Takahashi Jin had never felt so insignificant. The world lurched and blurred beneath him as Reika carried him away from the ruins of Kagetora. He was cradled in the cage of her hand – each finger an ivory pillar thicker than his arm, curled with casual ease around his body. In her grip, he was a trinket, a frail doll caught up in the palm of a towering goddess. Warmth radiated from her skin, seeping through his tattered clothes; it might almost have been comforting if not for the coppery scent of blood still clinging to the air. Jin dared to turn his head and peer down: far below, the battlefield lay in grotesque stillness, littered with craters and the broken shapes of soldiers who only minutes ago had stood with him. Now they were smears of red on blackened earth. A shudder coursed through Jin. The screams were fading from his ears, but the horror remained. He could still see it when he closed his eyes – her standing amidst the carnage, beautiful and monstrous, lips curved in a faint smile as men died like insects beneath her feet.
Smoke from the burning city stung Jin’s eyes as Reika took a single, unhurried stride forward. In that one step, she crossed the battlefield that had taken hundreds of lives to defend. Crunch. Her sandal sank into soil and shattered stone, obliterating a patch of ground soaked with blood. Jin swallowed hard, throat dry. His mind flashed with the image of a soldier pinned under that same sandal only moments before – the way Reika had pressed down slowly, almost gently, and the way the man’s scream had gurgled into silence. She hadn’t even looked as she crushed him; her violet eyes had been alight with a detached amusement. Jin’s stomach roiled at the memory. This was Tachibana Reika – the girl he’d once shared cheap iced coffees with after class – and yet it wasn’t. The Reika he knew could never have worn such an expression of serene cruelty.
Reika stepped again, and the city wall of Kagetora that had loomed high in Jin’s vision now only reached her thigh. With a casual push of her free hand, she toppled a watchtower into rubble, clearing a path. Jin clung to her thumb as the shockwave jolted through her palm. Below, tiny figures – the last survivors – scattered in terror. Jin caught a glimpse of two among them who did not flee: Asakusa Rin, her white-and-crimson shrine robes bright against the soot, and Taketsune Masanori, battered sword still in hand. They stared up at Reika’s departing form with a mix of awe and dread. Masanori’s face was bloodless, his proud stance broken, and Rin had tears cutting tracks through the grime on her cheeks. Jin’s heart twisted painfully. At least they’re alive… for now, he thought. Reika had spared them only because he had begged her to.
He remembered that moment with a sickly clarity: standing on a fragment of the sundered wall as Reika loomed over him. He had screamed her name – “Reika!” – part desperation, part plea. To his shock, she had answered. The giantess had turned, recognition brightening her lovely face, and knelt to pluck him gently off the crumbling rampart. Even as her city-smashing fingers closed around Jin, she had smiled in delight, as if finding a long-lost pet. Come with me, she had said, voice resonant and sweet. Be my guest—or my little pet. Otherwise… Her eyes had drifted back to the terrified city, and Jin knew exactly what she had left unsaid. So he had agreed. What choice did he have? To save what remained of Kagetora, Jin had surrendered himself to the Goddess of Ruin.
Now Kagetora’s smoking ruins fell away behind them with each of Reika’s immense strides. The wind whipped at Jin’s face, drying the tears he hadn’t realized were on his cheeks. He forced himself to look forward, away from the carnage, and realized Reika was humming softly. The sound vibrated through her body, a low melodic thrum that Jin felt in his bones. There was almost a carefree lilt to it, as if she were simply on an evening stroll. How can she be so calm? Jin wondered, anger and grief tangled in his chest. Beneath the humming, he could hear the distant crackle of fires consuming what was left of the city – a city she had devastated on a whim.
Gradually, the air itself began to change. The dusk sky overhead darkened unnaturally, its amber hue bleeding into deep purple and sickly green. Jin squinted upward in confusion. Ahead of them, at the far edge of the plain, the fabric of reality shimmered. Reika’s humming deepened, and with a final step she crossed an invisible threshold. The world lurched. A pressure passed over Jin – like plunging into deep water – then vanished. When he opened his eyes, the familiar forests and mountains were gone.
They had entered the Demon Realm.
Jin’s breath caught. The landscape around them was like something from a fevered dream. Jagged mountains clawed at a sky roiling with unnatural color – bruise-purple clouds shot through with veins of gold lightning. Rivers of molten rock cut glowing paths through plains of ash, painting everything in flickering reds and oranges. In the distance, black spires rose like the teeth of a monstrous beast. The very ground was strange: ashen gray and studded with crystalline outcrops that pulsed faintly with inner light.
Jin stared in mute awe and dread. In the fading light of the mortal realm it had been frightening; here, in the Demon Realm’s eternal twilight, it was hellishly beautiful. This is where she’s been… He felt Reika’s fingers flex around him as she adjusted her hold, and the movement drew his attention back to her. The Demon Realm itself seemed to bend to Reika’s presence – shadows twisting away, the hellish glow dancing across the silk of her kimono as if in reverence. She walked onward, utterly at ease in this nightmare world. Where she passed, lesser creatures slunk back into the dark. Jin glimpsed hulking silhouettes prowling at the edge of his vision – demons with eyes like embers – but none dared approach the giant woman carrying the human. Reika commanded here. The very air yielded to her, parting before her like an obedient servant.
