—
The gate pulsed like a heartbeat in the sky—massive, circular, stitched into the clouds with threads of starlight and static. Lightning danced across its rim, and from within, whispers echoed—ancient, unknowable, and hungry.
Hoshiro narrowed his eyes. "It's not a rift. It's a summon."
Ayame stepped beside him, panting, blades scorched from battle. "Summoning *what*, exactly?"
Before he could answer, the gate burst open.
A comet-like figure exploded through, crashing into the edge of Tokyo Bay. The impact sent a tidal wave sweeping through the city's lower district. From the steam rose a figure ten feet tall—cloaked in flowing obsidian robes, antlers curling upward like branches.
Its face was a smooth mask, reflective, emotionless.
"Another god?" Kazuki whispered, staring through binoculars.
"No," said Hoshiro grimly. "Something worse. A *Watcher*."
—
In the wreckage, civilians ran screaming. Sirens wailed. Drones scattered as the Watcher began to move—each step turning metal to rust and stone to ash.
Ayame's hand hovered near her blade. "We're not ready." "We'll never be ready," Hoshiro said. "But that kid—" he nodded at his younger self, still unconscious "—is the key. That gate didn't just open because of us. It opened because he exists."
"And if they get him?" Kazuki asked.
"They rewrite reality," Hoshiro said. "Permanently."
—
Above them, the stars began to fall—one by one—like tears from a dying universe.
The next war had arrived.
—