The door slid shut once more. The candlelight within the side chamber of the shrine flickered, teetering beneath the moonlight spilling through the window.
And then, Yura's comb pressed against him again. Her human form was brimming with tension. Her skin carried an icy, slippery smoothness. Her black hair cascaded down, the emerald-tipped ends brushing against the side of his neck, eliciting a faint, tingling itch.
"Your heartbeat… is truly fascinating." Yura's voice sounded close against his ear, carrying a deliberately drawn-out lilt. Her chest pressed against his, her fullness sinking into him.
She could clearly feel it, within that shell which had once belonged to the dead, fresh vitality was now surging. The Twelfth Transformation. Return to One.
He was no longer a cold, undead demon warrior. She had waited a very, very long time for this. Yura's fingers slipped through the gaps of his robes at his chest. Her breathing grew somewhat rapid. Her ink-black, slit-pupiled eyes gleamed faintly in the dimness.
As a max-Affection tsukumogami, she shared a soul-deep connection with him. That connection had been amplified countless times over after the Twelfth Transformation's Return to One. It was an instinctual attraction.
"Say… now that you've come alive…" Yura's legs coiled around his waist. Her boneless body molded completely against him. Her chin rested upon his shoulder. Her breath was like an orchid. "Can you… do it with me too…" Her fingertips continued their exploration.
Shinji did not stop her. His Twelfth Transformation had only just been completed. The Five Viscera and Three Souls cycled within his body. His blood and vitality surged with an unprecedented intensity.
The body of a Māra, wreathed in desire and impure energy, responded to such direct provocation in the most direct manner possible.
He himself also did not reject the desires of a human. He had always yearned for this very sensation of being alive. Thus... the temperature rose.
Yura sensed the change in him. A satisfied, victorious laugh escaped her throat. Her short black hair spilled downward. The emerald-tipped ends scattered across his chest. Her ink-black slit-pupils were half-lidded, as though pouring everything she had waited so long for into this single moment. Her movements were exceedingly tender. And exceedingly earnest. And then, nothing.
Not the movement. The sensation. Yura's body was indeed pressed against his. The touch indeed existed. The temperature indeed was present. But that warmth was simulated by demonic power, like a stone that had been roasted over a fire.
Warm, yes. But not the warmth of life. Her weight, too, was merely a projected "form" of yōki. Not the true pressure of flesh and bone. It was like holding a wisp of exquisitely wrought smoke. Visible. Even touchable. His senses told him something was truly there. But, there was no substance. It was the unbridgeable chasm between "illusion" and "reality."
The body of a Sixth Transformation tsukumogami, Phantasmal Form. Phantasmal Sound. Phantasmal Voice. Phantasmal Touch. Everything was "illusion."
She could make him see her. Hear her voice. Feel her touch. But she could not make that touch carry weight. Carry warmth. Carry true existence. It was simulated. Exceedingly realistic.
But in the end, it was false. An illusion. She herself, could feel nothing. Her fingertips traced across his warm chest, yet she could not feel that warmth. Her body pressed against his, yet she could not feel his heartbeat.
She had given everything. Yet received nothing in return. Like a mirror desperately reflecting a flame, it could reflect the light and heat, but could never be set alight.
He did not know how much time had passed. Perhaps only a few seconds. Yet it felt longer than centuries. Shinji had not obtained what he desired. Yura's movements, too, could not help but slow. And then... stop.
Her ink-black slit-pupils opened. They seemed to be staring at the heart beating within his chest. That true, genuine heart. She could not hear its sound. Even though it was right beside her ear. Even though it was so vividly alive.She could not hear it.
That was the sound of "reality." The sound belonging to the living. It was beyond the range of her "illusory" perception. Everything she saw. Everything she felt. It was all false. A world imagined by the blind.
"…So that's how it is." Yura's voice was very soft. So soft it was almost nonexistent.
She lay draped over his chest. Her black hair spread wide. The emerald-tipped ends pressed against his skin. Pressed—but only pressed. No transfer of warmth. No resonance of heartbeat. They had done it. Yet it was as though nothing had been done at all.
Shinji lowered his head. His crimson demon eyes looked at the tsukumogami girl sprawled atop him. His right hand lifted. His fingertips touched the crown of her head. Yura's body trembled faintly.
"You haven't yet turned illusion into reality. By my classification, that is a yōkai's Seventh Transformation. The Essence Transformation." He spoke. His voice was not heavy. Yet it was exceedingly clear.
"When you have crossed from illusion into substance, when you possess a true body, then come and 'weigh' me." Only a single sentence. Crisp. Direct. Just as his style had always been. And it was also a promise.
When you become real, I will not push you away.
Shinji had always been this way. Yura understood. Something flickered within her ink-black slit-pupils. Her lips moved, as though she wanted to say something.
Yet in the end, nothing came out. She merely tilted her face upward slightly. Her expression was suddenly filled with defiance. Even if she could not touch reality now, there were still some things she intended to—
But it was at this very moment— "Yah—!" A short, startled cry. The soft body clinging to him disintegrated without the slightest warning. The human form dispersed, becoming a mass of scattered black hair.
Then it rapidly contracted, reverting into a crimson, antique comb. Plop. It dropped onto the tatami. The comb vibrated twice upon the floor, then fell utterly still. Playing dead with absolute, shameless dedication.
Shinji, somewhat speechless, turned his head. The door, at some unknown moment, had been slid open a crack. Kikyō stood outside. White uwagi. Crimson hakama. Black hair like a waterfall.
She was not carrying her bow. Upon her cold, clear features, no anger could be seen. She merely looked calmly at the comb on the floor.
