"You look surprised, Jin."

  Her voice was low, smooth, unhurried—a whisper that somehow drowned out the distant screams, the crackling of burning wood, the chaos unfolding behind her.

  I couldn’t speak.

  She stood before me, colossal, terrifying, inhumanly perfect, yet still Reika. Or at least—some version of her.

  Towering at 25 meters (82 feet), she eclipsed everything. Even the tallest fortress towers barely reached her waist. The once-mighty shogunate army, a force that had withstood sieges and invasions for decades, was nothing but insects before her feet.

  And she didn’t even look at them.

  Her gaze remained only on me.

  She crouched slightly—not to lower herself, not to make this feel equal—but simply to examine me, as if I were an old relic she hadn’t expected to find again.

  "I almost thought you weren’t here."

  Her fingers twitched, and for a brief second, bck tendrils of energy flickered into existence, curling and writhing before vanishing again. Not needed. Not yet.

  "What are you thinking?" she asked.

  I finally swallowed, my throat aching with dryness. What was I thinking?

  I was thinking that she wasn’t supposed to be like this. That Reika had been brilliant, distant, but never cruel. That she had been my closest friend, and now she was standing over a battlefield like a living camity, so far beyond human that I wasn’t even sure if she could still feel anything at all.

  And worst of all—

  I was thinking that she looked beautiful doing it.

  "Reika," I finally forced out.

  Her lips curved, but not into a smile—more of an acknowledgment, a small hum of amusement.

  "You still say my name the same way."

  She straightened, her enormous form unfolding, casting an even darker shadow over the battlefield.

  "Let’s talk ter, Jin."

  And then—she moved.

  The first man to challenge her was a fool.

  A samurai, high-ranked by the looks of his armor, stood his ground even as his comrades fled. His hands trembled on his katana, but his stance remained firm. He had already made his choice.

  "Demon!" he bellowed. "I do not fear you!"

  Reika’s expression didn’t change.

  She tilted her head, studying him like he was something mildly interesting but ultimately beneath her notice.

  "That’s unfortunate," she murmured.

  And then she stepped forward.

  Her foot descended—not fast, not even forceful—just a simple step, deliberate and absolute.

  The samurai shed out, bde fshing in the firelight.

  A desperate, pointless attack.

  The steel bit into the delicate skin of her ankle—only for the bde to shatter on impact, pieces of the broken katana cttering uselessly against the ground.

  The samurai’s face froze in realization.

  Reika smiled.

  And then—she pressed down.

  It wasn’t even a stomp. Just a slow, patient shift of her weight.

  The samurai colpsed beneath her sandal, his armor groaning under the impossible force before giving way completely. A single wet crunch, and he was gone.

  She twisted her foot slightly, as if adjusting her bance.

  Not even looking down.

  Further ahead, another warrior tried something different.

  A stray archer, crouched in the wreckage of a toppled watchtower, his face smeared with blood and ash. He had no illusions of winning. No delusions of sying the goddess that had descended upon them.

  But he could still kill.

  His bow creaked as he pulled the string taut, eyes locked onto his target. Not her head—he wasn’t a fool.

  Her eye.

  A direct hit. If he was fast enough, precise enough, he could—

  "Oh?"

  His breath caught.

  She had already noticed him.

  And yet—she didn’t move.

  Didn’t need to.

  She simply raised her hand—and two bck tendrils flickered to life, twisting through the air like living shadows.

  The archer loosed his arrow—but it never reached her.

  One tendril snatched it midair, coiling around the shaft like a snake before snapping it in two.

  The second tendril smmed into his leg.

  Not to kill him. Not yet.

  The energy curled around his knee, pulsing, and then—contracted.

  The man screamed.

  His entire lower leg crumpled, bones turning to splinters beneath the crushing force, muscles rupturing like torn fabric.

  He colpsed, sobbing, clutching at the ruined remains of his limb.

  Reika slowly approached, her stocking-cd foot hovering just inches from where he y.

  "You were very determined," she mused. "I admire that."

  She lowered her foot slightly, until the delicate sandal just barely pressed into his shattered leg.

  The man howled, his entire body convulsing from the sheer agony of it.

  Reika watched.

  Not in amusement. Not in malice.

  Just curiosity.

  "You were aiming for my eye, weren’t you?" she asked.

  He didn’t answer—couldn’t, through his ragged gasps.

  "Hmm."

  She crouched down, pressing two fingers lightly against his chest—right over his beating heart.

  "Let’s see how strong this is."

  And then—she pushed.

  Her fingertips—so small compared to the rest of her, so deceptively elegant—sank into his ribcage with horrifying ease.

  His torso colpsed inward, ribs caving, lungs rupturing.

  The light in his eyes vanished instantly.

  Reika withdrew her hand, absently flicking away the faint traces of blood.

  She straightened—and finally looked at me again.

  "Are you afraid of me, Jin?"

  And the worst part was—I didn’t know the answer.