Ahead, perched atop a range of jagged peaks, loomed a massive structure: a palace of obsidian and gold that dominated the horizon. Jin felt a thrum in the air, a resonance that grew stronger as they neared. He realized with a start that it was coming from the palace itself – or rather, from her. The fortress responded to Reika’s presence, its walls humming with an energy that set his teeth on edge. Spires clawed upward from the main citadel, their tips crackling with violet light. The main gates – towering slabs of onyx etched in sprawling runes – swung open soundlessly at Reika’s approach. She did not slow her pace.
They entered a vast courtyard illuminated by eerie flora. Strange luminous vines and flowers clung to the high walls, shedding purple and golden light across flagstones the size of town squares. Jin saw statues lining the inner court – demon lords and ancient gods carved in obsidian – their stone eyes seeming to follow Reika’s every move. Far below, at ground level, figures scurried out of the path of the giantess. Jin’s stomach turned as he realized many of them were human. Servants in simple dark robes bowed low, trembling, as Reika passed. She’s enslaved them… Jin thought, heart sinking. These people looked small and wan, moving with the furtive terror of mice living under a cat’s paw.
Reika paid them no more mind than one might pay motes of dust. Her focus was straight ahead, on the palace proper. Jin gazed up as they entered the main hall. The ceiling arched so high that gloom swallowed its vaults. Columns thicker than sequoias flanked a polished onyx floor inlaid with swirling veins of gold. At the far end, raised upon a dais of midnight marble, stood a throne. It was a monumental chair carved from the same black stone, its edges traced in elaborate filigree of gold. Strange symbols were etched around its base in a wide circle; they glowed faintly, pulsing like a slow heartbeat.
Reika’s pace finally slowed. Jin felt her gaze shift downward, toward the throne. With exquisite care, she lifted her hand – the one that held Jin – and moved it toward the throne’s armrest. Her fingers unfurled, one by one, and light spilled over Jin’s face as the living cage opened. “Stand here,” Reika’s immense voice whispered, each syllable resonating in the cavernous hush of the throne room. She tipped her palm and Jin stumbled out of her hand onto the throne’s armrest. It was broad and velvet-cushioned, mercifully flat under his unsteady feet. He wobbled, disoriented by the height – it was like standing on a second-story balcony – and quickly dropped to one knee, clutching the embroidered arm of the seat for balance.
Reika settled into the throne beside him with a soft sigh of cushions. The great chair barely contained her; her black furisode kimono spilled over its sides in rippling folds, a cascade of midnight fabric patterned with subtle golden sigils. For a moment, Jin could only stare at his once-friend as she made herself comfortable. The soft glow of the chamber’s runes caught the metallic threads in her robe, outlining her form in flickers of gold. She was breathtaking – a vision of elegance and terror. Even after all he had witnessed, Jin felt a tremor that was not entirely fear. Reika’s porcelain skin and patrician features were as flawless as ever, framed by the inky fall of her hair. Only her eyes had changed: what had once been merely an unusual shade of brown now burned with an otherworldly light. Those amethyst eyes turned upon him, and Jin’s heart thundered against his ribs. He realized he was trembling.
High above, Reika inclined her head, examining him. A faint smile touched her wine-red lips. “Are you shaking, Jin?” she asked softly. Her voice was almost gentle now – a silk hiding steel. She draped one arm along the back of the throne, the picture of regal ease, but Jin did not miss how her other hand lingered near him, fingers resting lightly just beside his perch. It was a casual pose, yet Jin knew those graceful fingers could pin him in an instant if she wished. He had never felt so exposed. He forced himself to stand, legs quivering, and drew in a shaky breath.
“What are you doing… here, Reika?” he managed, his voice hoarse. “Why did—” He faltered; the images of mangled bodies choked off his words. “Why did you kill those people? The soldiers back in Kagetora. They… they didn’t deserve that.” Jin’s voice was barely above a whisper, but in the vast silence of the hall, each word fell with the weight of an accusation.
Reika’s eyes narrowed slightly. For a heartbeat, an inscrutable emotion flickered there and was gone. “Those people?” she echoed. Her tone remained light, almost amused, but Jin sensed the undercurrent of danger threading through it. “My dear Jin, you saw them. They attacked me. I merely defended myself.”
“Defended—?” Jin’s temper flared, cutting through his fear. His hands clenched on the velvet armrest. “You slaughtered them, Reika. You toyed with them. I was there – I saw…” His voice broke, memories searing behind his eyes. He saw a rain of blood as a black tendril whipped a man into pieces, heard the crunch of bones underfoot, and Reika’s lilting laugh echoing over the horror. Jin shut his eyes hard. “They couldn’t even run away by the end,” he said, shaking his head. “And you laughed.”
