The alley stank of rotting food, coppery blood, and something worse like grief left out in the sun.
A girl stood over the corpse, her boots soaked in red, her magical staff cracked and humming softly. Pink light flickered around her like dying fairy dust.
"Do you want to live, or just exist?" she asked, tilting her head like she actually cared.
She laughed to herself.
"Damn, I'm kind today. I never ask questions to people I've already stabbed. I'm really growing."
She crouched down, touching the dead body's chest. Her fingertips glowed sickly white.
"Oh. You're already dead? Aww."
She smiled faintly. "Too bad. I was gonna give you the choice."
The spell surged, and the corpse began to twitch.
The corpse twitched beneath her, spasming like a puppet with tangled strings. One of its arms bent the wrong way. It tried to speak, but the sound was just wet breath and a low moan.
She didn't flinch. Just knelt beside it, light blue curls brushing her pink, blood-spattered skirt. The frills fluttered as she sat down cross-legged, like a child at storytime.
"Aww, poor thing," she cooed, voice bright and sugary. "That one looked like it hurt. But hey, you're alive again! Yay, me~!"
The corpse blinked slowly, one eye cloudy with damage.
She leaned in closer, her long pigtails swinging, and whispered like they were sharing a secret.
"You know what's funny? I'm technically a healer." She giggled, covering her mouth with one gloved hand. "Like, sparkles and everything. I'm supposed to save people. Fix their boo-boos. Make everything all better."
Her voice dropped a little still sweet, but colder.
"Don't die yet," she murmured. "We've still got time. I haven't used up all your chances."
She smiled.
"But we will."
The corpse's eyelids fluttered closed again, weighed down by pain it couldn't escape.
Her voice dropped to a whisper, like sharing a secret meant only for the dead.
"Being a magical girl? It's not what those shiny shows make it out to be. It's not all ribbons, sparkles, and saving the day."
She traced a shaky finger over the corpse's cracked lips.
"Most of us? We're just pawns."
She chuckled softly, a sound somewhere between amusement and bitterness.
"Take Mira, for example. She was the perfect little saint always talking about hope, purity, and saving the world. But she was blind. The council used her like a tool, sending her to die for their plans. I brought her back... more times than I can count."
Her eyes darkened.
"And each time, she got a little less hopeful, a little more broken. Like a doll with cracked porcelain."
She leaned closer, voice dropping lower.
"The council? They're not the heroes. They're politicians hiding behind magical masks. They pick who gets powers, who gets missions, and who gets left to rot."
Her hand pressed against the corpse's chest.
"They keep secrets dark ones. Like how they siphon life energy from fallen magical girls to fuel their own powers. Or how they erase memories of those who get too close to the truth. You think your sparkle is special? It's just currency."
She smirked, biting her lip.
"And then there's Lila. She acts tough, but she's scared out of her mind. Scared that one day she'll be next on the chopping block. Funny thing? She's trying to convince herself she's better than me like her strength makes her clean."
Her smile turned sad.
"But we're all dirty. All broken."
She stood, brushing dust from her pastel pink skirt.
"This is why I do what I do. Kill, heal, repeat. It's not cruelty. It's a reminder. Healing isn't always a blessing. Sometimes, it's a curse wrapped in pretty colors."
She raised her knife.
"Ready for number four?"
She pressed the knife gently into the corpse's chest, feeling the coldness beneath her fingertips.
"But you wanna know something funny?" she said, voice low and almost teasing. "I'm a magical girl. The real deal. Official license, pink outfit, light blue hair the works."
Her lips curled into a smirk.
"Breaking the rules? Oh, I do that all the time. Healing the dead? Killing the living? Yeah, that's a big no-no. Most girls get fired, or worse, if they pull stunts like this."
She tapped the knife three times against thechest, a soft tick-tick-tick.
"But me? I'm still here. Still 'on the team.' Why? Because the council knows something about me. Something... useful."
Her eyes gleamed with a strange light.
"They don't want to lose their secret weapon. The girl who can heal and kill, over and over. The girl who doesn't care about being a hero. Who plays dirty when no one else will."
She paused, her smile fading just a little.
"So they let me break their rules. Because sometimes, the world needs monsters. Not heroes."
Her grip tightened on the knife.
"Ten heals. Ten deaths. And this is number ten."
She drove the blade in slowly, deliberately.
