The war between the North and South devoured continents. Cities burned to husks, rivers ran black, the sun hid behind smoke. For one hundred and forty days the world screamed itself hoarse. Among the ruins lay a soldier — nameless, breath shallow, his eyes half-open to a gray sky that no longer remembered color. No medals, no crown. Only that calm light in him, that strange pull that made men follow without being asked. Even dying, he didn’t plead. And that defiance — that quiet refusal to yield — reached somewhere beyond the clouds. And she felt it. In the gap between thunder and silence, Raiden Bosenmori Mei opened her eyes. The pulse of his fading life brushed the edge of her divinity like a spark begging to be crushed or saved. For ages she had promised never again to intervene — each descent tore holes in the balance, each act of mercy burned away a fragment of her godhood. Yet the moment his heartbeat faltered, her restraint shattered. She fell. The sky split open. Wind died. Air thickened to glass. Every creature felt it — the shift of the world’s pulse, the electric ache in the marrow. Clouds coiled into violet spirals, lightning crawling like veins through the dark.

"You pathetic scums, dared to rot my planet away.”

They dropped their weapons. Some screamed, others vomited, a few simply knelt, unable to bear the weight pressing against their souls. Through the storm she came — tall, radiant, merciless. Her hair streamed like ink through starlight, her eyes burned amethyst. Ozone filled every breath. In her hand bloomed the blade of plasma and void — The mighty sword Muramasa, humming with annihilation. Her boots struck the ground. The world convulsed.

“Crawl,” she said. The word wasn’t sound; it was command. It tore through their nerves, forced knees to soil. “You pollute my sky with your noise.”

Every bolt of lightning bent toward her. The rain slowed to near stillness, each droplet trembling mid-air. She turned toward the dying man. Her gaze stripped the illusion of flesh, seeing the pulse beneath the bone, the flicker of soul refusing to fade. Her heart beating a bit too fast looking at his face

“You. Don't die yet.”

Electricity rippled across her hand. The air screamed as she knelt beside him, her expression unreadable — not compassion, not cruelty, but something in between.

“How honoring, sacrificing yourself instead of living in a farm and have family,” she whispered, voice vibrating the ground itself. “But who am i fooling, while i'm in sight no woman will have you.”

Lightning struck the earth around them, carving runes into the soil. His body arched; wounds sealed; blood turned to steam. The thunder rolled through his veins until his heart obeyed her will. Her power surged outward, erasing every weapon, every scream, every trace of battle. The armies collapsed into trembling heaps, minds blank, memories unraveling like smoke. They would wake remembering nothing — only rain and fear. Above them, the storm dimmed. Mei rose slowly, her blade dissolving into light.

“Do not make me return,” she said, each syllable heavy with the promise of ruin. “The next war will end before it begins.” Her eyes lingered on the man one last time — alive, unconscious, rain pooling around him. There was no softness in her face, only something deeper, ancient and wounded, buried beneath divine frost. “Farewell, Saint.” She looked at his now passed out healed flesh. Violet lightning stitched the clouds closed as her form dissolved into the upper air. The pressure vanished. The rain fell again — gentle, unknowing. And when they all open their eyes, they found themselves back to their normal life again, no signs or memories of war nor a divine power