The Book of Varkonian History

“Welcome,” Majuro’s voice echoed through the vast, dimly lit chamber. “To the Torojima Family’s Ancient Library of Magical Books!”

Shinzo blinked, dazed and confused. “Huh? Majuro!? Thank God! You teleported us here just in time!”

Majuro’s brows furrowed. “Shinzo, you idiot! I told you both to go to Antarctica! Why are you here?!”

“Wait…” Shinzo’s eyes widened. “You didn’t teleport us here?”

“No. Why would I—”

Majuro froze mid-sentence, his gaze snapping to Hiroshi’s limp body lying across the stone floor. Blood trailed down the torn remains of his tunic, and frost crept from a gaping wound in his chest.

Majuro’s expression darkened. “Oh no… what happened to him?”

“He fought Akuma,” Shinzo said quickly, panic rising in his voice. “And he won — barely. But his chest— it’s got a hole, probably from Akuma’s final attack. His body’s freezing from the inside out. Akuma’s ice powers… they didn’t fade even after he died. His blood, his veins, his heart — they’re all freezing solid.”

Majuro’s eyes widened as realization struck him. “...Static Magic.”

Shinzo frowned. “I’m sorry— what?”

“It’s called Static Magic,” Majuro muttered, kneeling beside Hiroshi. “Even after Akuma’s death, fragments of his power remain. They’ll stay inside Hiroshi until he dies as well. Hurry! Help me lift him.”

Together, they lifted Hiroshi — Majuro supporting his upper body while Shinzo held his legs — and carried him to an ancient wooden table.

“Lay him down, gently.” Majuro ordered, his tone sharp with urgency. “Now, go to the room down the hall. You’ll find a shelf of old medicines. Bring everything you can.” He said as he lifted Hiroshi's shirt up to see the wound clearly.

“Got it!” Shinzo sprinted off.

Inside the adjoining room, shelves of relics and ingredients lined the walls. His eyes darted over the contents until he spotted the items: a few leaves of Holy Basil (Tulsi /Ocimum tenuiflorum), a peat block, a piece of charcoal, four raspberries, and a vial of glowing blue liquid, radiating heat. Without hesitation, he gathered them and raced back.

Majuro was already examining the icy wound, his fingers trembling slightly. “Goodness gracious… I’ve never seen static magic this potent before.”

“Here,” Shinzo panted, handing him the items. “This was everything I found.”

Majuro nodded. “Perfect. Just enough.”

He pulled open a nearby drawer, retrieving a stone mortar and pestle. “Five basil leaves, a small piece of peat, one charcoal chunk, and three raspberries,” he murmured as he ate one raspberry, and tossed all the items in with practiced precision.

The pestle moved in tight circles, grinding the mixture into a thick green paste.

“Now,” he said, glancing toward the vial, “for the real magic.”

He uncorked it. Instantly, a wave of scorching heat burst into the air. Shinzo flinched, sweat forming on his brow. Majuro poured the piping-hot blue liquid into the paste. The mixture hissed and bubbled, shifting from green to bright blue, releasing a plume of shimmering vapor.

Lifting the mortar, Majuro gently opened Hiroshi’s mouth, pouring the concoction down his throat.

Shinzo’s jaw dropped. “Whoa—what was that stuff?! It was boiling! That's gonna kill him!”

Majuro didn’t look up. “That,” he said calmly, “was blue lava — from the Kawah Ijen volcano in Indonesia. It’s imbued with rare magical heat.”

Shinzo’s eyes nearly popped. “You made Hiroshi drink lava?!”

“Stop complaining and look.” Majuro said.

Hiroshi’s chest wound began to glow, the frost melting away. Before their eyes, the torn flesh knit itself back together, skin sealing as though time itself reversed.

Shinzo stepped back, stunned. “Wha—how did that happen?!”

Majuro smirked faintly. “What’s Hiroshi’s primary element?”

“Uh… fire?” Shinzo said with a sheepish chuckle.

