Chapter 209: Yura of the Hair: Now I Regret It, I Really Regret It
The sensation of forging the Liver Wood was fundamentally distinct from the first three organs.
When the Heart Fire was established, it had been a scorching inferno. Kidney Water carried a heavy, congealed weight. Lung Metal felt sharp, clear, and austere.
But the Liver Wood? It was pure, unadulterated growth. It was an uncontrollable, vigorous vitality expanding outward from the very core of his being.
The four elements now circulated within his demonic vessel. Fire rose, Water descended, Metal purified, Wood expanded. Each revolution accumulated raw power, yet each cycle inevitably leaked at a critical juncture. Without the Spleen Earth to ground and receive the descending Fire, the internal cycle resembled a cracked bucket, bleeding energy into the void.
Even so, the resonance of the four organs wrought visible changes.
Hikaru lowered his gaze to his own hand. It remained pale, naturally. It was still merely a projection of the Asura Transformation—a fabricated shell. However, the nature of that paleness had shifted. It no longer possessed the ashen, grayish decay of a rotting corpse. Instead, it mirrored the complexion of a mortal who had simply been deprived of sunlight for years, carrying a faint, underlying warmth. Beneath the synthetic skin, actual blood flowed. This was no longer a hollow illusion simulated by Yao Qi; it was a genuine, warm circulation.
He drew in a slow, experimental breath.
His chest remained still. The Shura Lungs were mere projections; his true, physical lungs buried deep within were still dead tissue. Yet, the Breath of the Demon activated on instinct. Turbid Qi flooded through his mouth and nose, swirling and refining within the dead organs before being exhaled. A thin, hazy mist clung to his skin, rising into the cool night air.
The entire process flowed more than ten times smoother than it had a mere month ago.
Though the internal cycle was incomplete, it operated autonomously. The Heart pumped blood. The Kidneys stored water. The Lungs refined qi. The Liver regulated dispersal. It felt exactly like a dormant body slowly clawing its way back to life.
'Just one step away,' Hikaru mused silently.
Only the Spleen Earth remained. Once he secured it, the tenth transformation would be complete.
The path for the eleventh transformation's three souls was already laid out. He naturally possessed the Earth-attributed demon soul as an Oni Samurai. The Heavenly Soul would be granted by the Shikon Jewel upon reaching maximum favorability. Only the Human Soul required personal enlightenment. He anticipated tearing through the eleventh transformation rapidly.
After that lay the twelfth transformation: reverting the Asura Transformation and reclaiming his original body.
From demon to devil. From death to life. True resurrection, forging a vessel of absolute perfection. Once that was achieved, a great many plans could finally be set into motion.
A sudden, erratic vibration at his waist shattered his train of thought.
Yura of the Hair.
The red comb rattled against his sash, but the rhythm was entirely different from her usual jealous trembling or coquettish shaking. This was a deep, resonant hum. A gathering of mass.
A translucent blue interface popped up in his vision.
[Yura of the Hair: It is attempting to rematerialize. Unlike ordinary objects, it is a complete Tsukumogami in itself. It was previously suppressed by the shrine maiden's spiritual power, but now, with full favorability fusion, that suppression on her has been released.]
Materialization?
Hikaru blinked, the forgotten mechanic suddenly surfacing in his mind. It had been so long since Yura had manifested a physical body that it had completely slipped his mind. Once an object-turned-demon accumulated enough power, it could weave its externalized Yao Qi into a human guise. When he first encountered Yura, she had worn a human shape—a hollow shell of Yao Qi, yes, but complete with limbs, skin, and tactile sensation.
Now, bolstered by full favorability fusion, she could finally reclaim that form.
The comb detached from his belt, floating upward of its own accord. The seven-stone necklace strung to its handle chimed softly in the quiet night. A brilliant emerald light erupted from between the wooden teeth. In tandem with the glow, oceans of black hair surged outward, twisting and expanding like predatory vines.
The strands swirled into the air, tangling together to form a massive, suspended black cocoon.
Slowly, the cocoon contracted. As the hair pulled tight, a silhouette emerged from the dark mass. The slope of slender shoulders, the dip of a waist, the curve of long legs—all sculpted from the shifting strands. The final lock of hair fell away, revealing the finished form.
