Within his body was hell.
A true hell of thunder.
Kōbe Hikaru's consciousness felt as though it were plunged into a sea of purple fire; that thunder-magma which had merged into his body was not as obedient as he had anticipated—on the contrary, like an enraged beast, it charged and rampaged through his sinews, bones, and muscles.
The Thunder Beast's horn was the essence of a qualitatively-transformed yōkai.
And though Kōbe Hikaru's body had undergone six mutations, in essence it still belonged to the category of Corporeal Transformation.
For quantitative change to bring about qualitative change, one must first endure the crushing pressure of "quality"—the compression.
The [Razor-Body Mutation] was running at full frenzy.
Muscle fibers tore and recombined, attempting to contain and assimilate that thunder.
But the thunder was too violent.
The instant the muscles adapted, they were ripped apart by the electric arcs into charred fragments, only to be forcibly repaired by yōkai power and torn asunder once more.
Destruction, regeneration.
Regeneration, destruction.
This tug-of-war played out across every inch of Kōbe Hikaru's body, through every strand of his sinew and muscle.
In the outside world, a pained, muffled groan was wrung from Kōbe Hikaru's throat.
His body began to undergo even more horrifying changes.
The muscles of his limbs swelled and contracted beyond his control; beneath his skin it was as if countless snakes were writhing, while purple arcs of electricity slithered along the grooves of his bones.
Crackle, snap.
Dull, heavy sounds came in waves from within his body.
It was his bones, trembling.
And not merely his bones.
It was his entire body.
The power of thunder was forcibly reforging the very structure of his body.
The essence of the Razor-Body Mutation was the metamorphosis of the body's structure—making the frame more suited to battle, tougher, more nimble.
And now, the thunder was about to rewrite this body entirely.
Bone and flesh quivered and shrieked beneath the baptism of lightning.
Amid it all, the trembling of his bones was like thunder, like a roar.
Amid it all, the reverberations were even more like… tigers and leopards, like the voice of thunder itself!
Each heartbeat driven by his yōkai aura was accompanied by a peal of thunder.
Each breath simulated by his yōkai power spat forth purple electric fire.
This reforging was a thorough remaking of the self, and also extremely dangerous.
If left unchecked, this power would ultimately burn dry what remained of his flesh and blood, shatter his skeletal frame, and reduce him to a charred corpse.
It had to be balanced.
There had to be something to neutralize this violent, masculine thunder.
Kōbe Hikaru's consciousness struggled within the chaos. He tried to mobilize the demon-qi within him to suppress it, but demon-qi was a turbid energy—murky, sinister, and vicious—and when it met the thunder, it was like pouring oil onto a fire to put it out, only making the blaze rage more fiercely.
Yet inexplicably.
At this very moment, Kōbe Hikaru instead grew calm at heart.
He believed he would be fine.
He believed in himself.
And he believed, too, in that shrine maiden of his outside.
In reality.
Inside the barrier.
The radiance of spiritual power had not yet dispersed.
Kikyō lowered the bow in her hand.
In the surrounding darkness, dozens of yōkai corpses had already piled up; the remaining riffraff, cowed by her Sacred Arrow, could only linger at a distance, not daring to step a single pace across the line.
But her expression remained grave.
She knew that the threat now lay not outside.
But within.
Kikyō turned around, gazing at Kōbe Hikaru, who sat cross-legged upon the ground.
His condition was terrible.
Truly terrible.
That once-pale face was now covered all over with purple cracks, like a piece of porcelain on the verge of shattering.
His skin was astonishingly scorching hot, distorting even the air around him.
Kikyō could clearly hear the rumbling that came from within his body, as though a storm were raging through that slender frame.
"He's losing control."
Kikyō's judgment was without doubt correct.
The turbid energy was too overwhelming, and it was an extreme thunder-attribute yōkai aura—the vessel of his body could no longer hold it.
He needed pure energy.
He needed exceptionally pure spiritual power to soothe that violent thunder, to mend his shattered shell of a body.
And in this matter, here, apart from her, no one could accomplish it.
There was no hesitation.
Kikyō stepped forward and knelt down before Kōbe Hikaru.
The shrine maiden in white robe and red hakama sat poised there before him, her glossy jet-black hair drifting gently in the night wind, her dark eyes lowered in a steady gaze.
