Kawakami Tomie's Demonic Obstacle deepened by degrees.
Were the two phases of motion and stillness clearly seen, ceasing to arise?
Kawakami Tomie cared nothing for the two phases of motion and stillness. Her stillness was that single moment when Amamiya Rin belonged completely to her. For its sake, she could endure any turmoil.
Had the hearing and the heard come to an end?
Her capacity to hear and the things heard had long since twisted into a single tangled mass.
What she heard was her own desire; what she saw was likewise her own desire. From within this chaotic extinction of both hearer and heard, a wanton, reckless pleasure was born in her.
The demon realm grew deeper and deeper, more and more real.
Kawakami Tomie crossed one stage of cultivation after another, practicing each realm in a manner utterly contrary to its proper way, inducing one Demonic Obstacle after another, and devouring them with an immense, obsessive will.
To an outside observer, this process might have lasted only a few short minutes.
But for Kawakami Tomie, it meant casting herself into an Uzumaki composed of every negative emotion and twisted obsession—she had willingly leapt into the very Demonic Obstacles she was meant to avoid.
She used her obsession with Amamiya Rin as her sole will, as the core that unified all that was chaotic, negative, and destructive.
All her jealousy, possessiveness, self-destructive impulses, and craving to toy with the hearts of others… all of it was swallowed up by that demon-heart of hers, brimming with desire, and became fuel for her obsession.
Beside her, the other Tomie yawned, intending to seize this chance to drive the impostor out of her room, so she could catch up on sleep once Amamiya Rin returned.
Now that they had finally found a lead on the Sandman, there was no need to worry about the Long Dream anymore—she absolutely refused to pull another all-nighter.
Yet, at the very instant she was about to open her mouth, she sensed a powerful wrongness.
She narrowed her eyes and instinctively looked toward the impostor.
The impostor was still the same impostor; nothing seemed to have changed, and yet…
Her gaze had changed.
Still beautiful—more so, even, with an added measure of heart-stopping, bewitching allure—
but deep in the recesses of her eyes, an invisible Uzumaki seemed to spin, settling within it countless ghostly glimmers of intertwined madness, obsession, and demonic nature.
An indescribable aura spread out from her—not the keen sharpness of a Swordmaster, nor the calm composure of Amamiya Rin, but a bizarre presence saturated with temptation and terror, as though veiled in an illusory yet alluring halo.
A single glance was enough to make one's heart inexplicably race, while countless whispers seemed to rise at one's ears, never quite distinct enough to make out.
"You…"
Tomie instinctively stepped back.
Kawakami Tomie let out a soft laugh and glanced at her.
Just that one glance.
Tomie's face went pale, her brow knitting involuntarily.
A voice burst open directly inside her mind—no! Not a voice! An emotion! A violent, chaotic emotion! Mingled with countless fragmented images.
Jealousy, ecstasy, obsessive entanglement, savagery… all of it concerning Amamiya Rin, so intense it left her dizzy and reeling.
"Ah——!"
Tomie staggered a step, steadying herself only by gripping the headboard, and the look she turned on Kawakami Tomie was filled with shock and jealousy.
"You! You've done it too?"
Her words were brimming with resentment.
Beyond those two Tomies, yet another Tomie had now mastered Hypnosis—and it wasn't her, but that detestable impostor who, right in front of her, had spirited Rin away to the party and danced with him there!!
In that instant, intense resentment and envy swallowed every other emotion.
"Don't make such a fuss."
Kawakami Tomie spoke with composure. She lowered her head, looked at her own palm, and slowly clenched it tight.
"The Fifty Skandha Demons…"
Amamiya Rin cultivated the Perfect Penetration of the Ear-Faculty; he had to endure the trials of all Fifty Skandha Demons without dwelling on them or clinging to them, in order to achieve that Perfect Penetration.