A silence fell. When Jin opened his eyes, Reika was regarding him with an unreadable expression. She drummed her slender fingers once on the arm of the throne. The metallic click of her golden nail guard on stone rang sharply. “I suppose I did,” she said. There was no shame in her voice, only a mild curiosity. She leaned forward, bringing her immense face a little closer to Jin’s level. “Tell me, would it have been kinder if I’d wept while crushing them?”
Jin flinched at her choice of words. “You didn’t have to crush them at all,” he replied through gritted teeth.
At that, Reika laughed under her breath – a low, musical sound that nevertheless made Jin’s blood run cold. “Oh, Jin. Still so naïve.” Her free hand rose from the arm of the throne and hovered near Jin. One elegant finger – the nail lacquered glossy black – extended and pressed gently against his chest, right over his racing heart. Jin froze. The pressure was slight, but he remembered how that same finger had punched through plate armor earlier tonight like it was paper. Reika felt his racing heartbeat and her lips curved in a wider smile. “You ask why I did it,” she murmured. “The answer is simple: because I can.”
Jin’s eyes widened. “That’s it?” he asked, voice hushed. “Because you… can?” The notion was so alien, so appalling, it nearly stole his breath.
Reika’s smile stayed in place, but her gaze hardened, flashing with pride. “This world runs on a very straightforward principle,” she said. “Power. Strength. Those with power do as they will; those without it suffer what they must.” She eased back slightly and swept her hand in a slow arc, indicating the Demon Realm beyond the palace walls. “Out there, might makes right. I learned that quickly.” Her tone remained conversational, almost airy, but Jin heard the edge underneath – the fervor of a zealot extolling a newfound faith.
His mind rebelled at her words. “That’s monstrous,” he whispered. “Even if this place is savage… you weren’t like this, Reika. The Reika I knew would never—”
“The Reika you knew…” She interrupted softly, and for the first time Jin heard a hint of something raw beneath her composure. Her thumb shifted, brushing lightly along Jin’s collarbone – a deceptively affectionate gesture that nonetheless made him feel like a pet on a leash. “The boy I remember from Tokyo was always so quick to assume he knew me.” Reika’s eyes bore into Jin’s, luminous and pitiless. “Tell me, what was I like, back then?” she purred. “Hm? Sweet? Kind? A good little university girl?” Her lips curled, and Jin realized with a chill that she was not smiling at him so much as baring her teeth.
Jin’s pulse pounded. He could sense the danger coiling in her voice, but some desperate need pushed him onward. “You… you were curious,” he said, voice trembling. “Quiet, but not cruel. You questioned everything, but you still cared about people. About your friends. You cared about me.” The last came out smaller than he intended. It sounded plaintive, even to his own ears.
Reika regarded him for a long moment. The silence yawned between them, broken only by the distant crackle of magic coursing through the throne’s sigils. Then she laughed – a soft exhale through her nose – and shook her head. “I did care,” she admitted freely. “I cared too much. That was my weakness.” Her amethyst eyes seemed to glow brighter, and the finger resting on Jin’s chest pushed just a fraction harder, making him gasp. “This world burned that weakness out of me, Jin. It showed me what I was always meant to become.”
She leaned closer, looming over Jin like a dark vision. “I was quiet. I was curious. And I was… dissatisfied. You knew it, even if you never understood why.” Her breath washed over him, scented faintly of jasmine and something cold and mineral – like ozone. “Tell me, did you really think a girl who spent her days dreaming of gods and ghosts would be content with the mundane little life we had? Hmm?” Her violet eyes narrowed. “That shrine artifact—the orb—we found… it awoke something in me that had hungered for a long time. It also gave me this power.”
Jin’s thoughts reeled back to that day – which for him was perhaps yesterday, though for her… who knew how many years? The abandoned temple in Nerima Ward, the strange black orb on the altar, and Reika’s slender fingers reaching out despite his warning. Don’t, Reika! He had grabbed for her, but it was too late. The memory flashed vivid: Reika’s hand on the orb, a burst of golden light, and then – nothing. Jin had awakened in a nightmare battlefield without his friend. He forced himself to meet Reika’s gaze now. “The artifact,” he said haltingly. “You touched it and… we were pulled into this world. After that, I lost you.” He searched her face. “How long have you been here, Reika?”
She laughed softly, a genuine sound of delight at his confusion. “Time moves differently between worlds I suppose,” she cooed. “Poor Jin – you stumbled in with barely a day gone by. But for me?” She drew back, spreading her arms in a languid stretch. “It has been a century since that moment.”
Jin’s knees nearly buckled. “A hundred years…?” He felt dizzy. Reika did not look a day older than the girl he remembered, but the weight in her eyes – the complete ease with which she wielded her power – spoke of long experience. She’s lived a whole lifetime here. The thought made his heart ache even through the fear.
Reika watched him steadily. “One hundred years,” she repeated. “I’ve ruled this Demon Realm for most of that time, as its Goddess of Ruin.” She said the grand title with a lilting mockery, as if it both amused and pleased her. “It was not a title I chose at first… but I grew into it.”
