The quiet of the midnight air shattered as her body hurtled through the glass doors of the bookstore. A sharp crack, followed by the glittering rain of shards catching the faint street lights outside. She hit the ground hard, rolling with the momentum, her cloak whipping about her as she tried to regain balance. The cold marble floor bit into her skin beneath the dark leather armor, and her breath came in quick, sharp bursts.
Blonde curls, streaked with glass, cascaded down her face as she scrambled to her feet. Her ice-blue eyes, glowing under the streetlights, locked onto the figure still lingering in the shadows of the store. She wiped a trickle of blood from her lip, looking out the bookstore in fear of what was to follow her.
“I was sure it was just an ordinary pervert demon before…How the fuck did I get so strong all of a sudden?”
Suddenly, the creature flashed before her eyes, replacing the evening scenery that she was just looking at moments prior. For a heartbeat, her breath caught in her throat, and she flinched, instinctively stepping back as her boots scraped against the broken shards of glass.
But then, as her eyes adjusted, her shock gave way to something else. She'd seen this face before—many times. She had fought this thing, traded blows with it under the cover of darkness. But it still threw her off every time she faced it. The sheer absurdity of its appearance hit her like a punchline she hadn't quite been ready for.
The creature stood tall, its body rippling with muscle, gleaming in the soft light of the moon. Its chest rose and fell with a slow, menacing rhythm, the outline of its frame a grotesque mirror to the raw power it held. From the neck down, it was the stuff of nightmares—thick sinews of muscle that promised violence, a body sculpted to crush, maim, and overpower. And yet... and yet...
That face.
A face so bizarrely out of place that it made the corners of her mouth twitch, threatening to produce a smirk. The features—if you could call them that—looked like they'd been hastily scribbled onto a paper by a distracted child. Uneven, lopsided eyes, a squiggly nose, and a cartoonish mouth twisted into what seemed to be an attempt at a snarl but ended up looking more like the unfortunate result of a toddler's doodling spree.
She blinked once, twice, unable to reconcile the terror her body instinctively felt with the sight in front of her. It should have been intimidating—it was designed to be, with its hulking frame and monstrous strength—but instead, it was comically absurd. A living contradiction. A threat, sure, but one wearing the most ridiculous face imaginable.
It flexed, like it was trying to make the moment dramatic, trying to be cool. But the juxtaposition of its impressive physique and that absurd face only made it more difficult to take seriously. Her lips twitched again, and this time, despite herself, a small, breathy laugh escaped her.
She quickly bit down on it, her eyes narrowing. "Focus," she muttered to herself, shaking her head as if to clear the incredulous disbelief. This thing had thrown her through glass, after all. It had the strength of a monster, no matter how ridiculous it looked. That much she couldn’t forget. She couldn’t afford to.
She rolled her shoulders, bracing herself for the inevitable clash, even as the absurdity of it all danced at the edge of her thoughts. She needed to take down this curse in front of her.
This Gooning Demon.
She quickly charged at the abomination, her limbs blurring as she struck out—fist, elbow, knee—whatever she could manage. But the creature danced around her like it was toying with her. Every time her fist neared its grotesque face or her kick lashed out toward its ribs, it moved, just enough, always slipping beyond her reach. She fought a shadow—a twisted, lumbering silhouette that seemed almost bored by her efforts.
She clenched her jaw, willing her strikes to find their mark, her breath escaping in ragged gasps. She could feel her heart pounding, the dull, rhythmic echo in her ears, and the frustration building in her chest, tightening like a vice. This thing—this monstrous, absurd parody of a creature—made a mockery of everything she’d been taught, of everything she was.
She dropped low, sweeping her leg in an arc, and her heel sliced through the air toward the creature's feet. She saw it in slow motion, the arc, the power in her kick, but then—nothing. It lifted its foot and stepped back, almost lazily, as if her attempts were no more threatening than a breeze.
Before she could recover, it moved. It was impossibly fast, a flash of movement she couldn’t track. Its hand shot out and snatched her wrist, and the iron grip sent a jolt of fear up her spine. She tried to twist away, to break its grasp, but it was like trying to move against a stone wall. A searing pain exploded in her shoulder, her vision blurring at the edges, and she bit down on her lip to keep from crying out. Panic rose in her throat, but she barely had time to process it before the ground disappeared beneath her.
“Owwww!”
