The koi pond, moments ago a tranquil mirror, now churned with ripples and debris. From its depths, Takashi Kento, leader of the Abominations, slowly, almost deliberately, crawled out. Water cascaded from his vibrant, spiked hair, plastering it momentarily to his face, but his golden eyes still burned with that unsettling predatory gleam. He was soaked, his flamboyant attire clinging to his lean frame, yet he moved with an effortless grace, as if the drenching had been a mere inconvenience.
A strained silence descended upon us. Sweet and Zara stood ready, their expressions grim, their stances defensive. Koji, his sai still clutched tightly, radiated a primal readiness for battle. But Takashi merely smiled, a slow, widening curve that stretched his lips, revealing those slightly too-sharp teeth.
Then, the smile faltered. A subtle twitch began at the corner of his eye, a barely perceptible tremor that spread to his jaw. His head tilted at an unnatural angle, then snapped back, his muscles seizing for a fraction of a second. It was unnerving, a crack in his carefully constructed facade of control. He was acting out of character, a puppet master losing control of his own strings. It was scary, a chilling glimpse into a deeper disquiet within him.
"You're... twitching," I managed to blurt out, the observation slipping past my fear.
Takashi chuckled, a dry, rustling sound that seemed to scratch against the silence. "Just a minor... recalibration," he drawled, his voice regaining its silky menace, though the twitch continued, a persistent, unsettling rhythm. "My apologies for the... theatrical exit. Sweet's little party trick was rather... unexpected."
Before anyone could react, he was gone again. That impossible speed, even faster this time, a blur that bypassed the very concept of movement. It wasn't an effort; it was an inherent state of being. He reappeared directly in front of me, so close I could feel the faint chill radiating from his still-damp clothes. He didn't even seem to breathe heavily.
He leaned in, his golden eyes, devoid of any discernible pupil, piercing into mine. The lingering scent of pond water and something metallic, almost like ozone, filled my nostrils. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, a sound that bypassed my ears and burrowed directly into my mind.
"I know where Grandma is."
The words struck me like a physical blow, sharper and more excruciating than any pain the chief had inflicted. Grandma. Alive? A flood of conflicting emotions surged through me: hope, disbelief, a fresh wave of grief for the unanswered questions of her apparent death, and a terrifying suspicion that this was merely another cruel twist of the knife. My eyes widened, not just in shock, but in an agony so profound it threatened to tear me apart.
Before I could even formulate a thought, a primal instinct took over. The metal bat, a weapon I hadn't consciously realized I was still clutching from my training, felt suddenly heavy and real in my grasp. My stance shifted, muscles coiling, ready to unleash a desperate, enraged swing. This man, this Takashi Kento, was playing with my deepest fears, toying with the one shred of hope I dared to hold onto. He had to be stopped.
But he was faster. My arm had barely begun its arc when he moved. It wasn't a block or a dodge; it was a casual, dismissive gesture. He simply reached out and, with an almost playful flick of his wrist, delivered a light spank to my forehead.
It was no ordinary spank.
The world exploded in a kaleidoscope of greens and browns. A concussive force, utterly disproportionate to the seemingly gentle touch, slammed into me. My feet left the ground, and I was launched backwards, propelled with an impossible, breathtaking velocity. The garden blurred into an indistinguishable smear as I shot through the air. I saw Sweet, Zara, and Koji shrink to distant specks in an instant.
I became a human projectile, hurtling through the air at hypersonic speed. Twelve blocks. That's how far the force carried me, twelve blocks away from the tranquil garden, from my companions, from reality itself. I slammed into several lush vegetable patches, the impact sending sprays of soil, splintered stalks, and uprooted leaves exploding around me. My bulk body, imbued with the nascent power of a Mileena, ripped through fences, flattened rows of carrots, and pulverized ripe tomatoes, leaving a devastating trail of botanical destruction in my wake.
Every single impact, every snap of wood, every tearing of leaf, every splintering root, registered as a fresh jolt of pain. It wasn't just physical; it was an echo of the countless times I'd felt helpless, out of control, a pawn in a game I didn't understand. The sensation was akin to being flogged by spectral masquerades, their unseen whips lashing at my flesh as I flew, each blow vibrating with an ancient, resonant cruelty.
Through the dizzying rush of speed and the cacophony of destruction, a voice, faint yet insistent, began to pierce the haze of agony. It was the voice of sweet, his solemn tones repeating the dire warnings of my lineage, of the burden I carried. "...your power was born from emotional fear and loneliness... your body caused this, not you..."
The world spun, then abruptly ceased. I landed with a bone-jarring thud, the breath knocked from my lungs, my body aching in a thousand places. Dazed, disoriented, I tried to push myself up, my limbs heavy and unresponsive. The smell of rich earth and crushed vegetation filled my nostrils.
A faint voice. It kept calling. And calling. Not Sweet's voice now, but something else, something... familiar? I strained to hear, to understand, but the world was still swimming.