“Exactly. Fire strengthens fire. His body can absorb intense heat — even magma — to regenerate and grow stronger. Lava was our best option.” Majuro explained, calmly.

“Oh,” Shinzo murmured, eyes widening with awe. “That’s… actually brilliant.”

As Majuro turned to check Hiroshi’s pulse, something on Hiroshi’s left hand caught his eye — a glowing red mark, shaped like a sideways 'S' with two small dots nestled within each curve.

Majuro’s expression darkened again. “Wait… is that what I think it is?”

Shinzo leaned in. “What’s what?”

Majuro pointed to the mark. Shinzo’s eyes followed. “What is that thing?” He asked.

“It’s something I’ve only heard of in old stories,” Majuro whispered. “A legend my father once told me about Hiroshi… It’s the Sugokyo Mark.”

“The… Sugokyo Mark?” Shinzo asked.

“Yes.” Majuro’s tone dropped to reverence. “The mark of the Beast Gods Trio.”

Shinzo frowned. “The what?”

Majuro sighed, then began to explain.

“There are three Beast Gods — Fenrir, Phoenix, and Griffin.

Fenrir, the great wolf god, granted Hiroshi lightning speed, heightened reflexes, and transformation. The S-shaped line represents him.

Phoenix, the eternal bird of flame, gave Hiroshi his power of fire and regeneration. The first dot in the upper curve stands for her.

And Griffin, the mighty lion-eagle, bestowed him with the power of rock-solid body and the power of super jumps. The second dot marks his blessing.”

Shinzo’s eyes widened with realization. “So that’s what this is… The combined mark of the three.”

Majuro nodded slowly. “Exactly. The Sugokyo Mark — the gift of the Beast Gods Trio.”

He exhaled, finally relaxing. “Let him rest now.”

As Majuro turned to leave, Shinzo’s voice stopped him. “Wait! Weren’t you here searching for the Cube’s history? Did you find anything?”

Majuro paused at the doorway. “Do you think I’ve been fooling around here all this time?”

Shinzo fell silent.

Majuro looked back, his eyes glinting under the dim blue light. “Follow me.”

Shinzo followed Majuro down a narrow corridor, the air thick with dust and faint traces of mana. The blue torches flickered along the stone walls, casting shifting shadows that moved like whispers.

They stepped into a round chamber. At its center stood a single black lectern, polished and ancient, with faint golden sigils glowing along its edges. Resting beside it, on a marble pedestal, was the Yellow Portal Cube, pulsing softly with rhythmic light — alive, like a sleeping heart.

Against the far wall stood one solitary bookshelf. Its surface was aged, its shelves lined with dozens of ancient books, each bound in a different color — crimson, violet, emerald, cobalt — and carved with Japanese inscriptions in gold. The aura inside the room was heavy, almost sacred.

Majuro turned toward Shinzo, his tone solemn.

“This is the Torojima Family’s Room of Archives. Every book here holds ancient power. Each one is so important that even touching them is forbidden to normal humans.”

He paused, then smirked faintly. “But for you… I’ll make an exception.”

Shinzo grinned. “Heh. Lucky me.”

Majuro crossed his arms. “We’re looking for a book titled Varkonian. It’ll have its name engraved in gold — in Japanese.”

Shinzo froze. “Uh… you’re joking, right? I don’t know Japanese. I was born in America.”

Majuro stared at him for a long moment — expressionless, eyes half-lidded in disbelief.

“…Of course you don’t.” He sighed. “Just stay there. And don’t touch anything.”

Shinzo gave a mock salute. “Yes, sir!”

Majuro walked toward the towering bookshelf, his fingers hovering a few inches from the spines. Each tome seemed to hum softly, reacting to his presence. A faint breeze stirred, though no wind existed in the sealed room.

“Come on,” he muttered, scanning the titles. “Where are you hiding…”

Then his eyes caught it — a green-covered book, its gold lettering faintly shimmering:

ヴァルコニアン

Majuro’s expression sharpened. “Found it.”

