Revenge.
I crave it.
Even since I've got conscious, I was tortured by livin' being like me.
When I woke up, my body couldn't move, as if suspended in a thick, cool liquid.
My eyes opened slowly: And the first thing I saw was the curved glass of the cylinder around me.
It was distorting everything beyond it as liquid clung to my skin, making every movement feel sluggish, like I was trapped in slow motion.
Outside the glass, many tall figures moved as they wore long white coats.
They didn't speak or make noise, but they walked back and forth while glancing at me briefly before looking away.
Few stood around the cylinder as they scribbled on notepads, occasionally glancing up with expressions I couldn't understand.
My lungs didn't ache as I breathed easily inside a glass.
Was I breathing this liquid? The thought sent an unfamiliar sensation through me. It was something sharp and unsettling.
I pressed my hand against the glass. The reflection of my palm stared back, warped and shimmering.
But then just for a moment… I was aware it wasn't my hand I saw. Something else, something unfamiliar, flickered in its place. To me, Nothing here is familiar; The deep ache in my bones, the sharp fragments of memory scraping at the edges of my mind.
Even fear seems distant like it belongs to someone else's life, a relic I can't quite grasp.
For years, I was their puppet that poked, prodded, and pushed until it bled.
Many scientists taught me how to speak. How to think, and how to survive.
At first, they pretended to care about me, but their hands were soft until a time it changed.
"Defend yourself!!" They'd said that after throwing me into arenas filled with creatures born of teeth and fury.
Survival meant killing. Obedience meant staying chained.
The first time I killed a hynes, I cried because I was hurt.
But by the hundredth, I learned to detach, letting the static in my veins drown out the screams.
What broke me wasn't the violence but the glimpses of the world beyond those walls.
Skies melting into twilight, forests alive with whispers of freedom. That's when freedom became an obsession.
When they refused me even that, rage bubbled up, corrosive and unstoppable.
Humans, I realized, were no better than the monsters they compelled me to fight — They were just more cunning than foxes.
It was Iron Crown's architects who hid behind screens and empty promises, turning us into tools, subjects, and commodities.
They labeled us Vessels, cataloged us, and traded us. But I am not a thing to own.
When the night of escape was a blur of alarms and blood— It was theirs, not mine; It was the beginning of their end.
I remember the sting of cold air as I breached the facility perimeter.
My lungs burned with the first taste of unfiltered independence.
But whatever euphoria I felt was dread when I found the cost of sovereignty: I lost a few memories... Faces, names, and outlines of my origin were almost all reduced to static, other than revenge.
Maybe it was the Iron Crown that had scrubbed me clean. For what reasons, they leave me with only the scars of their cruelty and the phantom significance of power I still don't apprehend.
Now, the blood on my hands is not of beasts but of handlers, scientists, and those who leeched my autonomy to fuel their dominion.
Let them call it vengeance; I call it justice. And I am not alone in this mess.
Somewhere in their labyrinth of lies, others like me breathe, bleed, and break beneath The Iron Crown's boot.
'I wanna take revenge from all.' I glanced up briefly as the teacher droned on about the history of Espers and their role in society.
Yes, teacher - Because now I'm just another student at Ashenvale Esper Academy, where Espers are trained to serve the government.
This academy is one of the best in the world.
A place where gifted individuals hone their abilities under strict supervision.
"An Esper's rank is irreversible." Our Professor Halvorsen was explaining.
"Esper are ranked by classes, ranging from F-class(the lowest) to SSS-class(the pinnacle of power). What matters is that you can't improve your rank or grow stronger after awakening as it's luck, not effort that decides everything."
'What I am.' This is a question curled in my gut like a live wire.
Around me, students typed notes or conjured minor abilities as if performing for invisible judges.
I kept my hands under the desk.
It's only been two days since I enrolled, but I've seen how groups form naturally among students.
I didn't join any of them. Friends would only complicate things, and besides, I wasn't here to make connections.
To keep my identity hidden, I changed my name to Mary Throne, D-Class Esper, instead of Aria Nightshade.
Let them disregard me. Nobody knows who I am or what I'm capable of. And that's exactly how I want it.
Let them see only a sullen transfer student, indifferent to the cliques developing around elemental affinities or telekinetic showmanship.
The less they witnessed, the freer I'll be to hunt.
"To date," Halvorsen went on, "Only two SSS-class Espers have ever been recorded. Both died during the Last Sovereign War—abilities so destructive they were considered… disastrous."
A hologram sprang to life above his desk: a man wreathed in black flames that seemed to devour light itself and a woman whose mere touch reduced towering skyscrapers to rubble.
The room buzzed with murmurs of awe.
My hands tightened into fists under the table.
'They turned weapons into legends.' I thought bitterly.
A boy sitting behind me leaned over, his C-class hydrokinesis badge catching the light. "You ever wonder if the SSS-class Espers aren't really gone? Maybe just hiding somewhere?"
I turned to him, letting Mary's practiced indifference mask my face. "Dead things should stay buried."
He flinched back, startled.
Good. Let him think I wasn't worth bothering.
I glanced out the window, my reflection staring back at me through the glass.
Long raven-black hair framed my face, contrasting sharply with my dark red eyes that always seemed to carry a weight no one else could see. My features were mature, sharper than most of the other girls in class, and though I didn't pay much attention to it.
I must be considered pretty striking, even at 5'9", with a figure that had curves in all the right places. I stood out without trying.
Everyone here was 18 or older; I wasn't sure of my age, but thanks to certain connections, I managed to secure my spot in this academy.
Some of the higher-ups who worked here owed favors, and over time, I planned to use those ties to gather information.
At present, I'll keep my head down and play the part of just another student. Every move will take me closer to what I need: answers and revenge.
.
.
.
Later, alone in the dormitory, I stood in front of the mirror and traced the jagged scar beneath my collarbone.
Aria Nightshade had been erased from every database, wiped clean as though she'd never existed, but flesh didn't forget, and neither do scars.
I sighed and turned away from the mirror, pulling off my uniform jacket and tossing it onto the chair by my desk.
It had been a long day, another performance, another act in this charade I called survival. Slipping into bed, I stared up at the ceiling, watching shadows dance across its surface as thoughts swirled through my mind.
'Sleep felt far away tonight.' I was on my feet before the intruder's boots touched the floor, a blade of condensed shadow humming in my palm. 'Old habit.'
"Easy, Nightshade." A man entered my room, his face covered by a hooded trench coat dripping with rain.
His gloved hands rose slowly, palms outward. No insignia, no weapons. Just the faint static crackle of an Esper's aura — wild, unranked like mine.
"That name is dead," I hissed.
"Dead things don't haunt archives." He tugged down his hood, revealing a face gaunt and weathered, with eyes like smoldering coals. "You truly don't remember, do you? I suppose the Crown scrubbed you harder than the rest of us."
'Us?' I let the shadow-blade dissipate but didn't lower my guard. "Who are you?"
He smirked, walking toward the window. "Call me Wraith. We shared a cellblock in Facility Nine. You screamed a lot. Still do, according to your nightmares."
"What do you mean?" I narrowed my eyes.
"You'll know soon enough. But if you want answers about your past—and revenge—you need to come with me. Now."
For a moment, I hesitated.
This could be a trap. But deep down, I already knew one thing: staying here wouldn't give me what I needed.
Revenge didn't wait patiently. Neither did truth. Swinging my legs off the bed, I grabbed my jacket and slipped it back on without a word. Whatever game this was, I intended to play it on my terms.
"If you did something fishy… I'm going to torture you to death."