you a tale, one that marks the beginning of my Father's journey. Born alongside his twin sister, he entered this world five centuries after the great Chaos—the upheaval that first shook the foundations of existence. From the outset, they were destined for greatness, or so it seemed.
My Father didn't hail from riches; his family was neither affluent nor destitute. They occupied the middle ground, grappling to make ends meet in the wake of a devastating war that had ravaged the upper realms five centuries prior. It was a time when divinity seeped into the lives of mortals, giving rise to various supernatural beings. As a result, a hierarchy formed, distinguishing the strongest among humanity.
Tragically, my dad's father passed away just two months before their birth, a casualty of a fall while foraging for flowers and food to bring home to his expectant wife. His mother, overwhelmed by grief, succumbed shortly after giving birth to her children, surrendering her life on that very day when joy turned to sorrow. The twin sister, born ten minutes before him, became the elder, and the responsibility of guardianship fell to my Father's uncle.
Thus began my Father's odyssey—a path lit by the rays of hope yet shadowed by pain and despair. He often reminisced about that fateful day, filled with sunlight streaming through the windows, marking his first moments of extraordinary potential.
As the sun's rays filtered into the room, they gently prodded a sleeping boy awake. He lay sprawled on a makeshift bed, his shoulder-length black hair tangled and dust-laden. As his eyes fluttered open, the sudden blast of sunlight stung his vision, making him instinctively shield his eyes with his palms. For a few moments, he sat there in silence, absorbing the warmth of the day before letting out a deep exhale. He turned toward the west, glancing at his elder twin sister, who remained undisturbed by the golden light, her innocent face illuminated even in slumber.
Their lives teetered between comfort and adversity. An uncle, barely managing his own existence, now shouldered the responsibility of their care. The boy's gaze drifted outside, drawn to the lush green valleys beyond. The sight offered him solace, the cool breeze pouring in through the window, caressing his face like a gentle reminder of life's fragile beauty. He leaned back, resting his head on his palm, allowing his thoughts to wander as he reveled in the moment.
He shifted his focus back to his sister, who had turned away, her hair just as unkempt as his own, lacking the vibrancy it once possessed. Clothed in a white polo and purple-striped pajama trousers, her breathing hinted at dreams woven in sweet innocence. Gently, he removed his makeshift blanket, covering her as she settled deeper into sleep, her eyelids glimmering like the sun above.
Rising to his feet, he surveyed the small room. The wooden floor creaked beneath his slight frame, affirming just how thin he really was. A calendar hung precariously on the wall, while a small wardrobe stood in a corner—half-heartedly serving a purpose, for their clothes were few and far between. He cast an eye at a neat pile of clothes on the floor, realizing his wardrobe had little to offer.
With a fidgety hand, he raked through his disheveled hair, wiping away the remnants of sleep and letting a sheepish breath escape his lips. Shaking off the morning daze, he approached the wooden door, turning the knob until it clicked open, releasing him into the hallway beyond.
As he stepped into the dim passage, he glimpsed the small window at the far end. The light streamed through, illuminating the walls adorned with simple decor—a lonely picture frame and a vase perched on a stool. It was there, in that moment, that my father, Kato, stood barefoot on the creaking floor, ready to embrace the world.
Suddenly, an uncomfortable pang in his abdomen startled him from his thoughts. The unmistakable grumbling of hunger compelled urgency within him. No longer willing to stroll leisurely, he darted toward the bathroom, taking long strides with determination.
In seconds, he hurled open the bathroom door, momentarily pausing to take in the unassuming yet tidy white-tiled space. He glanced sideways, like a thief in the night, scanning for his one true target—the gleaming toilet seat that promised relief. It stood there, a beacon of hope in his desperate moment, beckoning him forward.
After freshening up, Kato gave the toilet a flush, watching intently as his waste swirled away in a tight spiral until it disappeared from view. Drawing a deep breath, he pulled up his trousers, feeling the familiar fabric against his skin, and then turned to face the bathroom mirror.
Sunlight streamed through the window, flooding the space with warmth and wrapping around him like a gentle embrace. The golden rays illuminated his figure, casting a soft glow that momentarily chased away the chill of the cool breeze sneaking in through the cracks. There was a strange, unnameable feeling that stirred within him, as if the very air was whispering secrets only he could sense.
