The Matador's dance steps finally faltered; his body swayed, and the long sword in his hand nearly slipped free.
"Don't think this is enough to win!"
The Matador roared, forcibly stabilizing his posture, and his damaged cloak spread out once more.
This time, he no longer insisted on elegance; his movements became vicious. The long sword no longer just inflicted shallow cuts; every thrust aimed for Rin's vital points, while the cloak, like an opened spiderweb, tightly entangled Rin's attack rhythm.
A new deep gash appeared on Rin's arm. Blood dripped from his fingertips onto the stone slab, merging with the previous stains to form a tiny stream.
But he did not retreat. Instead, he charged toward the long sword. His Sharingan disassembled the Matador's evasion trajectory into countless fragments, making every impact more precise than the last.
He was gambling that the Matador's injuries would slow his steps, and that the tear in the cloak would become the final straw that broke him.
The two figures relentlessly tangled in the center of the Arena.
Rin's furious charge was like a sudden clap of thunder, while the Matador's evasive dance steps were like a gust of wind.
The dull thud of fists hitting the stone slab, the sharp sound of the long sword slicing through fabric, and the frenzied shouts of the audience intertwined to form a tragic death waltz.
Every offense and defense was a knife-edge moment between life and death. Every wound was bleeding, yet neither was willing to retreat half a step.
One sought to defend the "no close quarters" line, the other sought to break through the confinement of the "cloak." This battle had long since become a contest of will.
In the shadows of the spectator stands, a figure lying on the stone slab suddenly stirred.
Maki's eyelashes fluttered, as if breaking free from heavy shackles, and she slowly opened her eyes.
Her vision was blurry at first. The lights from the Arena dome stung her eyes, and the frenzied shouts flooding her ears were like a tide, making her temples throb violently.
She wanted to raise her hand to rub her eyes, but found her arms were heavy as lead. With the slightest effort, all the wounds on her body sent searing, tearing pain.
The gashes previously inflicted by the Matador's long sword were still oozing blood. Her sportswear was already soaked through with bloodstains, clinging uncomfortably to her skin.
How did she end up here?
Fragments of chaotic memory flashed through her mind.
The duel on the bloody lawn, the Cursed Spirit's expanded crimson cloak, being thrown back by a powerful force... The last image was Rin's back as he charged toward the Cursed Spirit.
It turned out that she, like the other spectators, had been dragged into the Cursed Spirit's Domain, only to fall unconscious immediately due to severe injuries.
Gritting her teeth, Maki used her elbows to push against the ground, inching herself upward.
With every movement, the pain from her wounds intensified. Cold sweat streamed down her forehead, dripping onto the stone slab and spreading into small puddles.
Her vision gradually cleared. When she saw the two figures locked in combat in the center of the Arena, her heart clenched, and her breathing instantly stopped.
It was Rin.
He was covered in wounds. His black clothes were ripped in countless places, and blood flowed down his arms and back, forming winding streams on the stone slab.
His movements were still furious, every punch carrying the force to break the wind, yet she could clearly see his arms trembling as he swung—a sign of excessive blood loss and physical exhaustion.
The Matador opposite him, though also looking wretched with a damaged cloak and twisted wrist, still held a sharp long sword. Every thrust aimed for Rin's vital points, like a striking viper.
"Rin..."
Maki's voice was as faint as a mosquito's buzz. She tried to shout, but her throat felt blocked, allowing only a hoarse gasp.
She watched Rin's forearm get sliced by the long sword, watched him stumble as he avoided a fatal blow, and watched him, despite being covered in injuries, refuse to retreat even half a step. Her heart felt tightly squeezed by an invisible hand, aching until she could barely breathe.
This was all because of her.
If she hadn't insisted on proving herself, Rin wouldn't have been dragged into this dangerous situation.
If her strength hadn't been lacking, she wouldn't have left Rin to face such a powerful Cursed Spirit alone.
Guilt and self-reproach overwhelmed her like a tide, instantly reddening her eyes.
The surrounding spectators were still shouting wildly. They waved colorful flags, their faces flushed, their eyes filled with a thirst for blood.
No one cared about Rin's injuries, and no one cared about the life-or-death stakes of the battle. They only saw it as an exciting "performance," a feast to satisfy their bloodthirsty desires.
To Maki, those frenzied shouts now sounded like the most grating mockery.
Maki took a deep breath, used all her strength to grip the railing of the spectator stands, and slowly stood up.
Her legs were still weak, and her body swayed, nearly causing her to fall again, but she clung tightly to the railing, her fingernails digging deep into the wood.
