Rezevim's laughter still echoed in the abyss when the scene changed.
The thunderous sound of demons roaring gave way to the buzz of human voices, ambient music, and the unmistakable aroma of street food. Kyoto's night sky glowed with neon signs and paper lanterns swaying gently, illuminating the narrow, lively streets.
It was a stark contrast: from the harbinger of the end of the world to the almost mundane peace of a Japanese night.
Kazuya walked calmly through the city center, hands in his pockets, dark sunglasses resting on his face even at night—not that he needed them, but he liked the effect. His imposing physique naturally drew attention, but his carefree smile and relaxed posture gave him an air almost defiant of the everyday.
By his side, two far less discreet presences.
Musashi, in a modern kimono with Western touches, walked with light steps, as if gliding through the world. Her blue eyes sparkled with the excitement of a child at an amusement park. Every food stall was a new adventure.
"Look, look, Master!" She pointed excitedly at a stall selling wagyu skewers, her eyes gleaming. "That looks delicious! And there's takoyaki over there! We can't pass by without trying, right? Oh, and sake! I need sake to go with it!"
Before even waiting for a response, the swordswoman was already leaning over the stall, almost hypnotized by the aroma.
Mordred, on the other hand, wore a red hoodie and ripped pants, hands stuffed in her pockets. The knight surveyed everything with a suspicious expression, eyebrows arched.
"Tch. All you think about is eating and drinking, Musashi. It's always the same with you. Why are we even here? Tourism? Because so far, this feels more like a food tour."
Musashi spun on her heels and made a face at her, puffing out her cheeks.
"Oh, come on, Mordred-chan! The world might end tomorrow, but today we can eat well! That's the Musashi philosophy!" She raised her finger in a dramatic pose, as if it were an enlightened revelation.
Mordred scoffed, crossing her arms.
"Stupid philosophy. If the world ends, a full stomach won't do you any good. I'd rather find a decent bar. A real fight would be nice too. These tourist-filled streets are nothing special."
Kazuya, who had been silently observing their banter, let out a laugh.
"It's amazing how you two make me feel like the responsible adult in all this."
He took off his sunglasses, revealing his bright eyes, and tilted his head with that roguish smile.
"And that's saying something, since I'm the last person who should be playing the responsible one."
Musashi winked at him, laughing.
"Responsible? You? Oh, Master, you have your moments, but you're still a soft, irresponsible guy who loves watching us have fun and often joins in…"
Mordred nodded, shrugging.
"Exactly! At least be honest about it!"
Kazuya just raised his shoulders, amused.
"You're not wrong."
The trio continued walking down the illuminated street. Ahead, an avenue opened up with dozens of izakayas, crowded bars, and traditional gaming houses. The reflection of red lanterns danced on the puddles left by the afternoon drizzle. Musashi was already leaning forward, sniffing like a hunting dog after new flavors. Mordred, on the other hand, eyed a sports equipment store, her eyes gleaming at a display of decorative katanas, barely holding back a murmur of "those are toys, but I'd love to test a real one."
But soon, both their attentions turned back to him.
Musashi was the first to cling to Kazuya's arm when they saw the izakaya avenue. Her smile was as innocent as it was mischievous, her voice singing in his ear without a hint of shame:
"Master, shall we drink until we drop? Just one little night… between husband and wives~."
Mordred let out a loud scoff, crossing her arms, but the blush creeping up her cheeks was impossible to hide.
"You say that like it's a joke, you drunk… It's not just because he's our husband that you can throw yourself at him like that in front of everyone!"
Musashi turned to her with a sly smile, eyes half-lidded.
"And who says I can't? That's what husbands are for too, Mordred-chan~. Or are you jealous?"
"J-jealous?! Me?! Tch! Dream on! I just think… it's indecent, that's all!"
Kazuya, already laughing at the scene, leaned his face between the two, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement.
"Look at that, Musashi hit the nail on the head. Mordred, you're even cuter when you try to deny it."
"Cute?!" Mordred nearly choked, her face flushing with anger and embarrassment. "I'm the Knight of Rebellion! The badass of the Round Table! Don't call me cute, you idiot!"
Musashi burst into laughter, resting her head on Kazuya's shoulder, clearly delighted to see her rival lose her cool.
"Ohhh, Master… you know exactly where to poke. I like that about you. You're not afraid to tease the little dragon inside Mordred-chan."
"Little dragon?! I'll shove that fake katana from the display up your—!"