Her fingers finally lifted from Jin’s chest, sparing him further pressure, only to curl around him instead. Before he could protest, she plucked him off the armrest and held him aloft before her eyes. Jin gasped – he dangled in the grasp of her hand, feet off the surface, her fist enclosing his torso like an iron vise disguised in velvet. Reika’s face filled his vision entirely. “In the early years, I searched for you. I had hoped you would join me sooner,” she said, almost lazily. “I was beginning to think you were lost forever, drifting between worlds.” A tiny pout graced her lips, feigned and fleeting. “But here you are. My old friend… dropped at my feet, right when I was starting to feel alone.”
Alone. Jin’s heart twisted at the word. Despite everything, despite the terror of her embrace and the blood on her hands, he caught a glimmer of genuine emotion in her tone. She was lonely. The realization was as startling as it was heartbreaking.
Reika gave a slow, satisfied hum and settled Jin back down on the throne’s arm, this time keeping her hand resting around him like a living seatbelt. Her thumb stroked idly along his side; Jin fought not to recoil at the intimate familiarity of the touch. “So yes, Jin,” she continued, voice dropping to a whisper meant only for him. “I did miss you. I even went out of my way to find you.” She giggled – a soft, dangerous sound. “I sensed a disturbance, a ripple of that shrine’s magic finally resurfacing. It led me toward Kagetora. Imagine my surprise when I arrive and find you there, among those scrappy little soldiers.”
Jin’s eyes widened. She had gone to Kagetora because of him? “You… you came there looking for me,” he said, not quite a question. In spite of everything, a spark of hope lit in his chest. If Reika came for him, then maybe some part of her still cared.
But Reika merely laughed – a light, airy laugh that doused Jin’s hope. “Oh, don’t be silly,” she chided playfully. “I wasn’t sure it was you. I sensed an old familiar energy in that region and thought I’d investigate. The humans of Kagetora had also grown… complacent. Forgotten the fear they should hold for beings like me.” She gave a little shrug, a movement of colossal shoulders beneath silk. “So really, it was practical. Two birds with one stone, as they say. If it hadn’t been you causing that anomaly, I’d still have made an example of them.” Her tone was so casual that Jin felt his nails biting into his palms.
His jaw tightened. “All those lives… just an example? A reminder of your power?” he forced out.
Reika’s smile remained, but something in her eyes cooled, like a shutter closing. “Call it what you will,” she said. “They chose defiance. They paid for it. Now the survivors will spread word of me to the rest of the realm. Fear will keep them in line.” She examined her fingernails with feigned boredom as she spoke, as if the massacre were already a trivial memory.
Jin was trembling with barely contained anger. “They were people, Reika,” he said, his voice rough. “Fathers, sons, daughters… Humans, like me. Like you once were.”
The giantess’s gaze snapped back to him, sharp and cutting. “Like you?” she echoed. “Hardly.” A faint sneer colored her lips. “They are nothing like you, Jin. And I… I am far beyond what I once was.” She drew herself up proudly, a queen addressing a subject. “I was human, yes – a weak, limited creature. Now I am something greater.” Her hand around Jin tightened fractionally, pinning him against the armrest. He could still breathe, but the pressure was enough to remind him how easily she could squeeze the life from him. Reika’s voice dropped to a silken whisper. “You, my dear, are different from these insects because you belong to me. My one tether to a life I left behind.”
Jin sucked in a breath. The possessiveness in her tone was unmistakable. It frightened him, but it also confirmed what he had hoped: a piece of Reika’s old self still recognized him, wanted him near. She didn’t kill me, he thought. She could have, but she didn’t. Perhaps he could still reach that buried humanity in her. His racing mind seized on one name, one connection he hadn’t mentioned yet – one that might pierce the armor of this self-proclaimed goddess.
Jin exhaled slowly, trying to steady his breathing. His hands gripped the throne’s velvet armrest, knuckles whitening under the strain. His voice emerged quieter than he intended when he finally spoke.
“Tokyo,” he said, the word fragile in the heavy air. “Don’t you… miss it?”
Reika’s expression didn’t change—at least, not at first. She gave a slow, indulgent sigh, her fingers spreading slightly as she rolled him gently in her palm. The motion was subtle but deliberate, a reminder of how easily she could trap him again if she chose.
“Jin,” she murmured, her voice silky and teasing, “you always were the sentimental type.”
“But what about your family, your mom?”
Reika stilled. It was so brief, so fleeting, that Jin almost thought he imagined it. Her fingers paused, her smirk flickered for an instant. Her thumb stopped its slow, teasing strokes, and her violet eyes darkened with something closer to… doubt.
Jin swallowed, his throat dry. “You never wanted to see her again?” he asked, more carefully this time. “Mrs. Tachibana?”
Reika didn’t answer right away. For a moment, she just… looked at him. Jin noticed the way her breath slowed, the way her lashes lowered slightly—not avoiding the question, but deciding whether to respond at all.
