_____[ POV: Third Person ]_____
The coast roared with fire and iron. Hundreds of Japanese soldiers advanced, leaping from cargo ships toward the beach, rushing like swarms across the sand. Many fell before even taking ten steps, swept away by American machine guns in the trenches. The sea behind them turned red, bodies floating as new waves hurled themselves into the massacre.
But the advance was not completely suicidal. Behind the transports, Japanese cruisers spat fire, unleashing artillery barrages that shattered the coastal fortifications. Each explosion tore open clearings in the ground, ripped limbs, crushed bones, creating breaches for the Imperial soldiers to push forward.
"Hold the line!" shouted an American sergeant, his helmet rattled by the near impact of a grenade.
The land artillery answered back. Medium-range cannons fired without pause, and the retaliation found its targets. A Japanese ship was struck on the side, bursting into smoke and shrapnel; another caught fire, sailors desperately trying to quench the inferno. Yet the Japanese did not retreat. The sea seemed to spit out men without end.
In the trench, the rookie soldier Noah trembled beside a fallen body. It wasn't just any man—it was Sergeant Roger, a fifteen-year veteran, now with his abdomen shredded by shrapnel. Miller, the field medic, pressed on the wound, his hands slipping on the blood.
"Noah… don't let me bleed out, kid…" the veteran's voice was a hoarse growl.
Before Noah could reply, the communications base behind the line burst with a frantic message. Operators exchanged papers, cables crackled with overload.
"The Saratoga transmitted before going under!" shouted one of the technicians, pale. "They said they weren't bombed… it was… it was an unidentified object! But some claim they saw what looked like a person flying!"
"This is madness…" muttered another, though the terror in his eyes betrayed belief.
Suddenly, the world shook.
A colossal boom thundered through the bay. Windows shattered at the base, soldiers were hurled to the ground like dolls. The trench where Noah sheltered quaked, sand collapsing over him and Roger. His ears burned with searing pain, blood streaming from his eardrums.
"What the hell was that?!" the veteran coughed, trying to rise.
Dazed, Noah forced himself to peek over the trench. The horizon was now a liquid wall. A column of water, so high it seemed to touch the sky, rose in the middle of the ocean, swallowing ships in its fury.
He saw American cruisers toppling like toys, some flipping hull-up before vanishing. But Japanese cruisers were caught as well—even if some still clashed with the Americans.
The Japanese who had still been pressing the beach were as stunned as the defenders. Many collapsed, swallowed by the force of the wave that slammed into the coast.
The veteran yanked Noah back by the collar. "Kid… what was that?"
Noah had no answer. He only watched, trembling, as a second blast echoed, even closer.
The ground quivered, trenches shaking as if earthquakes were eating through the earth. Noah turned his head toward the sound—and his heart froze.
On the landward horizon, at Red Hill, a new column was rising. Not water this time, but black smoke and fire. The fuel depot—the heart of the Pacific fleet—was burning.
"My God…" Noah murmured, unable to believe.
At the communications base, chaos reigned. Reports crashed over each other: ships sinking en masse, communications severed, naval supply lost. Officers shouted, unable to organize the tide of disasters.
In less than ten minutes, what had seemed just another bloody coastal battle had turned into an impossible reversal, a disaster without explanation.
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E-001 broke through the veil of flames and smoke from the fuel depot, his Diabolical Ironclad Beetle exoskeleton gleaming like a black wall that no blaze could consume. His Dragonfly wings, burned mid-flight, regenerated within seconds, as if they had never been touched by fire.
He looked down at his own body, covered only by the black carapace. His clothes had vanished, reduced to ashes. A low grunt slipped from his throat. "Hmph… lucky me." At least the exoskeleton hid what remained of his humanity.
He then turned toward the coast of Pearl Harbor. Orders still remained to be fulfilled. First, the aircraft carriers. Then, the fuel depots. Now, the coastal artillery. Three steps. Three targets. Three tasks—nothing more.
He twisted his neck, stretching it with a dry crack, and launched into flight. He descended like a living projectile upon one of the coastal artillery pieces, crushing it into the ground. The soldiers manning it had no time to comprehend. A shadow rose in the midst of smoke and fire, growing until it reached over two and a half meters tall.
