The air was fresh, clean, pure—like the first breath of an eternal spring. The clouds danced slowly over vast fields of greenery, and the murmur of winding rivers harmonized with the songs of birds fluttering beneath an infinite sky.
The days in this world were beautiful, as if creation itself had decided to stop time at its most perfect moment.
People laughed. They lived, loved, shared. They walked along cobbled paths with faces lit by the peace of a life without fear. It was a world that had yet to know the weight of tragedy.
Not until the Great Catastrophe struck.
An incomprehensible, terrifying, and devastating phenomenon:
The Wounds of the Void.
Invisible cracks that tore through the very fabric of space and time. They opened like sores in the skies, in the land, in the seas—even within the souls of living beings.
Through these fissures emerged entities beyond understanding: monsters, specters, horrors from unexplored realms. Creatures without morals, without hearts, without logic... that knew only the hunger for destruction.
But the most terrifying thing about these fissures was their unpredictable nature. They obeyed no rule. They didn't appear in just one world. They emerged across dozens, hundreds—an infinity of worlds.
The cause? No one knows.
Not even the eternal sages or the archives of the immortal races could find an answer.
Only one thing is known:
The Wounds of the Void can devour everything.
A world touched by a fissure could be forever shattered—stripped of essence, of vital energy, of purpose... reduced to floating dust in the abyss of the forgotten.
And yet, ten years ago, before tragedy brushed against his heart, there was a small village, hidden among towering hills. A corner of creation where the rains were soft and constant, the mountains lost themselves in thick mist, and the trees were so tall they touched the sky.
There lived a boy.
A boy named Jiro Kamimizu.
Half-Oni from his father. Half-human from his mother. A hybrid with a soul on fire and eyes full of dreams. The Kamimizu family was loved and respected—not for their power, but for their kindness and devotion to the well-being of their people. Their name was synonymous with hope.
Jiro was only five years old, but his dreams already reached the stars. He wanted to be like his hero:
Raizen Tenkuma, the Dimensional Traveler.
A legendary warrior—half-human, half-Oni—who traveled between worlds, fighting the Wounds of the Void with his scarlet spear, Higetsu no Yari. The stories spoke of Raizen as a savior of worlds, a beacon in the darkness. For Jiro, he wasn't just an idol.
He was a destiny.
In his daily life, Jiro trained at his grandfather's academy. A sacred temple of mystical martial arts, where the secrets of Chi, Mana, Ki, Chakra, and other hidden energies were taught. It was a demanding, strict, almost sacred discipline. But Jiro loved it—not for what it offered, but for how it brought him closer to his goal.
More than anything, he was happy.
Happy with his mother.
Happy with his father.
Happy with his home.
But fate would not allow that happiness to last forever...
The sky was clear, bathed in a deep blue and dotted with white clouds slowly drifting by. A cool breeze swept through the large village, rustling the leaves of the trees and gently swaying the grass in the spacious backyard of the Kamimizu family home. It was a beautiful day, one of those that seemed drawn by the hands of the gods.
Jiro stood in the center of the yard, on the soft earth, stretching with all the focus a five-year-old could muster. His small figure tried hard to stay balanced, his semi-round ears twitching with each breath, and his little reddish horns gleaming under the sun. His large, bright eyes stared in admiration at the figure in front of him.
—Come on, Dad, hurry, hurry! Teach me how to fight using spiritual energies now! —exclaimed Jiro, giving a little hop.
His father, a handsome oni with a strong build and noble presence, looked at him with a broad smile. His long hair was tied in a ponytail, with some strands dancing over his eyes whenever the wind blew. His horns were long and firm, and his gaze was full of affection.
—HAHAHA! Jiro, alright, alright, son… but calm down —he said through laughter, walking toward him and patting his head—. Easy now, son... everything in its time. You're still too little to learn how to handle spiritual energies. When you're a bit older, I'll teach you. You just need to grow more.
Jiro lowered his head with a slight pout.
