West of Kyōto, within the borders of Tanba Province, the mountains had been severed.
Ridges that once stretched unbroken now stood with their peaks cleanly cut, the cross-sections smooth as mirrors, as if a single horizontal slash had passed through them. The severed rock faces still radiated heat, glowing a dull, smoldering red at the edges where the stone had been flash-burned.
At the bottom of the valley, deep trenches had been gouged into the earth, each at least twenty jō wide, their depths lost in shadow. The soil on either side remained frozen in the shape of its upheaval.
Spider silk covered everything.
Gray-white threads draped across cliff faces, tangled through the wreckage of fallen trees, and blanketed the ground in thick sheets.
Wherever the silk touched, petrification had taken hold, grass, wood, and earth turned into gray-white replicas of what they once were.
At the center of this ruined landscape, the Tsuchigumo crouched.
Of its original six arms, only five remained. The stump of the upper left still seeped dark gray demon blood, the wound inflicted by Shinji and Kikyō in Musashi Province.
The cracks across its bone mask had not yet healed. Behind those gaps, the dark green light flickered with an exhilaration it had not felt in centuries.
"Ha—hahahaha—!"
Rough, grating laughter burst from behind the mask, shaking loose rubble beneath it.
"Damn satisfying! That was so damn satisfying!"
"What kind of luck is this, running into two good fights in a row?"
Thirty paces away stood another figure.
A yōkai.
Tall and slender, dressed in immaculate white robes that seemed untouched by the devastation around him.
Silver-white hair fell to his waist, each strand catching the dying sunlight with a cold, pristine gleam. Not a speck of dust had settled on him.
On his refined, handsome face was a crescent moon mark of deep purple upon his brow, and two crimson stripes on each cheek.
His golden, slit-pupiled eyes were half-lidded, carrying an air of utter detachment, as though everything beneath his gaze was beneath his concern.
A mantle of pure white fur rested over his left shoulder. At his waist hung a single sword, its sheath plain and unadorned.
The blade within gave off no killing intent; it felt more like a ceremonial scepter than a weapon.
His name was Sesshōmaru.
Eldest son of the late Tōga, once the greatest daiyōkai of the Kansai region, and current lord of the Western Lands' Inu-yōkai clan.
What had happened was simple.
After leaving Musashi Province, the Tsuchigumo had traveled westward. Its mood had been excellent, until it sensed an immense yōki rising from the mountains ahead. Dense, pure, and arrogant. The aura of a natural-born daiyōkai.
Without a word, the Tsuchigumo had attacked.
They fought for almost a hour.
At full power, three mountain peaks were leveled, an entire valley was carved open, and the land for dozens of meters in every direction was reduced to scorched waste. Sesshōmaru had revealed his true form, a colossal silver-white hound whose venomous yōki could grind stone to powder.
But the Tsuchigumo was no easy opponent.
Even missing one arm, it fought with growing ferocity, its silk and petrification domain swallowing everything within a thousand meters. In the end, neither side had been able to finish the other in a satisfying way.
They had both returned to their humanoid forms, not because a victor had been decided, but because both wanted a proper conclusion later.
Now, Sesshōmaru stood at the cliff's edge, his silver-white hair perfectly arranged despite the battlefield. His refined face showed only faint irritation.
"Tedious," he said, his voice low and flat, carrying the weight of someone who dismissed all of creation. "You have mistaken me for someone else. I have no interest in you."
"Ha! Your old man was way more fun than you!"
The Tsuchigumo slapped its knee with its remaining upper right arm, its tone filled with dissatisfaction.
"Tōga, that bastard, back in the day, we fought for three days and three nights. I broke two of his fangs and seven of his claws. That bastard snapped eighteen of my arms! And you? You're no weaker than he was at your age, yet you're already acting like this after barely a hour."
"That is his affair," Sesshōmaru replied coldly. "Matters that do not concern me, do not bring them up."
He turned, preparing to leave.
"Wait."
For once, the Tsuchigumo's tone shifted. It spoke with a note of genuine interest.
"I ran into an interesting brat today. Over in Musashi Province."
Sesshōmaru did not stop.
"A demon warrior. Probably some dead samurai who turned into a yōkai. I smacked him around, and right in the middle of the fight, he suddenly got stronger. Even grew some kind of bone armor and started trading blows with me."
Sesshōmaru kept walking.
"He had a miko with him. Her spiritual power is on par with Midoriko's in her prime. The two of them worked together and cut off one of my arms."
Still, Sesshōmaru did not stop.
"That brat also possesses the Shikon no Tama."
A pause. Just for a single breath.
Then he continued walking.
Sesshōmaru knew of the Shikon Jewel. He had no interest in it. He needed no external power to grant wishes.
"Oh, right—" the Tsuchigumo added casually. "That brat has a rather interesting ability."
"He can anchor souls."
"Seems like he can even drag scattered spirits back… and make them speak."
This time, Sesshōmaru's footsteps truly stopped.
His silver-white hair swayed gently in the wind. He did not turn around, but his golden eyes narrowed for a single instant.
Summoning the dead. Making the dead speak.
For several breaths, there was only silence.
Then Sesshōmaru resumed walking. His pace remained unchanged, but his direction had shifted, just slightly.
Behind him, a small, squat figure came scrambling out of the rubble.
"Sesshōmaru-sama! Wait for meeee!"
Left standing in the ruined valley, the Tsuchigumo watched Sesshōmaru's departing figure and let out a booming laugh.
Here's hoping that brat grows up fast.
..
..
Musashi Province. Kaede's Village.
The shrine's main hall.
Morning light filtered through the gaps in the paper doors, casting thin ribbons of gold across the wooden floor.
Shinji sat cross-legged in the center of the hall, eyes closed. His crimson demon mask rested on the floor before his knees. His white hair fell loosely over his shoulders.
Two days had passed since the Tsuchigumo and Uesugi Kenshin's forces had withdrawn. Aside from the hours spent with Kikyō, most of his time had been spent here, feeling, digesting.
The transformation had changed him more deeply than he expected.
It wasn't just the increase in yōki, though that was significant. What mattered more was the shift in quality. From the Sixth Transformation to the Ninth, crossing from Physical Transformation into Essence Transformation.
Before, his yōki had been contained within his body like water in a bottle. Now, it was beginning to seep outward, merging with his very being.
By the time he reached the Twelfth Transformation, he would no longer be a mere demon.
He would be something else entirely.
A ma.
Neither fully dead nor fully alive.
Shinji opened his eyes. Faint violet veins could be seen within his crimson pupils when his yōki stirred.
He looked down at his palm. The bone extensions had already retracted, but he could feel how much faster and stronger they would emerge now.
A voice suddenly spoke from the side.
"Hey."
Low, hoarse, and tired.
Shinji turned his head.
Naoe Kanetsugu was still tied to the pillar.
Seven days had passed since her capture. Her dark blue armor was crumpled and dusty, her once-neat ponytail completely undone.
Strands of hair clung to her face and neck. She looked exhausted, not physically, but mentally.
She looked at Shinji with weary resignation.
"Kill me," she said.