"Oh? Ryūkotsusei's strength... it's greater than I expected," said Ruri, watching the image displayed within the massive Tenseigan. What unfolded before her eyes was no mere battle—it was a calamity, an assault that descended from the heavens like a divine weapon, obliterating all before it.
"In this world, the Three Kings' power already surpasses that of ordinary great yōkai. Aside from the Wheel Yama King, both the Phantom Spirit King and the Great Brahma King possess authority over Status Infusion and Energy Control. Enhancing a yōkai's power through certain methods is hardly difficult," Satsuki remarked calmly. Her gaze, however, was fixed upon the black magatama embedded in Ryūkotsusei's forehead. Through the Tenseigan, she could see that it radiated a distinctly familiar aura.
Ruri sat down beside her with a smirk, her tone dripping with amusement. "So even with his power enhanced, and even with the Samsara Sword acting as the conduit for Bakusaiga's projection, using it against Ryūkotsusei now... tsk tsk, Sesshōmaru's in for a hard time."
That much was certain.
Satsuki, serene and composed, showed no concern for Sesshōmaru's peril.
This confrontation had never been about Sesshōmaru alone. Why had Ryūkotsusei appeared in the Western Lands? Why had his strength increased so drastically? Beyond his inherently warlike nature, the true reason lay within the command sealed inside that black magatama.
Sesshōmaru was merely a subject of interest—his unique internal power had caught Satsuki's attention, nothing more. In truth, both he and Ryūkotsusei held the same position within her grand design—pieces on a chessboard, nothing but tools in Satsuki's intricate plan.
...
Back on the battlefield, where Sesshōmaru had once stood, the air reeked faintly of ozone.
"Hmph. In the end, just another naive brat. To raise your blade against me, Ryūkotsusei... meeting such an easy death is already a mercy."
Ryūkotsusei's colossal body undulated through the sky, releasing a thunderous roar that rolled across the heavens. His massive, mountain-like form turned gracefully in the air, ready to continue his advance toward the depths of the Western Lands.
But—
Before long, Ryūkotsusei's movement halted. His entire body stiffened under the pressure of a sudden, locking presence.
His violet-scaled head turned, eyes narrowing toward a patch of clouds undergoing a strange, pulsating change.
From within that cloud, Ryūkotsusei sensed a rhythmic thrum—something alive, something stirring.
Amid that pulse, a surge of demonic energy—perfect, flawless—was awakening. A force equal to his own draconic might was rising like the dawn sun, spreading its brilliance across the heavens.
The pressure tore through the sky, scattering clouds in all directions, and there—amid the golden light—stood a breathtaking figure. Silver hair flowed like silk in the storm, and golden eyes shone with unyielding resolve.
It was none other than the Sesshōmaru himself.
Though moments ago he had been struck by what seemed an act of god, he not only survived but now stood reborn—his aura blazing ever stronger.
"Oh? Has that brat already mastered the blade?"
Ruri's eyes widened as she watched the projection. In less than a week, Sesshōmaru had managed to harness the power within Satsuki's Samsara Sword—an astonishing feat by any measure.
"He's completely synchronized with the sword's yōki now. Not bad," Satsuki murmured, her expression calm, though her words remained detached. "But Sesshōmaru... after realizing Bakusaiga's power alone couldn't defeat Ryūkotsusei, you should already understand—raw strength alone will never be enough to overcome him."
...
Above the storm, where violet lightning and roaring demonic whirlwinds raged, Sesshōmaru now stood transformed.
The yōki emanating from his body had multiplied severalfold; his golden aura burned so fiercely that not even lightning could touch him. He radiated power so vast it distorted the heavens themselves.
Having fully absorbed the energy of the Samsara Sword, Sesshōmaru's strength now rivaled the great disasters of nature. The only reason he hadn't unleashed it at first was not weakness—but restraint.
Because the power was too strong.
"I underestimated you, Ryūkotsusei," he said.
The words carried no emotion, no tone—merely a calm declaration. Yet, coupled with the cold majesty of his stance and the piercing gaze that looked down upon the dragon from above the clouds, the meaning was unmistakable.
It was the gaze of a superior—pitying the weakness of another.