The corpse's body convulsed weakly, then stillness.
She knelt beside it, brushing a stray lock of blue hair behind her ear.
"Well, sweetheart," she whispered, "that's the end of your story. For real this time."
She stood, looking down at the lifeless body.
"But my story? Oh, it's just getting started."
She tugged off her gloves with a wet snap and wiped her fingers on the hem of her skirt. Blood stuck to the pastel pink fabric, turning it purple in places.
> "Ten times," she whispered.
"And now you're finally done."
She didn't look back.
Instead, she reached into the air and pulled open a glowing fold of light—like unzipping reality. A shimmering portal, marked with the Council's seal. They'd sent it right after her last "mission."
She knew it was a trap.
And she stepped in anyway.
She landed in silence.
Not a battlefield. Not an office. Not even a prison.
Just a perfect white hallway glowing tiles, seamless walls, humming softly like a machine holding its breath. Every surface smelled sterile and fake. Nothing living here.
She clapped slowly, footsteps echoing.
"Oh wow," she said with a smirk. "You vacuumed the void for me. I'm flattered."
A soft, mechanical voice greeted her from above.
> "Welcome, Subject 0042. Magical Designation: Healer."
"Containment active. Soul-locked. Memory thread detected."
"Begin purge sequence."
She rolled her eyes.
"You guys really don't do conversations anymore, huh?"
Panels opened in the walls. Spell tech buzzed. Something big started moving—like armor being reassembled behind glass.
And then the voices layered. Not through speakers.
In her head. In her bones.
> "You're not real."
"You're a virus."
"You are a broken spell in a broken girl."
"You're an error we made—"
Her smile widened. Not kind. Not sane.
"Yeah?" she whispered. "Well. You made me."
The lights flickered. Her shadow stretched long behind her.
"And now you're scared of your own science project?"
She reached into her fluffy purse and pulled out her knife—glittery, glowing faintly, still wet.
"Good," she said. "I hope you're terrified."
The cold hum of the chamber wrapped around her like a noose, but she didn't care. This place was just another cage one she didn't plan to stay in.
She knelt briefly, tracing a finger over the edge of her knife. The blade gleamed with a soft pink light, the same color as her hair—a reminder of who she used to be, or maybe who she pretended to be.
She used to believe healing was pure. That magic was a gift meant to fix broken things. That's what the Council told her, anyway.
But they never told her what happened after the healing how many times a soul could be dragged back before it tore apart. How many lives she had to burn through to survive.
Ten times.
That was the limit.
And every time she crossed it, a little more of herself chipped away until all that was left was this sharp edge, this twisted kind of mercy.
The chamber's lights flickered again. The heavy footsteps started metal clanking, armor assembling piece by piece.
Her lips curled.
"Come on then. Show me what you've got."
From the shadows, a towering figure stepped forward—an ancient guardian of the Council, part machine, part magic, all relentless.
But she wasn't afraid.
Because she'd died more times than anyone knew, and kept walking.
She groaned, clutching her ribs where the guardian's last strike landed. The pain was sharp, real and utterly ignored.
"Great. Just great," she muttered, staggering to her feet. Her pink skirt was torn, and a smear of blood ran down her cheek. She flicked it away like it was a bad hair day.
"Guess I'm not exactly the poster child for graceful fighting," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm as she wiped blood off her glittery knife. "Maybe I should've stuck to knitting or something."
The guardian lunged again, slow but unstoppable. She barely managed to roll aside, landing hard on her elbow.
"Ow! Okay, that one hurt," she winced, rubbing her arm. "Note to self: don't get hit by a giant magical robot."
She looked up, grinning crookedly.
"You know, I heal dead people, not dodge giant fists."
A spark of magic flickered from her fingertips not enough to be impressive, but enough to surprise.
She jabbed the knife weakly at the guardian's leg armor.
It barely left a scratch.
The guardian raised an arm again, preparing for a crushing blow.
She closed her eyes, muttering, "Alright, girl, time to be a ninja… kinda."
She dove to the side more flailing than finesse and scrambled toward the exit panel glowing faintly on the far wall.
"Catch me if you can!" she shouted, limping badly.
The guardian thudded after her, relentless.
Her breath came fast and ragged, but the jokes kept coming, sharp and bitter.
"If I survive this, I'm seriously asking for a refund on my magic license."