As he gazed at his reflection, the sunlight worked its magic, enhancing the contours of his face and unveiling the reality he often avoided. The imperfections, once easily dismissed, were now plainly visible. The dark circles under his eyes were not mere shadows; they were deep-set reminders of sleepless nights and past burdens—a fixture since he was just a child.
Kato's crimson eyes, usually overshadowed by their own weight, glistened in the golden light, a striking contrast that gave them an almost otherworldly gleam. He leaned closer, studying the reflection that stared back at him. Each detail told a story—every line, every mark a testament to the life he had lived. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of the sun and the coolness of the breeze, he found himself confronting not just his appearance but the essence of who he had become. Kato stood before the mirror, peering intently at the scars that traced his body like a map of past battles. His gaze landed on a striking, large black tattoo snaking down his left arm, compelling his focus. With a decisive tug, he unbuttoned his pajama shirt, letting it drop carelessly to the floor.
He was extremely thin, his ribs jutting out like the sharp edges of a knife. The tattoo was a symphony of black waves, cascading from the base of his neck, curling over his shoulders, and spiraling down to his fingers, with only a hint of ink on his palms. A grin broke across his face as he admired the artwork—a swirl of memories crafted by his sister, an act that had infuriated their Uncle, though he had been powerless to stop it.
It was all inspired by the enchanting tales his sister had woven for him, stories of creation, powerful gods, and their remarkable histories. Among them, the legends of the Chinese gods captivated him the most—celestials with the power to reshape the world with a mere snap of their fingers. As he traced the spirals with his other hand, Kato's smile widened, uncovering a secret: his sister's name hidden among the intricate design.
"I've got to keep you close, sis," he murmured to himself. "You never know what's coming next."
He chuckled softly, realizing how odd it was for a child to have such a bold tattoo, but in a world as chaotic as theirs, nothing felt truly strange anymore.
With a sigh, Kato grabbed his toothbrush from the cup resting on the bathroom sink. He took a dollop of toothpaste and squeezed it onto the bristles before placing the tube back with a practiced flick. As he started brushing, he was lost in thought. The present world was teetering on the edge of destruction, plagued by devils that occasionally seeped from the depths of hell, wreaking havoc. Strangely enough, Kato felt no bitterness towards these beings. Most were mindless, driven by primal instincts, and they were often dispatched by the supernaturals who roamed the earth.
He spat the foam into the sink and rinsed his toothbrush, feeling the familiar grit of reality settling back in. Wiping his mouth with a clean cloth, he gripped the sink basin tightly, as if he could tear it away from its moorings.
The world outside was a tragedy: humans lost in their conflicts, lands irreparably scarred, and those with power securely isolated. A division had formed, sculpted by ancient forces and political machinations, a barrier that could only be crossed with an invitation—a concept that felt absurd to Kato. Within the larger division, countless smaller ones flourished, each one more baffling than the last.
Kato often pondered the futility of it all. What was the point of so many divisions when negativity threatened to consume everything? He couldn't help but think that humanity was foolish, desperately clinging to a false sense of peace and survival, a survival that could only be temporary.
Yes, it will—though that truth felt like a weight pressing down on him, heavy and unyielding. For him and the people of this division, it was a dismal fate. They were the unfortunate ones, constantly hunted, their lives interwoven with the fear that loomed over them like a storm cloud. These were the non-sentient devils, creatures of nightmare that thrived on the vulnerable, and they made their presence known with an unmistakable, chilling certainty.
Kato clenched his jaw, feeling the tension ripple through his muscles as he stared into the mirror. His reflection held a gaze that seemed to plunge into the depths of his very being. He sometimes found solace, oddly enough, in the ashes of his parents' memory. They had lived through the formation of this division, a time when hope still flickered faintly, yet they had been pushed back—shoved into the second line, teetering on the brink of the unredeemable land, the closest point to the devils' domain.
In this world painted with shades of despair, a false sense of order persisted. It was a facade, a cruel mechanism designed to make more room for the victims hurled from the so-called glorified 1st division, where the privileged still held whispers of power and safety. Kato spat into the sink, irritation flaring within him as he was consumed by the injustice.
He shut his eyes, trying to absorb the warm rays of sunlight that peeked through the window, wrapping around him like a tender embrace. "Anger without action does no good," his sister's voice echoed in his mind, calm and resolute. She always had a way of cutting through his tumultuous thoughts, grounding him. Yet, with each reminder of her wisdom, the frustration swirled, a tempest that refused to abate.
