"Begin," Lord Takigawa said calmly.
Another sealed chamber opened.
Two captives were bound upright to metal frames. Their mouths were gagged. Their wrists had already been slit.
Blood streamed steadily into bowls placed beneath them.
Their eyes were wide.
Terror-stricken.
No one in the room reacted.
Not the cultists.
Not Shinji Akagi.
He had already learned that sympathy had no function here.
Hidan stepped forward, grabbed one of the bowls, and tilted it back.
He drank.
Thick crimson slid down his throat.
When the bowl was empty, he hurled it to the floor.
It shattered.
Blood splashed across the stone.
Hidan stepped into the mess and dragged his foot through it, carving lines.
A circle.
A triangle nested inside.
A ritual formation drawn entirely in blood.
The moment he stood at its center, Shinji felt the change.
Cursed Energy surged violently inside Hidan's body.
The blood he had consumed reacted.
Wrapped.
Bound.
Hidan's breathing became erratic.
"Yes… yes… that's it…"
His laughter warped.
His skin darkened rapidly, turning pitch black.
White lines spread across his body like grotesque tattoos, branching over his arms, torso, and face.
He drew a short spear and pressed its tip lightly against his chest.
Then pushed.
A deep gash opened.
Blood poured out.
Across the chamber, the captive whose blood Hidan had consumed convulsed.
An identical wound appeared on his chest.
Blood exploded outward.
Hidan's grin stretched wider.
He stabbed his own thigh.
The captive's leg burst open.
Hidan trembled.
Pain twisted his face.
Euphoria twisted it even harder.
"So good… so damn good…"
He began stabbing himself repeatedly.
Chest.
Shoulder.
Side.
Neck.
Each strike mirrored perfectly onto the captive.
Blood soaked the floor.
Bone cracked.
Organs ruptured.
The victim could only thrash weakly as his body was dismantled piece by piece.
Then the technique collapsed.
Hidan fell backward, arms spread, breathing heavily.
Satisfied.
The captive's body hung limp.
Eyes bulging.
Dead.
Silence.
Then excitement rippled through the cultists.
Another success.
Lord Takigawa's smile deepened.
"One month," he said softly. "And he's already reached this level."
His gaze shifted.
"To think… your progress differs so greatly."
He looked at Shinji.
"Your turn."
Shinji stepped forward.
The atmosphere changed.
With Hidan, there was awe.
With Shinji, there was doubt.
A month had passed.
Hidan had demonstrated Blood Curse: Death Link.
Shinji had demonstrated nothing.
Because Shinji could not use that technique.
He had tried.
Once.
That was enough.
Drinking human blood did nothing for him.
No resonance.
No response.
Whatever flaw existed in his resurrected body prevented synchronization with the ritual.
He did not bother explaining.
He had no intention of drinking unknown blood again.
Not for belief.
Not for approval.
Not for experiments.
Shinji drew a combat knife.
He sliced his own wrist.
Blood streamed down his forearm and dripped onto the floor.
Lord Takigawa frowned.
"What are you—"
Shinji closed his eyes.
He felt inward.
The system remained silent.
But something else answered.
Cursed Energy stirred.
Not violent.
Not explosive.
Controlled.
Dense.
He guided it toward the blood leaving his body.
Compressed it.
Imprinted intent.
Shinji opened his eyes and formed a single hand sign.
"Blood Art: Red Dominion."
The blood on the floor moved.
Thin streams lifted into the air.
They coiled around Shinji's body like living threads.
Slow.
Precise.
Alive.
The chamber's torchlight reflected off crimson arcs.
No one spoke.
Lord Takigawa studied the phenomenon.
Not a mirror technique.
Not a ritual copy.
A completely different expression of power.
After several seconds, he nodded.
"A new Innate Technique," he said warmly.
"Then focus on mastering it."
"Praise Jashin."
Shinji lowered his hand.
The blood collapsed back onto the floor.
Inside his chest, something stabilized.
He did not need Blood Curse: Death Link.
He had his own path.