From it emerged the form he himself had named "Carnage Kabuto." A fusion of the Diabolical Ironclad Beetle, the Australian Tiger Beetle, and the Dung Beetle. The transformation consumed him as if draining every drop of oxygen from his body, but in return it granted him, for a week, something beyond human comprehension: impenetrable defense, subsonic speed on land, and overwhelming inhuman strength.
His body became larger, more robust, covered in a dense exoskeleton that shone like obsidian. He slammed the ground with brutal force, and the impact opened a crater that shook the earth. The shock rippled across the coast, and terror and confusion spread among both Americans and Japanese who were clashing, unable to understand what was happening.
Then he ran. Fast. Too fast. A blur streaking through enemy positions, shattering artillery and soldiers alike with the same indifference. Bullets ricocheted off his carapace, useless as stones thrown against a fortress wall. Each strike of his was devastating—bodies exploded into fragments, spreading blood and fear.
The Americans broke. Some screamed "Monster!" Others simply dropped their weapons and fled, desperate to escape. E-001 did not pursue. It was not part of the order. His mission was clear. And he completed it in seconds once all coastal artillery had been destroyed.
Slowly, he undid the therianthropic form. The colossal body shrank, the black plates dissolved, revealing the human shape beneath, naked, covered only in dust and soot. He exhaled, exhausted—but not merely physically. There was something… empty.
"Is that all?" he murmured, disappointed. The battle that should have been memorable ended far too quickly.
He stood still for a few moments, staring at the ruined battlefield. Flames, wreckage, scattered corpses. Chaos reigned in Pearl Harbor, but within him, only silence. A heavy silence that made him wonder.
"Will this change anything? Will tomorrow be different? …Or will this world remain imperfect?"
Before he could think of anything, a shot rang out. The bullet struck his head with enough force to make it tilt slightly to the side. The shot had come from Noah, who was hiding in a trench. The rookie thought it was smart to shoot at him the moment the creature seemed to undo its monstrous form, but what he didn't know was that E-001's genes were always active, even if only in a small percentage. Even in his human appearance, at least a fraction of those animals lived on in his veins. Among them, the Diabolical Ironclad Beetle, which, even acting passively at just 10%, allowed his skin to display absurd durability — even medium-caliber rounds would fail to pierce it.
Noah, panting and trembling, lowered his weapon for a moment, believing he had hit and killed the target. But soon his heart froze as he saw the creature simply straighten its neck, raise a hand to its head, and calmly pull the flattened bullet from amidst its red hair.
"I-Impossible…" Noah muttered, stepping back a few paces.
E-001's amber eyes fixed on him, cold but merciless. The rookie shuddered, sweat dripping down his temple. Then, the creature hurled the crushed bullet toward him with unnatural strength, striking Noah's arm. The soldier screamed and fell to his knees, clutching at the pain.
"Attacking from hiding… how cowardly," E-001 sneered, walking slowly toward him. "But I can't deny… it's a smart move when your opponent is stronger than you…"
Noah gasped, crawling back toward the trench, until Roger appeared from the side. Still wounded, the veteran raised his M1 Garand and began firing without thought, each shot accompanied by ragged breaths and evident pain.
"GO TO HELL, YOU DEMON!"
The bullets ricocheted and vanished against E-001's body. When the clip emptied, the veteran let out a primal roar and charged, plunging the bayonet into the creature's chest. The blade shattered like glass against the inhuman torso. Roger staggered with the impact, and before he could retreat, E-001 seized him by the neck, lifting him off the ground.
"H-hhh… a-arrgh!" Hensley wheezed, struggling to break free.
Without hesitation, E-001's other hand pierced the veteran's chest, tearing through flesh and bone.
"ROGER!!!" Noah screamed, his voice tearing his throat. He rushed forward, eyes wide.
But it was too late. The veteran's body was hurled at him like a ragdoll. Both crashed to the ground, Noah pinned beneath the lifeless weight of his comrade. The helmet fell off, revealing his short blond hair.
"No… no, no, no… Roger, answer me!" Noah shook the body, his voice breaking. "Don't do this to me, please!"
Silence answered him. Roger's lifeless gaze said it all. Noah clenched his teeth, tears streaming down his dirt-streaked face.