Her gaze was fixed on Rin in the center of the Arena. The guilt in her eyes was gradually replaced by determination. She couldn't just watch Rin fight alone; she had to help him, even if it was only a little bit.
Her hand slowly reached for the long sword on the ground.
She moved toward the edge of the Arena. Every step was incredibly difficult, yet incredibly resolute.
She knew that in her current state, she couldn't possibly join the fight, but she still wanted to get closer, hoping that when Rin needed it, she could block an attack for him, even if it was only a trivial moment.
In the center of the Arena, Rin had completely succumbed to a frenzy.
He did not see Maki's figure; right now, his eyes were fixed solely on his opponent.
But Maki did not stop moving.
She looked at Rin's back, at his figure which remained tall and straight even in desperation. This seemingly indifferent young man was, in fact, tougher than anyone.
And she would not let him down.
She stopped, standing at the edge of the Arena, gripping the long sword tightly in her hand, her eyes locked onto the Matador's movements.
The battle in the center of the Arena continued. The sounds of fists colliding with the long sword, the frenzied shouts of the audience, and Maki's heavy breathing intertwined, forming the most tragic yet resolute melody within this blood-red Domain.
In the center of the Arena, Rin's eyes had completely changed.
The previous calm and foresight vanished without a trace, replaced by an almost insane fervor.
The corner of his mouth stretched into an exaggerated curve. His laughter was deep and arrogant, yet clearly audible even over the shouts of the crowd.
Although his Sharingan still glowed crimson, he was no longer running any Genjutsu. He didn't care about finesse or finding weaknesses.
His only thought now was to personally smash the head of the Cursed Spirit before him, ending the battle in the most primitive and savage way possible.
"Yes! That's it!"
Inside the Divine Tree Space, Sukuna's laughter made the barrier hum, and his eyes shone astonishingly bright:
"You could easily solve this using Genjutsu, yet you insist on jumping right into the Cursed Spirit's trap and indulging in this pointless frenzy! Rin, you truly haven't disappointed me!"
He licked his lips, his tone filled with anticipation:
"Go on, let this madness burn hotter! Only if you die here will I have the chance to seize this body!"
Sukuna's mockery acted as fuel, completely igniting Rin's arrogance.
He stomped the ground fiercely. His speed increased several times over, and the resulting gust of wind swept up the bloodstains on the stone slab like red dust.
The arms that had previously trembled from blood loss now erupted with astonishing power. Every punch carried a sharp, wind-breaking sound. He no longer dodged or defended, focused only on a head-on, crushing assault.
The Matador's pupils suddenly constricted. He hadn't expected Rin to become so utterly insane.
Instinctively, he unleashed his fastest speed. The long sword in his hand flashed with a chilling light, stabbing straight toward Rin's abdomen. This was the fastest and most vicious attack he could conceive, meant to force Rin to retreat.
But Rin didn't even blink.
The grating sound of the long sword tearing through fabric rang out. The cold metal blade plunged deep into Rin's abdomen. Blood instantly gushed out, flowing down the blade and pooling into a patch of crimson on the stone slab.
Intense pain surged through him, but Rin laughed even more wildly. He even deliberately stepped forward, driving the sword tip deeper, just to shorten the distance between himself and the Cursed Spirit.
"Are you insane?!"
The Matador panicked completely. He tried to pull back his long sword but realized Rin's left hand was already gripping his tattered cloak tightly.
"Insane? This is called fighting!"
Rin's voice carried a scent of blood as he exerted force with his right hand.
With a loud "Tear!", the already damaged cloak was instantly ripped to shreds. The crimson fabric fluttered in the air, like scattered blood-colored petals.
The Matador was completely stunned by this suicidal move.
He stared at the long sword embedded in Rin's abdomen, looked at the insane fervor in the other party's eyes, and his mind went blank; he even forgot to counterattack.
Now!
Rin's right hand suddenly clenched. Pitch-black lightning materialized in his palm, crackling loudly.
The furious roar of thunder exploded inside the Arena, drowning out all the spectators' shouts, and even the dome lights flickered several times.
"Bang!"
The fist, carrying the power of thunder, smashed viciously into the Matador's face.
[Black Flash]
The Cursed Spirit instinctively raised the hand still clutching the cloak fragments to block, only to hear a sharp "Crack!"
His arm instantly twisted and shattered, and black Cursed Energy mist erupted like a geyser.
The massive impact sent the Matador's body flying backward like a kite with a broken string, crashing heavily into the Arena railing with a dull thud.
The long sword embedded in Rin's abdomen was forcibly pulled out, drawing forth more blood that splattered onto the stone slab like blooming flowers of death.