The air was fresh, clean, pure like the first breath of an eternal spring. The clouds danced slowly above vast fields of greenery, and the murmur of winding rivers harmonized with the song 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. 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 not yet known the weight of tragedy.
Not until the Great Catastrophe occurred.
An incomprehensible, terrifying, devastating phenomenon:
The Wounds of the Void.
Invisible cracks to the naked eye that tore through the very fabric of space-time. They opened like sores in the sky, the earth, the seas—even in the souls of living beings.
Through these fissures emerged entities beyond understanding: monsters, specters, horrors from unexplored planes. 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 followed no rules. They didn't appear in just one world. They emerged in dozens, hundreds, infinite worlds. The cause? No one knows. Not the eternal sages nor 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 end up shattered forever, 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 its heart, there was a small village hidden among the 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 by his father. Half human by his mother. A hybrid with a soul on fire and eyes full of dreams. The Kamimizu family was loved and respected. Known not for their power, but for their kindness and dedication 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 amid 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 that drifted slowly. A fresh breeze swept through the large village, rustling the leaves of the trees and gently stirring the grass in the wide backyard of the Kamimizu family home. It was a beautiful day, one of those that seemed painted by the hand of the gods.
Jiro was at the center of the yard, on the soft earth, stretching with all the focus a five-year-old could gather. His small figure struggled to maintain balance, his semi-rounded ears twitching with each breath, and his little reddish horns shining under the sun. His wide, bright eyes stared with admiration at the figure before him.
—Come on, Dad, quick, quick! Now teach me how to fight with spiritual energy! —Jiro shouted with excitement, making a little jump.
His father, a handsome oni with a strong build and noble presence, watched him with a broad smile. His long hair was tied in a ponytail, with a few strands dancing over his eyes each time the wind blew. His horns were long, firm, and his gaze was full of affection.
—HAHAHA! Jiro, alright, alright, son… but calm down —he replied with laughter, walking toward him and ruffling his hair—. Take it easy, son... all in good time. You're still too young to learn how to wield spiritual energy. Once you're a bit older, I'll teach you. You just need to grow a little 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 5 years old! I think that's enough to learn...
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 be able to be like the one and only hero Raizen Tenkuma!
His father smiled tenderly 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, slept, learned, and trained to become strong. And most importantly... he waited. He was patient. He didn't rush things.
Jiro looked at him with wide eyes, amazed.
—What!? Is that true, Dad?
—Of course, son —he answered calmly—. No one is born strong just like that...
Then he crouched beside him and continued:
—You see, Jiro... in everything, you always start from zero to reach something great. That's why, rushing things isn't good. Everything will come in due time.
Jiro watched him in silence, as if each word etched itself into his heart. His father picked him up and lifted him onto his back, raising him as if he weighed less than a feather.
—And that's why, Jiro... I want you to grow up big and strong. But also, as you go on your own journeys, I want you to cherish this beautiful life... and understand yourself.
Together they looked up at the sky, bright and clean. Jiro's eyes sparkled, reflecting that sky, full of dreams, questions, and hope.
At that moment, his mother's voice called out from inside the house.
—Hey, it's lunchtime! Come on in!
—We're coming, dear! —his father responded loudly, then looked at Jiro with a mischievous smile—. Speaking of food... how about a race?
—I'm in! —Jiro shouted, jumping off his back with energy and starting to run—. Last one there doesn't get any meat!
—What!? You little cheater, come back here! —his father laughed, chasing after him.
Both of them ran into the house, full of laughter and hurried steps. They sat on the beautiful wooden floor, around the square table where a warm and tasty meal awaited them. Together, with their hands joined, they said:
—Thanks for the food!
At that moment, firm footsteps were heard at the entrance.
—Hello, family... —said a deep and strong voice.
It was Jiro's grandfather, an oni with a wrinkled face but still a firm body, dressed in his training robe. He had an imposing presence, but eyes full of warmth.
—Grandpa! —Jiro said, raising his hand joyfully.