"ROOOGEEER!!!" Noah's scream echoed, filled with pain and fury.
His face twisted in despair, tears falling as he seized the fallen M1 Garand. With trembling hands, he began firing at E-001, each shot accompanied by a scream:
"DAMN YOU! DAMN YOU!!! YOU'LL PAY FOR WHAT YOU DID TO ROGER!!!"
The bullets struck uselessly against the creature, which stood still, staring at him in silence until the clip was empty. Then, without a word, E-001 turned and began to walk away.
"COME BACK HERE!!!" Noah roared, struggling to reload, his fingers clumsy with tears. "DON'T RUN, YOU MONSTER! COME KILL ME! COME HERE AND KILL ME!!!"
E-001 stopped with his back to him, the silence broken only by the failed click of the magazine.
"Killing someone so weak isn't worth it…" he said flatly. "I've already finished what I came to do."
Those words were knives plunged into Noah's chest. "Weak." A word that had haunted him his whole life. His parents had called him that before abandoning him. The children at the orphanage, the classmates at school, even in the army. And when he finally found someone who didn't see him as useless for the second time, he had failed to protect him. He had been… weak.
With tears blurring his vision, he raised the reloaded rifle, ready to fire at the creature's back. But before he could pull the trigger, something struck his head — the butt of a Japanese soldier's rifle. His vision dimmed and the world went dark as he fell unconscious.
E-001 just continued to walk slowly through the trenches. The eyes of the Japanese followed him, wide open—some filled with fascination, others with sheer terror. Murmurs rippled through the ranks:
"Demon… it's a Demon…" whispered one, clutching his rifle tightly to his chest.
"He's not human…" another staggered back, nearly tripping.
None dared to approach. An empty corridor opened by instinct as E-001 advanced. Respect was forced by fear, as if everyone knew that a single wrong move could cost their lives.
He stopped for a moment. Looking down, he noticed something obvious: he was still naked, covered only in the blood and dust of battle. Turning his head, he saw the body of an American soldier lying on its side, life long gone. Without haste, he crouched down and tore the pants from the corpse. He put them on as if nothing mattered, fastening the loose belt around his waist.
When he raised his gaze again, the Japanese soldiers were still frozen in place, standing in sepulchral silence, weapons trembling in their hands but without the courage to fire.
"The rest is up to you." said E-001 in a low tone, his voice deep and indifferent, without even glancing at them.
From his back, translucent dragonfly wings unfolded, vibrating with growing intensity. The wind they generated lifted dust and dried blood from the ground, forcing the nearest soldiers to cover their faces.
Before anyone could react, E-001 shot into the sky with a sudden movement, vanishing into the gray clouds, leaving behind only fear, murmurs, and the weight of the name he had been given: Akuma.
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🇺🇸 Washington, USA
The White House conference room was stifling with tension. Generals, admirals, and members of Congress crowded around the large mahogany table. President Franklin D. Roosevelt, seated in his wheelchair, kept a stern expression, his half-closed eyes fixed on the reports scattered before him.
Voices overlapped, heavy with fury and disbelief:
"Our carriers… sunk in a matter of minutes!"
"How the hell did they achieve such precision? It makes no sense!"
"This wasn't just an attack, it was a calculated massacre!"
An admiral slammed his hand on the table, the metallic clink of his medals ringing with the impact:
"Mr. President, this isn't just about torpedoes and bombings! We have reports… of something else. An American soldier described a creature on the field, something that crushed land artillery as if it were paper!"
Some laughed nervously, others frowned. Roosevelt did not laugh. He simply drew a deep breath and replied in a grave tone:
"It matters little whether it was man, machine, or a… monster. What matters is that more than two thousand Americans are dead… and the flag of the United States has been stained today."
Silence. All awaited his next words.
"Gentlemen," Roosevelt leaned forward, "make no mistake: Japan has awakened a giant. They did not destroy our morale—they have only inflamed it. This nation is going to war. And if Japan does not retreat, then we will have to resort to something far more… catastrophic."
The invisible gavel of decision fell upon them all. America had changed forever.
🇯🇵 Tokyo, Japan
The Japanese General Staff's meeting room was thick with cigarette smoke and the burnt scent of incense paper. Naval maps covered the long table, upon which detailed reports of Pearl Harbor lay spread out. High-ranking officers spoke in firm voices, though tension underlined every word.