With a deep breath, he released a heavy sigh, allowing the weight of his anger to dissipate into the air. There was something more sinister that haunted him—something that ran deeper than anger. It was the nature of those devils, the very essence of their existence. They embodied dread, cloaked in a shroud of black air, emitting sounds that sent shivers racing across the skin of those unfortunate enough to hear them. They loomed large, minimum the size of a towering building, each rank a classification of terror. The creepers lurked, ghostly and predatory, but it was the flying devils that truly instilled panic—heartless, voracious creatures that snuffed out life without a second thought.
Kato removed his trousers and stepped into the shower, the cool water cascading down his body, droplets creating a soothing rhythm that washed over him. Each droplet felt like a gentle nudge, coaxing him toward tranquility. As he stood beneath the flow, he tilted his head back, letting the water cascade over his forehead and down his face.
His mind began to quiet, each heartbeat slowly synchronizing with the sound of the water. Time felt suspended in this small sanctuary, a fleeting refuge that contrasted starkly with the chaos outside. He stood there, feeling the weight of the world momentarily lift, as if the water were a magic elixir that could wash away not just the grime of the day but also the burdens that clung to his spirit.
In this moment, Kato savored the peace—the kind that felt almost alien in a world defined by turmoil and dread. It was a peace he cherished more than he dared to admit. In a fractured existence, moments like this became rare treasures, and he clung to them, wishing for more, even as the shadows of the devils waited just beyond his fragile haven.
He lingered in the warmth of the bath, thoughts swirling like the steam rising from the water. The Haven of Devils lay not far from here, yet his uncle, a middle-class man, had found some semblance of fortune. This shelter—this comforting shower—did not come without a cost. Luck, as it seemed, played a part in survival.
Kato's uncle often spoke of the intricate web of politics spun by the upper classes, a system that appeared to nourish the masses but, upon closer examination, served only the privileged. Despite his uncle's frequent admonitions, Kato remained perplexed. What did it truly mean to be fortunate in a world where order was enforced with an iron hand? Hierarchies extended even to the second division, with jobs crafted to fend off the relentless threat of the Devils, allowing civilians to earn while serving a purpose. Yet, there lingered pockets of despair—slums where the sick, orphans, and the forgotten resided, continually at risk of becoming prey to the encroaching darkness.
These slums, steeped in misery, were a stark reminder of the divide between Supernaturals and the rest. The text his sister read from a book titled "History of Mortals" echoed in his mind, recounting how these divine beings were supposed to protect humanity from the evils that lurked in shadows. Yet, Kato could not shake his disdain for these deities—were they not meant to cleanse the world of darkness themselves? Why leave mortals to fend for themselves?
He ran a bar of soap through his hair, the foam rising to wash away not just dirt but a growing bitterness. Supernaturals promised safety, yet the threat of possession by formidable devils cast a shadow over their gifts. In the realms of Sect 1 and Sect 2, where Supernaturals held sway, their indifference toward the struggles of the lower classes was palpable. Help was often doled out selectively, favoring the affluent while ignoring the cries of those like Kato and his uncle.
The nature of Supernaturals—those who wielded powers beyond comprehension—intrigued him, even as he resented their detachment. Gifteds and Ungifteds stood at the pinnacle of this world, each carrying strengths and weaknesses in a delicate balance. Gifteds could harness the essence of all superhuman abilities, but they needed to unlock their potential through rigorous training. Ungifteds, rarer than their counterparts, could not wield these powers but enjoyed invulnerability to supernatural forces, relying instead on sheer physical prowess to survive.
He sighed heavily, breaking from his thoughts. The water glistened on his skin as he stepped out, wrapping a towel around himself as droplets danced around the bathroom. He glanced in the mirror, noting the dark circles betraying sleepless nights. The world outside was unforgiving, the lines drawn sharply between those with ability and those without.
Still lost in the complexities of power and hierarchy, Kato's mind wandered to the population census from five years ago—a staggering five billion souls scattered across four major kingdoms. Would fortune continue to smile on him, or would the relentless tide of politics and supernatural power leave him forever in the shadows? The questions hung thick in the air, asIn a world shaped by power and lineage, the Northern Kingdom, Western Central, Southern Gates, and the Eastern States stood as four distinct territories, each with its own wealth of people and supernatural gifts. The combined population of these regions exceeded five billion, yet it was the Northern Kingdom that commanded the most respect and influence among them. It was a realm where legends walked among the living.