She reached out, wishing to touch his cheek, but the instant her fingertips drew near, they were flung back by an arc of purple lightning.
That repelling force was strong.
Ordinary contact could not transmit spiritual power at all.
It had to be more direct.
It had to be… deeper.
Kikyō looked at Kōbe Hikaru's tightly shut eyes, at his body instinctively twitching faintly from the pain, at his brow and eyes that, by contrast, appeared unusually calm.
A faint blush rose upon the maiden's cheeks; those pale, cherry-petal lips pressed together, looking especially lovely in the glow of the lightning.
But that bashfulness lasted only an instant.
Hesitation… simply did not exist for her.
The next second, she bent down.
Her hands cupped Kōbe Hikaru's face, heedless of those arcs of electricity that stung her skin.
And then, she kissed him.
Their soft lips pressed together.
Kōbe Hikaru's lips were very hot, cracked and dry.
And Kikyō's lips were slightly cool, moist.
The instant they touched, the spiritual power within Kikyō's body surged forth like a river bursting its dam.
It was not the aggressive demon-quelling spiritual power of ordinary times, but rather the gentlest, purest cleansing spirit, refined through her utmost control.
Prying open his clenched teeth.
The spiritual power flowed in along with the moisture between their lips.
It was like a cool, clear spring water poured in an instant into a burning volcanic crater.
The world of Kōbe Hikaru's consciousness suddenly began to rain.
It was a white rain.
Gentle, cool, all-embracing.
When that violent purple thunder-fire met this white rain, it was like an irritable child meeting its mother—falling silent at once.
They began to merge.
The spiritual power enveloped the thunder, the thunder tempered the spiritual power, and at last the two together melded into his trembling body.
Yin and yang in harmony.
Purity and turbidity coexisting.
That tearing agony receded like an ebbing tide, replaced by an unprecedented sense of ease and comfort.
Power.
True power was taking root and sprouting within his body.
He could feel that his body was undergoing an essential metamorphosis——
Every strand of muscle fiber began to harbor thunder.
Every inch of skin began to shimmer with a faint, almost imperceptible thunder-light.
The Razor-Body Mutation was evolving.
Kōbe Hikaru abruptly opened his eyes.
What met his gaze was a pair of jet-black eyes mere inches away.
And that familiar, exquisite, pure and lovely face.
Her eyes were closed, her long lashes trembling faintly, her cheeks flushed crimson, as she focused with all her heart on conveying her power into him.
Those pale, cherry-petal lips were pressed against his.
And besides that, there was also…
Kōbe Hikaru was slightly stunned.
He felt it.
That softness.
That moistness.
And that utterly unreserved giving.
Kikyō seemed to sense his awakening; she slowly opened her eyes, her long lashes quivering lightly, a flustered look swimming in her gaze.
Although before this, it had already happened more than once.
But those had all been mere fleeting tastes, never going deep.
This was still the first time of going deep.
The first time, of true communion.
Kikyō was still bashful.
She wanted to draw back.
Their lips parted, leaving a silver thread.
"You…"
Kikyō's voice was a little hoarse, that once cool and aloof face now flushed red like the evening glow at the horizon.
She wanted to explain that this was to save him, to balance the spiritual power.
But before the words could leave her mouth.
A hand had already steadied her waist—slender to the touch, yet soft and delicate.
Kōbe Hikaru gave her no chance to shrink away.
Within his body, which had only just settled, another kind of flame seemed to have kindled.
It was a fire hotter than thunder.
"It's not over yet."
He murmured in a low voice.
And then, he kissed her once more.
This time, it was not for anything else.
It was a response.
It was so that Kikyō would not feel this was some shameful thing—and if it was, then the two of them would be shameful together.
Kikyō's body stiffened for an instant, but then softened.
The longbow in her hand slipped onto the grass.
Her hands climbed unconsciously onto Kōbe Hikaru's shoulders, gripping his lapels tightly.
That plain white hair-ribbon came loose in the struggle, and a cascade of glossy jet-black hair spilled down, draping between the two of them.
Out here in the desolate wilds, within this barrier, surrounded by yōkai corpses strewn across the ground.
Compared to growing stronger.
The response before him was, clearly, the far more important thing.
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