The screams echoed through the halls of the Witch Queen's domain.
For centuries, the witches had gathered to witness births—daughters, always daughters, each one adding to their immortal bloodline. The ritual was familiar, practiced, almost mundane in its repetition.
But tonight was different.
Tonight, the Witch Queen herself labored, and the very air seemed to tremble with wrongness.
"Push, Mother Queen! Push!" the eldest daughter cried, her hands glowing with healing magic as she supported the Queen through another contraction.
Around them, a dozen of the Queen's daughters moved with practiced efficiency—heated water, clean cloths, magical wards to ease the pain and protect against complications. They had done this countless times.
But the energy radiating from the Queen's womb made even the eldest daughters hesitate.
"Something's wrong," one of the midwife-daughters whispered, her hands glowing with diagnostic magic pressed against the Queen's swollen belly. "The mana signature is... immense. Far beyond anything I've ever sensed. And there's something else. Something..."
She trailed off, her face paling.
"Something dark."
"Silence!" the Witch Queen snarled through gritted teeth, her face contorted in pain. "Just—get the child—OUT!"
Another contraction. Another scream that shook the very foundations of the ancient chamber.
And then, finally, a cry.
Not the thin wail of a newborn daughter.
But a deeper, more resonant sound. Four-toned, as if multiple voices cried out at once.
The eldest midwife caught the child, and her hands nearly dropped him in shock.
"Mother Queen," she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. "It's... it's..."
"What?" the Witch Queen gasped, her ancient body trembling with exhaustion. "What is it?"
The midwife turned slowly, holding the infant up for all to see.
The chamber fell into stunned silence.
Four arms. Four eyes—all of them a striking light blue, the same ethereal shade as the Witch Queen's own eyes, all open and aware, tracking the movement of those around him with an intelligence no newborn should possess. Even his hair, what little of it crowned his small head, was pink—the unmistakable mark of their bloodline. Strange black markings covered his skin—clean, sharp lines forming intricate patterns across his tiny face and arms, pulsing faintly as if alive.
And between his legs—
"A son," the midwife whispered, her voice trembling. "You've birthed a son."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
For the first time in the entire recorded history of their bloodline—perhaps for the first time ever—the Witch Queen had given birth to a male child.
Unprecedented.
Impossible.
The other daughters stared in disbelief, some taking involuntary steps backward.
"That's... that's not possible," one whispered.
"We only birth daughters. Only daughters. It's been that way for—"
"For as long as our bloodline has existed," another finished, her voice hollow.
The Witch Queen stared at the child, her exhaustion forgotten in the face of this... anomaly.
"Give him to me," she commanded, her voice hoarse but brooking no argument.
The midwife hesitated for only a moment before carefully placing the infant in his mother's arms.
The Witch Queen looked down at him—at the child she had painstakingly brought into this world after months of carrying him, feeling his strange energy grow within her womb—and felt something she hadn't experienced in over five hundred years.
Fear.
In appearance, he was undeniably hers—pink hair, blue eyes, her son.
But those four arms. Those four eyes. Those black markings pulsing with otherworldly energy.
He was something more. Something other.
The child was silent now, all four eyes open and focused on her with an intensity that made her ancient blood run cold. His four tiny arms moved with disturbing coordination, reaching toward her face as if recognizing her.
But it was the energy radiating from him that truly unsettled her.
Mana, yes—vast reserves that seemed bottomless, deeper even than her own power accumulated over centuries. She could feel it pulsing through his tiny body like a raging ocean barely contained.
But beneath that, coiled like a serpent in the depths of his soul, was something else entirely.
Dark. Heavy. Oppressive.
Wrong.
"What is that energy?" one of the younger daughters whispered, her voice trembling as she stared at the newborn. "It feels... cursed. Tainted. Like nothing I've ever sensed before."
"It's not of this world," the eldest midwife said quietly, her experienced senses probing the strange energy. "I've studied forbidden magics, ancient curses, blood rituals lost to time. This is... other. Foreign. As if it came from beyond our reality itself."
The Witch Queen's fingers trembled as she traced one of the black markings on the infant's small face. The symbol pulsed under her touch, and she felt the alien energy respond—not hostile, but present. Watching. Waiting.
"What have I brought into this world?" she whispered, so quietly that none of her daughters could hear.
The other daughters murmured amongst themselves, their voices a mixture of awe and barely concealed terror.