She, on the other hand, in the span of mere minutes, had used her obsession with him as the catalyst, deliberately traversing the Fifty Skandha Demons—the myriad demon realms governed by the four skandhas of form, sensation, perception, and volition—absorbing them and turning them to her own use.
Not destroying the demons, but becoming the demon.
Not achieving Perfect Penetration, but achieving Māra.
Her Hypnosis was complete. It sprang from the same source as Amamiya Rin's Brahma-sound, which tended toward perfect harmony and awakened the self-nature—yet it ran in utterly the opposite direction.
Her Hypnosis directly induced the Skandha Demon most precisely corresponding to the depths of another's heart—fear, greed, infatuation, frenzy… plunging a person into the sea of desire, casting them forever into a realm of delusion.
Thus, it could be called Māra!
(Let me test my blade.)
On the other side, Swordmaster Tomie was savoring, in fine detail, Amamiya Rin's cultivation insights.
Though it was not the same direction of cultivation, in the end it was all a cultivation of the heart.
State of mind, will, insight… different though they were, they could still be drawn upon for reference.
And Amamiya Rin's cultivation and its fruits, along with his successful experiences and his methods of deploying Hypnosis, could indeed serve as inspiration for her.
With a sharp blade in one's breast, a killing intent naturally arises.
For her Consciousness Slash to advance further, what she needed was killing—to slay a truly living person, to cultivate a killing intent that resonated with the demon-heart and the buddha-heart alike.
The sword is a deadly weapon; swordsmanship is the art of killing people. No matter how beautiful the phrasing, nothing could veil that truth—this was reality.
Swordmaster Tomie narrowed her eyes, carefully pinpointing Amamiya Rin's location and movement.
A rough sense of direction and distance surfaced in her mind. He was still moving steadily away from the city center, heading toward the more secluded fringes of the Setagaya area.
She briskly pulled on a T-shirt and trousers, snatched up her sharpened bokken, and left the apartment where she lived.
The car came to a stop.
The rear door opened, and the maid once again hoisted Amamiya Rin onto her shoulder.
Through a gap in the blanket, he caught a fleeting glimpse of the scene.
A quiet courtyard, traditional Japanese-style garden walls, the side entrance of a modern-styled yet coldly austere residence. Not the party villa, but a private estate—one even more precious than a villa.
Amamiya Rin was carried into the building, through a corridor laid with hushed carpeting, and into a room.
The air was thick with rich incense, cloyingly sweet. The maid laid him down on an unusually broad, soft bed, the fabric beneath him cool and silky-smooth.
The blanket was thrown back.
The light was not harsh—a carefully adjusted warm-yellow bedside lamp.
Amamiya Rin lay there, his eyes open a sliver, his vision somewhat blurred but enough to make out the woman standing beside the bed.
It was Takaichi! Or rather, Takaichi wearing the skin of Kawahara Miyuki!
Takaichi had already changed out of her evening gown and wore a dark-green silk robe, its sash loosely tied.
In her hand she held a glass of amber liquor, gazing down at him, her eyes like those appraising a precious treasure just newly acquired, brimming with undisguised possessiveness and a certain scorching excitement.
"Awake?"
Takaichi took a small sip of her liquor, her voice unusually clear in the quiet bedroom, carrying a slow, leisurely pleasure.
"I calculated the dosage. By now you ought to have a bit of awareness. This is better—if there were no reaction at all, it would be far too dull."
She stepped two paces closer, set the glass on the bedside table, and then sat down at the edge of the bed.
Cold fingers caressed Amamiya Rin's cheek, sliding down along it to his neck, the motion deliberately slowed, as if savoring the sensation of the touch.
"Truly an unforgettable face."
Takaichi murmured, her fingertips lingering at Amamiya Rin's Adam's apple, an infatuated emotion seeping into her gaze—yet steeped, too, in a dank, clammy malice.
"That cold, icy look you had at the party only makes me want all the more to see what this face looks like when it breaks."
____
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