Yaha pushed open the guest room door.
Before his military boots had found firm footing, that hand went completely out of his control.
A fourth arm pushed out from beneath the back of his hand, tearing through the skin, dark red and translucent, reeking of decay. Then came a fifth. The joints cracked, each snap like a fire lit inside his marrow.
He kicked the door shut behind him.
Too late.
Cursed energy spilled unconsciously from the four spectral arms, sweeping across the wooden wall behind him. The boards split down the middle, revealing a deep gouge with a smooth cut surface. More than a dozen slashes tore through the tatami beneath his feet, sending scraps of straw mat drifting into the air.
Yaha dropped to one knee, pressing his right hand hard against his chest.
That thing was crawling upward.
It wasn't pain. He didn't care about pain. There was another voice in his head, deep and ancient, carrying two thousand years of arrogance, slowly forcing his reason down.
Eat.
Tear them apart.
Burn away every last restraint in this shell.
Yaha clenched his back teeth. His eyes were already completely red, scarlet seeping outward from their depths until even the whites were swallowed.
Sukuna's instincts were fighting for control of his body.
He gripped his own left wrist. Cursed energy exploded in his palm, brutally forcing the newly formed spectral arm back inside. He pushed it back half an inch, and it thrust out another inch.
It was like arm-wrestling his own shadow.
The door next door sounded.
Almost inaudible footsteps stopped outside his door.
"Stay away," Yaha forced out through his throat, his voice no longer human. "Are you fucking deaf?"
The door opened.
Shinobu Kocho stood in the doorway. Only one fastening on her outer robe