He reached out and gripped the book’s spine — but the instant he pulled, his arms strained.

“Tch— it’s… heavy!”

Shinzo blinked. “What? That thin little book? You’re kidding me.”

“Quiet.” Majuro gritted his teeth, mustering his energy. “Every letter in this book is written with magic itself, not ink. Only strong mages can lift it easily.”

With effort, he finally freed it from the shelf and set it on the lectern. The impact sent a small pulse through the room, making the nearby torches flicker.

Shinzo chuckled. “Man, you really need to hit the gym.”

Majuro shot him a flat look. “I could turn you into a toad for that.”

“Okay, okay! Just read already,” Shinzo said, hands raised.

Majuro flipped the ancient cover open. The pages glowed faintly blue, filled with runic script that shifted and shimmered as if alive. Dust swirled in the air, drawn toward the book’s energy. He turned carefully until he reached a specific page, marked with a faint burn pattern shaped like a cube.

“This is the one,” Majuro murmured. “The page about the Cube’s origin. It holds important historical informati—”

Before he could finish, a tiny mechanical insect-like drone zipped past his ear with a metallic buzz. It hovered near the ceiling, its lens flashing red, and then—

Click!

it clicked as it took a picture of them.

Majuro stiffened. “What was that?!”

Shinzo answered while he himself was clueless. “Just… uh, it seemed like a bug. Just read, hurry up!”

Majuro narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. “That didn’t sound like a normal bug…”

The drone-bug vanished into a crack in the wall. The faint hum it left behind faded slowly, leaving only the echo of the room’s magic.

Majuro exhaled, turning his focus back to the glowing pages. “Fine. Let me read it.”

Shinzo grinned. “Alright!”

Majuro looked at the open page and took a deep sigh. The symbols began to shimmer brighter, reacting to his touch. The Cube nearby pulsed in sync, humming softly.

Majuro’s fingers hovered over the ancient tome, the golden carvings catching the dim glow of the Yellow Portal Cube beside them. Dust motes shimmered in the air like faint spirits, swirling lazily in the shafts of light cutting through the room. He inhaled deeply, as though the air itself carried the weight of forgotten centuries.

“Sure…” he murmured, voice low and even. His fingertips brushed the brittle page, and he began to read aloud.

“Year 2177. We encountered a person from an extraterrestrial planet called ‘Varkor’—a planet neither known by humans nor by mages. That person came to Earth for a reason still unknown. Here, he married a human woman in Hong Kong. The woman, unaware of her husband’s true nature, loved him deeply.”

Majuro’s tone was calm, but the faint flicker in his eyes betrayed a quiet unease. Shinzo, standing beside him, leaned in with cautious curiosity. The hum of the Portal Cube pulsed softly in rhythm with Majuro’s voice, almost as if it were listening too.

“The woman,” Majuro continued, “worshipped the Beast Gods Trio—Fenrir, Phoenix, and Griffin. One day, while she was pregnant and praying to them in a temple, the gods emerged from their statues, revealing their true forms. She bowed deeply, trembling in reverence. Pleased by her devotion, they granted her blessings—some for her, and some for the unborn child.”

Majuro’s eyes narrowed slightly, the reflection of the golden ink burning faintly in his irises.

“She would never fall sick, nor would she ever age,” he read. “Her child would share her gifts—stronger than any ordinary human, bearing superhuman might. The gods promised him seven special powers, fragments of their own essence. Phoenix gave him the ability to control and channel flames and power to regenerate any part of his body. Fenrir granted him lightning fast speed, superhuman fast reflexes, and a ferocious transformation. Griffin gave him an indestructible rock-solid body and the ability to jump beyond human limits.”

The faint sound of the lectern creaked as Shinzo shifted his stance. He stared down at the book as if it were a window into another time. His brow furrowed slightly, lips parting but no words forming.

