Chapter 1: Blood and Ruin

I still remember the warmth of the afternoon sun as it filtered through the shrine’s wooden latticework. The scent of incense, the quiet murmur of prayers in the background, and the way Reika tilted her head as she studied the ancient artifact on the altar.

"It looks old," she had mused, fingers hovering just above the lacquered surface. "But kinda beautiful, don’t you think?"

She touched it before I could stop her.

And then—everything was gone.

I woke up to the scent of burning flesh.

It filled my nose, thick and putrid, mingling with the acrid sting of smoke and the sharp, metallic tang of freshly spilled blood. My lungs protested as I gasped for air, but all I inhaled was death.

I was lying on something wet.

Something warm.

I turned my head, and my cheek pressed against slick, cooling skin. The man’s lifeless eyes stared past me, mouth frozen in a final, silent scream. His throat had been torn open, the wound jagged and raw, as if something had ripped it apart with its teeth.

A shadow fell over me.

I rolled instinctively—just in time.

The club smashed into the corpse where I had been lying, shattering ribs and splitting open what remained of his torso with a sickening crack. Blood and viscera splattered across my face, warm and sticky, the sickly sweet scent of rotting entrails making me want to vomit.

I didn’t have time.

The thing that had attacked me—a hulking brute covered in matted black fur, with curved horns and too many teeth—let out a guttural growl, lifting its crude iron weapon again. Its yellowed eyes gleamed with hunger, its bloated, distended stomach gurgling as if anticipating its next meal.

It was going to eat me.

I tried to scramble backward, but my limbs felt sluggish, heavy—like I didn’t belong in my own body anymore.

The club swung down.

I was going to die.

And then the spear came.

It burst through the oni’s throat, steel piercing thick muscle and rupturing cartilage with an audible shhk. The creature let out a choked snarl, clawing at its impaled neck, but before it could react, a second blow followed—a precise slash of a katana, separating its head from its shoulders in one fluid motion.

The body collapsed beside me, twitching.

A man stepped forward, yanking his spear free with practiced ease. He was broad-shouldered, clad in dark-lacquered armor, his face half-hidden beneath an iron kabuto. The kanji for "duty" was etched into the chest plate, worn with age but polished to a sharp gleam. His grip on his weapon was steady, calculated, the same way a seasoned hunter regards a dying animal.

He stared at me for only a moment, then spoke.

"If you can stand, do it now."

I didn’t hesitate.

More warriors stormed past us, their blades carving through the remaining monsters with brutal efficiency. Blood painted the ground, mingling with mud and shattered bone, the air thick with the raw stench of death. It wasn’t a battle. It was a slaughter.

I was dragged away from the carnage, barely able to keep up.

The man leading me didn’t look back.

The castle loomed over us, its towering wooden walls lined with defensive spikes, torches burning like funeral pyres against the night sky.

I barely had time to process the towering iron gates slamming shut behind us before I was forced onto my knees.

The audience chamber was dimly lit, the scent of aged parchment and ink fighting against the lingering smell of sweat and blood. At the far end of the room sat a man who radiated authority without even needing to move.

Shogun Hoshikawa Takahiro, ruler of the Kagetora faction of this land.

His hair was beginning to silver, but there was nothing weak about him. His robes were simple yet elegant, the deep blues embroidered with the crest of his clan, a coiled dragon rising from the waves. His posture was relaxed, but I could feel the weight of his presence pressing down on me like an unseen force.

Beside me, the man who had saved me knelt, bowing his head briefly before speaking.

"Lord Hoshikawa. We found him on the battlefield. He is not of any known clan."

The shogun's gaze shifted to me.

"A ronin, then?" His voice was calm, but there was an edge beneath it, like the distant rumble of an approaching storm.

I swallowed. I had no idea what to say. I didn’t belong here.

The warrior beside me—Captain Masanori Taketsune—spoke again.

"He fights like a man who has held a blade before. But he is… different."

Hoshikawa’s sharp eyes studied me closely. "Different how?"

Masanori was silent for a moment, then finally said, "He does not know this land."

The room fell deathly quiet.

Hoshikawa exhaled, slowly, fingers drumming against the wood of his armrest. His expression betrayed nothing, but I could feel the weight of his thoughts.

Outside, the distant wail of horns echoed through the night.

The oni were coming again.

Finally, Hoshikawa spoke.

"Our walls are tested each night. If you wish to live, then fight with us."

It wasn’t a question.

It wasn’t a request.

It was an order.

I lowered my head.

"I will fight."

That night, the monsters returned.

The sky wept fire as siege weapons hurled flaming stones over the walls, setting the outer districts ablaze. The ground shook beneath the weight of colossal oni, their bellows splitting the night air.

Men screamed. Steel clashed. Flesh was torn from bone.

And I stood among them, blade slick with blood.

For the first time since my arrival in this world, I fought.

And against all odds—we held the walls.