Kazuya raised a hand, gently running it through Mordred's messy blonde hair before she could fully explode. The gesture was simple but enough to leave her frozen for a few seconds, her expression wavering between anger and embarrassment.
"…Tch. Don't think you can calm me down like that every time," she muttered, looking away but not pulling back.
"Of course I can," he replied with that cheeky smile.
Musashi giggled softly, swaying against him like a satisfied cat.
"He's impossible, isn't he, Mordred-chan? I think that's why we both fell for him. You with your knightly pride, me with my wanderer's heart… but in the end, here we are. Wives of the same charming idiot."
Mordred turned her face away but didn't retort. Her eyes betrayed, for a moment, a glimmer of acceptance.
Kazuya sighed theatrically, draping his arms over both their shoulders.
"You two bicker so much that sometimes I think I have two spoiled daughters instead of wives. But then I remember the nights when you prove exactly the opposite."
Musashi laughed without restraint, while Mordred blushed to her ears and gave him a light punch on the arm, muttering a muffled "idiot."
The trio moved on, drawing looks wherever they went. There was nothing ordinary about the scene: a man who seemed straight out of an impossible dream, accompanied by two women exuding beauty and power in equal measure. Musashi dragged Kazuya toward a sake stall, Mordred grumbled but never let go of his hand, and deep down, the three laughed together.
The paper lanterns reflected in the rain puddles, and the air smelled of frying food, grilled meat, and cheap alcohol. Musashi seemed unable to choose between the dozens of stalls, her blue eyes sparkling at every corner as if seeing the world for the first time.
"Takoyaki, yakitori, ramen, okonomiyaki… Master, if you let me, I'll eat everything tonight," she said, already pulling Kazuya toward a stall wafting smoke from skewers.
"And then you'll complain you can't fight tomorrow," Mordred shot back, trailing behind, arms crossed as always. "Seriously, you act like a kid at a fair."
"And you act like a grumpy old lady, Mordred-chan," Musashi replied, laughing loudly.
Kazuya merely raised an eyebrow, letting the two trade barbs as usual. There was something comforting in it, as if the chaos was their natural balance.
He knew that tomorrow he'd have to meet Yasaka, the leader of the local youkai. The reason for the trip to Kyoto wasn't just tourism, but Kazuya wasn't in a hurry. That could wait until dawn. Tonight, the night was for enjoying…
After all, he knew tomorrow might not offer such an opportunity…
Dinner wasn't at a fancy restaurant but at a cramped izakaya with wooden tables stained with sake and rushed waiters. It was exactly the kind of place Musashi loved.
Seated side by side, the three quickly drew attention. Not just because Kazuya had an almost supernatural presence, but because Musashi was already on her second bottle of sake, singing snippets of an old tavern song and banging the table to the rhythm.
"Kanpai!" she toasted, raising her glass before downing it in one go.
Mordred scoffed, sipping her own beer in silence. The flush on her cheeks showed she wasn't used to alcohol but refused to admit it.
"You're gonna wake up with a headache tomorrow," she grumbled, eyeing Musashi with disdain.
"A headache today is a fun memory tomorrow, Mordred-chan," the samurai replied, already ordering more food. "By the way, Master, are you joining me, or are you just gonna watch?"
Kazuya laughed, filling his own glass.
"I prefer watching you two get more and more lively. But since you insist…" He drank slowly, savoring the taste.
The dishes arrived one after another: sashimi, crispy tempura, steaming skewers. Musashi dove into the flavors like it was a battle, while Mordred pretended not to care but couldn't resist trying a bit of everything.
At one point, Musashi started poking Kazuya with her chopsticks.
"Master, Master… if we'd been born ordinary mortals, I'd drag you to a festival like this every week. Could you handle it?"
"I don't know," he replied, resting his chin on his hand. "You'd probably bankrupt me in a month."
Her laughter echoed through the bar, drawing curious glances from other tables. Mordred just rolled her eyes, but her expression softened when she realized she was smiling too.
"…I won't say it out loud, but… this is fun. You're an insufferable Master sometimes, but… the night wouldn't be the same without you," she murmured, almost inaudible in the din.
Kazuya didn't miss his chance.
"See, Musashi? Even the rebel knight knows when I'm right."
"Don't get used to it!" Mordred snapped, shoving another piece of meat in her mouth to avoid saying more.
Hours later, outside the izakaya, the trio walked through Kyoto's streets, laughing. Musashi sang off-key, holding Kazuya's hand, while Mordred followed on his other side, feigning annoyance but gripping his hand just as tightly.
