Chapter 142: Zero-Frame Initiation
Daki deliberately averted her gaze from Akira, refusing to even look at a face that did not meet her exacting standards. Instead, her predatory eyes locked onto Tengen sitting across from her. She traced the harsh, handsome lines of his jaw and the strong, muscular build hidden beneath his clothes. A dark, visceral greed welled up in her striking eyes. She wanted Tengen's body. Literally. She wanted to devour him.
Tengen's instincts flared; he recognized that ravenous look instantly.
Before the tension could snap, Akira's calm voice broke the silence. He called out her true name, making a final confirmation even though he already knew she was their target.
Hearing the name hang in the air, both Tengen and Daki froze. Daki's head snapped toward the figure she had just dismissed, her eyes narrowing with sudden suspicion and lethal intent. Tengen, though momentarily confused as to how Akira knew the exact identity of Upper Rank Six, did not hesitate. His hand slid smoothly toward the hilt of the Nichirin Blade concealed behind his back.
But Akira was already moving. He did not wait for Daki to recover from her shock.
"Thunder Breathing, Seventh Form: Dragon's Glide."
A blinding flash of incandescent lightning erupted in the confined room. The crackle of ozone was accompanied by a low, resonant roar that sounded almost draconic. In a fraction of a second, Akira's blade materialized mere inches from Daki's pale neck.
Metal clashed against something impossibly hard. A short, vicious sickle, forged entirely from condensed, blackened blood, burst forth from Daki's own flesh, catching the Nichirin Blade just before it could sever her head.
A hunched, emaciated figure peeled itself out of Daki's back, his grip iron-tight around the blood sickle. Gyutaro. The true core of Upper Rank Six, a demon who shared a single body and soul with his sister. He was the sole reason this twisted sibling pair had maintained their deadly title for over a century.
While Daki had not even processed Akira's movement, Gyutaro's reflexes were monstrous, a true display of the power an Upper Rank Demon possessed.
Akira's expression remained perfectly neutral. He had anticipated this. Failing to decapitate Daki on the first strike was a minor inconvenience, nothing more.
The Dragon's Glide technique was not just a linear strike. By chaining multiple bursts of speed, the form offered extended reach and unmatched flexibility, perfect for mid-attack pivots where a timely change of maneuver was required.
Capitalizing on the brief window where Gyutaro was still half-fused with his sister, Akira pivoted on his heel, blurring behind the hunched demon. His blade, previously halted by the sickle, whipped around in a deadly arc aimed straight at the back of Gyutaro's exposed neck.
Caught mid-separation, Gyutaro had no time to retract his weapon to block his rear. With a feral grunt, he violently shoved his newly freed upper body forward, dragging Daki down with him. They crashed face-first toward the floor. The desperate maneuver barely carried him out of the blade's path, though a severed lock of his filthy, dark hair fluttered to the ground.
Without missing a beat, Gyutaro's lower half tore free from Daki. His spine bent backward at a grotesque, bone-snapping angle. Both his legs lashed out like whips, aiming lethal kicks at Akira and the newly engaged Tengen, who had just drawn his massive cleavers.
The two slayers deflected the frantic kicks. Tengen's blade sheared off a chunk of Gyutaro's foot, but the demon did not even flinch. Such an injury was entirely irrelevant to him.
Using the recoil from their parries, Gyutaro vaulted backward. In one fluid, brutal motion, his clawed hands grabbed Daki and hurled her bodily toward the exit.
"Sister, run!" Gyutaro roared, his voice like grinding stones, not even sparing her a backward glance.
The moment Akira had spoken Daki's name, Gyutaro's survival instincts had screamed at him. He had materialized just in time to shield his sister's neck, but the sheer velocity of that lightning strike had terrified him. The wandering dragon of electricity was a dead giveaway. He instantly recognized the swordsman before him, the monster who had slaughtered Gyokko and somehow survived an encounter with Akaza.
Gyutaro knew that in a straight fight, even with Daki, they stood no chance against this man. His only option was to act as a meat shield, stalling the enemy here while his sister escaped.
As long as their heads were not severed simultaneously, they were immortal. Under these circumstances, even if the opponent had help, Gyutaro was confident he could drag this out, bleeding the slayers dry through sheer attrition.
"Go chase the female demon; leave this guy to me. Remember, after cutting off her head, keep the head and body far apart; do not give her a chance to reattach them."
Akira naturally understood Gyutaro's purpose in throwing Daki away. He quickly gave Tengen a command and charged toward Gyutaro once more.
Given that Akira had mentioned at the Hashira Meeting that Upper Rank Six likely required simultaneous decapitation, Tengen did not waste breath on questions. He bolted past Gyutaro in a blur of motion, sprinting after the fleeing Daki.
"Blood Demon Art: Flying Blood Sickles."
Knowing he would not die as long as Daki kept her head, Gyutaro abandoned all defensive posture. He unleashed a torrent of attacks aimed at both Akira and Tengen's retreating back. Over a dozen crescent blades of highly pressurized, venomous blood spun through the air, shrieking as they sought flesh.
"Thunder Breathing, Second Form: Rice Spirit."
"Third Form: Thunder Swarm."
Akira became a tempest of golden electricity. His blade moved faster than the human eye could track, striking in a rapid-fire sequence of blinding arcs. Every single blood sickle was shattered into harmless crimson mist before it could travel more than a few feet. Gyutaro ground his teeth in frustration, forced to watch helplessly as the Sound Hashira closed the distance on his sister.
Outside the room, Daki was sprinting in pure panic. The sudden ambush had left her completely disoriented, and she had not even had a fraction of a second to summon her primary weapon, her lethal Obi sashes.
Because of her picky eating habits, she hoarded her beautiful provisions in a subterranean cavern beneath the Entertainment District, leaving her sashes there to guard her larder.
Fueled by her brother's infectious terror and her own defenseless state, Daki did not dare turn around to face Tengen. She scrambled frantically toward the exit of the Kyogoku House. As long as she reached the bustling, crowded streets outside, she could use the civilians to create chaos, slip away, and hide until her brother exhausted the slayers.
For an Upper Rank Demon, fleeing like a beaten dog was a humiliating, infuriating disgrace. But her survival overrode her immense pride.
Akira paid no mind to the retreating figures of Tengen and Daki. He trusted the Sound Hashira to handle a demon whose raw combat power barely exceeded that of a Lower Rank. His sole focus was severing Gyutaro's ugly head as efficiently as possible.
In the span of a few shallow breaths, the two combatants exchanged a flurry of high-speed blows. The room was torn apart by the shockwaves of their clashes. Wood splintered, and tatami mats were shredded into straw confetti.
Despite completely outclassing Gyutaro in speed and technique, Akira maintained a calculated, pragmatic distance. A single scratch from Gyutaro's sickles meant a lethal dose of flesh-rotting poison. This necessary caution prevented Akira from immediately finding a fatal opening.
"Thunder Breathing, Fourth Form: Distant Thunder."
"Blood Demon Art: Rampant Arcs."
Unable to track Akira's blistering speed, Gyutaro resorted to a desperate, omnidirectional defense. He swung his sickles in a frenzied dome, enveloping his entire body in a dense, swirling vortex of blood blades. No matter which angle Akira attacked from, the strike would be met by a lethal wall of venomous blood.
It was an incredibly taxing maneuver, but as a demon, stamina was an infinite resource.
Facing Gyutaro, who had wrapped himself in a hurricane of blood sickles like a deadly ball of yarn, Akira narrowed his eyes. Breaking through a defense that thick, while ensuring he did not suffer a single poisoned scratch, was going to require a bit more finesse.
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