Tokyo did not sleep that night.
Neon bled into the clouds, washing the streets below in restless color. Somewhere, deep beneath that glow, seven sparks had lit the city from within — unseen, uncounted, but already rewriting its pulse.
To most, it was just another storm.
To a few, it was a beginning.
The wind shifted. Power rippled through the ley lines buried under Shinjuku asphalt, surging like a heartbeat that had been still too long.
Seven colors. Seven wishes. Seven sins waiting to bloom.
---
Under a canopy of flashing billboards, a sword cut the rain in half.
The woman moved like lightning — silver hair unfurling in arcs, armor clinking like wind chimes forged from steel. Flames traced her blade's edge, leaving glowing scars in the puddled street.
Her Master leaned against a vending machine, chewing gum as if this were just another night out. Reina Kagura didn't flinch when the blade stopped an inch from her throat.
"You're reckless," Tomoe said softly. Her voice was neither threat nor warning — just statement.
Reina popped the gum, unbothered. "You said to test you."
"I said summon me properly. You did neither."
The neon flickered crimson, painting them both in the same hue. Tomoe's eyes shimmered faintly — a memory of a battlefield long gone, of loyalty turned bloodstained.
Reina smirked. "Reckless wins wars."
Tomoe tilted her head. "Then pray it wins this one."
Their laughter — one sharp, one soft — vanished under the hum of the city.
---
A rooftop in Shibuya.
The rain had stopped, leaving behind the hiss of wet concrete and the distant pulse of music below. A man sat cross-legged at the edge, assembling a rifle not made by any mortal hand.
Next to him stood a figure in flowing robes, silver hair tied in a simple knot. His eyes, sharp as the stars, were fixed on the moon.
"You use a rifle," Hou Yi murmured, tracing the weapon's sleek barrel with a curious gaze. "A crude bow."
Jin Kurose didn't look up. "Efficiency over tradition."
"Yet both are tools to kill gods."
Jin slid the final magazine into place. "I'm no god."
"Neither were the suns," Hou Yi said, almost smiling.
A gust of wind swept across the roof. His robe shifted, revealing a quiver of ethereal arrows that shimmered faintly — more light than matter.
"Targets?" Hou Yi asked.
"Five Masters confirmed. Two unknowns. The White and the Blue are quiet."
Hou Yi nodded once. "Then we'll start with the loud ones."
He drew one arrow and loosed it into the sky. It vanished — not into the clouds, but through them, as if the heavens had opened just enough to let it pass.
Somewhere miles away, a power line exploded in a burst of emerald light.
Jin didn't react. "You missed."
"I wasn't aiming to kill."
"Then what?"
Hou Yi turned his eyes back to the moon. "To remind the gods I'm still watching."
---
The church was dead.
Pews broken, crucifixes overturned, stained glass bleeding colors onto the cracked marble floor.
Nora Vale knelt before the altar, her hands clasped, though no prayer passed her lips. The candlelight trembled — once, twice — before being snuffed out by something unseen.
From the shadow behind the altar, a voice rumbled.
"Faith," Samson said. "Still pretending?"
Nora stood, wiping dust from her skirt. "Old habits."
The figure that emerged could barely be called man. Chains wrapped around his arms like serpents; muscles coiled beneath skin that shimmered faintly, as if light itself feared to touch him. His eyes burned — not with madness, but memory.
"I slew for love," he said. "You?"
"For silence."
Samson smiled, teeth like marble. "A nun turned killer."
Nora shrugged. "Everyone's something turned killer."
He stepped closer. "And your wish?"
"To hear God again."
Samson chuckled, low and dry. "Then you'll need to shout louder."
Lightning cracked outside — not from the sky, but from the sigil beneath their feet, glowing black-gold.
Chains rattled. Prayer turned to pact.
And the church whispered, Amen.
---
In the cathedral's ruins, light bloomed where it shouldn't.
A man in regal robes stood among shattered pews, hand raised. Sigils of Latin origin swirled around him like glass petals. Where his hand passed, decay mended — wood regrew, marble uncracked, dust turned to air.
"Miracles," said Dr. Havel Rhine, watching from behind a pillar. "Still efficient as ever."
Constantine the Great smiled faintly. "Miracles," he said, "require belief. Science only measures them."
"Then believe me when I say you're the most efficient reconstruction project I've ever seen."
Constantine chuckled. The light around him faded to a soft gold.
"You summon me to restore faith," he said, "but your heart is full of data."
"And yours," Havel replied, "is full of empire."
The Emperor tilted his head. "Faith and empire are the same. Both demand sacrifice."
"Then tell me, Your Majesty," Havel said, "how many must die for you to win?"
Constantine turned toward him — eyes glowing faintly blue. "As many as it takes for history to remember us."
Outside, a bell rang though no one had pulled the rope.
---
The wind carried the smell of oil and steel.
Inside an abandoned hangar on the city's edge, Hua Mulan sat cross-legged, spear laid across her lap, armor reflecting the ghost-light of flickering bulbs. Her Master, Colonel Liang, was adjusting a combat drone on the table beside her.
"You trust machines too much," Mulan said.
"And you trust people too much."
She smiled slightly. "Fair."
Liang looked up. "Your legend says you disguised yourself as a man."
"It was easier that way."
"Still is."
She stood, stretching. "Then we'll both wear armor."
He raised an eyebrow. "Planning to go out tonight?"
Mulan's smile faded. "Planning to remind the world why legends are dangerous."
Her spear pulsed once, light flowing through the runes carved along its shaft.
"Orders?" she asked.
Liang turned to the map pinned against the wall. Seven marks burned faintly across Tokyo's sprawl.
"Scout the eastern sector," he said. "Avoid engagement."
"And if I'm found?"
He smiled thinly. "Make sure they don't report it."
---
The city hummed.
Seven colors flickered beneath its surface like trapped lightning.
And somewhere between them — unseen, unspoken — walked the boy in the dark coat.
---
The summoning circle still glowed faintly, its light reflected in the sheen of puddles. The boy stood where he had been — unshaken, unhurried — the medallion's weight cold in his pocket.
Then came the voice.
Clear, steady, feminine.
"Are you my Master?"
The air rippled. From within the circle, a shape began to form — gleaming white armor, a mantle flowing like silk touched by wind, and beneath the visor, eyes that burned faint gold.
She stepped forward, the rain parting around her.
"I am Bradamante," she said. "Knight of the White Lily. Tell me your name."
The boy met her gaze. "Names are fragile things."
"Then give me one I can use in war."
He thought for a moment. "Call me whatever you wish. You'll only need it when shouting orders."
Bradamante's visor tilted — a flicker of amusement. "You speak like one who's seen blood before."
"I've seen enough to know what comes next."
She studied him. "You're calm. Too calm."
"I'm practical."
"Practical men die quickly in wars like these."
"Only when they underestimate knights."
Silence. Then — a soft laugh, bright and metallic.
"You'll do," she said. "I've served kings, madmen, and dreamers. A realist might be refreshing."
The boy glanced at the sigil burning faintly on his hand — a perfect circle intersected by three lines.
"Then we understand each other," he said.
Lightning struck in the distance. For a heartbeat, the entire forest glowed violet-white.
Bradamante turned her head slightly, as if listening to something far away. "Others are moving. I can feel them."
"I know."
"Orders?"
"Observe. No engagement until I decide."
She nodded. "And if they find us first?"
He adjusted his coat. "Then we make them regret it."
The rain began again — softer now, almost gentle. The circle faded, leaving only the smell of ozone and damp soil.
Bradamante stepped beside him, silent but radiant, a ghost in shining armor.