Then—her smirk returned, slower, but not the same.
“Jin,” she murmured, lifting him higher until he was right in front of her face, her massive gaze filling his entire world. Her voice softened, but an edge lingered beneath it. “Even if I wanted to…”
She exhaled slowly, her breath warm against his skin. “I could never go back.”
Jin felt a chill creep through him. The way she said it – without sorrow, without anger, just a flat statement of fact – told him everything. Whatever link to our old world existed, it’s gone. Perhaps it was the orb, or the magic of this realm, or Reika’s own transformation that barred her from returning. It didn’t matter. If she could never go back, what hope did he have of finding a way home? Jin’s knees felt weak. A spike of panic drove into him. No way home… I’m trapped here. Trapped with her.
He exhaled shakily and sank back against the throne’s arm, the enormity of it all threatening to crush him. In the span of a day, his ordinary life had been ripped away, replaced by blood and nightmares and a friend-turned-goddess who expected him to accept it without question. Jin pressed a hand to his face, fingers digging into his brow as he tried to steady himself. Far above, Reika watched him intently. The harsh set of her features softened into something like concern – or the echo of it. She adjusted her hand’s grip, loosening it, and used her thumb to gently tilt Jin’s chin upward. Jin let her move him, too numb to resist. Her enormous face hovered just before him, ethereal in the violet glow of the throne room.
“Jin,” she murmured, almost tenderly, “I know it’s a lot to take in.” Her large thumb caressed his cheek, wiping away a streak of grime or perhaps a tear. “But you’re here now. With me.” She offered a slow smile that might have been comforting if not for the glimmer of possessiveness in her eyes. “You survived so much to reunite with your old friend… isn’t that fortuitous?”
He shivered under her touch. There was warmth in her voice, even love of a twisted sort, but also a suffocating finality. Jin realized that in Reika’s mind, his fate was sealed. He was hers. Her pet, her companion, her tether to humanity – whatever she wanted to call it – for as long as it pleased her.
Jin took a trembling breath. Fear, despair, anger, and a faint spark of hope all warred within him. He remembered Reika’s momentary stillness at mention of her mother, the ghost of longing on her face. That humanity was still inside her, buried deep. Perhaps, with time, he could remind her of who she had been. Perhaps he could soften her, even turn her from this path of cruelty. But he also understood with chilling clarity: she would not let him go. Whether he succeeded in reaching her or not, Jin was bound to Reika’s side in this strange realm. There was no escape – only the fragile hope that he could save them both from the darkness that had consumed her.
Her violet gaze searched his face, and whatever she saw there made her smile widen contentedly. Gently, almost lovingly, Reika eased Jin fully onto the throne’s arm and withdrew her protective cocoon of magic. He hadn’t even noticed until now that a faint golden aura had enveloped him – a shield she’d conjured for his journey here
Reika shifted, reclining in her throne. She kept one hand resting beside Jin – a silent reminder of her reach – but her posture grew languid. “You must have questions about this realm,” she said, gracefully changing the subject. The intensity of their personal exchange ebbed, as if she too needed to retreat from that emotional precipice. With a queenly nonchalance, Reika waved her opposite hand in a slow circle. “Allow me to enlighten you, Jin. You should understand the reality of my world, Yohara, the world plain. Though mortals don’t really use that word.”
At her gesture, motes of violet light gathered in the air before them. Jin watched in cautious fascination as the lights wove themselves into glowing silhouettes, each one resolving into a distinct feminine figure. There were two of them: one outline flickered crimson and showed a woman armored and horned, brandishing a serrated blade; the other glowed icy-blue, the figure slim with eyes like cold stars and long hair that flowed like ink. These phantasmal images hovered at eye level with Reika, larger than Jin but still dwarfed by Reika’s presence.
“Akagawa Kaida,” Reika said, inclining her head toward the red apparition. The image’s eyes blazed and it raised its sword as if in silent roar. “And Asakura Mayume.” The blue figure’s lips curved in a sly smile as she folded ghostly hands in her sleeves. Reika’s tone was light, almost fond, but Jin did not miss the tension that crept into her features at the names. “They are the other two Demon Queens who rule parts of this realm.”
Jin remembered Rin’s voice on the battlefield whispering about demon queens in frightened awe. He glanced from one spectral figure to the other. “They look… powerful,” he said quietly.
Reika smirked. “They are,” she admitted. “Kaida feeds on conquest. She lives for war – brute strength and brutality, nothing more. Mayume is more subtle – a spider at the center of a web of schemes, wielding curses and illusions.” The images shifted as she spoke: Kaida’s phantom slashed its greatsword through an invisible army, while Mayume’s image twirled fingers that sent phantom shadows scattering like puppets.
For the first time since Jin had reunited with Reika, he heard a note of respect enter her voice. “They have ruled here for ages. But that was before me.” The red and blue apparitions drifted to either side of Reika’s throne, as though flanking her. Reika’s lips curved in a sly smile. “Together, we three hold a delicate balance of power. We don’t risk open war on the others – the cost would be too great, even for the victor. So we maintain an accord of sorts.” She let out a faux-sigh of boredom. “It’s all very tense and political. Not really my preferred way of things, but for now it serves.”
