The mass of blue flame on the horizon came crashing down.
It didn't fall. It slammed down.
Like a red-hot meteor driven straight into the earth.
The overgrown field ahead of the train exploded in an instant. Huge chunks of soil flew into the air on the shock wave, and the rising dust billowed into an enormous gray cloud.
The ground shook.
The train wreckage lying crooked in the field rocked violently with it, its steel joints grinding with an ear-piercing screech.
Tanjiro stumbled and barely steadied himself against the carriage wall.
Inosuke got halfway through a curse before his voice caught in his throat.
The dust parted to either side.
A figure slowly straightened inside a crater more than ten meters deep.
The night wind plastered his short pink hair against his forehead. Dark blue tattoos crawled from his neck across his bare upper body, their markings so deep they looked black.
He raised his head, revealing his eyes.
Strange characters were engraved in his pupils-Upper Rank in one, Three in the other.
The instant his presence bore down on them, the temperature across the clearing plummeted.
The air turned thick, and dragging it into their lungs took tremendous effort. Compared with Enmu's cold, clinging demonic aura, this was something on an entirely different plane: the natural oppression of an apex predator looking down at the ants beneath its feet.
Tanjiro felt as though a boulder were pressing against his chest.
He opened his mouth wide, yet couldn't draw even half a breath into his lungs. Cold sweat ran down his jaw, and the fingers gripping his blade stiffened uncontrollably.
This was his first time facing a true Upper Rank. Merely standing there made his knees instinctively rebel.
Inosuke was in even worse shape.
His eyes bulged beneath his boar mask. His wild-animal instincts screamed warnings, his legs trembled nonstop, and his twin serrated blades shook in his hands.
"Hey, Monjiro." Inosuke's voice sounded unsteady. "What the hell is that thing?"
Tanjiro didn't answer. Every ounce of his strength went toward resisting the pressure threatening to crush him into the mud.
Akaza's golden eyes swept over the two of them.
That was all-a passing glance, as though they were two worthless gnats. Then he looked away.
Those eyes brimmed with battle lust as they passed over Tanjiro, passed over Inosuke, and finally locked onto the man emerging from a carriage behind them.
Kyojuro Rengoku.
A crimson Nichirin Blade rested firmly in his hand.
Akaza's breathing grew heavier. He grinned, sick excitement spreading across his face inch by inch.
"What magnificent fighting spirit." Akaza licked his lips, his voice trembling faintly with obsession. "Blazing, powerful, honed to perfection. It seems I'll get to savor the finest flesh tonight."
Rengoku stood at the edge of the wreckage, with hundreds of sleeping passengers behind him.
He didn't retreat a single step.
His Nichirin Blade pointed straight at Akaza, currents of flame slowly rising from its length. His golden eyes shone fiercely, and not a trace of fear showed on his face.
"I don't understand why an Upper Rank would appear here." Rengoku's booming voice carried through the deathly still night. "But I will never allow you to harm anyone here!"
Akaza let out an admiring exclamation.
It wasn't mockery, but sincere praise from one martial artist to another.
He stepped forward, leaving a deep depression in the soil beneath his foot, his expression so earnest it bordered on reverence.
"Your martial skill has nearly reached the pinnacle of what humans can achieve."
He stared at Rengoku, searing desire burning in his golden eyes.
"But you're human. Your body will age. It will die. However powerful your martial arts become, they will rot away with that shell."
"Become a demon, Kyojuro."
Akaza extended a hand, the patterns in his flesh pulsing excitedly across his palm.
"Let's fight each other forever. Forever!"
Rengoku answered without a moment's hesitation.
"Aging and death are what make the fleeting existence of humans beautiful."
He tightened his grip on his Nichirin Blade. Flames suddenly surged along its length, driving away the surrounding chill.
"It's precisely because we fade that this moment has value. Whatever you say, I will never become a demon!"
Two convictions collided thunderously above the overgrown field.
One sought to drag the strong into an eternity of battle; the other sought to burn himself to the last within his limited life.
And above it all...
Yaha crouched on the slanted roof of the train, hands in his pockets, watching the show with cold eyes.