Then, slowly, the reality of my surroundings began to coalesce. The destroyed garden, the splintered fences, the uprooted plants... it was all there. But the space around me was different. The vibrant hues of the garden had faded, replaced by a soft, ethereal glow. The air was still, silent, devoid of the chirping birds or the rustling leaves. I was in an empty space, a vast, featureless void that stretched out to an unseen horizon. The ground beneath me was smooth, luminous, reflecting the soft light like polished glass.
And then the chilling realization dawned upon me. I was never attacked by Takashi Kento. Not truly. Not in the way I thought. He hadn't launched me through twelve blocks of garden. He had done something else, something far more insidious.
He was in this empty void with me.
He walked towards me slowly, his footsteps silent on the luminous floor, his figure a stark contrast against the ethereal backdrop. The twitch was gone from his face, replaced by an expression of cold, calculating intensity. His golden eyes, now unnervingly clear, held a profound sorrow that contradicted his earlier playful menace. He stopped a few paces from me, his presence filling the vast emptiness, making it feel strangely intimate.
Then, he began to speak, his voice no longer a playful purr, but a deep, resonant baritone that carried the weight of ages.
"My real name is Takashi Okonogie Nozer," he stated, the revelation dropping like a stone into the silent void. Okonogie. The same lineage. My own family. The implications sent a fresh wave of shock through my already battered mind.
"I worked with Dad a long time ago," he continued, his gaze distant, lost in memories. "Not the one you knew, but our true father, the ancient King. He was a visionary, but also a pragmatist. Working under him wasn't as pleasant as I initially thought. I was made to hide my true identity, forced into the shadows. I was made to torture, to endure unimaginable pain, all in the name of a greater purpose. I was created as a weapon, a specialized instrument built for destruction, for a specific kind of war. But I was a failed test."
His voice held no bitterness, only a weary acceptance. "I was kept with other failed tests, those deemed too unstable, too dangerous, or simply not fit for the King's direct command. We were called 'Abominations,' a term of disdain, a label for those cast aside. I was the youngest among them, the weakest, the smallest. At age 14, my life was already hell, defined by rejection and a terrifying potential I couldn't control."
My mind reeled. The leader of the Abominations, a failed test? A discarded weapon? And he was an Okonogie? It was too much to process, too many layers of deceit and hidden truths.
"But I wasn't hated," Takashi continued, a strange, almost wistful expression crossing his face. "I was loved. Not by the world, no. The world had no use for us. But by those hearts who were thrown down with me, by the other 'Abominations.' We found a family in the wreckage of our shattered lives."
He took another step closer, his eyes locking with mine, a deep, ancient pain swirling within their golden depths. "My original goal, our original purpose, was to save. To save our world from the On'yomi's, our true doom, the entities of pure shadow and corruption who were said that once they're seen, the person never lived to tell the tale. We were trained to be the last line of defense, the ultimate deterrent against their eradication."
He paused, a humorless chuckle escaping his lips. "But it was all a lie. The On'yomi's never came. Or at least, not in the way we expected. I waited for centuries, for a savior, for an event that would justify my existence, that would validate the pain I endured. Waiting ages, watching the world descend further into its own self-made chaos."
His gaze became piercing, burning into my very soul. "And then, you were birthed. Not by the On'yomi's, but by the very evil of our world. Your existence, Okonogie Yoru Raziel, is the ultimate paradox. You are the culmination of millennia of pain, fear, and human folly, yet within you lies the potential to remake everything."
His words struck a nerve, raw and exposed. The weight of being a Mileena, of being an outlaw, of being the cause of so much suffering, surged back. I couldn't listen to his grandiose speeches about saving a world that had only ever offered me pain.
"What do you mean, 'save'?" I cut him short, my voice rising, edged with a bitterness that surprised even myself. The emptiness of the void around us seemed to amplify my frustration, my anger. "Saving a world already broken? Saving a world where mistakes are created only to be ostracized, abandoned, hated?"
My voice cracked, laden with the profound unfairness of it all. "They never wanted to know this cruel world, this place of endless suffering and betrayal, yet they were brought into it, forced to face its harsh realities. No one cared about anything, or me. So my trust can't be granted to anyone, not even the so-called 'Rhines' or 'Abominations' or whatever labels you cling to."
My voice grew stronger, fueled by a surging, righteous fury. The six emotions, dormant moments ago, began to stir, a discordant symphony of power within me. "I'm not here to save. I'm here to destroy this world, to utterly dismantle it, and then... to recreate the mess. To build something new from the ashes of everything that has failed. I am the culmination of its failures, and I will be its undoing."
The final words hung in the vast emptiness, echoing with a defiant, terrifying resolve. The Mileena within me, the power born of all six emotions, stirred, no longer just a burden, but a purpose. A dark, destructive purpose, forged in the fires of betrayal and abandonment. The world had broken me; now I would break the world.