—But Dad... it's going to take me so many years to grow! Besides, I'm already five! I think that's enough to start learning...
His father winked at him playfully.
—Hmm? Is that what you think?
Jiro nodded firmly, his face glowing with determination.
—Of course I do, Dad! If I don't get strong and learn to control the different types of Energies, I won't become like the unmatched hero Raizen Tenkuma!
His father smiled fondly at the mention of that name.
—That's true... Raizen Tenkuma was well-known for his great power and heroism. But even he... was once a child. He also grew up, rested, learned, and trained to become strong. And most importantly... he waited. He was patient. He never rushed things.
Jiro looked at him with wide eyes, amazed.
—What!? That's true, Dad?
—Of course, son —he replied calmly—. No one is born strong just like that...
Then he crouched beside him and continued:
—You see, Jiro... in everything, you always have to start from zero to reach something great. That's why rushing things isn't good. Everything will come in its own time.
Jiro stared in silence, as if each word was being engraved in his heart. His father picked him up and lifted him onto his back, raising him as if he were lighter than a feather.
—And that's why, Jiro... I want you to grow big and strong. But also, that as you live your own journey, you learn to appreciate the beauty of life... and come to understand yourself.
Together they looked up at the bright, clear blue sky. Jiro's eyes lit up, reflecting that sky, full of dreams, questions, and hope.
Just then, his mother's voice called from inside the house.
—Hey, it's time for lunch! Come on in!
—We're coming, sweetheart! —his father replied loudly, then looked at Jiro with a playful smile—. Speaking of food... how about a race?
—I'm in! —shouted Jiro, jumping down from his back with energy and starting to run—. Whoever's last doesn't get any meat!
—What!? You little trickster, get back here! —his father laughed, chasing after him.
They both ran into the house, laughing and thumping their feet. They sat down on the beautiful wooden floor, around the square table where a warm, delicious meal awaited. Together, with their hands joined, they said:
—Thanks for the food!
At that moment, firm footsteps echoed from the entrance.
—Hello, family... —said a deep, strong voice.
It was Jiro's grandfather, an oni with a wrinkled face but a body still firm, dressed in his training robe. He had an imposing presence, but eyes filled with warmth.
—Grandpa! —said Jiro, raising his hand joyfully.
—My little warrior, how are you? —asked the grandfather, giving him a gentle tap on the head.
—Hey, eat before it gets cold! —called the mother with a firm but loving tone.
—She's right! —said the grandfather, taking a seat beside them.
The afternoon in the village unfolded like a serene poem, with the sun slowly descending, painting the skies in shades of orange and gold. A gentle breeze caressed the treetops, and the songs of birds echoed through the hills and valleys.
At the family table, the meal was a simple yet heartfelt feast: steaming rice, stir-fried vegetables, grilled fish, and hot soup. The aroma filled the air as everyone ate together, laughing and sharing everyday words. Jiro spoke animatedly about his training, gesturing with excitement while his father and grandfather laughed at his enthusiasm.
—And then I did this! —said Jiro, mimicking a strike in the air—. Wham! And then I spun like this! —he added, twirling in his seat with such energy that he nearly knocked over his bowl of rice.
—Hahaha! Well, that was impressive —said the grandfather, serving himself more soup—. But remember, a true warrior must maintain balance even while eating, young apprentice.
—Yes, Grandpa! —Jiro replied, quickly sitting up straight.
—This boy is going to be a handful once he has more spiritual energy —his mother commented with a sweet but tired smile.
—A good handful —added the father as he took another bite—. One that will change many things, I'm sure...
At that moment, a slight vibration stirred the air. As light as a whisper, but something inside the father and grandfather tensed. They exchanged a fleeting glance, barely noticeable. They said nothing, but their senses were alert.
—Dad...? —asked Jiro, noticing the shift.
The father smiled, masking his unease.
—Nothing, son. I just... felt a change in the wind.
