The South China Sea, in international waters.
Clouds black as ink hung overhead, and lead-gray waves rolled and crashed against the massive metal hull.
On the broad deck of America's nuclear-powered aircraft carrier Reagan, not a single fighter jet took off or landed. Over a thousand American sailors had retreated to the edges of the island, watching the center of the deck with awe written across their faces.
Three old men stood there, dressed in white kariginu robes from the Edo Period.
They wore no protective equipment, yet the fierce wind could not ruffle a single strand of their hair. Their feet hovered half an inch above the deck, as though gravity had lost its hold on them.
"Abe, that country called Huaxia seems to have nothing left but these fragile iron shells." The old man on the left kept his shriveled eyelids closed, his voice as hoarse as a screech owl's. "I locked down their commander's brain with my divine sense, and he offered not the slightest resistance. Boring."
The old man in the middle, addressed as Abe, slowly opened his eyes. A murky glint of dark gold flashed through his pupils. "Eight hundred years. The spiritual veins dried up, and the three of us relied on the empire's dragon vein to sustain our slumber, yet still fell from Nascent Soul to late Core Formation. Now Prime Minister Takaichi has awakened us at the cost of the empire's last remaining national fortune. We have, at most, ten days of lifespan left."
"Ten days is enough." The old man on the right sneered. "Within ten days, we will wipe out Huaxia's fleet in these waters and clear every obstacle for the Little Japan Empire. If that legendary 'god' of theirs dares to come, we will rip out his divine soul