Chapter Two: Starting Troubles
The girl ran through the streets like a hunted animal, clutching the medicine bag to her chest as if it were her own beating heart. Her bare feet slapped against the frozen cobblestones, each step sending jolts of pain up her legs. The thin brown fur covering her body offered little protection against the cold. Behind her, laughter echoed—cruel and sharp as broken glass.
Candy was nine years old, and she knew what it meant to be hated.
The rock hit her ankle with brutal precision. She went down hard, the bag flying from her hands. Medicine bottles clinked together dangerously as the bag skidded across the ice.
"Yeah! That's what you get for running from us!" The village boy who'd thrown the stone stepped forward, his breath misting in the cold air. Three others flanked him, their faces twisted with the particular ugliness that children learned from their parents.
"Snake creep!"
"Freak!"
"Monster!"
Candy scrambled toward the bag, her fingers—partially covered in that distinctive brown fur—closing around the rough fabric. "Leave me alone," she gasped, tasting blood in her mouth. "I need to get this to my mother. She won't make it without—"
"You don't belong here." The boy kicked snow in her face.
"You and your family should die." A girl with blonde braids spat at her feet.
The first punch came without warning. Knuckles crashed into Candy's cheek, and the world exploded in stars. She hit the ground, the bag crushed beneath her. Glass cracked. Liquid seeped through the fabric, dark and precious and utterly wasted.
"No," Candy whispered. "No, no, no—"
They took turns. Kicks to her ribs. Stones thrown at close range. Laughter that cut deeper than any blade. When one boy got too close, Candy's survival instincts took over. Her teeth found his calf, sinking deep. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.
The boy screamed. Someone grabbed her hair and yanked. She broke free, stumbling to her feet, running—
The stone caught her temple. Hot blood matted the fur on the side of her head, mixing with tears and snow. But she kept moving. She had to keep moving.
By the time they finally tired of their sport and left her bleeding in the street, Candy could barely see through her soft green eyes. But she could still crawl. Still drag herself home through the frozen hell that called itself a village.
The house was cold. It was always cold now—they couldn't afford enough firewood to heat more than one room, and even that was a luxury.
"Mother," Candy called, her voice cracking. "I'm here."
Her mother sat by the dying fire, wrapped in blankets that had once been fine but were now threadbare and patched. She looked up, and despite the fever flush in her cheeks, her eyes were sharp enough to see everything—the blood in her daughter's fur, the way she held herself like something broken.
"Candy, dear." Her voice was soft as falling snow. "Did the children fight you again?"
"Yes." It was easier to say it simply. To not dwell on it.
"Come here, love. Let me see—" Her words dissolved into coughing. Violent, wracking coughs that shook her entire frame. Blood speckled the cloth she held to her mouth, each crimson drop a countdown to an inevitable end.
"Mother, I'm sorry." Tears streamed down Candy's face, dampening the fur on her cheeks. "They broke the medicine bottle. I tried to save it, I tried—"
Thin fingers brushed her face, gentle despite everything. "It's alright, sweetheart. My time is almost up anyway. I'm old."
"Don't say that!" Candy's voice broke. "You still have years—decades—"
A gentle smack to the back of her head, more love than reprimand. "I know that, you brat."
Despite everything, Candy almost smiled.
"Now go get cleaned up," her mother said, settling back into her nest of blankets. "And eat your food before it gets cold again. I didn't slave over that stove for you to waste it."
"Yes, Mother."
The water in the basin was ice-cold, but Candy barely felt it as she washed the blood from her fur. She was staring at her reflection—at the brown fur and soft green eyes that marked her as different, as wrong, as something to be feared and hated—when the bells began to ring.
The village warning bells.
Monsters.
Candy's blood turned to ice in her veins. The bells rang in a pattern every child knew from birth: Monster attack. Seek shelter. Pray.
In the distance, something roared. It was a sound that bypassed the ears and went straight to the hindbrain, triggering every primal fear humanity had ever known.
She ran to the window.
The village was burning.
Flames devoured houses like kindling. Creatures moved through the streets—twisted things with too many limbs and eyes that glowed like hot coals. A dragon wheeled overhead, its scales reflecting the firelight as it belched destruction onto the fleeing villagers. People scattered like ants, screaming, dying.
"Mother!" Candy spun from the window. "Mother, we have to—"
The room was empty.
"Mother?!" Panic seized her chest. "MOTHER!"
She ran for the door, burst into the street—
Something massive hit her in the stomach. The impact lifted her off her feet and sent her flying backward into a pile of firewood. The logs collapsed on top of her, crushing down, pinning her.
Through the gaps in the wood, she could see monsters tearing people apart. Could hear screaming. Could smell burning flesh.
"Mother," she whispered, trying to push the logs off with fur-covered hands that trembled. "Mother, please..."