That night, the Kamimizu family gathered around the hearth. The mana lamps filled the house with a warm light. Jiro fell asleep in his mother's arms after listening to one of the old tales of the hero Raizen Tenkuma, told by his grandfather. While the boy slept, the father stared out the window toward the distant mountains.
In the sky... a tiny crack, imperceptible to any ordinary eye, pulsed like an open wound in the firmament. Dark, deep, silent... and alive.
Night had fallen gently over the great Oni village. The wooden and stone houses rested in silence under the dim light of the three moons, shining like eternal guardians of the sky. Everything was peaceful. Only the sound of wind through the trees and the occasional whisper of spirits drifting through the air disturbed the stillness.
Inside his room, little Jiro slept soundly, wrapped in a small blanket woven by his mother. His face reflected peace, with a light smile drawn across his lips. He dreamed, perhaps, of one day becoming as strong as his father.
But while he dreamed, Kamimizu—his father—was awake. Already dressed in his battle gear—a dark armor with reddish details and ancient symbols engraved on the chest—he strapped his katana to his back, determination in his eyes. His gaze, once warm, was now firm and alert.
Kamimizu was not just a warrior: he was the leader of the Fissure Exploration and Research Corps of the great village. An elite force tasked with sealing spatial fissures known as Shinketsus—small dimensional voids that, if left unchecked, could open the way to catastrophe.
That night, something had changed.
—We're ready to move to Kazekumo Hill, sir —said one of the warriors waiting outside, a young man with a tense gaze.
Kamimizu nodded, adjusting his armor and gripping his katana.
—Very well. We must not waste time.
Just before leaving, his wife embraced him tightly, her eyes slightly wet with worry.
—Take care, my love… please be careful —she whispered with a trembling voice.
He kissed her forehead, with a smile that mixed love and duty.
—I'll be back soon… take good care of Jiro.
She nodded, watching him fade into the shadows of the night.
Shortly after, old Kamimizu—father of the current chief and Jiro's grandfather—appeared, already prepared. Though his years were evident in the wrinkles on his face, his body remained firm and strong, clad in a traditional armor that was heavier and more worn, yet still imposing.
—Very well —he said in a gravelly voice—, let's move. There's no time to lose.
The group advanced through tall trees and paths overgrown with vines, the thick vegetation brushing their arms as shadows danced around them. The three moons bathed everything in silver light, and in the sky, a few spirits floated silently, like leaves in the wind.
One of the young warriors nervously unsheathed his katana.
—Spirits!
—No need —interjected old Kamimizu, serious and calm—. They're just passing through. Harmless.
The young man put away his sword in shame, and the group continued in silence.
At last, they reached a denser part of the forest, where the trees curved into natural arches and the vegetation seemed to breathe. There, before them, opened a dark, pulsing fissure—like an open wound in the air. A rift that throbbed as if alive.
—Alright —Kamimizu commanded firmly—. Research Unit, proceed.
The specialized onis stepped forward, carefully placing spiritual orbs in front of the fissure. The crystals glowed faintly, trying to read the unstable energy of the rift.
One of the women in charge of spiritual calculations and readings raised her voice, her face pale.
—Sir Kamimizu… the readings were correct. This fissure isn't a Shinketsu-class... —she paused grimly—. It's a Shinjetsu.
Silence fell for a second. That word… was not common. Shinjetsu. A higher class. Dangerous. Unstable.
The woman continued, trembling.
—It must be sealed immediately… or it could become a threat to the entire village...
Kamimizu frowned. Something dark was awakening...
And that night was only just beginning.
The night breeze blew through the jungle-covered hills as the group of warriors, led by Lord Kamimizu and his father, the Elder Kamimizu, positioned themselves in a circle around the fearsome Shinjetsu. It was a fissure unlike any they had seen before. Not only was it larger, but it also breathed, as if it were alive.
—Form the circle! —commanded the Elder Kamimizu with authority.