But Shinji, who had long since acquired the Spiritual Resonance Talent, could not possibly fail to understand what had just happened. That instant just now, that blast of exceedingly pure purification reiryoku, its suppression of Yura was utterly unmistakable.
Though it had caused no actual harm, it was more than enough to make a tsukumogami instinctively shudder and be beaten back into its original form. Shinji was truly speechless.
Kikyō, however, directly pushed the sliding door open and walked inside. Then, with a reverse hand, she closed the door once more. She even, in passing, laid down a soundproof barrier. White threads of reiryoku spread along the walls, completely isolating this side chamber from the outside world.
She walked before Shinji. She did not speak. She simply reached out both hands, pressed against his shoulders, and applied a slight force. Shinji followed her pressure and fell back half a step, sitting down upon the tatami.
Kikyō, as though it were the most natural thing in the world, climbed atop him. The crimson miko hakama spread open. The white underlayer pressed against the side of his waist. Her body heat transmitted over.
It was utterly different from Yura's icy touch. This was the warmth of the living. The warmth belonging to a human girl. Shinji lifted his eyes to look at her. Only then did he notice, Kikyō had applied color to her lips. A very faint layer of rouge.
The miko who was usually so plain-faced, as cold and clear as snow upon a mountain peak, now, in the dim candlelight, that touch of crimson was startlingly vivid. It stirred the appetite.
Kikyō leaned down. Both hands braced against his chest. Her black hair cascaded down, shrouding both their faces in shadow.
"As expected.... she couldn't do it," Kikyō spoke. Her voice was very low. Their breaths intertwined. The corner of her lips carried a faint smile. "Then I shall." No further words were needed. It seemed… "You did this on purpose." He grumbled, his arms naturally wrapping around the girl's slender waist.
Pure energy and impure energy collided once more. On the road back, these two forces had collided and blown an entire mountain to pieces. But now, they found the most perfect point of convergence.
So, Kikyō truly had done it on purpose. Deliberately allowing Yura's comb to stir up Shinji, and then, directly reaping the spoils herself? How… "Cunning."
But he liked it. After all, Kikyō was speaking the truth. Though Yura's comb had a form, she was, in the end, a tsukumogami who had not yet achieved her Essence Transformation.
Everything was "illusory." The sensations she could offer Shinji were all simulated by demonic power. Simulated, could never truly satisfy him. She truly couldn't do it. Only Kikyō could.
Deep into the night. Kikyō had fallen into a deep, heavy sleep. Her head rested upon Shinji's arm. Her breathing was even. The cold clarity between her brows had completely faded, leaving only peace and contentment.
That trace of rouge had long since been thoroughly devoured. Human stamina, in the end, could never compare to Shinji, who had already stepped into the Twelfth Transformation and approached the threshold of a daiyōkai.
Even as a peerlessly accurate master archer, Kikyō's physical constitution was already top-tier among ordinary humans. But it absolutely could not compare to his. Shinji gently pulled the blanket up over her. His movements were very light. He withdrew his arm, draped his gray robe over himself, and rose.
He cast a glance at the crimson comb still playing dead in the corner. He paid it no mind and slid the door open, stepping outside.
The main hall. Before the shrine altar consecrated to Kishin Mikoto-no-Mitama. Shinji sat cross-legged. Upon the altar were two objects. The Cat-Demon's Claw. The Venomous Dragon Reverse Scale.
These two max-Affection demon artifacts had been placed here, soaking in faith for several months now. Shinji reached out and took them down. The Cat-Demon's Claw radiated a dense, deathly aura and soul fluctuations. The Venomous Dragon Reverse Scale swirled with the light of dark green water and lethal poison.
He had come here tonight to complete the crucial step on his road to becoming a daiyōkai. Forging a blade. He already had Onikiri, corresponding to the Blood-Fire Heart Transformation. Yomi-giri, corresponding to the Metal Lung Transformation. Banryū, corresponding to the Earth Spleen-Stomach Transformation. And then there was Raikiri, corresponding to Thunder-Wood, still enshrined atop the Imagawa capital.
What he still needed, was a blade of the Water element. As he had said before, Kidōmaru possessed the Rashōmon. That was a bounded field woven from centuries of accumulated resentment. Within that domain, Kidōmaru's speed could match, or even surpass, an ordinary daiyōkai not particularly skilled in speed.
But it had a fatal weakness, without sufficient resentment, the domain could not be maintained. Shinji did not want a domain that was beholden to external forces. He would use five blades, corresponding to the Five Elements, with his own Five Viscera as the furnace.
Through the Shura Form, he would amplify the internal Five Elements outward. And then, outside his body, construct a self-perpetuating domain of yōki.
When that time came, five blades unleashed simultaneously. Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, Earth, cycling endlessly. He would need not a single shred of external resentment. He himself would be the source of the domain. It would be a domain more perfect than the Rashōmon.
A power closer to the phenomenon of a daiyōkai. And now, he would use the Cat-Demon's soul-calling death-aura and the Venomous Dragon's water-controlling toxicity. He would fuse them into a blade of the Water element.
He had already chosen a name for this unformed blade. Suijin-kiri. The Water God Cutter. To correspond with Onikiri, Yomi-giri, and Raikiri. Beyond that, he also intended to slightly reforge Banryū and rename it Banryū-kiri. The Earth Cutter.
His crimson demon eyes blazed to life in the darkness. Yōki surged from his palms and enveloped the claw and the scale.
And then, he began to employ the forging techniques he had learned from Tōtōsai. The melting had begun!
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