"Minamoto no..." Bushido started, turning his head slightly to evaluate the Yorimitsu beside him. "What on earth has happened to you? You are beginning to look exactly like one of those feral beasts."
"Ha...?!"
Yorimitsu's eyes widened in sheer disbelief. He hadn't even tracked the old master's arrival. 'How…When did he get here? I didn't even perceive his approach...'
"No... I suppose I cannot say it is exactly like a Yokai," Bushido murmured, shifting his gaze toward the massive, swirling cocoon of stone that enveloped Orochi. "Mmm... is this the result of Orochi's foul techniques? Well, it matters little for the moment; I will ask you in detail later."
He let out a low grunt, a rare glint of approval passing through his weathered eyes. "You did well to survive, boy. To think you are still breathing after drawing the full ire of that entity... the ancient blood of the Minamoto truly runs true."
With a subtle flex of his wrists, Bushido's gigantic staff rapidly compressed, shrinking down into a manageable, iron-hard pole. He spun the weapon in a tight, whistling circle before thrusting the tip straight toward the levitating mass of rock.
"Fall... Shōgajizō."
A sharp, deafening whistle sliced through the air. A heartbeat later, a massive bolt of purple lightning tore through the crimson clouds, striking the cocoon with cataclysmic force and violently shattering the stone shell into fragments.
"Ahhhhh...!"
Orochi's distorted roar echoed through the clearing as the protective barrier dissolved, leaving him completely exposed. His gaze darted frantically behind his mask, instantly locking onto the newcomer.
'Tch... that old fossil. What business does he have interfering here?'
Orochi's half-ascended form looked monstrous. The transformation had stalled mid-way; the left side of the porcelain mask had completely melted and fused into his flesh, exposing a row of jagged, elongated predatory teeth, while the right side remained a smooth, smiling white facade.
"Tch, tch, tch... you truly are an unsightly thing to look at," Bushido spoke, tightening his grip on his staff.
Before Orochi could even formulate a verbal retort, Bushido simply ceased to exist.
He blipped entirely out of reality, leaving no trace of movement or spiritual displacement behind. In the space of a single breath, he materialised directly in front of Orochi's levitating form. His iron staff snapped forward, extending in a flash of blinding speed to strike the Calamity squarely in the chest.
Upon impact, the entire left side of Orochi's mutated body violently disintegrated, bursting into a cloud of ash and corrupted matter.
"Ha...?!"
Yorimitsu was left blinking in utter stagnation, his mind frantically scrambling to register the sheer, illogical velocity of the execution. 'What in the heavens... was that?!'
'This person... is an absolute monster,' Yorimitsu thought, his stunned gaze tracking Bushido as the old master drifted down from the sky, landing seamlessly on the mud before walking back toward him with casual, rhythmic strides.
"Can you sing, boy?" Bushido asked suddenly, not even looking back.
"...Sing?" Yorimitsu echoed, his voice strained.
"Yes... sing. Ōharae no Kotoba," Bushido spoke, his upper body beginning to sway gently from side to side as though listening to a rhythm that only he heard. "That soot-covered blade of yours be ready to unleash it the exact moment I give the word."
Just across the courtyard, the disintegrated, asymmetric remains of Orochi's torso violently convulsed. The drifting stone debris and corrupted black mist surged backwards, gathering around his open wounds to stitch his flesh and bone back into their precise, twisted shapes.
"Hahahahahaha! You managed to strike me down before my complete rebirth was finalised, old man... but this shall still be more than enough," Orochi mocked. He opened and closed his newly reformed, pale hand, testing the fingers as the smooth porcelain of his mask gleamed under the bloody rain.
"Raijin... I truly believed you would have succumbed to age by now. But seeing how you are visibly missing parts of your frame... it seems life has been terribly unkind to you, but you still cling on like a cockroach." Orochi's voice rang out, dripping with venomous sarcasm.
"No, no... do not call me by that title. I have always utterly despised that nickname," Bushido responded dryly. He paid absolutely no mind to the taunt, his voice carrying a strange, almost playful levity.
'Ha...?' Yorimitsu stared at the veteran's swaying back, a flicker of profound disbelief crossing his mind. 'To think Master Bushido possessed such a bizarre, eccentric side to his character... who could have possibly imagined it?'
Yorimitsu closed his eyes, took a deep, grounding breath, and allowed his voice to rise through the roar of the storm. He began to recite the ancient, sacred syllables of the Great Purification Chant, the Ōharae no Kotoba echoing with crisp, resonant authority across the defiled garden.
"Mmmm... yes, exactly like that," Bushido muttered, his movements sharpening as he perfectly matched the cadence of the Shinto script. "Keep that rhythm, you have a good voice, maybe you should quit being a warrior and sing instead."
Orochi flicked his pale hand. From the fractured earth, twisted, corrupted roots erupted like striking serpents, snapping toward the old man's ankles.
But Bushido simply vanished once more. Snatching Yorimitsu by his collar, he blipped through the space, reappearing yards away, only for another cluster of roots to violently burst from the soil beneath them.
BOOM!
BOOM!
Every single time Bushido's heels touched the earth, a cataclysmic detonation followed, the ground erupting in a frantic chase.
'Tch... here it is that cumbersome technique of his,' Bushido thought, his eyeless gaze tracking the flickering silhouette. 'It seems his control has grown even more refined since our last encounter.'
"Brace yourself, brat!" Bushido barked, releasing his grip on Yorimitsu.
Raising two weathered fingers toward the heavens, the old master whispered a low, gravelly incantation. Instantly, a cascading curtain of heavy, crackling purple lightning tore down from the sky, forming a barrier that vaporised every single drop of crimson blood rain within their immediate vicinity.
"Raiu!" he roared.
"I will not allow you to establish a foothold!" Orochi hissed.
With a violent surge of his Reiryoku, the entire scenery of the sanctuary fractured like glass and dissolved. In a literal heartbeat, the ruined courtyard was gone. The three combatants suddenly found themselves standing precariously atop the jagged, wind-swept peaks of a massive mountain range, the unyielding crimson rain instantly returning to pelt their frames.
"This entire domain belongs to me now," Orochi proclaimed, his voice echoing across the valleys. "I shall show you the power of Kam—"
Before he could finish his declaration, the roaring curtain of purple lightning violently pierced through the new sky, snapping right back into position around Bushido and Yorimitsu, completely ignoring the spatial displacement.
"Hehehe..." The old man chuckled, his upper body continuing to sway effortlessly to the cadence of the Ōharae no Kotoba that Yorimitsu was still chanting.
"You may have lived for centuries, Orochi, but in terms of actual combat... it seems you are still terribly green," Bushido spoke, a sharp, mocking smile cutting across his weathered face. "Even after all these years, you have yet to grasp the fundamental nature of my technique."
Yorimitsu stared at the veteran's back, his breath caught in his throat as he maintained the rhythm of the sacred prayer. 'So this... is the absolute pinnacle. This is the strength of a mortal who stands closest to Kami.'