Jin absorbed that with a slow nod. It was bizarre to hear Reika speak of the intricacies of rulership, but it made sense. In a hundred years, she had not simply rampaged nonstop – she had built a regime, entered alliances. She truly is a queen here, he thought. The concept was nearly as frightening as the memory of her wrath. A queen wielding diplomacy was a far cry from the vengeful titan who crushed soldiers for sport, and in some ways it was more unsettling. This meant Reika’s cruelty wasn’t just some madness; it was controlled, doled out when it benefited her.
“And… outside of you three?” Jin ventured. “Are there greater threats?” He was almost afraid to ask, but the scholarly part of him – the part Reika had once teased for always needing answers – compelled him.
Reika’s violet eyes gleamed. “Ah.” She raised a finger, and the red and blue specters faded away obediently. “Beyond us lie forces that even Demon Queens respect.” Her voice reverberated in the hall as she pronounced names steeped in legend: “Amaterasu. Susanoo. Tsukuyomi.” Jin’s breath caught at the familiarity of those names – deities of myth from their own world. “The old gods, the Amatsukamis” Reika continued, confirming his suspicions. “The ones who shaped existence itself. They slumber mostly, scattered in realms unseen. But when they stir… it can shake worlds.”
Jin felt a chill, recalling the wild sky and shifting earth when Reika had first appeared on the battlefield – if that was just a fraction of true divine power… He suddenly felt thankful that Reika had only other queens to contend with. The thought of gods even mightier than her was too much to contemplate.
Reika must have sensed his unease. She let the subject of gods drop with a dismissive wave of her hand. The spectral lights winked out, leaving only the steady glow of the runes on the throne. “As for the mortals of this realm,” she went on breezily, “they scurry about in their little kingdoms, plotting and praying for survival.” She began ticking off points on her fingers, indulging in a brief lecture. “To the north, the fortress-city of Tenshu – the military heart of human resistance. They’ve wisely chosen to appease me when they can; I allow them to govern themselves as long as they don’t offend me. In the East, Kosei – the spiritual enclave hiding behind their ancient wards and talismans. They have their onmyōji priests to reinforce a barrier whenever over the city, as if that could stop me if I truly wished to break in.” She chuckled, a rich sound echoing in the cavernous throne room. “And then there was Kagetora, of course… but you saw firsthand how poorly defiance served them.” Her eyes slid to Jin meaningfully.
Jin lowered his gaze. He had nothing to say to that; the ruins of Kagetora and the blood on Reika’s kimono were testament enough.
Reika seemed content with his silence. “After tonight,” she purred, “the humans will remember their place. Tenshu and Kosei will tremble when whispers of the Goddess of Ruin reach their ears. As it should be.”
She finished with a clap of her hands, dispelling the heavy atmosphere her words had created. Jin realized she was truly enjoying this – showing off her dominion, educating him on just how absolute her power here was. There was a childlike eagerness in the way she watched for his reaction, as if expecting him to be impressed. It sent a surge of conflicting emotion through him. He was impressed – how could he not be, at this dizzying scale of power and control? But he was also appalled and heartsick. This was the empire of fear that had molded Reika over a century. How could he possibly pull her back from it?
As if reading his thoughts, Reika’s expression softened. She leaned back, and a wistful note crept into her voice. “You know, Jin… for the first twenty years or so, I tried to leave this place.”
Jin’s head snapped up. “You did?” He hadn’t expected that. “What happened?”
Reika’s eyes unfocused, recalling days long past. “At first, I thought it was all a terrible mistake,” she said quietly. “Being here, becoming this. I spent years seeking a path home. I scoured ancient texts, bargained with trickster spirits, even implored those old gods we spoke of.” Her lips twisted in a bitter little smile. “It was… futile. The few answers I got all led to dead ends or prices too steep to pay. In time, I realized I was chasing a dream that no longer mattered.” She gestured around at the grand hall, the faintly glowing sigils, the faint sound of distant footsteps of servants in the lower corridors. “While I struggled to return to a life that was gone, this life grew around me. Subjects. Power. Freedom. I came to understand that I didn’t need Tokyo anymore. Everything I could ever want is here for the taking.”
Jin’s heart ached at her words. There was a tremor in her voice when she spoke of her early futile efforts – a remnant of despair that she hid quickly beneath pride. He realized that one fifth of her entire time here had been spent desperately trying to go home… only to accept she never could. It humanized her, if only a little. Jin imagined her, young and frightened, stuck in this nightmare realm without him or anyone from her old life, stubbornly trying to reverse what had happened. How many disappointments had it taken to break her hope? How many betrayals and dangers had she faced before she “understood” she was better off as a god among demons?
Reika blinked, as if realizing she had revealed more vulnerability than intended. Her posture straightened, regaining that regal indolence. “And now Tokyo is nothing but a distant memory,” she finished coolly. “A quaint little dream I woke up from long ago.”