The world spun. Her body went airborne, hurled across the bookstore, and for a heartbeat, everything felt weightless—before it all came crashing down. She slammed into a set of shelves, her back hitting the wooden frame with enough force to send books toppling all around her. Her vision flashed white from the pain, her body crumpling in a heap on the floor, gasping for breath as the wind was knocked out of her.
Pain lanced through her ribs, her head spinning as she struggled to pull herself together. She tried to move, to push herself up from the floor, but her arms trembled and gave out beneath her.
The creature loomed over her, a silent monument to her failure. Its face, an awkward mishmash of uneven features, twisted into a mockery of a grin. It looked at her as though this was all some kind of game.
“I’ve achieved Post Nut Clarity.” The Gooning Demon said. “Which means I have obtained a hyper awareness of everything around me. There’s nothing that can touch me now!”
The Gooning Demon's lips twisted into that grotesque grin, its voice dripping with condescension. “You were born as a high school girl in an era where I exist,” it said, each word hitting her like a slap to the face. “That’s why you lost tonight.”
For a moment, she just stared at it, her chest heaving. She looked at the thing like it was completely insane, her eyes narrowed into slits. Was this really it? Was this how her story ended—crushed by some monstrous, overgrown joke?
Her gaze dropped, and frustration twisted inside her like a knife, her vision blurring with the sting of unshed tears. She clenched her fist, her fingers digging into the splintered wooden floor, and then—
“Damn it!” she screamed. Her fist slammed into the ground, once, twice—over and over, until the pain shot up her arm, until her knuckles screamed in protest. But it wasn’t enough. She wanted to break something. She wanted to tear apart the cruel, twisted fate that had led her here, that had left her powerless against this absurd, monstrous thing.
“Damn it!” she roared one last time, her voice breaking, echoing into the cold, indifferent night.
The creature stepped closer, towering over her like an insurmountable wall, casting her in its shadow. It raised a clawed hand, a sick smile pulling at the crude line of its mouth. “But don’t worry,” it continued, almost soothingly. “I will trap you in a world of bliss and make your death painless. From now on, until the moment you die, your life will be like a hentai anime…Enjoy…”
Then suddenly, something flew into its line of sight—a book, its pages flapping wildly in the air. The creature’s uneven eyes blinked, tracking the object, and it realized, almost in disbelief, that the girl had thrown it. One of the many books that had been knocked loose when she’d crashed into the shelves.
It let out an almost impatient chuckle. “I told you it’s pointless—”
But then the book hit the ground, flipping open to reveal the cover in all its embarrassing glory. The curse paused. It was an eromanga—a hentai manga to be exact. A page with a bound and gagged girl, the ropes digging into her body enough to make her boobs pop out, a faint blush painted across her tear-filled cheeks.
For a second, it was as if the world had paused for the abomination. The Gooning Demon’s grotesque, scribbled features twitched, its wide eyes narrowing as it stared down at the page.
“This sensation…” it murmured, a confused growl escaping its twisted mouth. Its muscles tensed, rippling beneath its skin. “This sensation rising in my chest… this feeling of wanting to goon again— Why is an hentai manga in this bookstore?! Don’t tell me—” It faltered, its comical face seemed even more so as panic crept into its tone. “Don’t tell me she led me here on purpose!”
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The Gooning Demon’s face contorted as it slammed its eyes shut, desperate to regain control over its own spiraling thoughts. The creeping panic in its voice was unmistakable as it growled, “Damn it! I’m losing my Post Nut Clarity... I must… calm my heart!”
It took a breath, trying to regain control. But when it reopened its eyes, the creature was met with a scene it hadn’t expected—a scene that sent a jolt of cold terror straight through its chest.
The girl was already there. She had closed the distance in an instant. But more terrifying than her speed were the arms—multiple arms—growing from her body like a nightmare made flesh. Each one clenched into a fist, mirroring her own. They hovered in the air for just a heartbeat, and in that brief moment, the Gooning Demon’s grotesque, childishly-drawn eyes widened in fear. It could see the reflection of those fists in its own eyes, a dozen rippling shapes of fury.
Then they struck.
The first blow landed square in its chest, and the force was unlike anything the Gooning Demon had ever felt. It was like a sledgehammer, knocking the wind from its lungs. The second hit followed almost immediately, a barrage of punches that pounded into its body with unrelenting force.