Among the inhabitants, the Gifteds and Ungifteds numbered an astonishing total of 40, with the Northern Kingdom holding the lion's share—28 of the legendary class. Nineteen of these were Gifteds, individuals endowed with extraordinary abilities that could alter the very fabric of their realm. The other nine, Ungifteds, lacked the mystic powers but still held their own form of significance, tethered to the legends in their bloodline. The Southern Gates ranked next with its six legendary individuals—four Gifteds and two Ungifteds, while the Eastern States boasted four Gifteds. The Western Central, Kato's homeland, had a modest tally of two: a pair of twins, one Gifted and the other Ungifted.
With a population so vast, it was commonly understood that the balance of power was dictated by the number of Supernaturals, particularly those in the legendary category. Ungifteds were an enigma, a rarity found only among twins where the elder possessed a Gift. This phenomenon raised the stakes for families and nations alike, creating a societal expectation for twins to emerge. Given the stark odds—one in a million—these twins were seen as vessels of hope, the kind of hope that could elevate a family's status and ensure a nation's strength.
Yet, as time marched on, a rise in devastating encounters with devils began to take a toll on the population across all nations. A sense of urgency replaced the once naive aspirations, with the need for the legendary class intensifying as communities faced dwindling numbers and rising fears.
---
In the stillness of the morning, Kato gazed down at his left arm, tracing the inked designs that adorned his skin—a canvas of stories waiting to be told. He shifted his gaze down to the wooden floor, where his clothes lay haphazardly scattered, remnants of his night's rest. A soft smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, a chuckle escaping his lips as he reminisced. He slipped on his pajama trousers, deciding that today warranted comfort over formality; the day would unravel at its own pace.
As he held his shirt, the fabric soft and familiar in his hands, his thoughts drifted back to the legendary class that loomed over his world like a shadow. Kato harbored a profound disdain for this elite group, but it wasn't merely their lofty status that irked him; it was a singular encounter that had forged his resentment.
There was a boy, one he now despised with a fervor that felt as if it were etched into his very being. This boy had recently come into his Gift and was poised to leave their familiar Section 2 for the more prestigious Section 1, where privilege reigned supreme. Yet Kato's fury was rooted not in jealousy of the boy's newfound power, but in memories dating back to when he himself was merely five years old—a time when innocence still clung to him like a comforting blanket.
That fateful day five years ago had drawn him to the boy's father's tools shop, a modest establishment that catered to the needs of the community. Nestled a few blocks away from their humble home, the shop had once bridged the divide between the middle and upper classes. Kato had approached the counter with purpose, a simple request resting on his lips, entreating for the tools his uncle had instructed him to fetch. But the encounter soured before he could even grasp the situation fully.
The boy, with his polished mannerisms and an air of entitlement, had snapped like a spring, his words sharp and laced with disdain. Kato, ever honest, had merely pointed out the rudeness cloaked in the boy's tone. That single moment had sparked a tempest, igniting an animosity that would haunt Kato through the years. The boy's revenge had been swift and brutal; the encounters would leave bruises—not just physical, but emotional scars that lingered long after the fists had withdrawn.
As Kato stood lost in thought, the memory felt alive once more, the emotions swelling within him like a tide ready to engulf the shore. Thankfully, fate had carved a new path for him, relocating the middle class to a more perilous area, deterring the boy from seeking him out. However, the disdain Kato felt for that child—now deemed Gifted—had taken root deep in his heart, a weed that refused to wither. He imagined the boy's ascent into a world of privilege, and with it, the iron grip of contempt tightened.
Even so, this area was another nightmare. For two weeks, they had been stranded here, and over 170 lives had been claimed by devil possession and slaughter. In the entire middle class, only three supernaturals remained—one was his uncle, a mage; the others, a warrior and a healer. Their ranks were low, barely scraping by, and utterly defenseless against the relentless devils.
Kato stood in his pajama shirt, scratching his head, lost in thought. "Every day brings a new fear," he murmured, trying to reassure himself. Yet deep down, he knew it was a losing battle. The slums of Section 2 had the highest population, yet half of its residents had vanished, devoured by the devils. A wave of pity rose in his throat. These people were forsaken, left to fend for themselves while the very essence meant to protect the realm had become selective in its mercy.