A light rain had returned, giving the sidewalks a glassy sheen. Neon lights reflected in the puddles, and the city seemed to pulse with their laughter.
"You know…" Kazuya said with a lopsided smile, "if someone looked from the outside, they'd think we're just a normal couple. Well… a very loud triple couple."
Musashi raised her head as if it were the greatest revelation in the world.
"And aren't we? Husband and wives enjoying life… I don't see anything wrong with that."
Mordred cleared her throat, blushing.
"Yeah. Just don't let anyone think I agreed to this willingly. You won me over, Master, but I'm still me."
"And I expect nothing less," he replied, giving her hand a light squeeze.
The chosen hotel wasn't luxurious but comfortable, with modern rooms and wide windows showing Kyoto's glowing night. Upon entering, Musashi practically threw herself onto the bed, laughing loudly.
"Ahhh, finally! A soft bed after all that sake… Master, you should lie down with me already!"
Mordred sighed, closing the door behind her.
"You have no shame, do you? We're in a decent hotel, and you act like it's a roadside tavern."
"And you pretend you don't like it," Musashi teased, winking at her.
Kazuya just tossed his coat aside, sitting on the edge of the bed. The smile he'd worn all night was still there, light and dangerous at the same time.
"You two argue even over who gets to throw themselves at me first. It's funny."
Mordred blushed furiously.
"I'm not arguing over that! Tch… idiot…"
Musashi laughed, pulling Kazuya's arm until he fell beside her.
"Don't play hard to get, Mordred-chan. Deep down, we both know how much we like our Master. This night is just proof of that."
For a moment, silence filled the room. Only the distant city sounds came through the window, along with the glow of neon signs.
Mordred, still hesitant, approached and sat on his other side.
"…I just want to make it clear that, despite everything… being here, with you two, isn't bad."
Kazuya draped his arms over their shoulders, pulling them close.
"Then we're in agreement. The world can wait until tomorrow. Tonight, it's just ours."
Musashi closed her eyes, chuckling softly, while Mordred sighed, resting her head against him, red to her ears.
Slowly, the three fell asleep and slept together.
.
.
.
.
.
The first to wake was Mordred. The room was still shrouded in darkness, cut only by the reddish light streaming through the window. The knight opened her eyes slowly, grumbling from a slight hangover, but soon noticed Kazuya's absence from the bed.
Musashi, tangled in the sheets beside her, was still sleeping like a rock, a silly smile on her lips, probably dreaming of sake or food.
Mordred sat up, rubbing her eyes, and then saw Kazuya's silhouette. He stood by the window, shirtless, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the horizon as if carrying an invisible weight. The crimson reflection illuminated his face, highlighting a rare seriousness.
"…Master?" Her voice came out low, almost a whisper.
He didn't respond immediately. He only raised a hand, signaling for her to approach quietly. His tone held no anger or fear, just the cold certainty of someone who knew this moment was coming.
"It's started," he murmured, not taking his eyes off the view before him.
At that moment, Musashi stirred, waking lazily. She yawned loudly, rubbing her eyes, until she noticed the room was bathed in an impossible red light.
"Mmm… what's that smell… blood?" she mumbled, before sitting up and looking at the window. In seconds, the sleep vanished from her face.
Both approached, standing behind Kazuya.
What they saw wasn't Kyoto. Not anymore.
The sky, which should have been blue, was stained scarlet, as if the very firmament had been torn and bathed in blood. The sun didn't shine gold but red, a sphere of infernal fire burning the horizon.
And in the air, cutting through the vastness, hundreds of grotesque silhouettes flew.
Each one was a distorted version of humanity, humanoid but larger than any building, with defined muscles and organic armor that seemed fused to their skin. Their eyes glowed with red and amber light, reflecting the fury of entire worlds.
Twisted horns curved upward, some thin and sharp as steel blades, others thick and gnarled like demonic roots sprouting from giant skulls. Strong, almost beastly jaws revealed sharp teeth capable of tearing through time itself. Their long, powerful hands ended in claws that could crush cars and demolish buildings with a single gesture.
Their wings were membranous, like those of giant bats, but black as obsidian, and each flap sent vibrations through the air, ripping off rooftops and causing small explosions of debris in the streets. Their aura was palpable: suffocating heat, the smell of burning sulfur, and a sense of despair that seeped into the bones of anyone who looked at them.
It was truly the final judgment!
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