Darkness crept in from the edges of her vision. The last thing she saw was a dragon's silhouette against the burning sky.
The last thing she heard was her own voice, calling for someone who would never answer.
Then nothing.
Three months later.
The man walked through snow that had buried the world in white silence. His white hair—stark against the grey sky—moved like silk in the wind, untouched by the frost that would have frozen a normal man's hair solid. His cloak, once fine but now patched and worn, fluttered behind him. But it was his eyes that would have caught anyone's attention: soft golden eyes that had seen empires rise and fall, that had watched gods die.
Vash had been walking for weeks. The Chains of Tempest around his soul pulsed with every step, a constant reminder of his imprisonment. Ten percent. That's all the power he had left. Ten percent of what he'd once been.
It would have to be enough.
The village emerged from the blizzard like a corpse half-buried in snow. Burned-out husks of buildings. Frozen corpses, preserved by the cold. A graveyard that no one had bothered to maintain.
That's where he found her.
A small figure, collapsed by a freshly-dug grave. At first glance, she might have looked like any other child—until you noticed the brown fur covering her body, the distinctly serpentine quality to her features. A Lamia variant, but not like any he'd seen in his eight thousand years. The fur was unusual. The species classification eluded even his vast knowledge.
Rare. Persecuted.
Alone.
Vash knelt beside her, his white hair falling forward as he leaned down. His fingers—warm despite the cold, a remnant of divine power—brushed her neck. There, a pulse. Faint but steady.
"You look a bit rough, kiddo," he murmured, those soft golden eyes filled with something like compassion. "Let's get you warmed up."
He lifted her easily, cradling her small body against his chest. Even unconscious, even half-frozen, there was something about her. A resonance. A potential that made the air around her shimmer in ways only he could see.
Interesting, he thought, carrying her toward the least damaged building. Very interesting indeed.
The smell of cooking food pulled Candy from the darkness.
Her eyes fluttered open—soft green meeting an unfamiliar ceiling. Unfamiliar bed. The scent of stew—actual meat stew—made her stomach clench with hunger so intense it hurt.
"Hey, kiddo. You're finally awake."
She turned her head. A man sat by a fire, stirring a pot. White hair caught the firelight, making it glow like a halo. When he looked at her, his eyes were the color of honey in sunlight—soft and golden and somehow ancient.
He looked... ordinary, in a way. Tired. Human. Nothing like the monsters from her nightmares.
"Seeing this town look like a mess, you had a rough time here, didn't you?"
The sympathy in his voice made something crack in her chest. "DON'T CALL ME KI—"
Her stomach growled so loudly it echoed in the small room.
The man burst out laughing. It wasn't cruel laughter. It was warm, genuine, his golden eyes crinkling at the corners. "My apologies, kiddo. Here, have some food. My name is Vash. Vash Yochi. What's yours?"
Candy's cheeks burned beneath her brown fur. "Thank you. Name's Candy..." She hesitated, her green eyes darting away. "Candy Simons."
"You're welcome, Candy." He handed her a bowl. The warmth of it against her fur-covered hands felt like a miracle. "I left you a fresh change of clothes over there."
He pointed to the bed beside her. Clean clothes. Actual clean clothes that weren't torn or bloodstained or crusted with months of grime.
"I wish I could make some hot water," Candy said quietly, staring at the bowl. "But it would take too long, you know?"
"Can't you use magic for that?"
She almost laughed. "Magic is an urban legend. Only those with high power or god-like beings can use it."
Vash tilted his head, white hair shifting across his shoulders. "Well, kiddo, in this age, magic is everywhere."
"I did say to stop calling me kiddo." She glared at him with those soft green eyes, but there was no real heat in it. "But what do you mean magic is everywhere?"
Vash leaned back, those golden eyes growing distant. "Just as I said. Magic is in the air you breathe, the food you eat, the water you drink. Knowing enough about magic can make you accomplish things most people will never accomplish, even if their entire life has passed on."
"How childish can you be?"
"Not as childish as you, apparently."
Candy's anger flared—genuine this time. She glanced at the dying fire to calm herself, her fur bristling slightly. "The fire's dying out. Let's put more wood in it."
She moved to stand, but Vash raised a hand. He snapped his fingers.
The dying embers exploded into roaring flames.
Candy froze, her green eyes wide. "How did you do that? I didn't even see you move..."
"Magic, my dear friend. Magic." Vash smiled, but it didn't reach his golden eyes. There was something sad there, something lost. "Now that you've seen my magic, let's get you some hot water, shall we?"
"Yes..." Candy's fur-covered hands trembled. "Are you... are you a noble?"
The fear in her voice made Vash's smile fade entirely. He studied her with those ancient golden eyes, seeing past the fur and scales to the frightened child beneath. "No. Most would laugh at me for telling the truth."
