The rain still poured in mournful sheets as Kagetsu stood atop the shattered cathedral roof, his white hair slicked back by the storm. The moonlight danced across the porcelain surface of his jester's mask, a soft gleam reflecting the eternal grin carved into its surface.
Beneath him, the blood of heroes mingled with the rain.
Their sacrifice had meant nothing.
He chuckled, low and amused, like a nobleman after a performance. "Is that all this world can offer?"
But then, the air shifted.
It grew thick—not with dread, but with something more primal. More ancient.
A ripple in the world itself.
A jagged tear formed in the sky, hissing and steaming as a figure emerged from the rift. He was massive—his frame cloaked in writhing shadows, his eyes glowing a sickly crimson. Horns curved from his skull like obsidian blades, and behind him trailed a cape stitched from the screams of the damned.
Chaos incarnate.
The Evil God of Ruin.
His name—Zael'tor—was one not spoken since the cataclysm of the Sixth Age. A god once banished by the celestial order for crimes too vile to be chronicled.
And now he stood face-to-face with Kagetsu.
"I've watched long enough," Zael'tor growled, voice like thunder tearing through bone. "You are not balance. You are not madness. You are mockery given shape."
Kagetsu tilted his head. "You're jealous," he said softly. "That I became more feared than you ever were."
With a roar that cracked the sky, Zael'tor lunged.
He moved like a comet, a blur of raw power crashing down upon the rooftop. His fists shattered stone. His claws sang with divine energy. He struck Kagetsu squarely in the chest, and the world held its breath.
The mask cracked.
A single scratch—so faint it could've been mistaken for dust—but it was there.
Zael'tor grinned. "You bleed after all."
Kagetsu looked down at the fracture, silent for a moment.
Then, he laughed.
Not a short chuckle—no, this was a wild, unrestrained howl that echoed across continents. Birds dropped from the sky. Rivers reversed their flow. Babies cried in their sleep.
"You can fight," Kagetsu said between gasps of delight. "Good."
He vanished.
One blink—and Kagetsu was gone.
Another blink—and his hand was buried in Zael'tor's chest.
The evil god coughed, black ichor spurting from his lips.
"First lesson," Kagetsu whispered. "Don't underestimate a jester."
He ripped his arm free, sending Zael'tor crashing into the mountains beyond.
But the god was not so easily killed.
His body reformed mid-air, shadows wrapping around his core like armor. He landed with a quake, summoning blades of entropy in both hands.
Their clash shook the fabric of reality.
They moved faster than sight—punches that created voids, kicks that shattered moons. Zael'tor screamed curses in forgotten tongues, while Kagetsu danced like a madman in rhythm with the chaos.
Again and again, Zael'tor fell.
And again, he returned.
But with each resurrection, his scream grew weaker.
His eyes dimmer.
His soul... thinner.
Kagetsu didn't kill him out of necessity.
He killed him for fun.
"You're starting to bore me," Kagetsu muttered as he ran Zael'tor through with a blade forged from nightmares.
The god's form flickered, barely holding shape.
"No... more..." Zael'tor gasped.
"Regeneration is a gift," Kagetsu mused, leaning in close. "But for you? A curse. Because I get to break you again and again."
And so he did.
Until Zael'tor's divine core flickered for the last time.
Until even his soul gave up.
There was no scream.
Just silence.
And then Kagetsu vanished.
No trace. No aura. No lingering malice.
Just an empty mountain, and the last embers of a god.
---
When word of the battle reached the world, silence followed.
Kings wept.
Archmages sealed their towers.
Even the Gōsa, watching from distant realms, trembled in quiet remembrance.
Because now they knew.
Kagetsu no Jōka was not just a force of destruction.
He was a storm that laughed.
And the world... had no umbrella.