"A son..."
"Four arms..."
"Four eyes..."
"Those markings..."
"That cursed energy..."
"Is he even human?"
"Could he be some kind of demon? A curse given flesh?"
The Witch Queen's eyes flashed dangerously, silencing them with a look that could have withered stone.
"He is my son," she said, her voice firm despite the uncertainty churning in her heart. "My blood. My heir. Whatever else he may be, that truth remains."
She pulled the infant closer, her ancient eyes studying his four-eyed gaze. Even now, minutes old, those eyes—her eyes, but doubled in that unnatural way—held a depth that unnerved her. As if something far older than this infant body was looking back at her.
She held him close, her ancient mind racing. A son. Her only son. The first male witch in their bloodline's entire history.
He would need a name. A strong name. A name worthy of... whatever he was meant to become.
She thought for a long moment, looking into those four light blue eyes—her eyes, reflected and doubled—and the name came to her.
"You will be called..." she paused, her voice carrying the weight of certainty, "Hyiel."
A name she crafted herself, combining syllables that felt right on her tongue, that spoke of hidden power and potential. Simple, yet powerful. His alone.
"Hyiel," she repeated, as if testing how the name sounded when spoken aloud. "My son."
The infant blinked slowly, all four eyes focusing on her face, and she wondered if some part of him—that ancient consciousness she could sense lurking beneath the surface—understood.
"Whatever you are," she murmured softly, so only he could hear, "I will raise you. I will teach you. And I will ensure you do not become the monster I fear you could be."
But even as she spoke the words, she wondered if it was already too late.
Hyiel's four eyes remained fixed on his mother's face.
And somewhere deep within that infant consciousness, something ancient stirred.
Far away, in a realm between worlds, something else stirred.
Zagred floated in his gaseous form, formless and patient. Centuries of planning. Centuries of waiting. Soon, he would execute his perfect scheme—open the gate to the underworld, speak the elves back into existence, claim the grimoire of despair.
All would fall into place like pieces on a board only he could see.
But tonight, for the first time in eons, he felt a ripple in the fabric of fate itself.
Something... unexpected.
His formless body coalesced slightly, red eyes manifesting in the darkness as he reached out with his senses, probing the disturbance.
There.
The Witch Queen's domain. A birth.
Zagred's interest was minimal at first—the Witch Queen had birthed countless daughters over the centuries. Why would this be any different?
Except...
His eyes widened.
A son. The Witch Queen bore a SON.
For the first time in her bloodline's history. Unprecedented.
And the energy radiating from the child—
What IS that?
Zagred's consciousness probed deeper, his ancient senses analyzing the newborn's aura.
Mana, yes—vast, bottomless reserves that rivaled the greatest archmages to ever live. The child's potential was staggering.
But there was something else. Something that made even Zagred pause.
Energy that doesn't belong to this world.
Foreign. Alien. As if it came from an entirely different reality.
It wasn't devil energy—Zagred would recognize that instantly. It wasn't curse magic of this world. It was... other.
And it was powerful.
Zagred's form rippled with interest.
A male witch with foreign energy and bottomless mana. Born in the same era I plan to execute my grand design.
He considered this for a long moment.
This could be... troublesome. If the child grows strong enough, if this foreign energy proves potent, he could become an obstacle.
Another pause.
Then, slowly, Zagred's laughter began.
Low at first, then building into a dark, manic cackle that echoed through the void between worlds.
"How interesting!" he howled, his voice dripping with malevolent amusement. "The wheels are turning! Unexpected variables are shaping the board!"
His laughter intensified, madness and delight woven together.
"A monster born into the mortal realm! Power from beyond this world! How delightful!"
He paused, his grin widening impossibly.
"Let the child grow. Let him think himself powerful. Let him believe he's something special."
His form began to dissipate, retreating into shadow.
"In the end, it matters not. Whether he's a human, a witch, a monster, or something else entirely..."
His final words echoed with absolute certainty, a promise of dark futures yet to unfold:
"All will be at my feet."
And with that, Zagred vanished, leaving only the echo of his laughter.
He didn't know what the child would become.
He didn't know about the power lying dormant.
He didn't know about Sukuna's memories, techniques, or cursed tools.
He would learn.
Later.
When it was far too late.
[End of Chapter 1: Birth of the Unprecedented]