Chapter 6: Mayfly That Flew Into Flames

In truth, I don’t clearly remember what happened that day, one year ago.

What I do remember is the old apartment—at least 40 years old.

Because there are so few buildings left from the 21st century, that alone made it a pretty decent place.

I remember the playground with its creaky swings.

My father, mother, me, and my younger sister.

A normal family of four, if there ever was one.

I think I had just barely become an adult at the time.

Old villas just like ours, damp alleyways that reeked of moss, narrow paths, and tiny shanty houses.

Signs posted at every twist and turn of the winding streets.

Nameless flowers blooming along the vines that crawled up the walls.

That day—

All of it disappeared.

As if it had never existed in the world to begin with.

“It’s a contract! You’ve got talent. Make a contract with me. Become a magical girl and protect your family!”

Screams.

Screams again.

And more screams.

Then, after the screaming stopped, the sound of sirens.

A crashing, shattering roar.

And a voice that pierced through it all.

“I’m Spooky. Spooky Obscuritas.”

It was a small, black ghost.

Like some cheap Halloween costume, a sheet with just eyeholes cut out.

“There’s no time. You’re the only one who can protect your family. The people of this town!”

Through a gap in the collapsed ceiling, I saw an enormous form.

Its massive, clawed forelimb was tearing apart my entire world.

“A magical girl? Me?”

“Yes. You’ve heard of them, haven’t you? A mascot appears and makes a contract—magical girls who fight off the invasion of monsters to protect humanity.”

Of course I’d heard of it.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

There was no time to hesitate.

Either I died to the monster, or I gained the power to kill it.

And I was too ordinary a person to ever choose the former.

The ghost’s fingertip touched the centre of my chest.

And when I opened my eyes, I was in the middle of a wasteland.

Everything in sight had collapsed.

The flattened world was littered with broken roof tiles, shattered stones, splattered blood, and mangled corpses.

And there was a massive corpse.

A monster, like a crocodile grown hundreds of times too large, each claw bigger than a person, lying dead in a pool of its own blood.

In my right hand was a pitch-black sabre.

The blood on that sabre trailed directly to the monster’s body.

Did I kill it?

I don’t remember.

Yeah… I made the contract.

The mascot said I had talent, told me to become a magical girl.

I accepted.

Let my instincts take over and swung the sword, and the next thing I recall is burying the blade deep into that thing’s massive maw.

Looking down—

I saw that my body had changed.

I was shorter.

My hair now reached my waist, pure white and blinding.

My skin was flawless.

My frame, feminine and curved.

But above all else, what caught my attention—

Was my perfectly shaped chest.

And embedded in the centre of it, something dark red.

It looked like a tumor.

Or a seed.

It pulsed, etching vein-like, root-like ridges across my skin like spiderwebs.

It hurt.

What the hell was this?

What the hell…

Every time it pulsed, the pain surged.

My body burned.

My muscles screamed as if desperate to lash out.

My head spun.

Destroy.

Kill.

Spill blood.

Make them scream.

That urge kept rising, over and over.

No.

I’m just an ordinary person.

I’m normal.

And I’m a magical girl.

A protector of humanity who fights monsters.

So who the hell am I supposed to kill? What the hell am I supposed to destroy?

I suppressed the urge and looked around.

Endless mounds of rubble.

In the distance, I spotted a familiar rooftop fragment.

Our family home.

That was the roof of our building.

My family was there—Dad, Mom, my sister.

The only people in this world I could rely on.

But what I found there were three corpses.

Unrecognizable.

Memories surfaced.

The ghost staring at me as I hesitated.

Making the contract.

Transforming into a magical girl.

And then—the monster’s enormous paw crashing down.

With those three people beneath it.

From the beginning, it had all been too late.

I didn’t protect anything.

***

Chain-smoking all day had improved my mood just a bit.

Six months of wallowing in despair had surged into mania, spiked skyward, and then crashed back down.

Now, floating slightly on the magic-infused smoke, I’d leveled off into something resembling normalcy.

This faint melancholia… I preferred it.

The room was dark, filled with acrid, hazy smoke—it felt cozy.

[At least open a window. You’re going to suffocate in here.]

Ventilate?

For what?

I like the bitter smoke of mana cigarettes.

I don’t need your meddling.

I felt drowsy.

That weightless haze… I’d gone out in that state before, my instincts unleashed, driving a spear into the back of a little girl.

And I still hadn’t emerged from this fog.

I looked at a half-torn envelope.

Inside were five small cookies, each sealed in plastic with care.

I’d unconsciously opened one and taken a bite as soon as I got home—then immediately spat it out in disgust at myself.

I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away, so now they sat beside the couch.

Four unopened, and one half-eaten.

Slap!

I smacked both cheeks and stood up.

I was so… so pathetic.

But at least, after these past few days, I’d grown a little.

I could finally admit how pathetic I was.

And then, like a thorn lodged in my chest, a question surfaced.

I asked myself:

The people I killed—

All those people—

Even if the tumor was urging me—

Was it really my will?

The question alone made me tremble.

Cold sweat burst forth.

My pupils quivered.

Guilt crushed me from all sides.

No, no, no…

Not yet.

I can’t handle the truth yet.

I shoved those apocalyptic thoughts to the back of my mind.

It wasn’t me.

It wasn’t my fault.

I’m normal. Rational. Logical.

But still… it felt kind of good, didn’t it?

I glanced at the old photo frame next to the TV.

A faded picture of our family of four.

The corner was torn, and the top half rubbed away.

The faces were no longer visible.

Just a faint trace of a memory—but it helped me calm down.

