The Curtain groaned overhead, trembling with the weight of cursed energy. Inside, the world was reduced to black silence—only the wet gnashing of curses and the sharp ring of steel against flesh filled the air.
Geto stood at the center of it all, calm, untouchable, as if the swarm itself was an extension of his body. Toji's worm slithered out from the folds of his robes, jaws yawning open to disgorge cursed tools—each one gleaming, each one hungry for blood.
Kishibe's cigarette had long since burned to ash, but he clenched the butt between his teeth anyway, blood dripping from his arms and shoulders. His coat was in tatters, his knives broken down to jagged steel. Yet his grin never left.
"Figures," he rasped, spitting blood onto the stones. "A priest with a goddamn armory tucked in his sleeve. Ain't you a pretty cheat code."
Geto didn't rise to the taunt. His gaze was sharp, clinical. This one doesn't break.
He swung Playful Cloud, and the air cracked. Kishibe ducked under, blade flashing, cutting deep into a curse's belly. Black ichor splattered his face. Two more lunged at him from behind. He twisted, slashing wild, carving them down in a spray of gore. His chest heaved, his body failing—but his spirit refused.
"I've killed things scarier than you in alleyways without names," Kishibe muttered, staggering forward. "And I'll be damned if I die on my knees."
The swarm rushed him like a tidal wave. For every curse that fell, three more latched on. Teeth sank into his arms, claws tore his flesh, but Kishibe roared and cut, his body becoming a wall of blood and steel.
Geto's eyes narrowed. "Persistent monkey. But persistence without technique is still weakness."
With a gesture, the worm vomited forth a cursed blade—its edge thrumming with malignant energy. Geto caught it in his left hand, Playful Cloud in his right. For a moment, he looked like a warlord crowned by monsters.
Kishibe smirked through blood. "You done talking yet?"
He charged.
The clash was brutal. Playful Cloud smashed down, Kishibe parried with his broken knife, the impact shattering bone in his arm. He stabbed with the other, cutting a shallow line across Geto's ribs. The cursed blade hissed, carving through the air—Kishibe twisted, but too late. The slash carved across his chest, opening him from shoulder to stomach.
He fell to one knee, coughing blood. The swarm closed in.
Still, Kishibe laughed. Low, ragged, defiant.
"You know what the strong really are, priest?" he said, his voice shaking. "They're the bastards who spit in the world's face even when it's already killed 'em."
With the last of his strength, he lit another cigarette, blood running down his fingers. The flame illuminated his face—broken, ruined, but smiling.
Then he hurled himself forward, every muscle screaming, knives flashing, not to survive—no, but to drag Suguru Geto down with him.
Geto's eyes sharpened. He moved—fluid, perfect, Playful Cloud whirling, cursed blade carving. The swarm devoured Kishibe mid-charge. His roar became a gurgle. His body was lost in teeth and shadows.
When silence returned, only blood and ash marked where the Devil Hunter had stood.
Geto stood untouched, serene in the black hush of the Curtain. Slowly, he exhaled.
"…A waste."
But even as he said it, his ribs throbbed where Kishibe's blade had cut. A shallow wound—yet one that reminded him. That man had no technique. No sorcery. Nothing but will. And still, he reached me.
His smile was soft, dangerous.
Perhaps… there is more to learn in this world after all.
The Curtain dissolved, and the city's neon lights returned. But within Geto's eyes, something darker flickered. A hunger not just for conquest—
but for knowledge.