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>[The skies above Spaghetti Town turn black.]
An oppressive silence falls across the city, broken only by the guttural roars of the angry heavens; lightning cracks and shakes the concrete; car alarms sound, windows shatter; destruction, devastation, demolition.
Footprints of ember mark her path forward. In fire she was born. In flame she has consumed the souls of million. Through immolation will she be reborn.
Many forms does she take. Many worshippers does she have. Many names does she go by: Bastet. Mars. Macha. Guan Yu. Freyja. Shiva. Ares. Vaiśravaṇa.
But from Japan to Spaghetti Town, a single phrase escapes the lips of the truly faithful; the truly fearful: Hail Eight Sword. Hail Eight Sword. Hail Eight Sword.
As she breaks the final seal, entry to the grounds of the WWA Dojo, the birds flee, their chirps and squawks sounding like a single word, sung in unison. And then it was heard, the voice of thunder.
"DO-JO. MON-STA. WAR HAS COME FOR YOU."
