East of Kyoto,
At a three-way fork in the road.
Watching the damned onmyoji recede into the distance, Kidomaru finally made a choice that went against his murderous nature:
He took the opposite road, heading alone to a certain foolish god's first festival.
He had agonized over this decision all night, but once he made it, the brutality and restlessness within him strangely subsided.
Even the bloodline of the Asura Demon King flowing through his veins settled down.
Why had that happened?
Honestly, even he did not understand.
He merely felt an elusive impulse telling him that he had to place the little object in his ninja pouch into that fool's hands himself.
After all, he had bought this gift as an ordinary "worker," setting aside his ingrained pride and suppressing his innate thirst for slaughter!
Words laden with something more complicated than a warning struggled past her lips:
She could not defy that command on her own.
And without waiting for the two intruders standing before her to answer, she continued:
But she was different from most jinchuriki, who developed a dark side after being ostracized by their villages.
As the murmured words sounded, a pair of black pinwheel patterns slowly began turning in her eyes.
"Yeah."
"Please, stay... away... from me."
You bought that gift with money you earned yourself. Why are you so nervous? The vendor offered to wrap it for you, but you ran off without a word.
But it was not Minamoto no Raikō's body!
Even as her opponent kept increasing her strength, pressing down the kunai in her hand, she showed no intention of retreating. She even refused Arata's help.
That bloody aura, as though steeped in mountains of corpses and seas of blood, set their nerves on edge.
"A weapon, like Gaara?"
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