"Big Sister Tōran!"
The cry tore across the battlefield, steeped in despair, trembling with rage and disbelief. It was a voice that pierced through the chaos like a knife, sinking deep into every heart of the Leopard Cat Tribe.
Fear surged like a tidal wave in Karan's chest. The flame between her palms flickered and dimmed; facing the relentless strikes of the Dog Demon captains, her fighting spirit had already waned.
If even the strongest of them—Tōran—had been slain in fair combat, how could Karan possibly hope to survive?
The urge to flee gnawed at her heart, but as a daughter of the Leopard Cat Tribe, a crushing sense of duty held her legs in place. She could only grit her teeth, standing her ground in confusion and dread, to meet yet another assault from the battle-hungry Dog yōkai commander.
The commander's eyes gleamed with bloodlust, each strike carrying lethal weight. Karan could barely parry, her arms weakening as fresh wounds opened across her body. Crimson blood seeped down her limbs and dripped onto the snow, blooming into cruel red flowers upon the whiteness.
Shūran, consumed by grief and fury, bellowed as sparks of lightning surged violently around him. His eyes burned with a manic fire. He swung his massive arms recklessly, each blow thunderous, every strike a desperate attempt to crush Seiten.
But his attacks lacked form and discipline—wild, suicidal lashes of power under a storm of sparks.
Whether it was Karan, paralyzed by fear, or Shūran, lost in madness, both were firmly contained by Seiten and the other Dog commander.
With Tōran's death, the battle had shifted dramatically.
The lesser Leopard Cat yōkai, who just moments earlier still fought on equal footing with the Dogs, lost their will the instant their pillar fell. Disorder spread like wildfire.
The Dog yōkai seized the moment. Like wolves scenting blood, they pressed the attack with merciless ferocity.
One towering Dog yōkai leapt upon a Leopard Cat, his claws tearing open the foe's throat in an instant. Another sidestepped a strike, then sank his fangs into his opponent's neck, blood spraying across his face—igniting his feral nature all the more.
Some Leopard Cats fought desperately, roused by bloodlust into suicidal retaliation. But their claws and fangs always froze mid-lunge, halted in that final heartbeat—before being torn apart by the sharper fangs of the Dogs.
"You monster!"
Shunran, trembling, her face pale with both hatred and terror, glared at the one who strolled leisurely amid the carnage.
Tōga, calm and unhurried, dismantled her illusions and sorcery with ease. With a flick of his fingers, he loosed slender, precise arrows of yōki, each shot killing intent incarnate—while at the same time, offering his warriors covering fire.
Shunran's heart brimmed with confusion and despair. She could not comprehend it. They were meant to be equals, yet the gulf between her and this man was an unscalable abyss.
Even Tōran, whom she trusted with her very life, had never exuded such suffocating dominance.
"So it's true… Elder Sister is dead. That woman, and this man… they're monsters among monsters."
Her body felt hollow. Courage and strength drained with every breath until her legs gave out. She fell to her knees in the snow, tears trailing down her lovely face.
"This is all you amount to?"
Tōga's footsteps pressed into the snow, each crunch—gachi, gachi—echoing in Shunran's ears like the ticking of a death knell.
He hadn't even drawn his fang-sword. His long fingers moved deftly, loosing delicate arrows of yōki that found their marks without fail. With ease he both supported his soldiers and regarded Shunran, who sat broken and hollow-eyed before him.
She quivered on the ground, a leaf trembling in the winter wind, her gaze vacant and devoid of light. In that moment, she was as good as dead already.
Tōga did not rush to end her. His gaze swept across the battlefield, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.
After more than ten years together, he knew his beloved fiancée Shirayuki well. Her victory over Tōran was no surprise.
Her fang-sword, though not counted among the Three Great Swords, had still been forged from Tōga's own fang—a weapon imbued with the strength of a great yōkai, a divine blade surpassing anything Tōran possessed.
The crescent moon at Shirayuki's brow marked her as the true-blood daughter of the Dog General, perfectly attuned to the power of moonlight. Her lineage alone gifted her flawless, abundant yōki.
Against her, Tōran never stood a chance.
And more than bloodline, Shirayuki was innately gifted. Under Tōga's guidance, she had mastered refined techniques and secret arts, her sparring with him forging battlefield experience beyond her years.
In every measure—weapon, bloodline, yōki, skill, insight—Tōran fell short.
That she even survived more than a few exchanges was testament to her strength. Yet against Shirayuki's overwhelming power, resistance had been futile.
'In the great 'shōnen' tales' Tōga mused inwardly, 'bloodline reigns supreme. Be it Naruto, Bleach, One Piece, or Dragon Ball—all are worlds where the children of the strong inherit their power. Inuyasha is no different.'
The children of the great remain great.
Shirayuki, born already a mid-level yōkai, would naturally ascend to the ranks of high yōkai without lifting a finger. With her pure bloodline, she could even surpass them.
Sesshōmaru, too, was the prime example—a prodigy born with the explosive might of Bakusaiga, a treasure born of blood itself.
And Shirayuki, unlike any before her, had been sharpened further by his tutelage. Her strength at this stage far eclipsed what fate alone would have granted.
If not for Tōga's certainty that he could surpass her still, he might have hesitated to nurture such pride and arrogance in his most beloved mate.
After all, when the day came to bring his human wife Izayoi into their home, he would hardly want Shirayuki breaking his legs in outrage.
Now, Shirayuki approached, her snow-white robes fluttering like liquid moonlight in the cold wind.
Her flawless face was serene, her fang-sword still humming with traces of lunar power as she slid it gracefully back into its sheath.
"What do we do with the rest?"
She stood at Tōga's side, her voice clear yet cool, her gaze sweeping the field littered with Leopard Cat corpses. Those few survivors were being hounded by packs of Dog yōkai, their end certain. Her eyes showed not a flicker of pity.
In war between tribes, there was no mercy. Survival belonged only to those who conquered or annihilated the other.
"Leave them," Tōga answered, folding his arms, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Our warriors will finish this. The Leopard Cats… were always too weak."
As time dragged on, both Shūran and Karan faltered.
A lesser commander and three hardy soldiers pressed Karan mercilessly. Bloodied and exhausted, she would soon fall. Shūran, with his hulking frame and crackling lightning, would be overwhelmed in turn by Seiten and his comrades.
Surveying the field, Tōga's eyes flicked toward Shunran one last time.
Then he turned to Shirayuki, admiration shining openly in his gaze.
"As expected of my Shirayuki," he said warmly. "Ever radiant. Ever victorious."