"ORA! ORA! ORA! ORA!" the girl shouted, her voice rising with every punch, her fury building with every strike.
The creature's body convulsed under the relentless assault, muscles rippling as it tried—and failed—to brace against the barrage. Each punch sent shockwaves through its frame, flesh rippling under the impact, bones straining under the sheer force. It was like standing in the middle of a hurricane, each fist a violent gust of wind, smashing into it from every angle.
The Gooning Demon’s vision blurred with every hit, its grotesque face contorting into a twisted mixture of pain and disbelief. Its arms, once so proud and strong, flailed uselessly in the storm of blows, unable to defend against the rapid-fire onslaught. The creature’s breath came in ragged bursts, its ribs creaking under the relentless pressure. Every part of it screamed in agony as the fists kept coming, faster, harder, each one hammering into its body without mercy.
“ORA! ORA! ORA! ORA!” The girl’s fists flew like a machine, never slowing, her voice a battle cry that echoed in the cramped space of the ruined bookstore.
The creature’s body buckled, muscles twitching uncontrollably.
It couldn’t move. It couldn’t think. The only thing left was pain—unbearable, unending pain.
Through the haze of agony, the creature’s mind raced, desperately trying to process what was happening. But the fists kept coming, faster than it could comprehend, faster than it could even scream.
Another hit. Another explosion of pain. Its body was no longer its own.
Then, mercifully, a final punch launched him out of the bookstore and back into the streets.
The Gooning Demon lay sprawled across the ground, defeated, its grotesque form trembling as the last threads of life slipped away. Its once-massive muscles, designed to intimidate, had now lost their terrible grandeur, their weight deflating, reduced to dust. Bit by bit, the creature's body began to crumble, fragments breaking off, dissolving into nothingness.
The girl stood over it, breathing heavily, her body aching from the ordeal. The extra limbs that she had spawn now merging back inside her. She wiped sweat from her forehead, her hand trembling just a bit as the adrenaline drained away. She watched the creature disappear, its monstrous shape vanishing into the cool, indifferent air.
“Good grief,” she mumbled, rubbing the back of her head with a grimace.
Rapid footsteps broke the silence of the evening, echoing off the shattered glass and broken shelves. She turned quickly, her body still humming with the adrenaline of the fight, to see a familiar figure sprinting toward her.
It was her captain.
He was a striking man—handsome, with the sharp features of someone who had seen both battle and hardship. His dark hair, carefully styled under normal circumstances, now had strands falling over his forehead, tousled from his haste. The hints of silver in his hair caught the dim light, adding to his dignified air. He had the kind of presence that turned heads—strong, yet graceful, his athletic build evident even under the clothes he wore. There was a red arm band attached to his right arm, red armband with a crystallized star on it – the symbol of the Yashutai. Though Rinne had lost her armband in the scuffle.
The captain’s gaze, lined with years of fatigue and burden, met Rinne’s with a heat that spoke of anger, worry, and something softer, something almost protective. His eyes, the color of a storm-darkened sea, glinted as he drew closer, his brows knitting into a frown. "Rinne, you really did it this time," he muttered, the weight of his concern making his voice rough. “Didn’t I ask you to wait for backup?”
Rinne rolled her eyes, waving off his worry with a casual grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "No big deal, Captain. I’m invincible, remember?" She flexed her arm in a show of mock strength, a teasing smirk playing on her lips as if she hadn’t just thrown herself headfirst into danger. But even as she laughed it off, the exhaustion clung to her shoulders like a shadow, and the captain noticed how her fingers trembled just slightly.
He sighed, his breath a whisper of defeat against the night air. His eyes, once stern, softened as they both turned to the skyline—a vast, sprawling silhouette of the city’s towers and jagged edges, all shrouded beneath a sky that looked like it had been stained by nightmares. It was an unnatural green, like the sickly glow of a wound festering, and the clouds hung heavy, as black and twisted as the claws of some monstrous hand. The eerie light painted everything in shades of desolation, and in that moment, the city felt like a world suspended between time, between hope and despair.
The captain’s watch beeped, pulling him from his thoughts. He glanced down, the glow of the display reflecting in his eyes. "Midnight Hour’s almost over," he murmured. “The abominations should stop popping up soon.”