Majuro continued, “The gods also gave the woman two sacred objects: the Surokaya Pendant and the Portal Cube. The pendant would grant heat and intensify her child’s flames. The cube would allow them to travel freely between any place they desired. Before going back, Fenrir plucked out his upper canines. His touch converted the teeth into extraordinary daggers—The Fenrir Daggers, that would help him in the distant future. the gods told her that they all will bestow the child with a Sugokyo Mark, a symbol of them, when he was ready to ascend to the next stage of his powers. But there was a condition—both the pendant and the cube would remain dormant until the moment of the child’s birth.”

Majuro paused. His gaze softened for a brief instant before hardening again. “After receiving these blessings, the gods returned to their statues. The woman rejoiced, unaware that her husband had overheard the entire exchange.”

Shinzo’s breath caught. His eyes flickered toward Majuro, sensing where the tale was going. The air grew heavier.

“The Varkonian man’s heart,” Majuro said quietly, “was consumed by greed. One night, he stole the Portal Cube, leaving the pendant and fled back to Varkor in a spacecraft, leaving behind his wife and unborn child. From there, he began preparing an invasion.”

Majuro turned the page, the paper whispering like old ash. His voice deepened.

“Then, on September 17th, 2178, the woman gave birth to a boy—Hiroshi Soraya. As the child entered the world, the Surokaya Pendant blazed with a light like a newborn star. But the joy of his birth was short-lived. A deafening explosion shook the Earth. Its epicenter—Tokyo.”

He swallowed hard. Shinzo grasped the edge of the lectern tightly, memories of the destruction caused by Varkonians flashing before his eyes.

“An intergalactic rift tore open the skies. From it emerged vast, triangular Varkonian ships—black as night, streaked with crimson light. Their cannons descended like iron monoliths, and then… the lasers rained.”

The faint glow of the yellow portal cube flickered, pulsing faster as if mirroring the chaos in Majuro’s voice.

“In less than thirty minutes,” he continued grimly, “Tokyo was erased. The entire population… gone. Children wept in the streets, their cries echoing through the ruins—until the Varkonian scouts silenced them. Not a soul was spared. The old, the young, the newborns… all were turned to dust.”

Majuro’s voice faltered, just slightly. He exhaled, regaining control, and continued in an even tone.

“In the aftermath, the Varkonians created a new world order. Each country was placed under the control of Primary Tyrants—superior Varkonians with strength beyond measure, though no special powers. There were one hundred and ninety-five of them, ruling every corner of the Earth.”

Shinzo’s jaw tightened. He felt something deep inside him stir—anger, pity, perhaps disbelief. He wasn’t sure.

“Hiroshi and his mother began to live in a village far away from the modern world, hidden in deep forests. And when Hiroshi was two,” Majuro went on, his voice low and deliberate, “the villagers came to know that the woman was the wife of a Varkonian. Out of rage, the villagers chased her with a murderous intent. She ran, taking Hiroshi with her. After a while, she knew that she would not be able to outrun the villagers. So, she threw Hiroshi into a river to save his life as her final act of love. She ran off to the deeper forests, but the villagers managed to catch up to her, doing unimaginable and inhumane things with her.”

A long silence lingered. Even the Cube seemed to dim in respect.

“By fate’s design,” Majuro said softly, “the boy was found floating in the river by Bajuro Torojima—a man of the Torojima family. He raised and trained Hiroshi under his wing, teaching him the ways of battle. By the time Hiroshi was eighteen, he had slain all one hundred and ninety-five Tyrants. His name became both legend and terror among the Varkonians.”

Majuro turned another page. The next words were darker still.

“But balance never lasts. A new system emerged—seven new Tyrants, each stronger and gifted with supernatural powers, ruling not countries but continents. And during a mission, Hiroshi was captured… and sealed away. But his fate was to return after two hundred years.”

Majuro’s eyes lingered on the page. His voice softened to a murmur. “Before his death, Bajuro Torojima secured one of the Blaze Embers—a relic of great power. The records say that if Hiroshi ever returned, the Torojimas were to deliver the Ember to him and guide him on his path toward Earth’s freedom. If he were to unlock his Sugokyo mark—a red, horizontal ‘S’-shaped mark—they were to help him awaken his full potential. And in order to awaken his true powers, He must—”

Majuro froze mid-sentence. His pupils dilated slightly, and a deep frown creased his face.

