"Here I come."
As Yukishiro spoke, his pitch-black hair suddenly spread across the ground like a dark tide, slithering outward until it reached the very edge of the defense circle.
The strands writhed with life, each one twitching unnaturally as if eager to pierce flesh.
A few strands attempted a sneak attack, snaking beneath the protective line of cold air. But the moment they crossed into the domain, the icy aura wrapped them in frost, forcing them to shrivel and retreat in shame.
Mitsuri's face turned pale, her body trembling uncontrollably. She had always thought long, lustrous hair was a woman's pride—something beautiful, something soft.
But now, staring at the black locks at her feet wriggling like serpents, she felt only nausea and horror.
Her scalp prickled as if her own hair might come alive and strangle her next.
Move!
Bunches of Yukishiro's hair suddenly rose from the ground, standing upright like countless spears, each one sharpened to a deadly point. For a heartbeat, they hovered there, quivering.
Then, in a rush, they retracted as if building momentum—before all at once, they stabbed forward at terrifying speed, aimed directly at the three defenders.
With the cold aura of Cold Weep expanding across the battlefield, Yukishiro could sense attacks from nearly every direction. The sword in his hand felt heavier than ever, but unloading his body's weight helped him swing it faster, cutting down the hair that lunged at them.
He knew he no longer had the strength for an effective counterattack. Even at his peak, he doubted he could overpower such a monstrous Demon. His only option was to keep swinging his Nichirin Sword relentlessly, holding on until dawn's first light.
"The three of you—get behind me! Watch both sides carefully!" Yukishiro barked.
Even that brief exchange of blows had left Akino and Mitsuri battered and bleeding, their clothes slashed open, red streaks running across their skin. The hairs were unnaturally hard, sharp as blades; even grazing them left wounds.
At his command, the three slowly moved into position. Mitsuri guarded his left, Akino took the right, the two pressing back-to-back with Yukishiro as their shield.
Yuka, watching them desperately fend off wave after wave, felt her heart twist with pain. They fought with every ounce of their strength, each slash born of desperation—while she stood uselessly behind them, unable to lift her blade. Even then, Mitsuri and Akino often had to split their focus to cover for her.
Tears filled Yuka's eyes.
Then, almost peacefully, she smiled. Without hesitation, she turned and leapt down the mountainside.
Akino noticed too late. He whipped his head around, his expression contorted with confusion, his eyes silently asking
Why?
A strand of hair struck him while he was distracted, slashing across his arm and thigh. Blood splattered across the dirt.
But Yuka only looked back up at him with the same gentle smile, shaking her head. She knew his thoughts. He had stayed, he had fought, all because of her. If she gave up now, he might finally give himself permission to collapse.
But she wouldn't allow it.
Clutching the trunk of a wisteria tree below, Yuka steadied herself, gazing up at them with shining eyes. She smiled, as though urging Akino to keep fighting.
Akino understood her instantly. His chest tightened, but he pushed the grief down. He had no choice—he had to keep fighting until dawn.
Only afterward could he let himself mourn.
The Demonic hair's attacks grew wilder, fiercer.
What began as stabbing strikes swelled into wave after wave of darkness, a pitch-black tide that crashed against them like the ocean against cliffs.
Yukishiro planted his feet like nails in the earth, his Nichirin Sword slashing endlessly. He could no longer feel the pain tearing through his body. Sound had faded, vision blurred—yet one single thought burned in his mind: Swing the blade. Swing it again.
And again.
Mitsuri and Akino were faltering. Their strength drained, their movements sluggish, their legs trembling under them. Each wound bled into the next, weakening them further. Only Yukishiro's relentless defense from the front allowed them to remain standing at all.
Mitsuri alone still stood firm. Her unique body, with its dense muscles and supernatural resilience, allowed her to last longer than the others.
Still, even she was nearing her limit.
Then, without warning, all the hair drew back together. The battlefield fell eerily still as the strands gathered in the clearing ahead, rising and coiling into a towering black mass. Slowly, the writhing tide shaped itself into something monstrous: a wave several meters tall, like a beast with a gaping maw ready to swallow them whole.
"No…" Mitsuri's voice cracked, eyes wide with terror.
Akino's face drained of color. Mitsuri's knees buckled.
It was hopeless.
Yukishiro, however, did not stop. Even with nothing around him, he continued swinging his blade with mechanical rhythm, cutting only empty air.
His eyes had gone glassy, but his arms refused to rest.
"Akino! Mitsuri! Stop—stop fighting and give up!" Yuka's cry echoed as she ran from beneath the wisteria tree, her voice ragged.
Before she reached them, the tidal wave of black hair crashed down from above, blotting out what little light remained.
Mitsuri and Akino froze, their swords heavy in their hands, unable to lift them again. Their hearts sank into the depths of despair.
What kind of Demon is this? How can something this powerful even exist?
The mass of hair descended—until, suddenly, a narrow shaft of light pierced through the canopy.
A single golden beam cut between Yukishiro and the descending tide, halting it like a divine command. In an instant, the hair recoiled, slithering back toward the Demon that birthed it, wrapping its body protectively before vanishing into the shadows.
Then, more beams broke through the branches, scattering motes of dust that danced in the air like tiny fairies.
Dawn had arrived.
"It's… finally over." Mitsuri collapsed into the mud, her Nichirin Sword clattering beside her. Akino fell with her, his trembling hands useless, his body limp.
Mitsuri stared at the scattered patches of sunlight on the ground, tears spilling down her cheeks.
"We made it…" she whispered.
Yuka ran back, throwing herself at Akino, clutching his legs, sobbing uncontrollably.
But Yukishiro—he did not stop.
He kept swinging, each arc of the sword humming through the empty air. His eyes, unfocused and cold, stared into nothingness.
"Yukishiro, it's over! The Demon's gone—we won!" Mitsuri pleaded, her voice breaking. "Stop swinging Cold Weep—sit down, rest! Please!"
No response.
Even for him, no words at all was unnatural. Mitsuri's stomach sank with dread.
"Tick… tick…"
The sound of dripping reached them. They followed it with their eyes and saw the puddle forming at Yukishiro's feet, blood pouring down his legs, pattering into the mud.
Mitsuri's mind went blank.
For a moment she saw only darkness. Then, forcing herself forward, she staggered to his side, her trembling hands reaching out but not knowing where to touch.
"Yukishiro! H-Hey! Don't do this to me, don't scare me!" Her tears blurred her vision.
Akino clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay calm.
He seized Yukishiro's arm, pried the Nichirin Sword from his rigid grip, and tossed it aside. With painstaking care, he lowered him flat onto the ground.
The sight stole the breath from both of them. Yukishiro's limbs had gone stiff, locked by sheer willpower. His eyes were wide open, unblinking, while his snow-white haori was soaked in blood.
He had been fighting unconsciously, driven only by will.
"What kind of strength… what kind of willpower…?" Akino whispered, shaken.
Yuka knelt beside them, frozen with fear, before finally rushing forward.
"Don't just stand there, check his pulse! See if he's breathing!" Akino snapped. "Yuka, stop the bleeding now!"
Yuka tore strips from her clothing, pressing them desperately against his wounds.
Mitsuri placed trembling fingers under Yukishiro's nose, praying for the faintest breath. Seconds passed. Nothing. Her tears spilled anew. She pressed her ear against his chest. Still nothing.
Her heart cracked.
"No… no heartbeat… no breathing…"
Her voice broke into sobs as she clutched his blood-soaked haori, the world collapsing around her.