—My little warrior, how are you? —the grandfather asked, giving him a gentle tap on the head.
—Hey, eat before it gets cold! —his mother exclaimed with a firm but loving tone.
—She's right! —said the grandfather, taking a seat beside them.
The afternoon in the village carried on 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 among the hills and mountains.
At the family table, the meal was a simple yet love-filled feast: steaming rice, stir-fried vegetables, roasted fish, and hot soup. The aroma filled the air as everyone ate together, sharing laughter and everyday words. Jiro spoke excitedly about his training, gesturing with energy 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, spinning in his seat with so much energy he nearly knocked over his rice bowl.
—Hahaha! 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! —replied Jiro, quickly sitting up straight.
—This child will be trouble once he has more spiritual energy —commented his mother with a sweet but tired smile.
—A good kind of trouble —added the father while taking a bite—. One that will change many things, I'm sure...
At that moment, a faint vibration could be felt in the air. As light as a whisper, yet something in both 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 expression.
The father smiled, masking his unease.
—Nothing, son. I just... felt a shift in the wind.
That night, the Kamimizu family gathered around the hearth. The light of mana lamps filled the house with a warm glow. 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. As the child slept, the father looked out the window toward the distant mountains.
In the sky... a tiny rift, imperceptible to any ordinary eye, pulsed like an open wound in the firmament. Dark, deep, silent... and ali
Night had gently fallen over the great Oni village. The wooden and stone houses rested silently under the dim light of the three moons that shone like eternal guardians of the sky. All was calm. Only the sound of the 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 slight smile drawn upon it. He dreamed, perhaps, of one day being as strong as his father.
But while he dreamed, Kamimizu, his father, was awake. Already dressed in his combat attire —a dark armor with reddish details and ancient symbols engraved on the chest— he secured his katana on his back with determination in his eyes. His gaze, once warm, was now firm and alert.
Kamimizu was not just a warrior: he was the head of the Rift Exploration and Investigation Corps of the great village. An elite unit tasked with sealing spatial fissures known as Shinketsus. Small dimensional voids that, if left unchecked, could lead to catastrophe.
That night, something had changed.
—We're ready to head to Kazekumo Hill, sir —said one of the waiting warriors, a young man with a tense look.
Kamimizu nodded, adjusting his armor and taking his katana.
—Very well. We must not waste time.
Just before he left, 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 carried both love and duty.
—I'll be back soon... take good care of Jiro.
She nodded, watching him disappear into the darkness of the night.
Shortly after, the elder Kamimizu, father of the current chief and Jiro's grandfather, also appeared fully prepared. Though the years showed in the wrinkles on his face, his body remained firm and strong, clad in a heavier, more worn traditional armor that was still imposing.
—All right —he said with a rough voice—, then let's move. There's no time to lose.
The group advanced through tall trees and paths covered in vines, thick vegetation brushing their arms as shadows danced around them. The three moons bathed everything in silver light, and in the sky, some spirits floated silently, like leaves in the wind.
One of the young warriors drew his katana nervously.
—Spirits!
—No need —intervened the elder Kamimizu, serious and calm—. They're just passing through. Harmless.
The young man sheathed his sword in shame, and the group continued in silence.
They finally reached a denser part of the forest, where the trees curved into natural arches and the vegetation seemed to breathe. There, before them, a dark, throbbing fissure opened like a wound in the air —a crack that pulsed as if it were alive.
—All right —Kamimizu ordered firmly—. Investigation unit, proceed.
The specialized Onis advanced, carefully placing spiritual orbs in front of the fissure. The crystals glowed faintly, attempting to read the unstable energy of the rift.
One of the women in charge of the spiritual readings raised her voice, her face pale.
—Commander Kamimizu... the readings were accurate. This fissure is not a Shinketsu-class... —she paused tragically—. It's a Shinjetsu.
Silence fell instantly. That word... was rare. Shinjetsu. A higher category. 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 had only just begun.