"Nobodies."
The lightning followed the word. Those still surrounding him did not even have ti to scream before the arcs of blue-white energy tore through them. Flesh vaporized in the glare. Bone was reduced to fine dust by the rhythmic snapping of the current. In a heartbeat, a ten-pace circle around Kashimo had been cleared of every living shadow.
He did not slow down. With the Soul Split Katana propped over his shoulder, he walked toward the at throne. He stepped over the mangled remains of the horde, ignoring the blood that stained his white robes.
A crimson slash tore through the air from the side. It slamd into the floor half a step ahead of him, carving a deep trench into the pulsating muscle of the domain. Kashimo stopped and looked up.
A figure was hanging from the at-walls above. It was Ibaraki Doji: crimson skin, a demonic mask, and a massive crescent-shaped weapon. The edge of the blade humd with the sa red light that had carved the trench between the general and his king.
"You first, then."
Kashimo pushed off the ground, launching himself into the air. The Soul Split Katana cut a black arc through the red light, its edge trailing a wake of lightning as he brought it down.
The sound of the collision was deafening. The crescent blade t the katana with a shower of sparks, the impact sending a shockwave through the domain. Ibaraki's face was inches away, the demonic mask staring back with hollow, frozen sockets.
Kashimo let go of the hilt mid-air. As the swords remained locked by the sheer pressure of the clash, he drove his free hand into the center of the demon's mask. The blow landed with a dull crack. As he twisted his body in the air, Kashimo reached back and caught the falling hilt of the Soul Split Katana in one fluid motion.
He reversed the edge. The black blade swept upward, shearing through Ibaraki's arm. Purple blood sprayed across Kashimo's face, warm and thick.
Ibaraki did not make a sound. He gripped the crescent blade with his remaining hand and triggered a second slash at point-blank range. Kashimo saw the red light and the path of the strike, but there was no way to maneuver in mid-air.
A sudden chill hit his wrist. He looked down to see his right hand spinning away, still clutching the katana. Blood trailed through the air in an arc of dark crimson.
Kashimo did not cry out. He watched the falling limb, his brow furrowed in a slight frown. Was it the weapon itself, or a spatial technique like Sukuna's? He did not dwell on the thought. He reached out with his left hand, aiming for Ibaraki's second arm.
Lightning condensed around the edge of his palm, turning the hand into a vibrating blade of pure energy. He brought it down. The demon's second arm fell away, tumbling toward the sea of blood below.
Ibaraki lost his balance and fell from the wall.
Kashimo moved to catch his falling katana, but a shift in the air caught his attention. Ibaraki's body did not continue its fall. It was being pulled toward the throne by an invisible force.
He landed and looked up. Shuten Doji had moved. A massive hand reached out from the throne and caught the falling general. The hand was so large that Ibaraki's entire torso was swallowed in its grip, leaving only the mask and the bleeding stumps of his arms visible.
Shuten Doji opened his mouth and stuffed the struggling form of his general inside. The sound of crunching bone was heavy and sickening. Purple blood leaked from the corners of his mouth, staining the at throne.
Kashimo watched from below. His reverse cursed technique was already working, flesh and bone knitting together at his wrist with visible speed. He ignored the process, his eyes fixed on the giant.
"Eating his own to get stronger," Kashimo muttered. "Is he trying to reincarnate?"
The Soul Split Katana lay on the floor nearby, its black blade gleaming coldly in the red light.
From within the barrier, Kenjaku and Fuka watched the exchange. In the few minutes since Kashimo had thrown his staff, thousands of spirits had been erased. Fuka's hands were clenched so tight her knuckles were white.
It was madness. Every one of those spirits had possessed enough cursed energy to level a village. Yet Kashimo was harvesting them like wheat. He moved with the grace of a god and the lethality of a demon.
Kenjaku stood at the edge of the barrier, his smile gone. He watched Kashimo pick up the Soul Split Katana and look back toward the throne. He had witnessed the peak of the Heian era, the golden age of sorcery. He knew what a monster looked like.
Thousands of legendary spirits, erased in less than seven minutes. This was not just a powerful sorcerer.
The strongest beneath Sukuna.
The thought surfaced in Kenjaku's mind, and he realized he had been underestimating the man in the white robes. Kashimo was not a tool. He was the one who stood directly beneath the King.
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A/n: 500 power stones = 1 bonus chapter. Don't forget to vote with your power stones!!
For early access to 15 chapters ahead: p@tre~~/Demonic_Fiction (Link is in the synopsis and my profile).
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