Chapter 82: Ink Shadow: Not Good, Someone's Trying to Frame Me!
Divine Judgment was a life-risking technique Kanzaki Akira had developed himself. It was a fusion of the Flame Breathing's Ninth Form: Rengoku, and his original creation, Dragons Glide, all integrated with a dangerous method of stimulating the heart to explosively boost his physical capacity for a single, fleeting moment.
The technique's defining characteristic was speed—a speed that met, and perhaps even surpassed, the absolute limits of Akira's body. It was so fast that the dragon-shaped lightning that normally coiled around his blade was stretched into a singular, blinding beam of light.
In an instant, a dazzling glare erupted from Akira's form, so blinding that even Gyokko, the Upper Rank Five, instinctively threw a hand up to shield its eyes.
And in that split second, Akira became light itself.
As the searing radiance vanished, Gyokko began to lower its palm, a sneer already forming on its lips, ready to mock its opponent for a grand display that amounted to nothing.
But the world was tilting. Its vision was rising, flipping upside down. The very hand it had used to block the light was gone, cleanly severed at the wrist.
As its perspective spun through the air, it saw a familiar body standing below—its own body, only now it was missing a head.
"How… is this… possible…"
In that same horrifying moment, it saw the figure standing with a blade behind that headless torso. It saw the Nichirin Blade, its edge glowing a brilliant, menacing red. For some reason, however, the swordsman just stood there, completely motionless.
But that didn't matter.
"Let's die together!"
Gyokko had realized it was decapitated. A searing agony that burned straight to its soul radiated from the wound, igniting a furious, final spite. Even knowing it was about to disintegrate, it commanded its one remaining claw to lash out at the nearby swordsman's back, determined to land one last, fatal strike.
It knew that with a human's fragile body, this blow would be more than enough to kill him.
However, a flail descended from the sky, shattering its fantasy of dragging its killer down with it.
The first strike smashed half of its headless body into paste. A second later, the other end of the chain weapon crushed its head, which was still trying to gurgle out a few more curses, into nothingness.
"Amitabha… Young Akira has actually become capable of slaying an Upper Rank demon alone…" Himejima Gyomei arrived at the scene, led there by the crow, Ink Shadow.
...
The moment Akira had seen the frantic Kasugai crow, he knew Makomo was in grave danger. He was well aware of her strength; any foe that could force her to call for help could only be an Upper Rank demon.
Without a second's hesitation, he had grabbed the messenger crow to let it guide him, while simultaneously dispatching his own, Ink Shadow, to find Gyomei.
According to Akira's plan, if he arrived in time to save Makomo, Kanae, who was following close behind, would escort her back to safety while he remained to stall the demon. This would not only cover their retreat but also buy time for Gyomei to arrive, creating an opportunity to permanently eliminate an Upper Rank.
When he saw that the demon was Gyokko, his confidence in the plan had soared. The only real difficulty lay in forcing the slippery demon out of its teleporting pots. That was why he had repeatedly used verbal provocations, goading and enraging Gyokko at every turn.
Firstly, it bought him precious seconds to recover his stamina; even a single breath between clashes was very useful. Secondly, it was a calculated effort to force the demon's true body out of its troublesome pots. Only then would a kill be possible.
The initial stages of the plan had proceeded flawlessly. He had successfully stalled for time, and the constant verbal jabs had granted him rare moments to breathe during the frenetic exchanges. Finally, he had forced Gyokko out into the open. By almost never taking the offensive, he had conserved his energy, his body still in prime condition, waiting for Gyomei's arrival to begin the hunt.
But the image of Makomo, so pale and weak, hovering on the brink of death, kept flashing in his mind. The rage surging through him could not be vented with a few taunts.
Akira had been using his cold reason to forcibly suppress that fury, but the sight of Gyokko destroying the haori Kanae had gifted him became the final straw.
In an instant, the carefully contained anger erupted, flooding his mind in a turbulent, uncontrollable wave. In that fit of rage, he abandoned all thoughts of stalling, of playing it safe, of waiting for backup.
At that moment, only one thought remained: kill Gyokko, no matter the cost.
To achieve that, among all the techniques in his arsenal, only the newly created Divine Judgment would suffice.
To guarantee a fatal blow, he pushed his body to the breaking point, nearly tearing it apart from the strain. As he launched into the sprint, he deliberately pressed the tip of his Nichirin Blade against the ground. The extreme velocity of Divine Judgment's initial charge generated such intense friction that the blade heated to a brilliant crimson, activating its demon-slaying potential.