The lie was plain to Jin – because he saw, for just an instant, her gaze flicker toward one of the dark corners of the throne room, where an elaborate standing mirror of polished silver glass caught the light. Jin remembered that mirror; it once stood in Reika’s bedroom in Tokyo, an heirloom from her mother. Now it stood here incongruously among the demonic decor. Jin felt a surge of quiet triumph at the sight. She hasn’t completely let go. But he said nothing of it.
Instead, he drew in a deep breath and posed the question that had been building in his chest. “Don’t you… miss it? Even now?”
Reika tilted her head, regarding him with an inscrutable half-smile. “Miss what, exactly?”
“Home,” Jin clarified softly. “Tokyo. The life you had. The people you knew.” He hesitated, then added, “The things we used to do… walking in the city, talking about nothing and everything. You once told me the world felt small to you – but don’t you miss the small things sometimes?” His voice was earnest, almost pleading.
For a moment, Reika didn’t respond. A slow sigh escaped her, and she reached out to Jin. Her hand, with that impossible gentleness, brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead. The gesture was so familiar – Reika used to do it absentmindedly when he was studying and let his hair fall in his eyes. Jin’s chest constricted at the memory. “Oh, Jin,” she said with a soft laugh. “Still clinging to sentiment, I see.” She gave the top of his head a light tap with her fingertip, teasing. “You always were the nostalgic one between us.”
Jin flushed, a spark of annoyance flaring. She was deflecting, treating his heartfelt question like a child’s naïveté. “It’s not sentiment,” he protested. “It’s a real question. Don’t you miss anything from our world? The food? Your favorite books? The feel of the summer sun? Anything at all?”
At the mention of food, Reika’s eyes lit with a glint of humor. “The food,” she repeated, almost purring. “I admit, Tokyo’s cuisine was delightful. I did miss that.” She leaned back and gestured lazily toward the open doorway of the throne room. Far below, Jin could make out what looked like a handful of servants standing at attention at the end of the hall, barely visible specks. “I have since… educated some of my servants in the preparation of those dishes I recall fondly.” Reika’s tone turned lightly mocking. “A true high fantasy epic, isn’t it? The Dark Queen demanding her chef recreate sushi and ramen.” She giggled, a sound that mingled genuine amusement with cruelty. “Some took to the task better than others. Those who failed me, well… I gave them ample motivation to improve.”
Jin’s blood ran cold at the image that conjured: some trembling cook desperately trying to assemble a passable bowl of tonkotsu ramen while a giant goddess glared down, ready to punish any mistake. He could imagine all too well what “motivation” meant – perhaps a demonstration with that black tendril magic, or a casual break of a limb to improve focus. Jin shivered, and Reika’s hand – which still rested beside him – curled a fraction closer, her fingers enclosing him in a half-ring.
“You’re frowning, Jin,” she observed softly. Her eyes bore into him with a dangerous fondness. “Does it frighten you, imagining what I’ve done to survive and thrive here?”
He met her gaze and did not sugarcoat his answer. “You’re terrifying,” he said bluntly.
Reika’s brows lifted in surprise, and then she laughed – a genuine, rich laugh that echoed off the vaulted ceiling. Rather than anger her, his frankness seemed to please her. “Good,” she purred. In a swift motion that made Jin yelp, she scooped him off the armrest entirely and deposited him onto her lap. He landed on a broad expanse of velvet and silk – the skirt of her kimono spread across her thighs. Before he could scramble away, Reika’s right hand settled over him. She didn’t press down; she simply held him there, palm curved possessively around his body like a seatbelt of flesh and bone. Her left hand idly stroked his hair with a single finger. Jin realized she was cuddling him – in her own immense, domineering way.
“You should fear me,” Reika murmured above, her tone light but firm. “Everyone should. I become what I am – to become the strongest. And the strongest need not answer to anyone’s idea of right or wrong.”
Jin squirmed slightly under the weight of her palm. Through the soft sleeve of her kimono, he could feel the immense warmth of her body and the steady drum of her pulse. It reminded him disturbingly of how alive she was – not a nightmare, not a spirit, but Reika in the flesh, albeit magnified to colossal proportions. “Maybe you don’t answer to others,” he said carefully. “But what about answering to yourself? Reika… are you truly happy?” He wasn’t sure where he found the courage to ask that, but it slipped out before he could reconsider.
High above him, Reika went still. Her finger ceased its gentle stroking through his hair. Jin felt her muscles tighten ever so slightly around him. Slowly, she lifted him up once more, bringing him level with her face. Her hands held him around the waist, dangling his legs in the air – a pose almost like how one might hold a stubborn kitten. Her expression was unreadable, a porcelain mask of beauty framed by the dark fringe of her hair. “Happy,” she echoed, tasting the word. She tilted her head as if considering it genuinely for the first time in ages.