Everyone obeyed. They stood around the rift and raised their hands in unison. On each warrior's palm, ancient seals began to glow faintly — arcane symbols passed down through generations. The air thickened. A low hum echoed through the forest.
—Dimensional Seal, now! —shouted the elder.
The Onis' energy united in a stream of light that struck the fissure. It responded with a guttural roar, resisting, as if it had a will of its own. The wind grew more violent, and the ground trembled slightly. Some warriors panted, exhaustion spreading through their muscles.
—Don't give up! Keep going! —roared Lord Kamimizu, drenched in sweat.
The fissure began to shrink slowly, though with erratic convulsions. Suddenly, a wave of pressure knocked the group back. The core of the rift pulsed once more, but in a final flash, it sealed. The darkness vanished. Silence reigned.
—W-we did it… —said the Oni woman, collapsing to her knees, breathing heavily.
—So satisfying… —said another warrior with relief. —What we just stopped… could have destroyed the entire village.
But the Elder Kamimizu did not share their enthusiasm. With a cold, piercing gaze, he responded:
—Don't celebrate just yet. You sound naive. This was only the beginning… Something dangerous is coming. Far more than any of you can imagine.
Lord Kamimizu nodded grimly.
—You're right, father. A Shinjetsu here, so suddenly… we must be better prepared. This was a warning.
—Yes, sir! —they all responded, now more serious.
Soon after, the group began their return to the village. As they descended the moonlit paths, a small pink fissure briefly opened in the sky… and vanished instantly.
---
The next morning dawned with energy. Jiro, full of vitality, ran out of the house.
—I'm going to the village! —he shouted cheerfully.
Meanwhile, at the explorers' barracks, Lord Kamimizu signed the last papers while looking out the window.
—Hmph… the wind's picked up. A storm is coming —he murmured.
---
At home, Lady Kamimizu struggled with the laundry. The wind whipped the clothes, some flying to the ground.
—With this wind I won't be able to hang anything! —she said, frustrated, looking up at a sky where lightning touched the hilltops.
---
Meanwhile, in an open field, Jiro played with other children.
—I'm Raizen Tenkuma, the Dimensional Traveler! And I've come to save you!
A human boy with a tired gaze, Kenji, scoffed.
—This again…
—I always pick Raizen because one day I'll really be him! —Jiro declared firmly.
—You didn't even get a choice, you just took the role —Kenji joked.
The kids laughed, but Jiro looked to the horizon and said seriously:
—You'll see… one day I'll be a real one.
He ran through the meadow, but without looking, bumped into someone. He fell to the ground with an "Ouch!"
—Jiro? —said Lord Kamimizu. —What are you doing out here?
—I went to play, dad… I was heading home.
—What a coincidence… then let's go back together. I'm done for today —his father smiled, lifting him onto his back.
They walked in silence for a few meters until Jiro said:
—Dad… I love you a lot. Thank you for teaching me everything. I don't know what I'd do without you…
Lord Kamimizu was silent, moved. Then he replied:
—Your words fill me with happiness, son. Thanks to you, I'm better too.
But then, murmurs rose around them. People pointed to the sky.
—What is that?
They both looked up: a pink line, like a rift in the sky, floated suspended… trembling slightly.
The sky churned like a sea of shattered crystal. People lifted their gazes, and among them, Jiro, wide-eyed, exclaimed:
—Dad, look at that in the sky!
Lord Kamimizu raised his eyes, his expression tightening. A thin pink line tore through the heavens, as if someone were drawing it with fire.
—What is this…? —Kamimizu muttered gravely—. I don't understand...
The line widened, twisting into impossible shapes. A woman in the crowd screamed:
—It's opening wider…!
And like a crack spreading through glass on the verge of shattering, new fissures burst forth: one to the side, another below, and then another.
—They're opening more and more! —a boy shouted.
Then, from the first fissure —the largest, the most grotesque— a colossal hand slowly emerged, with elongated fingers and skin like hardened lava. A woman screamed:
—What is that...?
