The demon was not yet dead. Its body, cleaved in two by a single slash of Yomi-giri, lay sprawled across the scorched-black ruins. The black-violet frost continued to creep along the severed surfaces, freezing every cell that tried to regenerate.
Yet the vitality of a demon was far more tenacious than one could imagine, especially one that had already awakened a Blood Demon Art. Its upper body was still moving. Ash-white fingers gouged deep furrows into the charred earth. Half its face pressed against the ground.
The single, still-intact slit-pupiled eye stared fixedly at the gray figure standing before it. That pupil reflected the white, flowing hair. The crimson demon eyes. And that strange Nichirin Blade, just now returned to its sheath. Fear. Pure, absolute fear. Not the fear of death, a demon's understanding of death was hazy at best.
Their regenerative ability made bodily destruction a mere norm. It was fear of the being standing before it. One slash. Just one slash. Her Blood Demon Art. Her toxic flowers. Her vines. Before that silver-white arc of light, none of them had even possessed the right to exist.
Shinji crouched down. The demon mask covered his face. His crimson demon eyes stared down through its gaps at this lump of flesh still clinging to a wretched half-life on the ground. "Speak." His voice was very calm. So calm that the demon's slit pupil contracted violently.
Because within that calm, there was no anger. No disgust. Not even interest. It was so calm… that it made her think of the one who had bestowed demon blood upon her. The one who wielded such immense power. And then there was the name the other had spoken… the title he had uttered…
"How do you know the true name of the Great Founder?!"
Kisshō-in, also Sesshō-in. This woman, this demoness, was not the true leader of the Tachikawa sect. She was an impostor. Shinji's demon eyes lowered. He simply waited for the other to speak.
That name weighed heavily on his mind. Sesshō-in (Sessyoin). Sesshō-in Kiara (Sesshōin Kiara). That was a character from another story. An existence deeply entangled with Buddhism, with heretical cults, with human desire, with the darkest face of humanity's collective evil.
And the name of this cult before him, the True Tachikawa Faith, and the way this stronghold had been arranged, stirred unpleasant associations in his mind.
If this merged world contained even Sesshō-in… then things were far more complicated than he had anticipated. But Shinji did not voice this directly. The demon before him clearly had no inkling of the labyrinth within his mind.
Driven solely by terror, it continued to spill everything it knew. Yes. The demon was afraid. As though facing the Progenitor himself. In its primal instinct, this "demon-slaying swordsman" was even more terrifying than the Progenitor.
"I'll talk… I'll tell you everything… please don't kill me… I… I'm truly not the Founder…" Kisshō-in or rather, the impostor, her mouth, split to the ears, twitched convulsively. The hoarse, rasping words kept forcing their way out of her ruined throat.
"I… I only borrowed that name…" The demon's voice grew weaker and weaker. The Yomi-hued frost had already spread to her neck. Her regeneration was utterly sealed. Only a sliver of time remained before true annihilation.
But fear had, in truth, made her willing to reveal anything. "I… I was only pretending… Lady Sesshō-in… she's not a demon… she's human… a living human… a true practitioner of the esoteric teachings…"
The single slit-pupiled eye on her half-face swiveled toward Shinji. Amidst the clouded haze, a final, desperate plea flickered. "But she… she has dealings with Lord Muzan… I don't know the details…"
Shinji did not interrupt.
"And I… I was sent here… to use her name… to manage this branch temple… and also… to gather food…" Food. The devotees lured here by the heretical cult. The five corpses lying on the ground.
"I am… a candidate for the Twelve Demon Moons…"
This sentence snapped Shinji's attention into razor focus. The Twelve Demon Moons. He, of course, knew this concept.
The twelve strongest demons under Kibutsuji Muzan's direct command, divided into the six Upper Ranks and six Lower Ranks. The combat core of the demon faction, second only to Muzan himself.
But in this era, in this present moment of a merged world, he had been certain the Twelve Demon Moons had not yet been formed. After all, they had originally been created only after Kibutsuji Muzan encountered Tsugikuni Yoriichi, the "Sun Breathing Swordsman", and was nearly destroyed.
They were specifically designed to counter the Demon Slayer Corps, whose strength would skyrocket with the advent of the Breathing Techniques. But now, they were appearing ahead of time? When Muzan hadn't even met Yoriichi yet? The butterfly effect again?
Kisshō-in's voice faded further. The Yomi's demonic energy crept from the severed surfaces across what remained of her body. The carbonization was now irreversible.
"The Twelve Demon Moons… have just been established… they're not yet fully assembled… but the Upper Ranks… the First of the Upper Ranks… I know who it is!" Her slit pupil, in its final instant, flared wide, as though recalling something of unimaginable horror. "The First of the Upper Ranks… code name… Kumo-Oni… Spider Demon."