“I have power undreamt of,” she said quietly. “I can reshape mountains, command legions, and bend the fabric of reality in this realm to my will. I have lived far past my natural lifespan without aging a day. I fear nothing in this world or the next. Is that not the very pinnacle of happiness people strive for – the power to control their fate?” She arched one elegant eyebrow.
Jin looked into those luminous eyes and saw emptiness behind the boast. Control, yes – she had that. But happiness? The fact that she hadn’t simply said yes spoke volumes. “You didn’t answer my question,” he replied softly.
A flicker of irritation crossed Reika’s face, and her grip on Jin tightened, squeezing the air from his lungs for a moment. He coughed, and she relaxed her hold slightly with a coy smile, as if to say careful. “You always were annoyingly perceptive,” she said. “Even when we were young.”
With deliberate grace, Reika stood from her throne, still holding Jin securely. The sudden motion made him dizzy; he found himself clutched against her chest, his view filled with the intricate golden pattern on her kimono and, above, the smooth column of her neck as she gazed down at him. Reika stepped down from the dais, carrying Jin effortlessly. “Am I happy?” she mused as she walked, each step sending a gentle bounce through Jin’s body. “Perhaps not in the way you mean. But I am content with what I am. I have purpose. I have certainty. And now… I have you as well.” She cradled him closer, like a treasured doll. “That is enough for me.”
Jin pressed his palms against the cool silk covering her bosom, trying to put a little space between them so he could look up. “And what about what’s enough for me?” he asked quietly.
Reika paused mid-stride, just before the towering doors of the throne room. She lowered her gaze to him, and for a moment, Jin thought he saw a genuine hint of concern in her eyes. “What do you want, Jin?” she asked. The question was simple, almost gentle – yet Jin felt the trap in it. He thought of freedom, of home, of everything his heart yearned for… and knew voicing any of it now would be futile.
What did he want? He wanted this nightmare to release the girl he’d cared about. He wanted to wake up in Tokyo with Reika laughing about the “weird dream” they both had. He wanted to not feel so completely lost and small and frightened. But none of that was within reach.
So Jin answered with the only thing that might have a chance: “I want to understand you. I want to help you, Reika… if you’ll let me.” It was not a lie, though it wasn’t the whole truth either.
Reika’s eyes widened slightly. Then, to his surprise, they softened. She lifted her free hand and, with the back of a finger, she caressed his cheek. There was tenderness in the gesture that nearly brought tears to Jin’s eyes. “Ever the selfless one,” she murmured. “Even now, shaking in my grasp, you’re thinking of me. How very… Jin of you.”
He managed a faint, crooked smile at that. “Someone has to, since you seem determined not to think of yourself as that girl from Tokyo ever again.”
A shadow passed over Reika’s face, but it was fleeting. “That girl from Tokyo is gone,” she said, not unkindly. “But I’m still here. This is me, Jin. Perhaps more ‘me’ than I ever was before. You’ll come to see that in time.”
Without waiting for an answer, she carried him out of the throne room. The massive double doors swung aside at her approach. Outside stretched a long arcade of arches opening onto the night of the Demon Realm. Far below, the courtyard glimmered. Reika stepped onto a wide balcony. She stood there, a dark colossus against a storm of a sky, and held Jin up gently to her shoulder so that he could share her view.
“Look,” she said softly, almost coaxingly.
Jin looked out. In the distance, beyond the palace grounds, the Demon Realm rolled out in all its terrible splendor. The rivers of fire traced glowing arteries to every horizon. Clouds of ash drifted through the air like lazy ghosts. And there, far on the edge of sight, a thin line of brighter light marked the boundary where the Demon Realm met the mortal world. It was the gate they had crossed. Beyond that threshold lay the world of humans – his world – and the devastation Reika had left behind. A faint orange glow marked the smoldering remains of Kagetora on the nightscape.
Jin’s chest constricted at the sight. So much death in so little time. Could the people in that world ever hope to stand against someone like her? Beside that thought rose another: Could I? He was only one person, with no extraordinary power. What could he possibly do to make a difference, here or there? Jin felt Reika’s warm cheek nuzzle briefly against the top of his head, pulling him from his dark reverie.
“You see, there’s no going back,” Reika whispered, following his gaze to the distant flicker of the mortal realm. “Only forward. The sooner you accept that, the happier you’ll be.” She turned her head and pressed a kiss to the side of Jin’s face – a huge, soft pressure accompanied by the unbelievable warmth of her lips. It was a gesture of affection and ownership all at once. Jin shut his eyes, tears escaping despite himself.
In that moment, held against the heartbeat of a god and overlooking a world of nightmares, Jin finally allowed himself to grieve. He grieved the carefree girl who would never wander Tokyo’s neon streets again. He grieved the men and women whose lives had been reduced to ash and memory in the span of an hour. He grieved his own lost normalcy, the quiet college days and possible futures snatched away by fate’s cruel whim.
And as Reika hummed an ancient lullaby into the smoky night – a sound both beautiful and chilling – Jin vowed silently that he would not let this future be the end of their story. He would find the humanity still flickering within the Goddess of Ruin, or he would perish trying.