The Fall of the General

Deep within Tenshukaku, the lightning had not yet faded. The purple-haired Shogun pressed one hand against her sword, its scabbard scraping a scorching trail across the floor. She summoned every ounce of strength to rise again, yet her knees felt as if they had been nailed to the ground. Before her, the puppet that bore her exact face merely gazed down at her with lowered eyes, a hint of a smile at the corner of its lips — a smile she had never seen before. A god does not bleed, but dignity does. Ei finally understood: from the moment she was summoned into this inner world, the true trial had never been about blades, but about the posture of kneeling.