Without thinking, I picked up another cookie and took a bite.

Sweet and nutty.

Peanut. Macadamia. Chocolate chip. Walnut. Cashew. Sugar.

Nostalgic.

Like a memory from childhood—it soothed me.

Once I was calm, I looked around.

My dark prison of a room.

Three rooms total.

But I only ever used the living room.

This cave I’d holed up in.

For the past six months—

With no will to live.

No purpose to pursue.

Hiding from the light.

From people.

Killing one person each night just to stave off the urges.

A life that couldn’t even be called a life—just the continuation of existence.

That’s what I was.

A week ago, I wanted to escape it.

Or maybe… just disappear from the world entirely.

The faces of those I’d killed flashed before me.

Their final screams.

Their pain.

Every time I passed through the void, those screams grew louder.

Resisting the urge.

Not killing anyone.

That tumor or whatever lodged in my chest—

I didn’t know what it was, but I could tell it was… satisfied with its sacrifices.

It probably didn’t have thoughts or a will or even instincts.

But once a day, it drove me to kill.

And if I did… it let me go.

Just for a moment.

Freed me from the pain, the rage, the violent urges.

All I wanted was a single moment—just one—of being the ordinary person I used to be.

To live a normal life.

But I couldn’t even go back to my old body.

I couldn’t even undo the transformation, so I had to dye my hair and eyes black.

If I didn’t kill according to the tumor’s urges, something terrible would happen.

I didn’t know how—I just knew.

Images flooded in: a black sun, a sky devoid of stars, a sea of ash devouring a scorched earth.

Overwhelmed by those visions,

I was forced to choose:

Kill people—or let people die.

I chose the former.

That’s how I’ve lived, for a year now.

But I wanted to escape.

So for the past week, I didn’t kill anyone.

I didn’t leave the apartment.

Just chain-smoked mana cigarettes, suppressing the pain, enduring the urges.

And after a week—

The scent of blood was intoxicating.

Before I knew it, I was on the hunt again.

And there was a magical girl—Glecia Azure.

Surrounded by dozens of police officers.

It was so much fun.

I was euphoric.

I danced like I was on stage, performed like I was in a play.

[But you didn’t completely give in to the impulse.]

Yeah.

I didn’t try to kill everyone.

That’s something.

And the one I met this time—Roza Alisa.

I didn’t kill her either.

If I had really intended to, I would’ve gone for her upper back or head, not her lower back.

Yes, I was lost in madness.

Yes, my values had changed.

Yes, I attacked her as if killing was normal.

But I still had a will not to cross the final line.

At least… that’s what I want to believe.

[Was it because she reminded you of your sister?]

That useless ghost… knows exactly what not to say.

And yet I couldn’t deny it.

My body changed.

I lost everything.

My past was gone.

I was born anew.

And the only remnants of that past—

Were faint memories of family, and this old photo frame.

My body, my gender, my shape, my values, even my memories—nothing remained.

The old me was probably listed as dead.

Killed by the monster.

That transformation marked my farewell to everything.

[Then that girl—the magical girl in the gray hoodie you killed while fighting Glecia Azure. Wasn’t she about your sister’s age?]

And then the ghost stabbed straight into the softest part of my soul.

Crash.

The glass shattered.

The frame hit the ground.

Cracked and broken.

Glass shards dug into my feet and drew blood.

It hurt.

It hurt so much.

My right hand, the one that threw the frame, was now covered in splinters and blood from broken wood and glass.

“It’s this tumor. This thing’s fault.”

With my torn-up hand, I clawed at the lump in my chest.

The sound of tearing flesh.

Blood spurting.

I hated myself.

Reflected on the past.

Realized how deep I’d fallen into the cycle of killing.

I had finally gotten to a point where I could take the first step toward living a normal life again.

And yet—

That one dumb ghost’s words shattered me all over again.

I’ve killed so many.

And now I’m breaking down over one more girl, just because she was my sister’s age?

It’s absurd.

But I did kill her.

It was my choice.

The human mind is weak.

It can’t endure truth on willpower alone.

Isn’t that just… pathetic?

“The contract. I’m breaking it. You damn ghost.”

[W-What are you saying?! You know magical girl contracts can’t be broken once they’re made!]

I lashed out in hollow fury.

Even I didn’t know what I was saying.

How many people truly understand themselves?

Right?

“Then find out. What this disgusting black mass is. How to get rid of it. And why the hell it’s inside me.”

I was just venting, letting off a bit of the pressure.

“Go ask the Spirit King or whatever.”

[That’s impossible! Mascots can’t return to the surface unauthorized! The second they find out you’re my contractor, I’ll be captured—life sentence, death penalty, or eternal imprisonment!]

Ha.

Useless.

Now I just feel like an idiot.

Forget it. I never expected anything anyway.

If I was going to find out, I would’ve by now.

I searched the couch for a new cigarette and found a note.

P.S. My name is Ahn Yujin. If it’s not too much, could you tell me your name next time?

The light… was closer than I thought.

Warmth I hadn’t felt in ages—maybe ever.

A name, huh?

A name…

What was my name?

I couldn’t remember.

I was dizzy.

My breath caught.

Why now? My name was—

Right.

Sanguine Obsidia.

Magical girl.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

The knock echoed like a thunderclap.

The first visitor since I moved in.

I wasn’t expecting anyone.

Except… one person.

That kind neighbor.

But not now.

I wasn’t ready.

“Hello? Are you home?”

Such a soft, vulnerable voice.

She was casually stepping into my fragile world.

She opened the door and took a step inside.