"If it were the me of the past, I would not have been your match. But now—"
Sesshōmaru raised Bakusaiga across his chest. The air around him began to howl and keen, as though the heavens themselves were holding their breath. In the next instant, the sky dimmed, and a torrent of demonic energy poured into the Samsara Sword in his grasp. With that surge, golden-green lightning spread across the blade's surface, pulsing like a living heart.
Thump... Thump... Thump...
Each beat of the blade echoed through the sky, rippling outward in waves of shimmering light. It was as if a divine weapon—an ultimate sword—was announcing its true awakening to the world.
"Ryūkotsusei," Sesshōmaru declared, his voice calm but absolute, "as one acknowledged by me as a worthy opponent, I shall honor you by defeating you myself."
"Defeat me? You?" Ryūkotsusei bellowed with thunderous laughter, his booming voice shaking the clouds. The storm surged with his mirth, churning the heavens into chaos.
"Boy, do you truly believe you can slay a dragon with that little blade? Are all the dog demons of the West this arrogant?"
What his taunt unleashed was not merely rage—it was pure, destructive might.
Ryūkotsusei opened his massive jaws once again, but this time, what gathered within was no ordinary orb of yōki—it was his ultimate technique, the true Dragon's Breath. Even without sensing it, the sight alone told all: this was an attack of cataclysmic scale.
Sesshōmaru only scoffed.
"The same trick again? Have you already exhausted your skill, Ryūkotsusei?"
At his words, the pulsating blade in his hands suddenly fell silent. In that same moment, the golden-green power of Bakusaiga erupted—lightning burst forth like divine judgment, spreading across the heavens, intertwining sky and earth in a single flash.
As the thunderous energy enveloped the blade, Sesshōmaru's mind conjured a memory—Satsuki's battle with his father, the Great Dog General. The image of her final strike, the technique that felled his father, had never faded from his thoughts.
Now, his own yōki surged in unison, fusing into a single overwhelming force capable of bending the laws of nature itself.
Then, from Sesshōmaru's lips, the name of his technique thundered across the heavens—
"Secret Art—Azure Dragon Break!!!"
At the same instant, Ryūkotsusei unleashed his attack.
The dragon's apocalyptic breath—divine punishment incarnate—met Sesshōmaru's celestial lightning head-on. Two overwhelming forces, each embodying destruction itself, collided in the sky.
For a single blinding instant, the heavens were consumed—every color, every shadow swallowed whole by radiant annihilation.
Light pollution—a phenomenon that, under normal circumstances, only occurs in highly developed societies.
Yet here, in a world untouched by industry, such a phenomenon was being born from the clash of two great yōkai.
Heaven-splitting, earth-rending bolts of lightning and Ryūkotsusei's beam of annihilation collided head-on. The blinding brilliance that followed exceeded the limits of the human retina, golden-green and white intertwining in a dazzling storm of light.
"...My eyes!"
Far below, at the base of a distant mountain, Jaken cried out as he squinted toward the battle, covering his face with both hands in a panic.
But even as he shielded his eyes, his heart raced with nervous thoughts.
"Did Lord Sesshōmaru win?"
"His opponent's a dragon... can he really defeat it?"
"He must have! If it's Lord Sesshōmaru, he'll definitely win!"
"But... but what if Lord Sesshōmaru loses?"
"In that case... what should I, Jaken, his faithful servant, do!?"
While the little yōkai fretted over such trivial worries, the blinding light and deafening explosion above gradually began to fade.
As the heavens calmed, Ryūkotsusei's massive form once again emerged, his titanic body framed by the remnants of storming yōki.
"Impressive..." The dragon's deep voice rumbled across the sky. "Boy, I must admit, you've opened my eyes. To withstand that attack of mine—and even wound me in the process—you're stronger than that Panther King I fought before."
As he spoke, several deep gashes appeared along Ryūkotsusei's enormous body. Within those wounds, golden-green energy churned violently, the lingering power of Bakusaiga struggling to spread through his flesh.
"Hmph... I don't believe this is enough to defeat you—Ryūkotsusei," Sesshōmaru replied coolly.
He stood suspended in midair, breathing heavily. His once-elegant appearance as the trembling nobleman was gone—his kimono was shredded, his left arm bent unnaturally, and even his iconic fur pelt hung in tatters, barely covering one shoulder.
Blood dripped steadily from his cheek, and waves of pain pulsed from his twisted arm and fractured ribs.
