Sayanomiya Kaoru's POV
The night...
It is deathly silent and bitterly cold, as if the heavens themselves are holding their breath, waiting for the storm to erupt.
The cold seeped through my bones, an icy grip that only tightened as I braced myself for the brewing storm.
The darkness was thicker than usual, as though even the stars above dared not witness what was about to unfold.
The relentless wind howled, carrying a biting chill that sent shivers racing down my spine.
Despite the mounting dread, I had no time to dwell on fear—I pushed forward, driving fast through the narrow, winding roads toward the palace.
The sovereignty of Japan is facing its greatest challenge—a threat unlike anything we have ever encountered.
A Campione has brazenly declared his intention to seize control of Japan.
With ruthless cunning, he aimed to reinstall Princess Hatsune on her throne.
The murder of the Emperor—our Emperor—was the vile lynchpin of their scheme, his blood still staining the halls of his once-sacred palace.
His corpse lay cold, unavenged, and yet they dared. How dare they?
And Princess Hatsune—how could she?
How could someone so deeply enshrined in our history, our culture, and our hearts fall to such depths of depravity?
To slay her own father in such cold, merciless blood—there was no redemption for her, no justification that could cleanse this sin.
I clenched my fists around the wheel, knuckles white with rage, my thoughts boiling as I replayed the audacity of her betrayal over and over in my mind.
But even with the weight of these revelations, the gravest blow was yet another betrayal.
Our God—Susanoo-no-Mikoto, our shield and protector—was nowhere to be found.
There were no signs, no messages, not even the faintest whisper of his divine presence.
Even his most loyal miko, the very one he had adopted as his granddaughter, was left in the dark.
Not even she knew where her godly guardian had disappeared to.
Had he abandoned us?
Did Susanoo expect us, mere mortals, to stand alone against the overwhelming might of a Campione?
I couldn't afford to waste time pondering his motives. I had already gathered what forces I could, hastily assembling our most loyal warriors at the palace.
Supernatural factions, rogue outsiders, and opportunistic warriors alike had converged on our location, drawn by the promise of witnessing a battle that could shake the very foundations of our nation.
Some were opportunists, no doubt, waiting to see which side would emerge victorious before throwing in their lot.
Others were loyalists, their resolve as firm as my own, prepared to fight to the bitter end to protect Japan.
I could only hope that among the crowd, there would be those willing to stand with us, to lend their strength to our cause.
This was a chance I couldn't afford to squander.
My car screeched to a halt as I slammed the brakes, the tires skidding slightly on the cobblestones as I reached the palace gates.
My heart pounded in my chest, my resolve hardening with each passing second.
The war between us and the Campione was inevitable. The time for preparation was over.
Now, all that remained was to fight—and to win, no matter the cost.
Spellcasters, youkai, exorcists, angels, fallen angels, devils, and countless other beings of power and prestige had assembled within the grandiose palace.
Whispers, murmurs, and quiet conspiracies danced through the air, each faction leaning into their own circle, gauging allies and enemies alike with equal suspicion.
Inside the palace, the tension is suffocating. My gaze sweeps across the throne room, and my blood boils at the sight that greets me.
The Campione is already seated on the imperial throne, his posture one of casual arrogance.
Beside him stands Princess Hatsune, her head held high, exuding a confidence.
Flanking them is the radiant yet deadly Goddess Athena, and the mischievous yet formidable Sun Wukong.
Other figures of power and infamy surround them—Lady Asuka, the Shinomiya family, representatives of the Sakayanagi Family, and even Touma.
Their presence here is a mockery, a direct challenge to our sovereignty.
The crowd shifts uneasily, hostility crackling in the air like static electricity.
Sensing the mood, the Campione chuckles—a low, mocking sound that grates against my nerves.
He rises slowly, clapping his hands once, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the silence.
"From this day forth," he declares, his voice smooth and commanding, "I claim this land. You, you, and you"—he gestures carelessly at the assembled crowd—"do any of you dare to raise an objection? Speak now. I would not mind showing you why hell hath no fury like a Campione scorned."
The room erupts in outrage.
Cries of indignation and disbelief fill the air as the Campione remains unfazed, his smirk widening.
He leans back lazily, taking a sip from a glass of red wine before handing it to Princess Hatsune.
Rising to his full height, he steps forward, his presence suffocating, his aura radiating raw, unbridled power.
"So," he continues, his tone growing sharper, more taunting, "I take it no one here has the spine to object to my claim?"
"Arrogant bastard!" someone shouts, their voice trembling with rage.
It is Kokabiel, a cadre of the Fallen Angels, known for his cruelty and unyielding pride.
His crimson eyes blaze with fury as he steps forward, a spear of pure light forming in his hand.
"You dare to insult us, lowly human?" Kokabiel roars. "I will show you the consequences of such insolence!"
With a forceful throw, the spear hurtles through the air, striking the ground mere inches from the Campione's feet.
The room falls deathly silent as the Campione's smirk vanishes.
His expression hardens, his eyes turning icy cold.
The shift in his demeanor is terrifying.
He no longer looks like a man but something far more dangerous—a predator sizing up his prey.