Kumo-Oni. The moment that name fell, Shinji's killing intent erupted. The yōki that surged from his body in that instant crushed the air itself within a three-pace radius. The ground fractured. Withered grass carbonized.
Even the half-dead demon shattered faster beneath that pressure. Spider. Demon. Taken apart, neither word was rare. But together, they were inextricably linked to an existence named Naraku, from the world of Inuyasha. The ultimate boss who wove through the entire storyline, ever pursuing and scheming for the Shikon no Tama.
Naraku's origin was a human bandit, devoured by a horde of yōkai and fused with them into a single being. A terrifying demon that grew ever stronger. And before that bandit fell into the swarm, he was merely an ordinary, burned, crippled man lying in a cave.
A man named Kumo-Oni. The Spider Demon. If the "Kumo-Oni" in this world was not merely a shared name, if Kibutsuji Muzan's First of the Upper Ranks was, in fact, the very being who would one day become Naraku, deviated once again from the original trajectory by the merging of worlds, then this was truly dire.
A colossal threat. By comparison, the existence of Sesshō-in Kiara was certainly more terrifying in the absolute, but she was, at least, distant. The face of evil so deeply intertwined with humanity, in an era where most people were still struggling in a daze just to survive, she might not yet be so terribly powerful. Naraku. Kumo-Oni. These were the threats closest to Shinji right now.
The false Kisshō-in shattered completely in her terror. Not even ash remained. Shinji straightened. His crimson demon eyes were glacial beneath the moonlight. His killing intent did not recede. It only thickened. He turned and looked at Jinjūrō. "Are there any other leads on demons in this area?"
Jinjūrō was forced back half a step by the abrupt shift in his aura. But he steadied himself. "There are. Previous intelligence indicates at least three more strongholds of a similar nature in this region. But their exact locations are unknown."
"No need to search." Shinji's gaze had already swept past Jinjūrō. Past the mountain slope. Past the distant tree line. He was looking farther. Toward Kyōto.
Kumo-Oni, Muzan, Sesshō-in. These names arranged and rearranged themselves in his mind, forming a web he could not yet see in its entirety. But one thing was certain. He needed to accelerate. Before that creature grew into a true monster.
Yoriichi walked up from behind, his Nichirin Blade resting across his shoulder. His deep crimson eyes glanced at the scorched-black emptiness on the ground, where nothing now remained. "That name it spoke… troubles you greatly."
Shinji did not deny it. "Kumo-Oni," he repeated. "If my guess is correct, this thing is more dangerous than Kibutsuji Muzan."
Yoriichi tilted his head. Within his Transparent World eyes, a rare gravity surfaced. He did not understand the basis of Shinji's judgment. But he trusted this demon's intuition.
Because of all the people he had ever met, including the decades-long veterans of the Demon Slayer Corps, not a single one understood demons more than the yōkai standing before him.
"What do you need me to do?" Yoriichi asked. Simple. Direct.
Shinji glanced at him. "Not for now." He reined in his killing intent, his crimson demon eyes returning to their everyday cold composure. "But I must head back first."
He had been away for nearly a month now. Though he remained in close contact with Kikyō every day, able to see each other daily… with Shinji even using his blood mist to keep constant watch over everything happening there, the emergence of Kumo-Oni made one thing clear. He could no longer remain away.
Kyōto. Once again, Kyōto.
Walking through the deep, winding corridors on the path to an "audience" with Hagoromo Gitsune, Kumo-Oni, trailing behind Kibutsuji Muzan, paused mid-step.
The former bandit woman, her face now pale and elegant, let out a soft, curious murmur. Muzan also paused briefly and glanced back. Kumo-Oni didn't bother to hide it.
"It was one of the candidates I'd selected for the Twelve Demon Moons… eliminated. The last image transmitted, it should be a Nichirin Blade of the Demon Slayer Corps?"
Hearing this, Muzan withdrew her gaze with utter disinterest and replied coldly, "If they died at the hands of the Demon Slayer Corps, it proves they lacked the necessary qualifications. Simply find another."
But what Muzan did not know, was that Kumo-Oni had not spoken the full truth. The ability of the Demon Progenitor, the power that should have allowed her to instantly read the memories of all demons, had, somewhere along the way, silently ceased to function.
However, Kibutsuji Muzan truly had no mind to dwell on such matters at present. Recently, Hagoromo Gitsune had markedly accelerated the rate at which she gathered negative karma and grudges.
And Muzan herself… had, by fortunate coincidence, finally received word of the whereabouts of the thing she had been searching for all along. It stirred within her a strange, inexplicable premonition. Very good. And yet.... very, very ill.
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