"What do you mean?"
Vash's expression grew distant, haunted. His white hair seemed to glow in the firelight. "I'm a fallen god. And I wish to bring forth a new generation of godslayers."
Silence.
Then Candy started laughing. Hysterical, disbelieving laughter that bordered on tears, her green eyes squeezed shut. "But gods haven't existed in years! I'm sorry, but I don't believe you. I can see you being a sage or a wizard, maybe a saint, but not a god!"
"I have no need to show power to a child who shows no interest in such trivial matters."
"I'm THIRTEEN!" Candy shouted, her fur standing on end with indignation. "Stop calling me a kid!"
"..."
"What?"
Those golden eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her breath catch. "I'm over eight thousand years old."
Candy's laughter died. Her green eyes went wide. "There's no way you can be that old..."
"If you don't believe me, that's fine. I don't intend to make a fool of myself." Vash stood, brushing off his ragged cloak. His white hair fell to his shoulders like a waterfall of moonlight. "Let's get you that hot water, shall we?"
"...Okay."
The bathtub was old, chipped porcelain that had somehow survived the destruction. Vash stood before it, hands extended. In the dim light, his white hair almost seemed to glow, and his golden eyes reflected the magic he was about to work.
Candy watched, expecting... what? Incantations? A staff? Some elaborate ritual?
Instead, Vash simply willed it.
Water materialized from nothing—from the air itself—steaming hot and pure. It poured into the tub like a waterfall made of light and heat, filling the space with the most beautiful thing Candy had seen in months: the promise of warmth.
How is he doing this? She stared at him, at his white hair and golden eyes and the casual way he bent reality to his will. No staff. No incantation. Just... will. What are you, Vash?
Wait.
He said his name was Vash, right? And he claimed to be over eight thousand years old...
The memory hit her like lightning: a children's storybook her mother used to read. Tales of ancient heroes. The Immortal King who fought gods and won. The illustrations had shown a figure with flowing white hair and eyes like captured sunlight.
His name had been Vash.
"Hey, Vash?"
"Yes?" Those golden eyes turned to her, patient and kind.
"What was your last name again?"
"Yochi. Vash Yochi is my name. Don't wear it out, kiddo."
Rage symbols practically appeared over Candy's head, her fur bristling. "I SAID TO STOP CALLING ME KIDDO!"
She swung.
Her fur-covered fist connected with his skull with a satisfying thunk.
Vash gasped, grabbing his head, white hair falling into his face. "Ow! What the—" He stared at her, those golden eyes wide with sudden realization. "Do you know what anti-magic is?"
"What's anti-magic?"
"Nothing, kiddo."
THUNK.
Candy hit him again, harder this time.
"Okay, okay!" Vash retreated, still clutching his head, white hair disheveled. "Your clothes are in the corner. I'll be outside."
He closed the door, leaving Candy alone with her confusion and the blessed warmth of hot water.
Outside, Vash leaned against the wall, rubbing the spots where she'd hit him. His golden eyes gleamed with interest in the darkness.
"That girl has insane strength for her age," he muttered. "But how does she have anti-magic abilities? A furry snake variant... I've never seen one like her before. Wait... could she be..."
His golden eyes widened as understanding dawned.
"If she has anti-magic capabilities at this level, naturally occurring... the potential..." He ran a hand through his white hair. "I can use her as a potential candidate. No—more than that. She could be exactly what I need."
His senses suddenly flared. Multiple presences, approaching fast. Professionals, by the feel of them. Bounty hunters or assassins.
Vash sighed, his golden eyes hardening. "They're already here. Fast, I'll give them that."
He raised a hand. Invisible barriers sprang up around the house, layered and complex—the kind of magic that would have taken a team of mages hours to construct. He did it in seconds.
"Let's get this over with quickly. I'd like to sleep."
An hour later
Candy emerged from the bathroom wearing the clean clothes, her brown fur clean and fluffed for the first time in months. Her soft green eyes were brighter now, more alert. For the first time since the attack, she felt almost like herself.
"Um, that was a nice bath. Thank you for the hot water." Her fur-covered cheeks flushed slightly.
"No problem there, kid—I mean, Candy." Vash smiled, his golden eyes warm.
"So you don't want to be hit again?"
"Candy, you can stop being so defensive. You're still thirteen. You're still young."
"I'm two years away from being an adult, so I'll act accordingly." She crossed her arms, her green eyes defiant.
"Kids these days never understand what it means to be an adult..." Vash put his hand over his face in exasperation, white hair falling through his fingers.
He stood and walked toward her, hand raised to pat her head—a simple gesture of comfort.
Candy flinched backward, her fur standing on end, green eyes wide with sudden fear.