At the center, General Yamamoto remained silent, his hands clasped before his face. The man who had devised Operation Z should have been proud, yet his eyes betrayed unease.
"It was a crushing victory," one general said with a restrained smile. "The Americans won't recover anytime soon."
Another admiral, however, flipped through the report with a grim expression:
"The fuel depots were eliminated. The carriers and cruisers, destroyed. The land artillery, shattered. But… here." He tapped the paper. "Some of our own men were caught in the crossfire. Reports of ships sunk alongside the Americans after a supposed explosion in the middle of the sea."
All eyes turned to Yamamoto. He remained rigid.
Then the television screen crackled, revealing Emperor Hirohito's face in a live broadcast. His serene voice contrasted with the heaviness in the room:
"Japanese casualties were minimal, a small sacrifice worthy before the greatness of our victory. Meanwhile, the enemy has lost over two thousand men. Today, the sun has risen over the glory of the Empire."
A murmur of approval echoed in the chamber. Yet Yamamoto discreetly furrowed his brow, his nails digging into the palm of his hand beneath the table. He dared not speak aloud, but cursed himself in silence:
"I've unleashed something far too unstable in my hands…"
While the others celebrated, his mind remained disturbed. The E-001 was no longer a weapon. It was an aberration. And deep down, Yamamoto felt that somehow this "demon" was not fighting for Japan—it had merely happened to fight at their side that day.
_____[ POV: Jean Kurogane ]_____
Another failure.
The sound of the heart monitor flattening into a straight, continuous line echoed through the white room. I clenched my teeth and slammed my palm against the metal table.
"Damn it!" My voice reverberated with frustration. "Always the same result. The theriomorphosis collapses, the DNAs tear each other apart, and in the end, all that's left is this… worthless trash on the floor."
I looked at E-178, lying motionless in that ridiculous gown, so fragile and purposeless. The contrast was almost insulting. The perfection I created the first time, and afterward, nothing but garbage.
I ran my hand through my hair, taking a deep breath. The image of my masterpiece… always comes to my mind in these moments. The only one who assimilated multiple genes, the only one who surpassed my theories, the only one who proved that my reasoning wasn't mere delusion. E-001 is a mark that will never fade from my thoughts.
I turned to the other children. Eyes downcast, fear pulsing in the air. Yes, they fear that I might discard them—and with good reason.
"Assistants!" I called sharply. Two figures in white entered quickly. "Remove the body. I don't want traces of this failure contaminating the environment."
They obeyed in silence, carrying the small corpse as if it were nothing more than disposable material.
I looked again at the remaining experiments. Weak. Limited to a single implanted gene.
"Today, you at least managed to manifest your genes," my voice cut through the air, cold and without enthusiasm. "But don't fool yourselves… it means nothing. You don't even come… close to him."
The silence grew heavy. I had already said enough. I turned and walked through the sliding door; it closed behind me with a metallic sigh.
In the corridor, I let out a long breath. Frustration, yes, but only momentary. The next thought brought a smile to my face: in three days, I would see my pride once more. Four months… four long months since they prevented E-001 from returning to Japan. "Threat," they said. As if they were only now realizing the obvious truth. Fools.
At the Pearl Harbor meeting, they all looked at me and spoke of him only as a weapon. I stayed silent most of the time, answering only when pressed. But inside… hah… inside, I already controlled everything these failures thought they had in their hands. I used those narrow minds just to witness my masterpiece in action. And what a spectacle it was.
It doesn't matter if they call him a weapon, a monster, or even an Akuma. To me, he is simply… perfect. And I want to witness how this flawed world will react to his presence…
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(A/N: Hey dear readers, did you miss this fic? Lucky you, because I'm bringing it back. I got the motivation to continue since it has a lot of potential, and I already have the whole schedule planned from beginning to end... I hope you enjoyed the reading; I'll be updating this fic from time to time, especially since I still have two other fics to update. I know, it's a lot of work, but I have this little problem with my habit of constantly writing. So I'll try to manage it, and if it takes too long, I might stop updating one of the fics to focus only on two. For now, that's all, I'll be waiting for you in the next update!)