Yet his expression did not change. The agony only deepened his focus—after all, the pain born from battle against a worthy foe was one of the few sensations he truly sought.
Ryūkotsusei's domineering gaze locked onto him, violet light surging once more across his massive body. The brilliance of that power began to consume the residual energy of Bakusaiga, swallowing the golden-green aura whole.
White smoke rose from the dragon's scales as his wounds rapidly sealed shut. Within moments, his once-ravaged form had completely regenerated.
Then Ryūkotsusei spoke again. "Boy... Sesshōmaru, was it?"
"..."
"Interesting. If not for those people, you might have defeated me with that last strike."
Those people?
At those words, Sesshōmaru's eyes narrowed. He had already sensed it—the strange, foreign scent woven into Ryūkotsusei's power. It was not his own.
From that and Ryūkotsusei's statement, the truth was clear: the energy capable of devouring Bakusaiga's attack had not originated from the dragon himself. It had been implanted—by someone else.
"Those people... the ones from the Lunar Palace?" Sesshōmaru asked coldly.
"Oh? So you've heard of them? Hahaha... of course, your canine nose has always been keen," Ryūkotsusei chuckled, his laughter echoing like thunder.
As he turned in midair, his forehead gleamed, revealing a black magatama-shaped mark pulsing with dark energy.
"So that's the emblem of the Lunar Palace..."
Sesshōmaru's golden eyes fixed sharply on the mark. But the moment he met its gaze, an unfamiliar sensation pierced his mind.
It was coldness—a soul-chilling dread, as though an unfathomable being were staring at him with mocking amusement.
Instinctively, Sesshōmaru's yōki erupted. His skin darkened, and his eyes burned crimson with predatory light, as his true demonic power began to awaken.
With a thunderous shout, flashes of light burst from Sesshōmaru's body.
The wounds that had once covered him—grievous injuries from the clash with Ryūkotsusei—began to close at an astonishing rate. In the span of a heartbeat, they were gone.
Through sheer force of will and yōki liberation, Sesshōmaru had healed himself completely. Only his torn garments remained as proof of the battle. His body, however, had returned to peak condition.
But such a feat came at a cost. The expenditure of energy required for this regeneration was immense—even for Sesshōmaru, performing it again in a short span was impossible.
"Tell me, Sesshōmaru—you felt it too, didn't you? The terror of those people," Ryūkotsusei rumbled.
"..."
He said nothing, but he could not deny it.
Just that single mark carrying their yōki had been enough to force him into unleashing his full demonic power, compelling his body to heal by instinct. The realization weighed heavily on him.
This world was rapidly changing—new powers were emerging one after another. His father, the Great Dog General, once his ultimate rival and the symbol of absolute strength, no longer stood as the pinnacle of his ambition.
Ironically, that place was now held by someone Sesshōmaru had always looked down upon—a human shrine maiden.
And now, before him, stood yet another obstacle worthy of challenge.
"Lunar Palace..." Sesshōmaru's voice was low, but his tone carried unmistakable gravity. "Ryūkotsusei, your attack on the Western Lands—was it under their command?"
Ryūkotsusei laughed, his laughter echoing across the heavens like rolling thunder. "Hahaha! The pup's nose is sharp indeed. Do you intend to stop me, then?"
"Tell me, proud dragon," Sesshōmaru replied coldly, "what power did you witness that made you cast aside your pride and stand on their side?"
His words were edged with provocation, but to his surprise, Ryūkotsusei did not rage. Instead, the dragon's eyes gleamed with an almost pitying amusement.
"Sesshōmaru—you couldn't even stop me. And yet, you think to stand against the Lunar Palace and protect the Western Lands?"
"Protect?" Sesshōmaru scoffed, his expression hardening. His yōki flared once more—vast, all-consuming, a torrent that shook the very skies.
"I, Sesshōmaru—have nothing to protect!"
His declaration tore through the clouds like thunder.
A deep, resonant howl followed, echoing across the heavens. His body dissolved into a swirling mass of tangible yōki, expanding rapidly—hundreds of times in size—until it filled the sky.
And from that blinding storm of demonic energy emerged an enormous white canine demon.
It was Sesshōmaru's true form—the apex manifestation of his released yōki.
The Great White Dog Demon had descended once more.