Under the pale moonlight, a woman stood before Hikaru.
She was petite, the top of her head barely reaching his chest. Short black hair framed her delicate face, the tips catching the moonlight with a faint emerald sheen. Her features were fine and sharp, the corners of her eyes tilted upward in a naturally feline grace. Her thin lips curved into a smirk that balanced perfectly between petulance and danger.
Her clothing consisted entirely of her own black hair, draping from her collarbones, over her chest, and down to her waist—concealing exactly what needed to be concealed, and absolutely nothing more. Pale skin peeked through the dark gaps. The shadows accentuated the deep curve of her lower back, while the cascading curtain of hair half-hid the outline of her hips.
She raised her hands, inspecting her slender fingers. The tips carried a faint greenish hue, and her nails curved into points far sharper than any mortal's.
"Compared to before... it seems, a little different?" Her voice wavered slightly, testing the vocal cords.
It was indeed different. A Tsukumogami was born from an object tainted by human desires and the world's Turbid Qi. Yura had once been a noble lady's hair comb in the Sengoku Period. Now, however, her very essence was saturated with 'favorability' toward Hikaru. The core remained, but her absolute loyalty was now bound entirely to him.
She tilted her head, vertical black pupils locking onto his. "How is it?" she asked, a purr of pride vibrating in her throat. "Finally got you to look at me properly, didn't I?"
Hikaru looked. His Crimson Demon Eyes swept over her from head to toe, utterly devoid of fluctuation. His deadpan nature wasn't an act; as he grew closer to a living person, his stoic expression had simply become his default state. Even if the sky were falling, his face would likely remain entirely unperturbed.
"Not bad," he stated simply. Honest, as always.
The corner of Yura's mouth curled higher. She stepped forward.
Closing the distance instantly, she pressed her hands onto his shoulders, swung a long leg over his knee, and let her weight drop. She straddled his waist, her legs bracketing his hips against the floorboards. The curtain of her hair fell around them, plunging them into a private shadow that blocked out the moonlight.
Her hair-wrapped chest pressed against his. The sensation was cool and impossibly smooth—like fine silk rather than human skin. Her face hovered inches from his, her breath ghosting across his lips. His crimson reflection stared back from her vertical pupils.
"I've waited so long," she murmured, the syllables dragging out against his ear. "I've really wanted to look at you like this... Hikaru-sama."
Her fingers tightened on his waist. Strands of hair slithered from her shoulders, winding around the back of his neck and slipping beneath his collar.
Hikaru didn't push her away. He simply observed the sensation.
Then, the temperature plummeted.
Pure, bone-chilling spiritual power blasted from the main hall, washing over them like a tidal wave of glacial water.
Yura exploded.
Literally. Her materialized body instantly disintegrated into a chaotic puff of black hair, snuffing out like a pinched candle flame. The mass shrank violently, retreating into the wooden comb in less than half a heartbeat.
Clatter.
The red comb hit the floorboards, bounced twice, and rolled to a pathetic halt beside Hikaru's knee.
Dead silence.
It was a world apart from the seductive figure that had straddled him mere moments before.
Hikaru turned his head. The sliding door to the main hall stood open.
Kikyo stood in the threshold. White robes, red hakama, raven hair cascading down her back. Her refined features were entirely devoid of emotion. Her lips formed a pale, flat line. It was the absolute pinnacle of a cold, detached shrine maiden's glare.
Hikaru clicked his tongue. He wasn't flustered. This wasn't exactly the first time.
Kikyo's hand rested lightly on the wooden door frame. The oppressive spiritual power vanished, allowing the room's temperature to normalize. Her dark eyes flicked down to the comb on the floor, then up to Hikaru, who sat cross-legged with his collar pulled askew by phantom strands of hair.
She didn't say a single word.
She simply turned around, stepped back into the hall, and slid the door shut.
Click.
The soft sound echoed with deafening clarity in the quiet night.
Hikaru sighed, lowering his head to retrieve the comb from the floor. The wood was burning hot against his palm.
[Yura of the Hair: She is so scary.]
'That is what you get for acting up,' Hikaru thought dryly.
He tied the comb back onto his sash, stood up, and methodically straightened his ruffled collar. Exhaling a breath of Turbid Qi, he walked toward the main hall.
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