Vash froze, his golden eyes filling with understanding. "What's wrong? I'm just going to give you a head pat..."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—" Her voice cracked. Tears welled in those soft green eyes. "It's just that—"
Vash moved before she could finish, pulling her into a hug. She stiffened, startled, then began to shake. Her fur was soft against his worn clothes, and he could feel her small body trembling.
"It's okay now," he said softly, his white hair falling around them like a curtain, shielding her from the world.
The dam broke. Candy sobbed into his chest, all the grief and terror and loneliness pouring out in broken gasps. Her fur grew damp with tears.
"I know what it's like to lose everything you know and love," Vash murmured, his golden eyes distant with old pain. "Friends. Family. I saw the graves. I'm sorry for your loss. But it's alright now. You're not alone anymore."
Candy's sobs gradually quieted. Her breathing slowed. Within minutes, she was asleep in his arms, exhausted beyond measure, her soft green eyes closed, her brown fur still damp from her tears.
"Huh. She passed out." Vash chuckled softly, looking down at the small furry snake girl in his arms.
A voice emerged from the shadows. "Will she be alright, sir?"
"She just fell asleep, Monte. Probably too tired to keep going." Vash adjusted his grip on the sleeping girl, careful not to disturb her. "Please get a soft bed from the void."
"Shall I grab the soft blankets as well, sir?"
"Yes, Monte. That would be nice. Thank you."
The bed materialized from nowhere—a skill that would have made most mages weep with envy. Vash laid Candy down gently, tucking the blankets around her small, fur-covered form. In sleep, with her soft green eyes closed and her face peaceful, she looked even younger than thirteen.
As he turned to leave, small fur-covered fingers wrapped around his wrist.
"Mother," Candy mumbled in her sleep, holding on tight.
Vash looked down at her with those ancient golden eyes. Such a small thing. So much loss already. And yet—he could see it now, the potential sleeping within her. Something rare. Something powerful.
Something that could change everything.
"Kid misses her mother. Too bad I can't use Resurrection yet. I still need to get my power back for all that jazz."
"I heard 'jazz,' sir. Would you like soft music?"
"Monte... what the fuck, man."
"..."
"Go back to the shadows. I'll call you later."
"Yes, sir." The shadow butler vanished.
Vash carefully extracted his wrist and walked downstairs. He settled into the chair by the fire, white hair spilling over his shoulders, golden eyes reflecting the dancing flames. Exhaustion settled into his bones—the kind that came from carrying eight thousand years of memory.
"I'm sleeping in the chair tonight, Monte. Keep an eye out for anything suspicious. Keep it low-key. And for my sake, no jazz music. We don't need a repeat of last time."
A memory flashed: Monte on a killing spree, hard rock blasting in the background, blood everywhere, and Vash standing in the middle of it all with his white hair stained red and his golden eyes cold as winter.
"I make no promises, sir."
"You know what? I'm not going to argue with you on that."
Night fell over the ruins.
In the distance, two wolf-like figures sparred in the snow. Weapons clashed, sending sparks flying into the darkness. Training never stopped, even in exile.
Midnight found a different man in a different place. Isaac pushed open the door to Bob's Tiki Bar, exhaustion written in every line of his face.
"Well, Isaac." Bob the bartender—half-capybara, impossibly fluffy—slid a paper across the bar. "The Palace has another quest for you."
"Damn it all. Can't I get some sleep? Bob, is it possible to deny just this once?"
"Sorry, that's the Palace's job to decide, not mine."
Isaac rubbed his eyes. "Bob, is it that time again? You're getting fluffy."
"I'm half-capybara. What do you expect?"
"I don't know... the only thing I know is that you run a damn tiki bar."
Bob shrugged, his capybara features somehow managing to look sympathetic.
The night went on. Drinks were poured. Quests were reluctantly accepted.
Far above, in realms beyond mortal comprehension, the Supreme Deity rose from his throne. He walked the lonely halls of his castle to a balcony that overlooked creation itself.
Stars wheeled overhead. Galaxies spun in the darkness. Time flowed like a river, and he stood outside it all.
When he opened his eyes, they were the same soft golden color as his brother's—the brother he'd condemned to exile. The brother he was counting on to save them all.
"Well, brother," the deity murmured to the void. "It's time to start, don't you think?"
His laughter echoed across dimensions—not cruel, but ancient. Knowing. The laughter of someone who had set pieces in motion millennia ago and was only now watching them fall into place.
Morning came.
The sun rose over the snow-buried village, painting the world in shades of gold and pink. In a small house that should have been empty, a fallen god with white hair and golden eyes sat watching the dawn. Upstairs, a furry snake girl with brown fur and soft green eyes slept peacefully for the first time in months.
Neither knew that their meeting had been written in the stars long before either of them was born.
A new journey had begun.
And somewhere in the fabric of reality itself, the first godslayer candidate in eight thousand years had finally been found.