His eyelids half lowered, he listened to every word of Rengoku and Akaza's verbal sparring.
Back and forth, like two big roosters singing a duet onstage.
At the edge of his vision, the translucent System Panel lit up with a glaring red glow.
[Target locked: Twelve Kizuki-Upper Rank Three.] [Target contains extremely high-purity origin power. Killing the target allows extraction of a high-purity "Origin Finger" to greatly strengthen the host's Flesh Vessel!]
A hungry dark red gleam surfaced in Yaha's eyes.
Those Lower Rank wastes weren't even enough to fill the gaps between my teeth. An Upper Rank's bones finally have a little crunch to them.
He lowered his head and glanced at his right hand.
His ring finger was twitching again. The burning sting between its bones had grown a little sharper than when he'd flicked his finger on the train roof earlier.
This human shell hadn't fully recovered from the backlash of unleashing [Malevolent Shrine] for the first time. Now, burdened with overflowing cursed energy, it was already warning him of an overload.
Yaha idly massaged the finger, its joints cracking sharply.
Perfect. I'll use the origin power of that battle-crazed demon down there to rebuild this battered body.
The harder he fights, the richer the origin power I can refine from him. Once Rengoku has stoked his fighting spirit to its peak, once he's shown off every move he's proudest of, I'll swallow him whole. He should taste pretty good.
He ran his tongue over his back teeth, pure appetite clamoring in his veins.
In the overgrown field, the smile slowly faded from Akaza's face.
He had waited all this time for Rengoku to agree to become a demon. Yet this Flame Hashira spoke of death as something more precious than eternal life, without the slightest wavering.
His appreciation for that talent died completely.
In its place came pure, savage killing intent.
"If you won't become a demon," Akaza said, his voice turning cold, "then die."
He stamped his right foot down.
The ground shook, forming a ring of deep, rippling depressions. Beneath his feet, a blue snowflake-shaped array unfolded from nothing, its intricate patterns layered upon one another.
[Cursed Technique Expansion.]
[Destructive Death: Compass Needle.]
Rengoku's feet punched through the turf as he held his Nichirin Blade across his body. Flame Breathing completed its first cycle within his lungs, and the flames along his blade heated the surrounding air until it warped.
A fierce battle stood on the brink of eruption.
Up on the train roof, Yaha glanced down at the blue snowflake-shaped array.
"You predict attack trajectories by sensing your opponent's fighting spirit?"
Yaha snorted, his eyes filled with the contempt of a superior watching a clown.
"Pathetic, beastlike instincts." He rubbed his knuckles listlessly. "Against a law like me, with no fighting spirit at all, only pure killing intent, you're nothing but useless junk-blind with your eyes wide open."
Below, Akaza lowered his body slightly. His savage blue fighting spirit instantly pulverized the dead grass around him.
A sonic boom tore through the air as Akaza became a blue blur, lunging straight for Rengoku's face.
Watching this, Yaha found that the sting in his right hand only made his grin widen.
"Yes. That's it."
"Show me every trump card you're so proud of. Struggle a little harder in your death throes."
[Mini Theater]
Akaza (shattering the ground underfoot, his presence overwhelming): Kyojuro, become a demon! Look at this powerful body. It won't age for hundreds of years. Fight me forever!
Rengoku (drawing his blade to face him): Aging and death are what make humanity beautiful! I refuse!
The two furiously traded blows below, flames soaring and icy blue light spilling everywhere, as though they were on the set of a huge special-effects production.
Yaha (crouching on the train roof, hands in his pockets): Tsk. That pink-haired demon down there looks like his meat's nice and firm, but he talks too much. System, if fighting makes him too tough, will the finger you extract get stuck between my teeth?
System: [Host, provided the origin power is sufficiently pure, neither braising nor steaming will affect the texture. We recommend waiting for him to unleash his ultimate move for a quick stir-fry. That will help the flavor soak in.]
Yaha (running his tongue over his back teeth): Makes sense. Let the Flame Hashira sear him a little longer for me. Crispy outside and tender inside tastes best.
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