Chapter 1
My mother resides within me. Not in some cliché “inner demon” kind of way—she’s dead. Yet, somehow, I still feel her there, tucked behind my ribs, watching. Why? Hell if I know. But maybe I should back up before I scramble your brain. Oh—wait. Almost forgot. Name’s Yuito Murasaki, and what I’m about to tell you happened on my 13th birthday… the day everything changed. But first—let me give you a little background on the world I live in.
Don’t worry — I’m not some alien in disguise. I live on Earth, same as you. But I’d be lying if I said it hasn’t… changed. You know how in history class they teach you about the Industrial Revolution, and how it kicked off the modern world? Well, picture that — but on steroids. In my world, even the poorest corners of the planet are wrapped in neon, drowning in chrome towers and holographic billboards. Every city looks like it’s been ripped straight out of a cyberpunk fever dream.
Another thing that sets my world apart? A little trick called Resonance. Basically, it’s your psyche made real — your mind flexing in the physical world. It’s the reason Earth looks the way it does now, and the reason most people don’t live to see old age. Sounds cool, right? Trust me, it’s not always. Oh, and everyone’s got it… whether they want it or not. And when Resonance goes wrong — really wrong — it spawns something we call Tsukimono. Think of them as spiritual parasites born from twisted emotions: grief, rage, obsession… the stuff people pretend they’ve buried deep. They don’t just haunt you — they overwrite you. Your body, your mind, even your Resonance becomes theirs. If you’re lucky, you die quick. If not… well, let’s just say you’re not you anymore.
Most people don’t stand a chance against them. That’s where the Tsukimono Exorcising Brotherhood comes in. Old order, older grudges. They’ve been around since before my grandparents were born, and they’re the reason our cities aren’t overrun. Picture monks, warriors, and Resonance specialists all rolled into one… then give them enough secrecy to make a conspiracy theorist foam at the mouth. They say the Brotherhood can cleanse a Tsukimono from someone without killing them. They also say they charge a price you might not be willing to pay. Both are exaggerations. The Brotherhood does their best to stay hidden — and they usually succeed. The only reason I know as much as I do… is because of my mom.
Before she died, she was one of them — a full-fledged operative in the Brotherhood. And if you’ve never seen a Tsukimono up close, let me paint you a picture. Night, rain hammering the rooftops. The alley smelled like rust and rotting meat. My mom moved like she’d been born in that darkness — cloak whipping behind her, squad flanking her on both sides. The thing they were hunting was somewhere ahead, hiding in the shadow between two flickering streetlamps. It wasn’t human anymore. Not really. Its limbs jerked like a broken marionette, and the grin stretching across its face didn’t belong to anyone living. Resonance burned in my mom’s hands — bright, sharp, ready to cut the parasite out before it hollowed the host completely.
I only know this story because she told it to me once — half warning, half bedtime story. She never said it straight, of course. Just dropped pieces between lectures on brushing my teeth and not leaving my shoes in the hall. But her eyes always got that same faraway look, like she was still standing in that alley, rain soaking through her cloak.
“Fubuki, Claire — take the flanks. Kuzure, Aoi, you’re with me,” Emiru barked, voice cutting clean through the rain. Her eyes tracked the shifting shadow ahead, the one twitch that didn’t belong to the storm.
Fubuki’s Resonance crackled in pale arcs circulating him and Claire melted into the side alleys, boots splashing in oily puddles. On Emiru’s right, Kuzure tightened her grip on that katana of hers, the black edge swallowing the light. Aoi rolled her shoulders, calm as ever, palms already glowing with healing sigils in case anyone didn’t walk away in one piece.
The air tasted like metal and ozone — the scent that came before a kill.
The shadow twitched again — then unfolded.
It stepped into the flickering streetlight, wearing the shape of a man who’d been dead too long. Skin stretched too tight over bone. Joints bending in ways bone shouldn’t bend. Its mouth hung open, not in a scream, but in something worse — a silent laugh.
“Host is still partially intact,” Aoi murmured, eyes narrowing.
“Then we make it quick,” Emiru said.
The Tsukimono’s head snapped toward them like a compass finding north. Resonance bled from its body in jagged, oily streams, warping the air around it. The pavement beneath its bare feet cracked as it surged forward in a blur, nails elongating into hooked talons.
Fubuki’s ice arced across the alley mouth, searing the creature’s flank. It shrieked — not with pain, but with excitement — before Claire’s pipe wrench bit deep from the other side, severing muscle and spraying black ichor into the rain.
“Now!” Emiru’s order rang out.
Kuzure lunged, her katana slicing a perfect crescent through the storm, the blade’s edge erasing whatever part of the creature it touched. Aoi moved in tandem, sigils flaring brighter, ready to yank the host’s soul back from the brink.
But the Tsukimono didn’t slow. If anything… it smiled wider.
The creature’s body convulsed, ichor hissing where Kuzure’s blade had carved. Then, with a sound like tearing silk, its skin split along the spine.
Something else pushed its way out.
“Back!” Emiru snapped — but too late. A second set of arms erupted from its sides, slick and black, tipped with claws like obsidian glass. It caught Claire mid-step and flung her into a wall with enough force to crater the brick.
Fubuki roared, frost exploding from his palms in a desperate wall, but the Tsukimono just plowed through, shards of ice spinning off its shoulders.
“Aoi—keep her alive!” Emiru’s voice cracked for the first time that night.
The thing turned its head toward her then — not the squad, her. The grin shifted, stretching wider until it split the cheeks.
“I remember you,” it rasped.
Emiru froze. Just for a heartbeat. But in that space, the Tsukimono moved.
