The very second the lenses shattered into powder, Yaha drew his blade again.
The eighteenth barrier. The nineteenth. The twentieth.
His speed changed. Steady motion became acceleration, then acceleration became a reckless, all-out rush. Every slash through a spatial barrier left deeper, rougher traces of the laws governing space, carrying the brute force of someone no longer restraining his power.
On the twenty-third slash, a tendon in his left wrist snapped audibly.
He did not stop.
The end of a fall was not yours to choose.
When Kyojuro Rengoku opened his eyes, the heat had already curled his eyelashes and scorched them brown. Beneath his feet lay a boiling expanse of dark red liquid. Bubbles of magma surged up from the depths, each bursting with a cloud of searing steam.
He stood on a floating stone platform. It was small, barely large enough for two people.
Behind him, Mitsuri Kanroji spoke, her voice hurried by the intense heat.
"Rengoku, this place-"
A heavy splash cut her off.
The magma swelled directly ahead. What rose from it was not stone. It was flesh. More than a dozen arms reached out of the dark red liquid, all different, thick and thin, long and short, sprouting chaotically from a massive torso. No intact skin covered that torso. Stitch marks divided its exposed muscle fibers into patches, and black blood seeped from the seams.
It had three heads. The three faces pointed in different directions, all their mouths open, teeth growing in overlapping layers both inside and outside their jaws.
Rengoku drew his blade.
A black sheen coated the creature's body. Muzan's blood. Its concentration was so high that it overflowed from beneath the skin, staining the muscle tissue a color no living thing should possess.
"A Sewing Abomination." Rengoku's voice rumbled low