Finally, with a single, incandescent strike, he decapitated Gyokko, incidentally slicing off the hand the demon had raised to block its path.
'So much for scales harder than diamond,' Akira thought with grim satisfaction. 'All talk. This Gyokko was just pathetic.'
You dare insult me again?! a fading, spectral voice seemed to shriek in his mind.
Of course, the price for such a move was immense.
First, the excessive speed and air friction had caused the already damaged haori to completely disintegrate, leaving nothing but fluttering scraps.
Second, by over-exerting his body to such a degree, Akira was left completely drained. He lacked the strength to even move a finger. The very muscles in his hand, locked from the force of his grip, had gone rigid, which was why he remained frozen in his sword-wielding posture.
Thus, as Gyomei rushed onto the scene, he felt a flicker of doubt. He sensed the figure standing motionless in the clearing, but something was wrong. Just moments ago, he had felt Akira erupt with a power that had startled even him, the Stone Hashira. Now, in his perception, Akira felt like a flickering candle in the wind, his life force so faint it seemed he could expire at any moment.
While Gyomei was still puzzling over Akira's state, Ink Shadow, having nearly flown itself to death to guide him, landed on Akira's shoulder to catch its breath.
However, the instant its claws made contact, Akira's body tipped and fell straight over like a statue.
"Caw—!" Ink Shadow stumbled into the air, flapping frantically. Its tiny bird brain screamed in panic. 'Not good! Someone's trying to frame me!'
At that point, Gyomei confirmed his fears: Akira was, for all intents and purposes, 'barely alive' and in desperate need of immediate medical attention.
Wasting no more time, he gently scooped Akira up with one hand, slung him over his massive shoulder, and began sprinting toward the Butterfly Mansion.
Akira thus had the misfortune of experiencing the same wild, jarring ride that a young boy named Kaigaku once had, being carried on Gyomei's shoulder during a desperate run. But with only his consciousness clear while his body refused to obey a single command, he could only endure it silently, praying he wouldn't be jolted to death halfway there.
Fortunately, Gyomei's control over his own body was so deep that even while sprinting at full speed, he managed to keep Akira from being jostled too severely.
Before long, however, Akira's consciousness could no longer hold on and slipped completely into darkness.
...
When Akira was carried back to the Butterfly Mansion by Gyomei, Kocho Shinobu and a young man named Sawaki had just finished stabilizing Makomo, neutralizing the toxins in her system. Before they could even catch their breath, they found themselves turning to administer treatment to Akira.
He had no external wounds, but his internal injuries were horrifyingly severe, and clearly not caused by any outside force. The muscles in his limbs were all catastrophically damaged from overexertion. In fact, if not for his naturally powerful constitution, the damage would have been enough to leave him permanently crippled. Other muscles throughout his body also showed varying degrees of strain, though those were comparatively minor issues. His heart and lungs showed signs of wear, but they were largely intact; he would just need a long period of recuperation to recover.
From Gyomei's account, they learned that Akira had used some kind of self-destructive technique to unleash a phenomenally powerful strike, slaying the Upper Rank demon that had nearly killed Makomo.
But that only raised more questions. Gyomei had clearly already been nearby and would have joined the fight within moments. Judging by the fact that Akira had no external wounds at all, he had been more than capable of stalling for a little longer.
No one could understand why Akira had suddenly chosen to use such a desperate, life-risking technique.
...
After an unknown amount of time, Akira drifted back to the edge of consciousness.
Pain.
A world of pain.
An incredible, all-consuming pain.
This was the first sensation that greeted him. It felt as if every single muscle fiber in his body had been torn to shreds. The intense agony made him frown long before he even had the strength to open his eyes.
After another stretch of time, having barely managed to adapt to the searing torment, Akira slowly peeled his eyes open.
Judging by the faint light in the room, it was late at night. Only the thinnest sliver of moonlight filtered through the window, casting a pale glow on his hospital bed and on the petite figure sleeping soundly beside it.
Even in her sleep, Kocho Shinobu's brow was slightly furrowed. The corners of her eyes were still puffy and bore the faint traces of tears. One small hand was gently holding his, as if unwilling to let go, yet terrified of using too much force and worsening his injuries. She could only cradle his hand lightly, a silent, fragile anchor in the quiet dark.
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