A much lighter tone than the summary suggests. I've taken a few liberties with the exact timing of events, but just imagine that good ol' Raki is a week ahead of schedule due to events to-be-specified.

I still don't own Claymore.

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Papa

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Number 47 was the rank assigned to the weakest Claymore. Few advertised that number, and fewer still lived to gain rank. Those that did rarely rose much higher. This one likely never would receive a higher number, for many reasons.

Number 47 was beyond shocked, nearly dropping the weapon that gave Claymores their title. The young man, no, Raki, stood in front of her. At his elbow clung a young girl, eyes hidden. But that child's one word echoed through her ears.

"Papa."

When that one word came from her lips, she knew her world would never be the same again.

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