But as the first hints of dawn bled into the sky, the battlefield fell silent.

Not in victory.

Not in relief.

Something was coming.

At first, I thought it was the silence itself that had unsettled me. The clash of steel had faded, the cries of the dying reduced to whispers, and even the roaring fires consuming the outer walls seemed distant. But then I felt it.

The ground trembled.

It was subtle at first, no more than a faint vibration beneath my knees. I thought perhaps it was the remnants of the battle—the aftershocks of fallen siege engines or the slow collapse of ruined structures. But then it grew stronger. Heavier.

A dull, rhythmic pulse, deep beneath the earth.

The loose stones on the ground began to shift. Pools of blood rippled outward, distorted by some unseen force. My breath caught as the tremors built—not erratic, but steady. Like footsteps.

Something immense was moving.

I wasn’t the only one who noticed.

The warriors around me—those who had survived the slaughter—froze where they stood. Some gripped their weapons tighter, knuckles turning white. Others turned toward the sound, eyes wide with something I had not yet come to understand.

Then, through the haze of smoke and fire, I saw something move in the distance.

A shadow.

At first, it was barely more than a silhouette against the burning horizon, distorted by heat and distance. But it was there—a shape too large, too deliberate, too human. The trembling of the ground matched its rhythm, slow and unhurried.

A figure, striding forward.

I couldn’t make out the details at first. The smoke coiled around it, obscuring its form. But as it moved, as it drew closer, the distortions peeled away, revealing glimpses of something impossible.

A woman.

Tall. Unnaturally tall. A giantess of a monumental 25m (82 feet) height.

My pulse pounded against my ribs.

The way she walked—slow, deliberate, effortless—wasn’t like the march of an army or the reckless charge of a beast. There was a grace to it, a smooth, unhurried elegance that felt completely at odds with the destruction around us.

The closer she came, the more details fell into place.

At first, I saw the curve of her bare shoulders, smooth and untouched, as if she had never known battle. Then, the long, flowing sleeves of her robe—not armor, not rags, but something luxurious. The fabric clung to her in ways that made no sense for someone so massive, draping around her body like silk made of shadow and moonlight.

Her legs came into view next, emerging through high, slitted folds of fabric with every fluid step. Sheer black stockings hugged every inch of her impossibly long limbs, ending at golden garters that peeked just beneath the hem of her robe. The contrast against her pale skin was almost hypnotic.

Everything about her—the way she moved, the way her clothing shifted with her body—felt deliberate. Designed not just for elegance, but for allure.

My throat went dry.

I should have recognized the outfit immediately. But I didn’t.

This wasn’t the Reika I remembered from Tokyo.

She was something else entirely.

Her kimono—if it could even be called that—was unlike anything I had ever seen. Midnight-black silk, embroidered with golden sigils that shimmered like living script. The neckline plunged deep, scandalously open, revealing a smooth expanse of her chest. The robe was tied loosely at the waist, the layers of fabric overlapping just enough to tease what lay beneath. The slits running up her thighs left little to the imagination, yet the elegance of her posture made it seem intentional—controlled.

It wasn’t just clothing. It was a statement.

And then, at last, I saw her face.

I forgot how to breathe.

Her features were eerily perfect, sculpted with an ethereal beauty that was both familiar and completely alien. Her skin was flawless, as though it had never known a single imperfection. Her lips—full, slightly parted, almost amused—were curved in something that wasn’t quite a smile.

And her eyes.

Glowing amethyst, burning with something deeper than mere light.

They were… inhuman.

I had always known Reika to be beautiful. Even back in Tokyo, she had a presence about her—the kind of woman who made people turn their heads without understanding why.

But this…

This was something else.

She was breathtaking in a way that was almost painful. Like a celestial being had decided to wear human form, only to forget that humans weren’t supposed to look like this.

And yet, for all of that—

She still hadn’t seen me.

Her gaze drifted lazily across the battlefield, scanning the wreckage and the warriors still frozen in place. She barely seemed interested in them. No cruelty, no amusement. Just detached indifference.

Like none of this mattered.

The soldiers—grown men, hardened warriors—stood as if they had forgotten how to move. Some fell to their knees. Others only stared, mouths opening and closing like they wanted to speak but didn’t dare.

No one challenged her.

No one could.

It wasn’t just her size. It wasn’t just her beauty.

It was the presence of her.

The way the world itself seemed to bend around her.

The way the air grew thick, heavy, almost suffocating.

The way her mere existence had turned a battlefield into something silent and helpless.

A cold chill ran down my spine.

This wasn’t just a woman.

This wasn’t just a giant.

This was a goddess.

And I, standing among the stunned, breathless masses, had yet to fully understand the worst part of it all.

That I knew her.

That she had once been just like me.

That, somehow, Reika had become this.

Then—she looked at me.

And for the first time since I had arrived in this hellish world—

She looked just as stunned as I was.