As if on cue, the distant tower—looming and alien, like a scar splitting the city’s heart—began to fade. It dissolved into mist, its black spires unraveling as the sky above slowly lightened, trading its sickly hue for the familiar deep blue of night. Streetlights flickered back to life, their glow a tentative promise that the horror had ended, for now.
Rinne’s eyes lingered on the spot where the tower had vanished, her brows furrowing in thought. “Captain, the monsters… they come from the tower, right?” she asked, her voice small against the vast emptiness of the night.
He nodded, the weariness in his eyes deepening. “Yeah. Every night, between midnight and one a.m., it appears. Right where the old Diet Building used to stand. Then, the monsters come out. Like clockwork, they terrorize the city, tearing through everything in their path.”
Rinne’s gaze sharpened, frustration curling in her chest. “Why don’t we just destroy it? The tower. If that’s where they come from, then maybe this whole thing would stop.”
He let out a long, tired breath, the kind that seemed to carry the weight of too many years and too many failed missions. “We’ve tried. It’s indestructible from the outside. And every team we’ve sent in…” His voice trailed off, eyes distant. “They never made it back.” His hand found her shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle. “All we can do is focus on defending the people. That’s the responsibility we have, as those born with power.”
For a moment, he paused, his hand lingering as if the weight of his own words pressed against him. His eyes darkened, and he seemed to reconsider, his voice softening. “No… maybe that’s not right. Everyone in our world is born with power, in one way or another.” He hesitated, then corrected himself, his tone firm but tinged with something close to sadness. “It’s the responsibility of the strong.”
Rinne looked up at him, her usual bravado slipping away for just a heartbeat. “Captain…” she started, but he shook his head, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
“Go home, Rinne. Get some rest. You’ve still got school tomorrow.”
She pouted, her lips forming a childish frown, eyes pleading. “Come on, Captain! Give me a pardon. I’m out here risking my life for Tokyo, y’know?”
But he only shook his head, his expression soft but unyielding. “No excuses. You can’t fall behind in your studies, even if you’re out here fighting the night away.”
Rinne sighed, but a small, genuine smile broke through her defiance. “Fine, fine. But I’m holding you to that, Captain. When I’m top of the class, you owe me a dinner. And not the cheap kind.”
He laughed, the sound low and warm, echoing against the quiet night. “Deal.” As she turned to leave, he watched her go, her figure slowly fading into the city’s glow.
The basement was a hall of shadows, its vast stone walls disappearing into darkness beyond the flickering reach of torches mounted in wrought-iron sconces. Pools of candlelight dotted the room, cast by clusters of candles that dripped wax like silent tears onto the cold, uneven floor. The air was thick with the scent of burning tallow and damp stone, a chill that seeped into the bones.
Along the sides of the hall stood figures draped in heavy, obsidian robes, their faces obscured by deep hoods. They were as statues—likes ones made of the very material of the floor that they stood on. Their collective gaze was fixed forward, where a narrow walkway carved a path through the darkness, leading the eye upward.
At the far end of the hall, a staircase of worn marble steps ascended to a raised dais, upon which a throne of carved ebony commanded attention. Seated upon it was a man, his robe was pure white, cascading around him like a waterfall of silk. Medium-length hair, the color of freshly fallen snow, framed a face that was both serene and strikingly handsome. High cheekbones, a strong jawline, and lips set in a contemplative curve gave him an almost ethereal beauty. But it was his eyes—deep-set and crystalline blue—that held a mesmerizing intensity, as if they could see through flesh and into the very soul.
In his hands rested a book bound in aged black leather, its surface etched with symbols that seemed to shift when looked at directly. He ran a slender finger along its spine in a gesture that was both possessive and reverent.
Breaking the silence, his voice resonated through the chamber—calm yet laced with a gravity that demanded attention.
"Throughout the annals of history," he began, his gaze sweeping over his gathered followers, "when tales unfold of humanity clashing with monsters, it is not the beasts that herald the ultimate downfall. Inevitably, it is man who turns upon his own. The true conflict lies not between the known and the unknown, but within the very heart of mankind."
He paused, allowing his words to settle like dust in the still air. The assembled figures remained motionless, but a subtle tension rippled through the room, a collective intake of breath.
With a deliberate motion, he snapped the book shut—the sound echoing like a gavel in the subterranean space. The candles flickered, shadows dancing wildly for a moment before settling.
Leaning forward, his eyes burned with a cold fire. "We will not allow them to destroy the tower.”