His voice fell to a whisper. “Oh no…”

Shinzo blinked, confused. Majuro showed him the next page.

The parchment was shredded. The script ended abruptly—sentences torn apart mid-ink, fragments of gold-leaf lettering glinting where the page had been violently ripped away.

Shinzo’s eyes widened. “The pages…” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Majuro’s expression hardened. He traced the torn edge with his thumb, eyes narrowing as though he could still see the words that once existed there. His jaw clenched, the faint muscles in his temple twitching.

“The pages are gone,” he said quietly, voice low but strained.

The two stood there in silence, the weight of the missing words hanging over them like a curse. The Cube’s hum deepened, its glow dimming as if acknowledging the gravity of what was lost.

Majuro’s gaze lingered on the ruin of the page, then lifted to meet Shinzo’s uncertain stare. His expression was calm—too calm—but the faint tremor in his hand told a different story.

The knowledge they needed had been stolen. And neither of them yet knew… by whom.

Majuro took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on the ancient tome resting between them. The flickering lantern light danced across his face, casting long shadows that deepened the creases of thought and tension etched upon it.

Majuro closed the tome, releasing a swirl of golden particles.

Shinzo, still processing what he had just heard, broke the silence. “Leaving that aside,” he murmured, hesitating, “this book states that… Hiroshi… is a Varkonian?”

Majuro’s gaze didn’t waver from the open pages. “Well…” he said quietly, his voice calm yet heavy, “not exactly a Varkonian. He’s half-human… and half-Varkonian.”

Shinzo blinked, disbelief flashing in his eyes. His lips parted as he stumbled over his words. “Wait… the cube… the pendant… the arrival of the Varkonians… it’s all linked together! And the common link is—”

“Hiroshi...” Majuro finished for him, his tone grave. “Exactly.”

Shinzo’s voice trembled. “So… does this mean that… it’s Hiroshi who caused all this?!”

Majuro’s sharp glare silenced him instantly. “Don’t be a fool!” he snapped. “Hiroshi wasn’t even born when the Beast Gods gave their boons. Those blessings were meant for the protection and betterment of humanity. But that damned Varkonian—” his fist tightened over the book, knuckles white “—he stole Hiroshi’s destiny and twisted it into a curse.”

Shinzo lowered his eyes, shame and confusion battling within him. “Oh…” he muttered under his breath.

Majuro leaned forward, his tone softening but his expression deadly serious. His piercing eyes met Shinzo’s. “Listen carefully. No matter what happens, Hiroshi must never know who he truly is. If he ever does… the consequences will be catastrophic. I am not exaggerating. Do you understand?”

Shinzo hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Yeah… I understand.”

Majuro exhaled slowly, tension easing from his shoulders. “Good.”

The silence that followed was heavy—filled with the faint crackle of the lantern’s flame.

Then, Shinzo spoke again, his brow furrowed in thought. “But, hey… Hiroshi had the Surokaya Pendant since the start, didn’t he? But we both ended up buying it from a local vendor in Antarctica…”

Majuro’s head jerked up. “What?!”

Shinzo nodded, puzzled. “Yeah… so… did Hiroshi ever lose his pendant?”

Majuro’s brows drew together. He stared at the floor, lost in thought. “I don’t know…” he admitted, his voice low.

Shinzo sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I guess we’ll have to wait until Hiroshi wakes up. Until then… there’ll be a lot of unanswered questions.”

Majuro looked up again, his expression once more grave and commanding. “During the questioning, I’ll be there with you. And don’t you dare reveal his identity in front of him. Not even by accident.”

Shinzo swallowed hard and nodded. “Okay. Deal.”

The two men sat in silence, the tension between them thick and unspoken. Outside, the wind howled against the walls, carrying with it the weight of the unknown.

To Be Continued…