The three-headed Demon had fled, the Bouncing Demon was slain, and the remaining Spider Demon showed signs of cowardice. Under the joint restraint of Kimura and Akino, it retreated step by step, dragging with it the last seven or eight Demons toward the hillside.
In sheer numbers, the balance had finally shifted. The surviving contestants now outnumbered the Demons. Their courage surged with every passing moment, while the enemy faltered. The death of the Bouncing Demon had shaken their morale. Several of the lesser Demons had already scattered and fled into the night.
The Spider Demon, too, wanted to run.
But Kimura and Akino were relentless—sticking to it like shadows, refusing to allow it to slip away. The creature had no choice but to call the other Demons closer, as if to gather its forces for one desperate push toward the hillside.
As soon as the Bouncing Demon's head fell, Mitsuri—her cheeks still flushed with lingering adrenaline—turned her blade on the other Demons. She had expected her heart to ache after killing such a creature, expected to feel a pang of guilt or pity.
But when she had drawn her Nichirin Sword taut and pulled, when the head had flown skyward and blood sprayed like fireworks, her chest had been still. There had been no trembling, no hesitation.
"It feels… like nothing," she thought, her grip tightening slightly around her sword's hilt. "But after this moment… I'll never be the same."
With her addition, the tide turned further against the Demons.
The Spider Demon itself was not particularly powerful. Its small body and multiple legs gave it speed and agility, making it difficult to catch in the dark woods. With the blurred vision of night on its side, it had struck before like a phantom, quick and lethal. But now it found itself hunted, eyes never leaving it, its every movement tracked.
Whenever it prepared to pounce, Kimura and Akino were there. One attacked while the other defended, forcing it to stumble, to abandon its hunts, to fight back clumsily instead.
The Spider Demon eventually realized their intent.
Its bulging eyes watched its companions fall, one after another, vanishing into blood and ash. It wanted to help them, but every time it moved, blades met it—driving it back, forcing it into futility.
Frustration boiled into guttural, chaotic cries that scraped from its throat.
Still more Demons broke and fled. Three more vanished into the forest, unwilling to die for their leader.
The battlefield had turned utterly one-sided.
Kimura and Akino were no longer alone. With the enemy numbers thinned, the contestants—bloodied, exhausted, but still standing—threw themselves into the fight. Together, they drove the Spider Demon into a tightening circle of steel.
The creature darted left, then right, its body writhing with unnatural flexibility. But no gap opened. Every time it tried to break free, white Nichirin blades barred its way. For the first time, it felt fear claw its way into its chest.
"No," one contestant shouted from the crowd, voice fierce. "This bastard's too agile! Our blades can't cut it down unless we hold it still. We have to pin it, or it'll slip through and all those deaths will mean nothing!"
"I'll do it!" A burly man shoved forward, planting his Nichirin Sword into the ground. He rolled up his sleeves, broad chest heaving, and stepped into the circle.
His stance was heavy, deliberate—like a seasoned wrestler stepping onto the ring.
The Spider Demon hissed, its mandibles opening wide as a guttural "wooooo" scraped from its throat.
But the sound, once terrifying, now carried a thread of panic.
The contestant advanced slowly, deliberately, crouched low with arms outstretched. The Demon skittered backward, jerking its head side to side as it searched for an escape route. But the blades of the outer circle glimmered like prison bars, hemming it in.
The man lunged. His arms shot wide to grab the Spider Demon's torso—but the Demon twisted, sliding free.
The burly contestant tried again and again, but the Demon's six legs kept it just beyond reach. It mocked him with a chittering cry. But as it twisted away, it could not avoid every blade. Cuts bloomed across its chitinous body, blood hissing in the moonlight.
If not for its regenerative ability, it would already have collapsed.
Frustration erupted in snarls from the Spider Demon. The crowd tightened, blades flashing, each near miss carving deeper into its hide.
Another contestant stepped out. "Let me help!" he called, gripping his sword. The long stalemate had lit a fire in the hearts of the others. They had all feared this thing before, cowed by its silence and ambushes. Now, with its weakness laid bare, they wanted revenge.
The two men closed in together. Their teamwork forced the Spider Demon into chaos. At last, the burly contestant managed to seize it from behind, his arms clamping down across its thorax.
The Demon screeched. Its body thrashed like a storm, but more contestants surged forward, pinning its legs, its arms, even pressing its back into the dirt.
Seven, eight fighters piled on. The Spider Demon writhed in desperation, but its limbs were locked, pinned to the earth.
"Quick! Chop off its head!" a man shouted, both hands pressing down on the Demon's skull.
Kimura stepped forward, blade raised high.
He swung with every ounce of strength left in his body—all the rage, the grief, the despair of the past seven nights poured into a single strike.
The Nichirin Sword bit into the Spider Demon's neck.
Blood sprayed, screams split the night. But then, impossibly, the Demon roared, its survival instinct igniting like fire. With its hands, it seized the blade itself, heedless of severed palms, and shoved forward.
Kimura was thrown down, blade and all, the Demon landing atop him.
Gasps rippled through the contestants. Its neck had been cut two-thirds of the way through—yet still, it fought on, fueled by an animal desperation.
The sudden reversal toppled the circle. Contestants were thrown off in all directions, some hitting the ground with bone-cracking force. The gaps opened, and the Spider Demon seized its chance.
Clutching its nearly severed head, it scuttled toward the hillside, vanishing into the shadows.
"Don't let it run!" someone screamed.
Youmei, her blade dripping with the blood of the last ordinary Demon, snapped her head up. She saw the Spider Demon lurching into the woods and sprinted forward. Others followed, their cries echoing.
Those too injured to move collapsed to the ground. They stared at the battlefield—at the corpses of their comrades, at the blood soaking the dirt—and for the first time in days, smiles cracked across their exhausted faces.
"Win… we've won," one murmured, breath trembling.
Mitsuri had been ready to pursue, but halfway there she stopped. Something tugged at her memory. She turned, scanning the battlefield.
Yukishiro—white-clad, calm, steady—was gone.
Her stomach twisted. Without another word, she turned from the chase and darted into the forest, vanishing into the night.
Akino staggered to Yuka's side. Their eyes met, brimming with tears. The two collapsed into each other's arms, sobbing, clutching tight.
"It's over," Akino whispered.
And for the first time since the nightmare began, those words felt real.