Second only to Sukuna

"A bunch of... ordinary fools."

His words fell.

Thunderclap exploded.

The demons still surrounding him did not even have time to scream before the raging arcs tore them apart. Flesh evaporated in the blue-white light, and bones crumbled to dust amid crackling blasts. In an instant, not a single demon remained standing within ten paces of Kashimo.

He did not stop.

With the Soul-Devouring Blade resting on his shoulder, he charged straight toward the figure occupying the throne of flesh. He trampled over the scattered remains, heedless of the blood spattering his white clothes.

Suddenly.

A blood-red slash came hurtling in from the side.

Boom!

The slash struck the ground half a step in front of Kashimo, gouging a deep trench. Flesh curled back, and shattered bones flew. The trench stretched between him and Shuten-dōji like an impassable boundary.

Kashimo stopped.

He raised his head.

A figure hung upside down from the wall of flesh.

Crimson skin, a hideous demonic face, and an enormous crescent-shaped weapon gripped in his hand. Its edge glowed with the same bloody light as the slash he had just unleashed.

Ibaraki-dōji.

He hung upside down from the wall of flesh, his hollow eye sockets fixed on Kashimo.

"Then I'll deal with you first."

Kashimo pushed off, launching himself into the air. The Soul-Devouring Blade swept through a pitch-black arc overhead, its edge crashing down with Thunderclap in its wake.

Clang!

The thunderous clash of metal erupted through the blood-red space. The crescent blade caught the Soul-Devouring Blade. The instant the weapons collided, sparks flew and a shock wave of cursed energy spread outward.

Ibaraki-dōji's face was inches away. His hideous demonic features showed no expression, and nothing but endless darkness filled his hollow eye sockets.

Kashimo suddenly released his grip on the blade.

The Soul-Devouring Blade remained suspended, caught against the crescent blade before it could fall. His newly freed hand had already curled into a fist, and he drove it viciously toward that demonic face with the momentum of his descent.

Thud!

The punch landed squarely in the center of his face.

Kashimo twisted in midair.

Before he had even withdrawn his punching hand, his other hand reached behind him. His fingers spread and closed precisely around the hilt of the falling Soul-Devouring Blade. The entire sequence flowed seamlessly, as though rehearsed countless times.

The blade turned.

Its pitch-black edge swept upward, slicing across Ibaraki-dōji's sword arm.

Splurt-

Bone snapped, and flesh parted. The arm holding the crescent blade separated from his body, tumbling through the air. Purple-black blood gushed from the stump, splashing warm and sticky across Kashimo's face.

But Ibaraki-dōji made no sound.

He simply tightened his remaining hand around the crescent blade.

Then-

Bloody light blazed along its edge.

A slash erupted at point-blank range.

Kashimo's pupils contracted slightly.

He saw the bloody light, saw the path of its slash, saw where it was about to land. But he had no foothold in midair, no time to evade.

Shhk.

A chill passed through his wrist.

He looked down. His right hand had been severed cleanly at the wrist. The Soul-Devouring Blade remained gripped in the detached hand, falling along with it.

Blood poured from the stump, tracing a dark-red streak through the blood-red space.

Kashimo did not cry out.

He merely watched his falling hand, his brow furrowing slightly.

Was it a cursed tool?

Or, like Sukuna's, was the slash part of the cursed technique itself?

Kashimo's gaze settled on the crescent blade, still descending, as thoughts raced through his mind. Whatever it was, disabling the hand holding it would make things much easier.

He did not hesitate.

His body was still airborne, but his intact left hand had already shot out. Fingers spread, it went straight for Ibaraki-dōji's other arm.

Cursed energy gathered in his palm.

Thunderclap roared.

Crackle!

Blue-white electricity condensed along the edge of his hand, forming an edge as sharp as a real blade.

His hand chopped down.

Splurt-

Purple-black blood sprayed. The remaining arm snapped off, separating from his body and tumbling toward the sea of blood below along with the crescent blade.

Ibaraki-dōji had lost both arms.

His hideous demonic face remained expressionless, his hollow eye sockets filled with nothing but endless darkness. But his body began to tilt backward. Losing his balance, he fell from the wall of flesh.

Something strange suddenly happened.

Kashimo was about to reach for the falling Soul-Devouring Blade when something caught the corner of his eye. Ibaraki-dōji's body began to contort. He was no longer falling, but flying toward the throne of flesh, drawn by some invisible force.

Kashimo stopped and looked up.

Shuten-dōji moved.

An enormous hand reached out from the throne, its five fingers spreading before seizing the approaching Ibaraki-dōji. The hand was so large that it enclosed Ibaraki-dōji's entire body, leaving only his hideous demonic face and the two severed arm stumps dangling limply outside.

Then-

Shuten-dōji opened his mouth.

And stuffed the still-struggling body inside.

Chewing sounds came from that enormous mouth, dull and chilling. Purple-black blood trickled from its corners and dripped onto the throne of flesh, spreading into a dark stain.

Kashimo landed below and simply watched.

Reverse Cursed Technique was still working, flesh visibly growing and healing at his severed wrist. He did not look down. His gaze stayed on that enormous face.

Was he strengthening himself by eating the other one?

Then what about Hoshikuma-dōji?

Had Shuten-dōji eaten him too?

The chewing stopped. Shuten-dōji swallowed the last mouthful and lowered his head, his hollow eye sockets facing Kashimo.

Kashimo did not move.

He watched those eyes, that hideous demonic face, and the surge of cursed energy pouring from Shuten-dōji's body, even stronger than before.

His goal definitely wasn't as simple as growing stronger.

Shuten-dōji-

Was he trying to resurrect himself?

The Soul-Devouring Blade lay quietly on the ground nearby, its blade gleaming darkly and coldly in the bloody light.

Inside the Calamity Seal, Kenjaku and Fenghua had witnessed the entire scene.

From Kashimo throwing the Ruyi Staff, to slaughtering thousands of demons, to Shuten-dōji devouring Ibaraki-dōji-the entire sequence had taken only a few short minutes. Fenghua gripped her sleeve so tightly that her knuckles turned white, her eyes fixed unblinkingly on the blue-haired figure in white below.

It was utter madness.

Every one of those demons radiated a suffocating surge of cursed energy. Any one of them could have unleashed a bloodbath in a village.

And Kashimo.

Had cut them down like grass.

Wherever his blade flashed, severed bodies flew. Wherever Thunderclap exploded, they vanished into ash.

He fought like a demon god.

Kenjaku stood at the edge of the barrier, his gaze passing through its transparent surface to settle on the figure restoring his wrist. The smile had long since faded from his face, leaving only an inscrutable, appraising look.

Seven minutes.

No, not even seven minutes.

Thousands of demons.

Those were no ordinary cursed spirits. Every one of them was an existence made manifest from legend, bearing centuries of resentment and fear. Even at the height of jujutsu sorcerers' power during the Heian Era, apart from that man...

Surely no one could have accomplished anything like this.

Kenjaku's pupils contracted slightly.

He watched Kashimo bend down to pick up the Soul-Devouring Blade, watched the blue-haired figure in white raise his head and look toward Shuten-dōji on the throne.

Second only to Sukuna.

As that thought surfaced in his mind, he suddenly realized.

He might have been underestimating this man all along.