"I'm not gonna hurt you guys. Besides, stop being so dramatic. Number Four's just unconscious, not dead," Darius said, his expression calm, eyes steady even in the pouring rain.
He reached into his cloak, pulling out several glass vials filled with glowing crimson liquid. "Healing potions," he muttered, showing them—but not handing them over.
Number One stared. "You've got healing potions?"
He let out a rough chuckle and lowered his head, closing his eyes as Number Three sat beside him.
"Boss…" Number Three said quietly, face pale and worried.
Number One coughed, spitting blood onto the muddy ground. "That little girl… she reminds me of someone."
"Hmm?" Darius tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. "And who's that supposed to be?"
Thunder cracked above them, echoing across the battlefield. Number One's gaze met Darius's with a cold, knowing look.
"You're quite interested in us, huh?" he scoffed weakly.
"Get to the point," Darius said, voice sharp now. "Do you want your companion saved or not? My patience is wearing thin."
Number One looked away, jaw tight. "Even if we survive… what's the point?"
Darius stared for a moment, then said softly, "Because she would want you to live."
At that, the rain suddenly stopped. The clouds parted, sunlight breaking through and washing the world in pale gold. Steam rose from the wet ground as Darius stood and turned away.
"Well," he said over his shoulder, "if you're that stubborn…"
He began walking.
Number One looked around at his companions, his expression tightening with guilt and concern. "Wait…"
Darius stopped mid-step.
"She's a monster," Number One said bitterly. "A monster in human skin. She'll do anything to satisfy her needs—even if it means using people's lives as her playthings. Even we monsters can't escape her." He looked up, eyes trembling. "No one can."
The world around them seemed to fade as his memory returned—
the sound of beating, of screams.
"You disgusting rats! How dare you filthy things exist?!" a man's voice roared.
A fat nobleman with a greasy mustache and gold-threaded robes stood over a frail woman, stomping on her without mercy. His face was red, sweat dripping as he shouted, "Creatures like you should've never been born!"
The woman cried, begging for mercy. All she had done was pick up a scrap of bread from the gutter—to feed her starving children.
But the nobleman didn't care. He shoved her deeper into the alley, into the shadows where no one would see.
"Stop hurting my mother!" a small boy shouted. It was Number One, years younger, trembling as he stepped forward. Behind him, Number Two held a crying infant—Number Four. Number Three hid behind their mother's skirt, shaking.
"Oh? Another bastard?" The noble grinned, his face twisting with cruelty. "Maybe I'll kill all of you vermin together."
The boy's legs shook. His mother fainted, collapsing from hunger.
The noble sneered. "Another disgusting creature."
Number Four wailed in Number Two's arms. Number Three whispered, "I'm scared…"
Then—
a voice.
"...You'll taste bad."
A girl stepped out of the darkness. Her hair was wild, tangled with dirt. Her white dress dragged behind her, stained brown from mud. Her torn veil fluttered as she walked.
The girl's cold eyes landed on the noble. "Get lost before I beat you up like them."
The man laughed nervously. "And what are you supposed to be? A runaway bride?"
She said nothing—only kept walking.
He frowned and stepped closer, his grin turning lecherous. "You look good for me tonight," he hissed, grabbing her arm.
She stopped. "I'm hungry." she stare at him
Her nails stretched into claws. Her teeth lengthened. Her eyes burned red.
The noble's face twisted in horror. "Wh-what are you?"
Before he could move, she drove her hand straight into his ribs. He gasped, choking on his own blood. "A-agh!"
She ripped out his lungs and watched him writhe. Then she grinned. "Food. Food."
Again and again she stabbed, tearing him open. His blood painted her dress, her face. She devoured his heart with a delighted giggle. When that wasn't enough, she cracked his skull open, scooped out his brain, and ate until nothing was left but bones and screams fading into silence.
The little "rats" huddled together, frozen. Their mother lay unconscious in the blood-soaked alley.
Number One tried to shake her awake. "Mother, wake up! Please!"
The girl turned to them, licking her fingers. Her eyes gleamed with strange amusement.
She threw a hunk of meat at them—the man's thigh. "Eat it."
Number One gagged. "I… I can't."
Her expression darkened. "Eat. Or she's next."
Number Three sobbed. Number Four cried louder.
"Please!" Number One shouted, tears streaming down his face. "I'll eat it! Just don't hurt them!"
He lifted the bloody flesh to his mouth and bit down, trembling as he swallowed. The taste made him gag, but he forced it down. The others watched, horrified.
"Eat," she ordered again.
They obeyed. Even the mother, waking and catching the scent of blood, began to chew what was given to her—terrified, broken, starving.
When it was over, the girl smiled faintly. "What's your name, little one?"
The boy wiped blood from his face. "We don't have names. People call us… rats."
"Then you're Number One," she said. "He's Number Two, Number Three, and Number Four."
"I am Tsukuko." She smiled.
She turned to the mother. "You're coming with me."
The woman's voice trembled. "Please… don't hurt my children."
The girl tilted her head, eyes cold. "That depends on how well you listen."
"Mother!" the children cried, trying to reach her.
The eldest boy stepped forward, shaking but defiant. "Leave her alone!"
The girl leaned closer to him, her smile faint and unsettling. "Brave. But bravery doesn't stop me, little one."
"Get stronger," she whispered, grinning. "Protect your family. Until I return."
And with that—she vanished, taking their mother with her.
Back in the present, Darius stood silently, thinking. "That's… quite the story."
Number One managed a weak smile. "Yeah."
Darius finally handed them the red vials. "Drink. You'll live."
Number One looked up at him. "Who is she?" he asked, curiosity and dread mixing in his tone.
Darius's eyes darkened. "Her name is Ashel."
He turned, cloak shifting as he began to walk away.
Number One's eyes widened. "Wait—!"
All of them dropped to their knees, lowering their heads.
"Please," Number One said. "Take us in. We want to serve her. Let us be her disciples."
Darius stopped. He turned with the deliberate slowness of someone who enjoys watching small creatures scramble. His face was an unreadable mask and then, very quietly: "You want to serve her."
He did not shout. He did not need to. "You don't get to want her. She doesn't collect petitioners." He folded his hands, measured, unimpressed. "I allow what I allow. I am the one who stands by her side. If I decide there's room for others, you will be told. Until then, live as if you don't exist. Train. Don't look for her. Don't touch what is hers."
Darius disappeared, leaving not even a shadow behind.
"He thinks he owns her," Number Three said flatly.
"Maybe he does," Number Two answered. "Maybe he's right. But he doesn't own us."
Number One lifted the healing vial. "Then we'll prove we're useful. Not to him, not until he wants us. To her. When she calls, we'll answer." He set his jaw. "If Darius is the gatekeeper, then we'll be the reason he opens it."
They drank, and with every swallow they fed a different hunger: not just to be taken in, but to be needed — by Ashel our Mistress, by fate, by whatever monster she'd become.