The four demons lunged at the three figures within the circle all at once.
"You two just protect yourselves and leave me alone."
"I understand. Just be careful."
Steel clashed with claws as the three demon slayers met the onslaught. The demons, cunning despite their bloodlust, recognized that Mitsuri was the strongest among them. They split their assault accordingly—three demons swarmed her while the last singled out the remaining pair. Within moments, the three slayers were scattered apart.
Akino and Yuka were already battered and weary from their long run. Even working together against a single demon left them strained to their limits, their movements slow, their breathing ragged. They fought desperately but were always one step away from being overwhelmed.
Yukishiro, watching from a short distance, was in no better position.
Demons attacked with no rhythm, no predictable strategy, and he found himself constantly fending off sudden blows without knowing where the next would come from. It was chaotic, but he endured, refusing to falter.
On Mitsuri's side, the situation was dire. She had little real combat experience despite her strength, and now, with three demons bearing down on her, panic rippled through her stance. Her blade whipped and twirled like a ribbon in the hands of a dancer, her body twisting in improbable, almost acrobatic arcs to evade strikes.
Her unique physique—muscles six times denser than an ordinary person's—combined with her Love Breathing made her movements bewildering and graceful. She seemed to bend and flow in ways that defied human limits, striking and dodging in one continuous motion.
Yukishiro felt cold sweat bead along his spine. Not out of fear for her life, but because her fighting style was so strange and embarrassing to watch.
"I swear," he thought bitterly, "I'll never take on another mission with her again. Better to be nailed to the hashira of shame than endure this."
"Breath of Love, First Form: The Thrill of First Love!"
Mitsuri's Nichirin Blade lashed out like a whip, striking across a demon's shoulder and tearing downward through flesh until bone gleamed.
The demon howled, nearly cleaved in half—yet the wound stitched itself back together in moments, knitting flesh as though nothing had happened.
Still snarling, the creature lunged again, joined by the other two demons who slashed in from either side, threatening to trap her completely.
Mitsuri spun in place, her body a blur. She flipped, her heel smashing into one demon's jaw with a crack, before planting her foot on another's back and driving it into the ground with terrifying force.
From his vantage point, Yukishiro couldn't help but marvel despite himself. This was the reality of someone blessed with impossible strength.
Even if a human trained endlessly, they could only increase their muscle density two or threefold. Mitsuri was born with strength beyond reach, and her body would only grow denser with time—all without deliberate training.
To the eye, she looked like any ordinary girl, perhaps even a little soft around the edges. But when she exerted force, her muscles surged instantly, bulging and transforming her slender frame into something monstrous and terrifying.
With a single kick, she could break a demon's jaw and crush another into the dirt.
And yet her heart was too kind. Pity clouded her judgment. She still hesitated, reluctant to finish the demons completely. Yukishiro grit his teeth, knowing she needed to learn the truth: demons were no longer human, no matter how human they once had been. Their hunger for blood was endless, and only decapitation could end them.
Compassion would kill her.
"Breath of Love, Third Form: Cat-Like Love, Soft and Agile!"
She leapt among them like a nimble feline, darting left, feinting right, bounding into their midst, then springing away.
Each motion carried a strike—the blade slashing in bizarre arcs, straight one moment, curving like a whip the next.
The three demons shrieked as fresh wounds painted them in blood. But Mitsuri never severed their necks, and every wound healed, only for her to cut them again.
Her agility bewildered them, her movements impossible to track. Again and again, their claws struck empty air, never so much as brushing the hem of her uniform.
Finally, the demons realized this prey would not fall easily. Low cunning stirred in them. One demon released a strange sound—neither a howl of rage nor a scream of pain, but a throaty, drawn-out "woooo." Mitsuri ignored it, thinking it nothing more than a meaningless noise.
But from that moment, their tactics changed. They stopped charging recklessly. They stopped surrounding her. Instead, they pressed together, attacking in unison from one side, their rhythm alternating, never overcommitting. Their frequency increased, overwhelming Mitsuri's defenses with relentless precision.
She faltered, forced onto the back foot. Their movements were sharper now, their blows pulling back at the last second, leaving her defenses misaligned. She struggled, her breathing heavy, her expression tight with frustration.
And she did not notice their true aim had shifted.
When she finally caught on, the three demons had already repositioned. Together, they burst past her, veering toward Akino and Yuka in the distance.
Mitsuri reacted instantly.
"Breath of Love, Second Form: Regretful and Hesitant Love!"
Her blade flashed pink under the moonlight, slashing in a sweeping rhythm that split the night air. Two demons were struck, their legs severed in clean arcs. Yet even crippled, their bodies lunged forward with momentum unchecked, and the remaining pair surged past unscathed.
Mitsuri landed in a crouch, her back turned to the two advancing demons. They were too close, far too fast. She would never have time to swing again before they tore into Akino and Yuka.
Yukishiro's eyes widened as he realized her intention. She meant to throw herself into their path, to shield the others with her own body.
Fury boiled in his chest.
"How foolish," he thought, trembling with anger. "How utterly stupid!"