The ruined house groaned in the freezing wind.
Reo, Yua, and Doraemon stepped cautiously inside, the broken floorboards creaking beneath their weight. Dust hung heavy in the air like old memories refusing to die.
It smelled of regret.
It smelled of fear.
It smelled like a graveyard for forgotten dreams.
Yua's heart pounded painfully in her chest. Every corner, every shattered windowpane, every dark shadow whispered fragments of her old life. The life she thought she had buried forever.
But this place had preserved it.
Preserved her.
The worst parts.
The parts she tried to forget.
They reached what used to be the living room. The walls were cracked, blackened with mold. Children's drawings still clung desperately to the surfaces, colors faded into sadness.
And there, sitting on a rotted couch—
—was her.
Yua froze.
It was her.
But not her.
The girl looked barely human.
Her hair was stringy and tangled, her skin pale like paper soaked in water. Her clothes hung off her like rags. Her eyes—God, her eyes—were vast pits of sorrow, swirling endlessly.
When the creature smiled, it was like watching a corpse grin.
"Hello, me," the twisted Yua said in a voice that cracked like broken glass. "I've been waiting."
Reo stepped forward instinctively, shielding the real Yua.
The broken Yua tilted her head.
"You're protecting her?" she asked sweetly. "How cute. Shame it won't matter."
The room shifted.
Reality itself bent at the broken Yua's command. The walls oozed liquid shadows. The ceiling melted into a swirling night sky filled with screaming stars. The floor crumbled into an endless abyss below.
Reo cursed under his breath. "This isn't just a scar," he muttered. "It's a domain."
A deathscape crafted by the corrupted memories of Yua's past.
Here, the rules of the normal world didn't apply.
Here, her despair was law.
Doraemon yanked a device from his pouch—a Stabilizer Sphere—and hurled it into the center of the room. It detonated with a pulse of silver light, forcing the domain to flicker and crack, anchoring part of reality in place.
But it wouldn't last long.
The broken Yua rose from the couch.
"You abandoned me," she said softly, walking barefoot across the cracking floor. "You forgot all the pain. All the nights we cried. All the dreams we shattered."
The real Yua flinched.
Because deep down, she knew it was true.
She had survived by forgetting.
By cutting away the broken pieces.
And now, they had come to reclaim her.
---
A Fight Against Herself
Reo stepped forward.
"I'll handle it," he said, voice low.
But Yua grabbed his arm.
"No," she said, trembling but fierce. "This is my fight."
Reo hesitated—then nodded once and stepped back.
Yua squared her shoulders, forcing her body to stop shaking.
She looked into the hollow eyes of her broken self.
And she stepped forward.
"You're right," Yua said, voice steadying with every word. "I forgot you. I abandoned you. I hated you."
The broken Yua hissed, her mouth splitting unnaturally wide.
"But," Yua continued, "I'm not you anymore."
The broken version screamed—a sound like shattering mirrors—and lunged.
The two Yuas collided in a blinding flash of light.
Fists, claws, memories.
The broken Yua fought like a demon, every strike fueled by betrayal and grief. Her fingers tore at Yua's skin, her words stabbing deeper than any blade.
"You were weak!"
"You cried yourself to sleep!"
"You wanted to DIE!"
Yua stumbled, bloody, gasping.
The domain flickered wildly, the abyss yawning wider.
Reo gritted his teeth, hands itching to jump in. But he forced himself to stay back.
She had to win this herself.
Through the storm of blows, Yua remembered.
The nights she curled under her blanket, too afraid to move.
The days she walked halls full of laughter while feeling dead inside.
The times she had looked into the mirror and hated the girl she saw.
Tears burned her eyes.
Not from pain.
From forgiveness.
"I know," she whispered, catching the broken Yua's wrist.
The monster thrashed and screamed, trying to tear free.
"I know you suffered," Yua said, pulling the broken version close, looking into her own shattered soul. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I left you behind."
The domain shuddered.
The broken Yua froze.
For one heartbeat.
One fragile, trembling heartbeat.
And Yua—gritting her teeth, pouring every ounce of strength into her trembling body—hugged her broken self.
"I won't abandon you anymore," she whispered.
The broken girl let out a choked sob—
—and shattered into a thousand tiny fragments of golden light.
---
The First Fragment
The domain collapsed instantly.
The ruined house returned to normal—crumbling, abandoned, but real.
And in the center of the room, hovering where the broken Yua had stood, was a piece of shimmering crystal.
The first piece of the Broken Arsenal.
It pulsed with raw, forbidden power.
Reo stepped forward, carefully lifting the fragment. He could feel it—an ancient, heavy weight of potential—shifting against his skin.
"You did it," he said, looking at Yua.
Yua stood there, blood dripping from her fists, bruised and battered.
But standing taller than ever.
"No," she said, her voice like iron. "We did it."
Doraemon chirped in awe, scanning the fragment. "It's... it's a Memory Core," he said. "Encoded with all the skills, knowledge, and strength from your other selves."
Reo's eyes gleamed.
"One down," he said grimly. "Dozens more to go."
He tucked the fragment into a secure case on his belt.
Outside, the dawn began to rise—a weak, pale sun clawing its way over the broken horizon.
A small light.
But a light nonetheless.
Yua flexed her hand, feeling the strange, quiet strength stirring inside her now.
For the first time in a long, long time—
—they had won.
But the road ahead was long.
And the monsters still waiting for them would make this look like a gentle dream.
---