Jiro, increasingly shaken, clung to his father's arm.
—Dad... what's happening? Dad...
Without a second thought, Kamimizu picked him up and started running.
—We're getting out of here, now!
From the smaller fissures, horned spirits began to pour out, floating with glowing eyes and terrifying howls, mercilessly attacking the villagers. Chaos erupted.
From the main rift, the creature finally emerged: a Colossal Spirit, a being from a different dimension. It wasn't just any Shinjetsu…
It was a Daiketsu.
A monumental anomaly, mountain-sized, cloaked in crimson fire and twisted horns that reached toward the heavens. Each step warped the air, and each roar shattered reality itself. A bolt of lightning struck the ground, unleashing an infernal blaze.
The sky completely tore open, turning black. Space cracked. Time trembled. The mountains collapsed under the vibrations of the roar.
The explosion was so powerful, the ground split. A cloud of smoke and rocks covered everything.
Jiro fell. His vision went black.
…
Darkness.
…
A voice… distant… familiar…
—Jiro... Jiro!
He opened his eyes. Before him, the face of his father —bloodied, with a wound on his forehead— gently shook him.
—It's okay, son… everything will be alright... stay with me, okay? I'm taking you home...
Around them, the world was ash and fire. Lifeless bodies on the ground. Voices crying for help. Screams. Despair. Everything blurry...
Kamimizu picked him up and ran with all his strength through the destruction, until he reached a hidden underground shelter he had prepared in advance. Inside, his wife waited. When she saw Jiro, she embraced him through tears.
—Jiro! You're safe, thank the heavens!
Lord Kamimizu looked at them one last time, eyes filled with resolve.
—Don't worry… I'll return once everything is resolved.
—Dad, don't go! Don't leave me! —Jiro begged, hugging his father tightly.
—Sweetheart… —his mother said softly—. You have to let your father go… it's his duty… he'll come back…
Kamimizu knelt, looked Jiro in the eyes, and placed his necklace —a family talisman— around his neck.
—This is a promise, son. No matter what happens, I'll always be with you. Dad… always comes back.
Jiro couldn't stop the tears as he watched his father stand and step out of the shelter.
—Chief Kamimizu! —an explorer shouted, approaching—. Hurry, sir! The giant spirit is destroying everything!
Lord Kamimizu nodded without hesitation, marching forward as his son watched him disappear into the orange glow of the fires.
And then...
A flash.
A white light that covered everything. Absolute silence.
That was...
…the last day Jiro saw his father.
He never returned.
The silence was thick. The air smelled of smoke and death.
The village that was once home was now nothing more than a field of charred ruins.
The houses were scorched skeletons. The trees, twisted black shadows. The wind blew faintly, carrying ashes as if mourning those who were gone.
It was all over.
Among the remains, a few survivors gathered what little could be saved. Empty stares. Slow steps. Broken hearts.
There was no time for burials. Only for survival.
Jiro's father… never returned.
And the village, Yamashiga, ceased to exist.
A small group, guided by hope, set off. Among them were Jiro, his mother, and his grandfather. The elder Kamimizu —father of the brave man who never came back— walked with solemnity, leading his own with dignity and silence.
Jiro said nothing.
His eyes had lost their light.
His tears no longer came.
He just clung to his mother, as if she were the only thing still holding him up.
Days passed. Perhaps weeks. The road was harsh. The cold nights, the painful memories, the unanswered questions.
Eventually, they arrived at a new village: Hanayori, a quiet place among hills and wheat fields. The villagers welcomed them with compassion.
There, they started anew.
A small house. A new community.
Peace... at least on the outside.
Jiro, quieter than ever, would watch from the window each night, perhaps hoping to see his father's silhouette among the trees... but it never appeared.
However, this was not the end.
It was only the beginning.
The beginning of a new life for Jiro.
A life marked by loss, but also by a promise...
...the promise of a father who once said:
"Dad always comes back."