Akaza pulled his fist back, a smile spreading across his face, clearly satisfied with the scene that had just played out.
"Not bad, kid. You're stronger than I imagined," he said, his voice calm yet filled with sinister amusement. "But this is just the beginning."
Before his words fully faded, Akaza vanished again, reappearing in a blur on the opposite side of Lucas. This time, his Destructive Kill: Void Style wasn't a test—it was a storm. His strikes rained down with lightning speed, creating a dense barrage that threatened to overwhelm.
Sensing the danger, Kyojuro Rengoku immediately stepped in front of Lucas.
"Flame Breathing Fourth Form: Blooming Flame Undulation!"
His voice roared across the night like a war drum. In that moment, Rengoku's Nichirin blade transformed into a divine instrument, tempered in flame. Fire surged along the length of his sword, spiraling into a blazing vortex that shielded them both.
As he swung, the vortex of flame grew larger, acting as both weapon and barrier. The clash between the flaming whirlwind and Akaza's rapid, invisible strikes was deafening. Sparks flew with every collision, illuminating the battlefield in bursts of light and heat.
The air distorted under the pressure of their battle. Dust kicked up from the force, forming a miniature storm around them. Heat, smoke, and power surged with every movement. Neither side relented. Akaza's attacks consumed the flames little by little, but Rengoku held strong.
Eventually, a particularly forceful exchange caused both energies to explode outward. The fire and fighting spirit neutralized each other, and the vortex of flame collapsed into the thick smoke.
Through the haze, Lucas spotted Akaza's figure—blurred but clearly advancing—and turned his eyes to Rengoku. He knew what was coming next. The Flame Hashira would soon shift to close-range combat, and with it, his injuries would begin to pile up.
This was the point in the original story when Kyojuro Rengoku started to lose ground… and eventually his life.
Lucas couldn't let that happen.
He clenched his fists. He needed to provide support—just enough to reduce Rengoku's injuries and buy time. When the fight reached its climax, he would activate his Transparent World technique. That was when he'd step in to save Rengoku.
He had done it once before—briefly suppressing Sanemi Shinazugawa during training by using the Transparent World. But now, after fusing three breathing techniques, Lucas had grown much stronger.
This time, he wouldn't just suppress. He would dominate.
"Lucas, be careful," Rengoku said, then leapt into action.
With a flicker, the Flame Pillar vanished, leaving behind trails of swirling fire.
"Buzz—!"
A wave of heat surged as Rengoku reappeared in front of Akaza. His crimson blade slashed upward in a burning arc toward Akaza's chin.
"Excellent reaction speed," Akaza said with a low chuckle, narrowly avoiding the strike. The flames singed his cheek.
Rengoku didn't slow down. He retracted his blade, gripped it with both hands, and struck again in a fiery flash.
"Boom!"
The sound of blades and fists colliding rang out louder than before. Sparks flew. The crimson fire of Rengoku's blade clashed against Akaza's cold, blue fighting spirit.
"Kyojuro, even now you refuse?" Akaza asked calmly, blocking blow after blow. "All your brilliant swordsmanship… it will vanish with you. Don't you find that sad?"
"I told you already. I will never agree!" Rengoku growled, slashing again.
Akaza smirked, his teeth bared in a sharp grin. "Then let's make your final moments worth it!"
He twisted his body and delivered a savage spinning kick. It tore through the air with a howling shriek, forcing Rengoku back.
Akaza's assault became relentless—punches, kicks, and elbow strikes flowed like a river, every blow imbued with lethal precision. Rengoku blocked them all, his sword flashing like a fiery shield. But Lucas could see it: Rengoku was slowing.
The brilliance of his flames was dimming.
In the next exchange, Akaza spotted a gap. He drove his fist down hard on Rengoku's sword, sending the Hashira flying backward. Rengoku landed hard, coughing dust as he struggled to his feet.
Akaza approached, not with arrogance, but with sorrow.
"Still unwilling to become a demon, Kyojuro?" he asked quietly. "This is the difference between us. If you joined me, you wouldn't have to fall like this. You could fight forever."
Even bruised and bloodied, Rengoku's eyes burned bright. "I will never become a demon!" he declared.
Akaza sighed and looked around.
Where was that annoying fly? Where was Lucas?
Had he run away?
Of course—just like the weak. They always—
But before Akaza could finish the thought, his instincts screamed danger.
A bone-deep chill ran down his spine. A killing intent, sharp and blinding, cut through the smoke.
From behind.
Akaza turned and lashed out with his fist—
"Thunder Breathing First Form: Thunderclap and Flash: Tenfold!"
The sound came from behind him, and it was too late.
Lucas struck.
His nichirin blade shimmered with golden arcs of lightning, and in an instant, he slashed downward from Akaza's wrist to his elbow.
The demon's arm, once capable of deflecting swords, now bled.
Akaza's eyes widened. This kid actually cut him?
But Lucas didn't stop.
The next nine slashes came in rapid succession, each one faster than the last. Thunder roared with every strike. Lightning danced with each swing.
Lucas's figure blurred into afterimages as he darted around Akaza, always a step ahead, never staying in one place for more than a breath.
Akaza tried to counter, but Lucas was too fast. His attacks were unpredictable, his blade unrelenting.
Each strike found its mark—his shoulder, thigh, arm, ribs.
And then—the blade grazed Akaza's neck.
The wound was shallow, but the sensation jolted Akaza. A flash of pain and the terrifying thought: This kid can cut off my head!
Lucas finally halted. Dust swirled around them.
Akaza's arm was a mangled mess, dripping blood from dozens of deep gashes.
The same arm that had once swatted away countless demon slayers like flies now looked fragile—beaten by lightning and steel.
Lucas stood firm, blade raised, thunder crackling at his feet.
The boy who was once just support had now become the storm itself.
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