XXXX years ago
She couldn't quite remember when it all began, but her earliest memories were filled with two things — gnawing hunger and overwhelming hatred. A deep, sickening emotion that ate away at her mind and body, leaving her sleepless and restless.
At just ten years old, she survived by scavenging scraps of food and keeping out of sight — always running, always hiding, especially from men.
Back then, there was no kingdom, no royal family, no law or order. The world was chaos — every race warring in the name of their beliefs, each trying to force their faith onto others. Humans, weak and numerous, became prime targets for such fanaticism.
They were used as weapons… as tools… as playthings.
She hated remembering those days.
Human life was worth less than garbage. A crust of bread could spark bloodshed, and every day the streets overflowed with corpses.
She remembered little of that miserable time — and perhaps it was a mercy. Still, one thought she could never forget was how she once considered eating human flesh.
She wasn't alone in that thought. Many had already crossed that line. That's why she always hid, why she never trusted anyone. You could never be sure whether the person beside you saw you as a companion — or as food.
Those days revealed the true darkness buried in the heart of humanity.
Husbands slaughtered their families.
Mothers abandoned their children.
Children were enslaved, devoured, or used to satisfy twisted desires.
She had seen it all. And even though she longed to die — even though every night hunger clawed at her insides — she still woke up each morning to fight through another day.
She often thought of ending it all.
Why must I suffer so much?
She had asked herself that question more times than she could count.
Yet, she never acted on those thoughts. She never harmed herself. Why, she couldn't say. Maybe she thought dying now would make all her suffering meaningless. Maybe it was just stubbornness — the refusal to let this rotten world win.
Whatever the reason, none of it changed the truth — she was weak, starving, and consumed by hate.
In short, she was nothing special.
Because in that world, every human was the same — hungry, hateful, and helpless.
---
XXXX years ago
She no longer remembered how much time had passed in that nightmare. All she knew was that she had changed. She could now use a strange energy — something that made her stronger, sharper, faster.
Her body grew taller, her figure fuller. But that only made things worse. She could see it — the way others looked at her had changed. Before, they barely noticed her. Now, their gazes lingered, hungry and vile.
Her rags could no longer hide her developing body.
'Maybe I'll be raped and eaten soon,' she thought.
'Will it hurt?' was her only concern.
Life or death didn't matter anymore. Purity, morality — those were luxuries of a different world. She lived only because she hadn't yet found a painless way to die.
And then — at the edge of despair — she met her.
---
Crunch.
"What an untalented, pitiful child," said a soft, melodic voice. "You'll do. Tell me, little one… do you want to become a witch?"
That moment was clearer in her mind than anything else. Snow fell endlessly, and she was using that strange energy to shield herself from the freezing cold. She hated winter — it was a miracle she had survived it at all.
The voice was beautiful, too pure for such a desolate place.
The soft sound of footsteps on snow drew nearer — until she saw her.
A girl — or at least, someone who looked like one. Too beautiful to be real. Words could never capture her radiance.
Though the woman seemed younger than her, she instinctively knew:
This was no human. This was a being above all others.
She didn't run or fight. Something told her this woman meant no harm.
"W–what is… a witch?" she croaked, her voice brittle from disuse.
The woman smiled gently.
"A witch is one who holds her own destiny in her hands. But beware — this path leads to deep regret."
The girl didn't understand those words. She didn't care. Only one word mattered.
Power.
"I'll be strong if I follow you?" she rasped, coughing between words.
The woman's eyes softened with pity — a look the girl didn't understand.
"You will."
"Will I… be able to eat as much as I want?"
"You will."
"I see… Then… please make me a witch."
A faint, melancholic smile crossed the woman's lips.
"As you wish. Follow me, child."
As the girl obeyed, the woman asked softly without turning back,
"Do you have a name?"
"A name?"
What use was a name to someone who had no one to call her by it?
"Then let me give you one. Since you'll be a witch… how about Medea? A powerful witch from another world once bore that name."
"Medea…" she repeated slowly. "All right."
And that
day, a witch was born — the Witch of the East, master of time itself.
That day…
Medea East Asmodeus was born.