Kokabiel, a veteran of the Great War and a force to be reckoned with in the Grigori, should have been an intimidating presence.
Yet, in the face of the Campione's cold, intimidating gaze, even Kokabiel falters.
The air grows heavier, as if the room itself is bracing for the fury to come.
"You dare call me a lowly human?" Campione's voice was a whisper that somehow carried to every corner of the hall, sending shivers down our spines.
"Let us see how long your arrogance lasts, Kokabiel."
Before anyone could react, it was over.
Kokabiel's head fell from his shoulders, hitting the ground with a sickening thud.
His lifeless body crumpled before us, and the room erupted in a collective gasp of terror.
None of us had even seen Campione move, not even a blur.
One moment Kokabiel had stood tall, and the next, he was dead and reduced to a decapitated corpse in the blink of an eye.
Even in death, Kokabiel's face was frozen in horror, his wide eyes reflecting his final moments of despair.
Whatever arrogance or defiance he'd carried had vanished, leaving only the raw remnants of his final terror.
Kokabiel, one of the most seasoned warriors of the Fallen, a survivor of the Great War between God, Devil Princes, and Dragons just died like this?
The silence that followed was deafening.
The realization struck us like a hammer—this was no ordinary opponent.
This was a god among men.
How… how can we fight this?
The thought clawed at the edges of my mind, despair wrapping its icy fingers around my heart.
The Campione, now grinning wickedly, seemed to savor our collective fear as if it were the sweetest ambrosia.
This was no human; this was a monster in human form, and we were merely the insects trapped in his web.
How could we ever hope to face such overwhelming power?
The fallen angels who had been standing in neutrality could no longer contain themselves.
Driven by a mix of fear and fury, they charged recklessly at Campione, their light spears raised, their battle cries echoing through the hall.
"It seems they don't take no for an answer," Campione sneered, his chuckle resonating with a chilling edge of malice that sent shivers down our spines.
Without a moment's hesitation, he bent down and grabbed the glowing spear—the very same one Kokabiel had hurled at his feet moments earlier.
Its golden light pulsed ominously in his grip as he hoisted it high, his voice bellowing with raw power.
"Charge!"
The roar that tore from his throat was no mere battle cry; it was an unrelenting command, a proclamation of his unshakable dominance.
The fallen angels moved as if compelled by some unseen force, only for their bodies to erupt into grotesque sprays of crimson.
Blood painted the battlefield in macabre artistry, their corpses piling up in a twisted monument to Campione's unparalleled carnage.
We were powerless.
Absolutely powerless.
Every attempt to resist ended in humiliation and despair.
Each time one of us tried to chant a spell, we'd discover with mounting horror that we'd already been cut down before the incantation left our lips.
How?
Was it true he wielded the Authority of Time?
Had he bent the very fabric of reality to crush us before we could even act?
And then there were his allies.
Athena and Sun Wukong—each terrifying in their own right—fought with a savagery that matched his.
Athena's cold precision and Wukong's unrestrained chaos left no survivors in their path.
Blood didn't merely spill—it poured, it flowed, it cascaded like a river carving through the heart of hell itself.
Even those who had pledged neutrality—outsiders who swore to stay uninvolved—were dragged into the fray. Campione made it clear: no one would be spared.
There were no truces, no bargains, no mercy.
His wrath consumed everything in his path, leaving a trail of shattered bones, severed heads, and impaled bodies in his wake.
It didn't matter who you were. Man, beast, or god—you were nothing but fodder for his relentless wrath
The horrors he and his allies unleashed were etched into our minds, a grotesque tableau that would haunt us for eternity.
Amid the chaos, Princess Hatsune remained frozen on her throne.
Her face was pale, her eyes wide with terror as she bore silent witness to the slaughter.
Then, an opening—a single moment of opportunity presented itself.
This is my chance.
I seized it, dashing forward with every ounce of strength I had left.
If I could reach her, if I could end this nightmare, perhaps there would still be hope.
But just as my outstretched hand drew near, a figure materialized before me.
The demonic girl.
Her body floated ominously, her dark presence exuding a chilling aura that froze my blood.
She interposed herself between me and the Princess, her form radiating an unnatural, otherworldly power.
"Sleep, sweet girl," she murmured, her voice a haunting melody that slithered into my mind.
I clenched my fists, my body trembling with resistance.
I could feel the pull of her words, the seductive weight of the spell dragging me toward unconsciousness.
No.
I couldn't fall here.
I had sworn to protect this place, to defend the sovereignty and independence of Japan against the tyranny of Campione and his monstrous allies.
That was my duty, my purpose.
I had to fight.
But why...
Why was my body betraying me?
No...
No!
I tried to muster every ounce of my willpower, every fragment of resolve I had left, but it wasn't enough.
Exhaustion swept through me like a tidal wave, drowning my spirit in its overwhelming tide.
The drowsiness overcame me, heavy and inescapable.
My vision blurred, my legs gave out, and I collapsed at the Princess's feet.
Darkness claimed me, the echoes of my failure ringing hollow in my ears.
And with it, all hope slipped away.