This, he reflected, was why he despised his own kind. While no one could save everyone, a true effort should be made to prevent such horrors from occurring in the first place. Why had the governance of Section 2 banished them so close to the Haven of Devils if they themselves could not withstand it? It was utterly inhumane.
As he turned towards the bathroom door, a sudden, deafening noise jolted him. In an instant, he was flung into the hallway, crashing against the wall as it exploded into debris. He crumpled amidst the rubble, his forehead bruised and his throat choking on dust. Panic surged as a high-pitched shriek pierced the air, igniting primal fear within him. His heart raced, pumping adrenaline as his breath quickened, and he felt like an athlete in the grip of exhaustion.
Through the chaos, he glimpsed a shadow advancing towards him. Blurry vision slowly sharpened, revealing the unmistakable outline of horns. His heart nearly stopped; he knew without a doubt that this was no ordinary creature.A shrill sound sliced through the air, piercing his thoughts and waking an instinctual fear deep within him. Kato's cough grew worse, each rasp echoing in time with the frantic drum of his heartbeat. Sweat beaded on his forehead, nightmarishly reminiscent of an athlete gasping for breath after an exhausting ten-kilometer run.
He knew that sound all too well. A heavy thud reverberated through the bathroom, sending a jolt of shock coursing through him, as though the very foundations of his reality had shifted. His vision wavered like a mirage, but he could make out a dark form emerging—something malevolent had shattered the wall, and it was coming for him. Panic wrapped around his chest, tightening relentlessly as his heart raced in a wild crescendo.
Horns, he recognized them—no ordinary devil, this one boasted an impressive array of protrusions. The sheer number of them sent dread spiraling through his veins, freezing him in place, every primal instinct screaming to run. He tried to move, but his body refused, betraying him in his moment of desperate need.
Kato's gaze flickered upward, and suddenly, it loomed above him. The creature's breath was a putrid reminder of death, as if the very essence of despair was swirling around him. A wave of thoughts crashed through his mind, chaotic and haunting, as he counted the menacing horns. The realization settled in like ice: he was encountering something designed to usher in his demise.
The devil's jaws hung open, a grotesque gash in its visage, silently awaiting a command. Just then, a clap echoed through the dust-filled room, sharp and mocking, breaking the tension like glass shattering on the floor. Childlike footsteps approached, accompanied by chilling laughter that curled through the air like smoke.
Kato squinted against the haze, and recognition struck like a lightning bolt. The boy's silver hair gleamed like a beacon, a dreadful familiarity washing over him.
"Ah, Kato. What do you think of my new pet?" The boy's voice was clear, laced with a hint of playful mischief, yet dark undercurrents pulsed through it. Kato felt the devil's snarl beside him, visceral and menacing, but he could hardly tear his gaze away.
"A two-headed, four-horned devil," the boy continued, tapping the creature's hide with casual audacity. "A splendid gift from the association, don't you think?"
Disbelief twisted in Kato's gut as he processed the situation. This boy—Yonikaharu Okimura—was an unsettling enigma. A recognized supernatural, now standing before him with the power to unleash havoc. Reflecting on the creature's ferocity, Kato couldn't shake the realization of the threat that loomed.
"I'm sure you have many questions, Kato boy." The boy's fingers grazed Kato's jaw, gripping his chin with an iron hold that elicited a gasp of pain. "I'll answer all of them for you." The malice laced in his tone made Kato's blood run cold.
Fear gripped Kato, paralyzing his voice. He had one desperate thought, a single tremulous statement he dared to utter, unaware of its haunting repercussions. "Yonikaharu Okimura—Why?"
Rage ignited in the boy's eyes, a fierce inferno that seemed too hot to contain. Yet, somehow, his voice remained calm, almost teasing. "If you notice, I didn't bring along that healer girl."
Reality crashed in waves, and Kato's eyes widened in horror. This was the day everything spiraled into chaos; how could it have gone so wrong?
"I need to give a proper send off. It's my last time in Division 2 you know?". He smiled sheepishly
A guttural growl erupted from the creature beside him, and a breath that reeked of countless deaths sent chills racing down his spine. impenetrable as the mist swirling outside his window.