The Tsukimono blurred toward her, the world narrowing to the gleam of its claws and the rasp of its breath. Emiru met it head-on, Resonance bursting from her in a flare of gold light, slamming into the creature like a hammer. The impact drove both of them skidding across the wet asphalt, her boots gouging grooves into the pavement.
It came back faster than she expected. A backhand slash forced her to parry, katana ringing in the night. She pivoted, blade carving deep across its torso, but it didn’t stop. Its clawed hand hooked low, too low—
Pain ripped through her side.
Her breath caught, heat flooding her vision as she staggered back. She pressed a hand to her waist and felt the slick warmth of her own blood spilling between her fingers. The Tsukimono lunged again, but Kuzure intercepted, her black blade biting deep and forcing it back.
“Emiru!” Aoi was already there, catching her under one arm. Sigils flared to life in her palms, light spilling over the wound as she worked furiously. The bleeding slowed, the flesh knitting shut — but the ache remained, a phantom pulse deep in the muscle.
“You’re good,” Aoi said, but her eyes flickered with worry.
Emiru gave a curt nod, ignoring the throb under her ribs. “Finish it.”
They did — Fubuki freezing its legs in place, Claire’s wrench shattering bone, Kuzure’s cursed katana ending it in one clean stroke. The body collapsed, ichor steaming in the rain.
Emiru stood, hand still ghosting over her side. She told herself it was fine. That it was healed.
But the Tsukimono’s claws had cut deeper than anyone realized.
The rain had slowed to a drizzle by the time they reached the Brotherhood’s inner compound — a sprawl of stone courtyards and prayer towers lit by a soft amber glow. The air here was cleaner, quieter, the chaos of the city sealed out by high gates and wards humming faintly in the walls.
Emiru led her squad into the Grand Hall, boots leaving muddy prints across the polished wood. At the far end, beneath a hanging tapestry of the Brotherhood’s sigil, Grand Exorcist Jin Murasaki stood waiting.
He didn’t come to greet them. Didn’t smile. Just stood with his hands clasped behind his back, eyes cold and sharp as frost.
“You’re late,” he said.
“We neutralized the Tsukimono before it could migrate into the residential quarter,” Emiru replied evenly. “Host’s body is intact, should be recoverable.”
Jin’s gaze flicked to her side — just for a second — then back to her eyes. “You were injured.”
“It’s handled,” she said.
“Handled isn’t the same as resolved.” His voice was low, but carried. “We can’t afford weakness in the field.”
Her squad shifted uncomfortably at that. Emiru’s tone softened — not for Jin’s sake, but for theirs. “Everyone did their part tonight. That’s what matters.”
Jin didn’t argue. Didn’t agree either. He just turned to Kuzure. “File your report before sunrise. Include the exact coordinates of the encounter.”
“Yes, Grand Exorcist,” Kuzure said, bowing slightly.
The meeting ended as quickly as it had begun. No praise. No debrief beyond the essentials. As they turned to leave, Emiru lingered for a heartbeat, her eyes searching his face for something that wasn’t there.
“Go home,” Jin said without looking at her.
She did. But the echo of his words followed her into the night.
When Emiru stepped through the front door, the battlefield was gone, replaced by the quiet hum of home. Three kids were waiting for her: Haruto, nineteen and trying to act like the man of the house; Kaya, sixteen and sharper with her tongue than her blade; and me — Yuito — twelve years old back then, and still thinking my mom was invincible.
Haruto was slouched on the couch, homework untouched, scrolling through his holo-screen. “You’re late,” he said without looking up — the same tone our dad used, but warmer somehow.
Kaya peeked around the kitchen doorway, a smudge of flour on her cheek. “I made dinner. Well… half of it. The oven did the rest.”
Mom smiled like that was the best thing she’d heard all week. She crossed the room, ruffling Kaya’s hair and leaning down to kiss the top of my head. I frowned, leaning away.
“Mom, I’m not a little kid,” I grumbled.
“You’ll always be my little kid,” she said, brushing past me toward the kitchen.
“I’m twelve,” I reminded her, like that made me some kind of adult.
She laughed — the kind of laugh that filled the room and made it harder to hold onto my fake scowl.
“You’ve been working too much,” Haruto muttered.
“Maybe,” she admitted, loosening the straps on her shoulder guard. “But I work so you three can be safe.”
I didn’t understand then how dangerous her work really was. Or that “safe” was always a fragile thing in our world. Not until three years before the day everything changed…
We all sat down at the table — a rare thing these days. Kaya set out the plates while Haruto carried over the steaming pot from the kitchen.
“Careful,” Mom said, pulling off her gloves. “That’s hot.”
“It’s fine,” Haruto replied, lowering it onto the table with a little more force than necessary.
The smell of curry and baked bread filled the room. My stomach growled loud enough for Kaya to smirk.
“Try not to inhale it this time,” she teased.
“I don’t inhale food,” I shot back. “I just eat faster than you cook.”
“Fast is one word for it. Reckless is another.”
Mom chuckled, ladling curry into our bowls. “Let him eat. He’s growing.”
“Exactly,” I said through a mouthful, earning a groan from Haruto.
Mom’s armor sat in the corner, dripping rainwater onto the mat. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught her rubbing her side absentmindedly where the Tsukimono had clawed her earlier that night. Sure she had healed it, but she still winced when Kaya passed her the bread.
“Are you hurt?” I asked quietly.
She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Nothing worth worrying about.”
We finished the meal with the usual mix of teasing and stories — Haruto talking about some streetball game he’d played, Kaya bragging about perfecting a Resonance trick in training. I just listened, feeling like this was how it was always going to be.
I was wrong.
A couple of months later, on the day of my thirteenth birthday, everything changed.
