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Atomic Samurai is in trouble, in a kind of trouble that he should have foreseen. He's in trouble with monsters, monsters he can't kill. Not because he can't, he can of course destroy any and all mysterious beings. The problem is one of the heart, rather than the sword.
“But I didn't do anything!” he declares, his face blood red, beads of sweat gathering on his brow. Where he is cannot be described, because he's currently everywhere and nowhere at once.
“You paid an insane amount of mortal money for her mizuage, did you not?” asks an infinity of voices. Every voice that was, that is, and that will be. It's a good thing Atomic Samurai is no ordinary man, or he would have been blasted off the pockmarked skin of the universe the instant Yog-Sothoth yanked him out of time and space in order to politely inquire as to just what in the void the hero supposes he's getting up to with the outer god's daughter.
“Yeeah, because I only ac-”
“And so?!”
“I told you, I didn't do anything!”
“You paid many fortunes for the right to be first to mate with her, and then did nothing.”
Kamikaze’s robes begin to burn where they touch his super heated skin. It's so bad that The Key and the Gate has to douse him in metaphysical ice water to stop him spontaneously combusting.
“I'm an elite hero. It would be weak of me to give into base desires.” grinds the samurai, from between his teeth.
“So why did you pay for nothing?”
“I didn't pay for nothing, I paid so that no one else could…you know, be with her. I paid her debt off. It was either pay or begin slicing heads.”
An infinitude of eyes and orbs, and orb-like eyes blink, lazily. Of course Yog knew all this already. Knew it since the dawn of time. If he didn't know it, Kamikaze would have been fed to the grandchildren by now. A micro instant later a gigantic cosmic shotgun manifests out of the ether, its twin barrels pointed at the haughty Japanese man. “Very well, however, I cannot have mine and my daughter's reputation sullied amongst the fiends who lurk within the void. You shall be merging with her forthwith.”
“You mean marry?”
The shotgun hovers closer. Atomic could probably slash it to pieces, however sawing off the barrel of a shotgun only makes it more deadly. “Indeed.” drones Yog.
“If you care about reputation, why have you let her be a geisha?”
“That's none of your business, demi-mortal. Manifest wedding attire.”
Since Kamikaze hesitates, not possessing the ability to simply manifest a change of clothes on the fly, the supreme monster does it for him, generating a suit made of Tindalosian Hound skin as a subtle screw you slash welcome to the family. The hero blinks, and finds himself inside a chapel, a perfectly ordinary chapel in space (complete with special allowances) standing next to an even more gloriously arrayed woman. So glorious is she that he goes blind and begins burning up again.
“These little Earthworms are so fragile. Here, my special treat.” booms a Voice, healing his son-in-law and gifting him special sunglasses so that he can look into Kanako’s or rather, Helen's face without suffering instant defeat.
“Hello, dear Mr Samurai. Are you being coerced to be here today?” says Helen, smiling mysteriously at her husband-to-be.
Atomic grins back woozily, blushing much more pleasantly now, the unobstructed view of his beloved sending him into ecstasy. “Not really. Your dad's expediting my dream come true, for some reason. Still, I would prefer to do things in a classier way, with a gift registry, and duels in my honour. But what about you? Did he pull a gun on you too, sweetheart?”
“NEVER!!” Booms an enraged father. A trillion worlds crash and burn, a billion poets going mad in the Milky Way alone.
“No. I very much desire to intertwine my life with yours.” says the geisha, letting her hands be taken by her samurai as a priest prepares to witness the vows and a variety of guests begin manifesting in the pews. Some are semi-normal, like Iaian, whilst others are Wilbur Whateley and his twin brother.
“That's what Kanako says. What about Hel? What does she say?” asks Kamikaze, getting his ‘you may now kiss the bride' stance prepared.
“I love you, my silly man.”